bringing a man back to life (in four nights)

I’m an empath with a speciality

I find men in hiding

loneliness and trauma hooking them

to office walls and barbecues

far off mountain men

small runners

large workers

they can talk politics

kindness and committees

beer and stars

they won’t be the confident ones

with hot mouths and cricket trip crabs

in loafers and polos


they possess the neutered timidity

of the untouched

maleness obscured

the trick is to get them

before the bitterness turns their hands

to brutish copycats of low rent porn


I don’t do it for love nor money

men are to be taken care of

broken sparrows

without the form to fly


at first they won’t understand

the purpose of my attention

a diversion, a seeker

a full glass and a push

I ask the right questions

let them deflate

tales of families, old girlfriends

emasculating jobs

silent showers and pain

I listen til they’ve finished

I give them my number


the first night I tell them I’m not here for sex

I want them to be men

they assume it’s a trick

they stand a bit taller

wobbling in uncertainty

I purr them down


we start slow

take them back to the start

before roles and moves

before instinct was tamed

I rub my thumb over the inside of their wrists

making them uncomfortable

it’s not what they know

I tell them to close their eyes

I line their hands with my finger

I make them stand

I always start with tenderness

for the first lesson

I remove their shirts

my hands running over flabby bellies

or matted torsos

tattoos failing discernment

ageing hips

thin waists

freckles and poster boys

for the Australian sun


the ego adjusts quickly

they think I’ve gone back on my word

I’m too delighted in my find to refuse

perhaps they’ve lured me despite themselves

I tell them again, I’m not here for sex

uncertainty makes them brittle

I move fast

I kiss their neck

holding it firmly

the prey of the detached

I kiss the gaps and crevices

mouthing their arms

feeling the smoke stack in the abdomen

licking the nipples slowly

my hands presenting medals

to the shoulders shaking

the maleness unbottled

a thin smoke rising


then I drive home


the next night they’re excited

students awaiting their task

tonight they’ll learn to be wanted

not in the ways they’ve been taught

the shell shocked performance of misogyny

the bored and the mewling

no, they will learn every muscle in their body

is desired

I undress them

I kiss every exposed area of flesh

I grab their calves in my hands

they shake with uncertainty

I stroke the insides of their thighs

bite their buttocks

press my nipples into their backs

repeating over and over again

I want you


then I drive home


the third night their confidence returns

walking the tightrope of a sure thing

predicting my next step

might bring them crashing

I arch the cock in my mouth

before they can ruin

the silent baton pass of dominance


then I drive home


the fourth night I am to be undressed

with only one command

forget what you’ve read

of what women want

and take me before you think


and without fail I am picked up

and laid down

like a doll

the askew romantic can never be saved


then I drive home













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