I had a dream that I unhooked my own bra under my shirt in anticipation of getting it over with-- as the first one entering the kitchen kissed me for the first time. A slimy dry wet warmth between rough he-to-her's whiskery beard and mustache as he-she pulled me up tight to his-her chest then thromped me to the hard linoleum and did me there on the kitchen floor humping oh so quickly. Afterward getting off of me to brag how next time he-she would do me up right.
I must have had a far away look of non-comprehension, so he-she said you know gesturing a stoking of he-her's non-existent rod at his-her empty crotch--get you your orgasm. Oh, I said---remained as if pinned in place--perceptions of ownership he-she now assumed, clarifying into the sexist double-standards he-she had escaped yet now so eagerly applied to me. Yeah, he-she's excuse--blame it on the meds aka hormone treatments he-she'd been receiving causing him-her to side-step-- so to speak-- all responsibility via he-her's gender reassignment. There is no one more insistently adamant than one who has escaped the sexism they now claimed their own. Could be that this one is making up for all he-she endured as a full she. Could be a hormonal overdose. Could be his-her-- I don't give a rats ass-- attitude, now I can dominate! A logical next step in her transformation to him--the sensitivity to my hormones washed away by he-her meds. Then in a dreamtime swooping change of place and moment I stood knocking at the door of a him to her who had once considered me girlfriend material. At first I thought pride may prevent her-him from allowing my conquest--but my dream glossed over all that petty stuff of true human interaction. I did her-him on that flat hard bed of her-his. She-he'd gone from male to drag-queen in the old days, to butch-dyke now. Which brought to mind all = the lesbians I'd forestalled as they'd bragged baby, no man can do you like me flexing tongues inside wide open mouths. So in my dream I took control and sought each out--the tall gorgeous one, the pearshaped, the working professional. Did the next and the next--round and round--slept with them all--all those pissed-off trannies and butch dykes that had wanted to suck my nipples and lick my clit. Pissed for not having had their tongue on me or in me in some way. So in my dream I had them instead. Made things right by letting them ride me with their hard plastic dildos condomed and lubed up. After a few weeks of this sort of bed confinement, unable to get anything that mattered to me accomplished or even started--I said out loud might as well finish off the rest of them. So I refilled my absence from bohemia and there I slept with all the senior citizen deadbeat still-aspiring up to the end photogs and ever-lusting poets, artists of assorted ages, heights and size who'd previously had a not-so-passing passion to do me. Of course word got out and I had to do the rest of them in line. So I did-- one by one and that more than filled entire weeks of sex-filled weeks upon weeks of my life--into months, years--on my back mostly for really they all wanted to dominate me oh so conservatively. Missionary position vanilla sex addicts had an addiction to conquest more than imagination experimentation into possibilities. But I put up with it, to get it over and done with once and for all. They all blurred into a haze of the many men who*d come on to me thru-out my life. Soon half of my lifespan was used up and I said to myself why stop-- get this project fully completed! I flew back in time, found and fucked all the retired lawyers and horny doctors and other married men who had lusted after me, oh, I knew where to find each one-- waiting-- tho all had made pretenses of having other appointments, dates and involvements, each one so eager to have me gave in to me easily--as easily as they had expected me to have back when each developed his/her long burning fantasy that I now oh so routinely fulfilled by appointment as my duty. Then I taxed my memory and made a list of guys I'd run out on pre-consummation and all the unrequited would-be-lovers I could think of-- did my best to locate each and every one, and guess what!? They were all single or divorced and lonely and they all remembered me. I too filled their long-standing orders, streaming back thru time into high school... there I stood again in those halls of waxed linoleum floors surrounded by the cold tiled enameled metal trimmed walls. An oh so youthful teen again having lived my life in reverse fulfilling the dreams of all those demanding--no, insisting-- others...and oddly the slurring comments had stopped-- no more slut ! whore! from the mouths of those I had refused-- refused to smear with my own soft lips over the years. Those were the types who I attracted--I was a harlot for not wedding...
I stood in the girls' john before a mirror, the most ordinary of female housewife type in beige attire, my individuality so veiled even I could not find a trace of myself hidden beneath my conservatively made-up face--a gold wedding ring set glittering on my ring finger...thinking forward--to that he-her who had started me on my regress...
Marie Kazalia was born in Toledo, Ohio but has lived her adult life primarily on the West Coast and in San Francisco, with the exception of four expatriate years in Japan, India, and China. Marie has a BFA degree from California College of Arts and Crafts. Marie’s book of poems titled Erratic Sleep in a Cold Hotel has been published by Phony Lid Books. Marie also has two mini-chapbooks published by CC Marimbo: All-Purpose Tragedy and Megalopolis.
Marie Kazalia’s poetry and prose has been widely published in anthologies, and in numerous print and on-line journals, nationally and internationally.