He was fourteen, a year older,
an assured Adonis and scion of a rich family.
What did he see in me?
His perfect musculature taunting,
lurking beneath his the shirt.
My ugly formless body tensed;
as he rubbed against me.
Did he read my thoughts,
or saw my dreams?

"Come with me" he cajoled
his crotch upon my thigh.
His eyes and forty others
watching mine petrified
by danger of exposure.
Repeatedly till he stopped,
"I'm not like that" I muttered.
My heartbeat deafening
my face scalding.

His parents sent him away
to Australia the next year;
I don't remember his name.
Occasionally I fantasize unexpectedly
crossing paths with him again
like some Hollywood or pornographic movie.
He must be married now,
I wonder if he remembered me.

In another place another time
I might have succumbed.
I wonder how my life would be different
if I ignored my preservation instinct.
Perhaps it was for the best
nothing came of it;
it is always better
with what you've missed.

He comes to mind less and less
as my memory and youth recedes.
I shall always recall him as he was
filling my form with fearful desire.