in place of a real post…

April 15, 2008

i need to get some study/work done this week…but i feel that i should leave the blog with something of some substance.

thus, i leave you with something i dug up. it’s a sad story, but certainly one that gets my heart racing.

check it out behind the jump…and good luck on your exams.


Its painted facade never dulled, throughout the years, while the surronding buildings faded, the old red barn held its crimson coat. Some days it would almost blaze as i walked over Tyners Hill, jumped a split rail fence (splinters everytime) and made my way through a feild of knee high Shakers grass. This is a walk Ive taken a thousand times , but today will be my last.

The edge of the field gives reveal to the barn and its surrounding horse enclosure. Instantly, Plato, a Chestnut Gelding, trots right to me. Ive been visitig Him for near 4 years now, afterschool, weekends, whenever I can steal away and make the 2 mile walk and still be home clear of night. P-boy, thats what I call him, nuzzles the breast pockets of my Pendelton, stuffed full of the usual windfall pecans i gather while walking down Sutters rd. on my way to Tyners hill. Despite my affection for P-boy, he is simply a reason, sometimes an alibi, to come to the barn.

I met Adam the day P-Boy was born. It will be 4 years come september, Myself and two cousins came to the barn to watch the Hensons Mare give Foal. Adam works the farm, and was there to aide in the delivery. While my friends awed and gasped at P-Boys slow reveal. I myself couldnt take my eyes off Adam. Sky Blue eyes, big white smile, tall as a sycamore tree. I went back to the barn the next day to check on the new arrival, sort of. That was the first day I had sex with Adam. We,ve been meeting regularly ever since. The tack room, hay loft, paddock… I dont think theres a place in that barn that we havent had sex, no, not sex… made love, and I do mean love. I loved Adam. I loved his forcefull sexual nature, I loved the way he would undress me, I loved the way he would talk softly in my ear while being inside me, I loved the way he would press me into him when it was over, I loved being still and listening to his heartbeat, or maybe it was mine… ours. I could/would tell him anything/everything, and did. I still remember how it felt to fall asleep in his arms, to cry in front of him for the first time. He would listen to my teenage melodramas, he gave me a scope that turned my mountains into mole hills, he never let me get away with kicking my own ass… he dared me to jump beyond myself.

I give P the last few remaing Pecans in my pocket and head into the barn, the Dutch doors ajar I see him. I stand quiet, just watch him work, his form outlined by streaming sun through mottled barn windows, it renders his shape blurry, or perhaps its my eyes, I bite hard on my lower lip trying to fight back my tears. Ive come to tell him that my parents have decide that “…due to my lakadaisical attitude, and quiet withdrawn nature… it would be best that I live with relatives back west, in a large city, where perhaps my lifes direction will be made clear… after all … you cant spend the rest of your life wondering the feilds and talking to the Hensons Horse. His shape against the window transmorphs like a spectre, I back slowly out of the barn holding my breath, sobs stuck in my throat. I cant tell him, If I tell him then this nightmare predicament becomes reality, the reality of leaving my friend, my best friend in every way.

As I back out of the barn the setting western sun, filterd yet magnified through dirty clay dust windows seems to engulf him, he becomes nothing but light, I open my mouth to call to him, nothing. I raise an arm and give a desperate wave to an empyrean light which i know does not see me. I make my way back through the field, a sea of gold/red Shakers grass, home and haven to birds of evey feather, and in two years time to P-Boys ashes. At the top of the hill I turn and take in the barn one last time. I recall my sister once said the Hensons old Barn looked like a giant heart with its double dormers and too-red lacquer, for the first time I see it… for the last time I see it.

The big city isnt so bad. I live in SanFrancisco now, and have created an ‘ok’ life for myself, but home is were my friend is…….. and there I never go……….

(Josh Weston is a porn actor in San Francisco.)


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