You make me hard when I'm all soft inside
On February 13th, 1967, Dawson Clarke’s green eyes—brimming with hope and joy—first absorbed the light of day. Now, 33 years later, it was the lack of light which animated his purest form of spirit; the dark of night, ornamented by moonlight, and the shadows falling from above like linen curtains, all giving second life to the Olympia prince. As he passed through adolescence and entered adulthood, the duality of his lightness and darkness became addictive, as did how they worked in harmony. It was the shadows caused by the light which helped him thrillingly hide in plain sight during the day hours, and during the night hours, the street lamps and neon signs illuminated his sharp, seductive features and gave sight to all his sinful ways. Now, on his 33rd birthday, he found himself caught in the late hours between night and day, as the indoor pool party took form just below his mansion bedroom, where he was hidden as he prepared to greet his guests. Just like his dual presence during the day and night, two celebrations were regularly held for Dawson Clarke, especially given how momentous of an occasion he and the fellow Olympians considered his anniversary. Every year, the eve of Valentine’s day, the entire city would hunger for a taste of what took place during Dawson’s massive, private parties. But for this party, only his innermost circle and those they ultimately trusted were allowed secured presence.
Carefully admiring his own reflection to inspect the final touches being made to his grooming, Dawson’s brief recollection of his recent recurring nightmares and hallucinations, as well as his quiet mourning of his mother, is interrupted once his cell phone begins to sound. He glances across his night table to see the ID of his lover, Nathaniel, who he’d lately been ignoring, feeling newly scorned. A poisoned apple was the shade his eyes nearly redden into, as he glares at the contrasting green screen, the emotions throughout his mind warping into a dizzying tornado. He grabs hold of the device before scoffing, and forcefully throws it into his master bedroom fireplace, inciting a burst of sparks upon impact. “No,” he verbally refused. There was no way in hell Nate would become the focus of his 33rd birthday, especially not after the latest and worst form of treachery. Cracking his neck and wrapping his tight, chiseled waist with a luxurious white towel, he steps outside to meet his entourage, eager for tonight’s distraction and celebration. Slowly then, the pack make their way deep down into the sea of fellow gay men, and few women, who made up his veil—his homoerotic secret society. The crowd which regularly concealed his darkest mysteries; who allowed him to fully drown in his wild, wicked, unholy acts and tap into his most live self. They were soulless bodies, mostly, swimming around his pitch black waters like eels, having been plagued by pain so much they’d become numb. All they cared for now was the rush—the high—the underworld brought. Their souls belonged to the prince; to Dawson.
As Dawson confidently struts through the crowd, he looks into the pool of his private, custom bath house, which nearly overflows with younger, chiseled, naked men. And posed on platforms framing the edge were hired harpists, as well go-go dancers and adult entertainers, dressed in nothing but tiny silver metallic g-string underwear, with a matching coat of silver body shimmer, setting their skin aglow. But one hypnotic dancer in particular suddenly enraptured the bachelor. He was immensely tall, his body lean and taut as could possibly be rewarded. His ass sat perfectly above his stallion legs, as his undergarments split through the middle of the mouthwatering sculpture. His jawline appeared as though it could cut through any flesh, most of which Dawson wanted to be his own…
Reaching over for this evening’s selection of disorienting candy, the birthday boy slowly places the pill to dissolve on his tongue, whilst he continues to admire the art piece meters away, hoping the stranger would notice amidst the dreamscape.