Never Fall in Love

You want to be my lover
You want to be my man
I am a flower
And I hurt your hands
Don't say you love me
Don't say you care
I'm not human
We will never be the same

You can carry on, like that
I will give you love, I've got
I'm not the on you’re looking for
Roses never, never, fall in love

Tricks come and go. Most of them are smart. Most of them know my type, even if they don’t know me. They know what to expect.

A great fuck. The best fuck they’ve ever had.

Most of them are smart enough to leave afterwards without being asked. If they’re good, and I’m in a good mood, I let them shower first, but then it’s time to go. No matter what, they leave, and I don’t see them again.

Except sometimes they’re not that smart. Sometimes they expect something else. The young ones, the idealistic ones, the virgins. Usually I can weed them out, without getting involved. If they’re too young, or have that dazed, stupid expression that accompanies people that believe in love, then I don’t fuck them.

Virgins are the worst. The only virgins worth fucking are young, because if you’re still a virgin after you’re 21, there’s something wrong with you. And if you’re under 21, you’re probably one of those young idealistic ones I avoid already. You’re probably also not very good in bed, and not worth taking the time to train.

But sometimes I break my own rules. He was one of those times.

That blond kid that was standing under that streetlight was special. I could tell from just a glance that I had to have him. I wasn’t going to let him get picked up by someone else. That one was mine.

He was a virgin. I could smell it on him from across the street. But there was more to it than that. Something else. Something enticing. Something that made me hungry. I wanted him, and he was going to be mine.

And then he was. And he was good. He was great. He was the best fuck I’d had in a long time, virgin or not. Of course, by the time morning came around, he wasn’t a virgin anymore, and he’d already picked a lot up. The kid learned fast.

Unfortunately, he was still young, naïve, and inexperienced. He thought he loved me.

I explained it to him. Michael fucking explained it to him. I’m sure Debbie and probably half of gay ml:namespace prefix = st1 />Pittsburgh explained it to him.

You can’t have me. Brian Fucking Kinney doesn’t fall in love.

So I told him to get over it, move on, understand. It’s over. It was a fuck. That’s it.

But he keeps coming around. He keeps showing up wherever I am. And I keep fucking him.

If I wanted to, I could ignore him. But he’s already learned so much, and every time is better. So I fuck him. I bring him home. And I let him look at me with longing and hope in those big blue eyes. And I ignore it, and fuck him again.

He’ll figure it out eventually. Even though he’s good in bed, even though I might like spending time with him, and even though I admire and maybe even respect his determination, he can’t have me.

One day he’ll figure that out and he’ll give up.

But I sort of hope it’s not too soon.