Things you steal from boyfriends

When two men stay together long enough, they will eventually begin to steal things from each other. This is both a sign of a love and something akin to the erotics of shoplifting. Freudian thievery as a counter-balance to what is given up in love.

To pre-empt this counter-balance, boyfriends will often offer up as a sacrifice an item of some importance. This item takes on the potency of an icon or a talisman. It is often kept locked up or
worn close to the skin.

I am talking about underwear here. Collector of DNA. The commercial that plays between sex acts. More intimate than nudity itself. As a token of exchange, both functional and sexy.

With most of my lovers, these personal but disposable items have been either stolen or passed around. Thinking the other day about how much I was missing a particular pair, I took stock of the shoddy collection. Here's a selection...

In addition to some sexy-joke jockstrap contraptions and silly bikini things with large pouches and a "Sean Cody" denim cock ring someone got at a Manhattan bar, there's these dingy GAP boxers (I took them off and hung them on the line for this photo) that I got from Charlie. In return, Charlie got my apartment.

These are too small for me...size 28" waist. But they are very special to me. They belonged to The Secret, who disappeared about ten months ago, I guess...I imagine he's in Galveston now, or perhaps in an alcohol-abuse treatment center, or perhaps his driver. Mr. Edwards, took him back to Switzerland, or maybe he's just methed out in White Bear Lake and working at Subway...Oh well, he's good poem-fodder at the moment, which is why we do anything anyway these days.

The mysterious, missing pair belonged to D, and it was stolen in Buenos Aires. Funny story, but true...The pair was part of a trade between D and I before I left England. I wanted that pair, and he said in return he wanted one of my pairs. He picked a pair of white GAP boxers. I begged to have them back. I asked him to take any other pair of underwear. He demanded the white GAP boxers. Please, I begged. Take anything else. He insisted. I finally relented. I tried to steal them back before I left (knowing deep down in my balls that I'd never be back), but I didn't get the chance. My scrotum pined for the soft caress of those white boxers. Ironically, had D known the story behind the white boxers he took from me, he wouldn't have wanted them...They were purchased for me by Christopher / Piotr when I was living in London and carrying on with both D up north and my sweet and beautiful Polish boy in London. I was a bratty twenty-one year old back then, what can I say? No apologies. The only thing Christopher / Piotr ever gave me were those white boxers, and D the cuckold took them as his own.

Taken together, the entire batch is nothing more than a dirty-laundry list of ex-lovers strung together on a string in my bedroom.