The Blood Of My Children

At the University of Fag Bar (pending accreditation), the white fag spoke grimly about his failed marriage, the number of children, the distance between him and them. FuelMix guessed the space wasn’t measured in miles. It was a chasm of regret and yearning spanned by broken fibers of DNA. He’d fathered the children, but was never really their father. 

He was another man’s lover - until recently.
 
It appeared he had adopted the “lifestyle” as a disguise, a camouflage of superficial camaraderie and nomadic chronic hedonism to hide the pain of unspoken betrayal. He was strenuously advocating an “open relationship” as a hedge against emotional intimacy and over-invested trust.

When FuelMix asked whether he had betrayed his children, or his lover had betrayed him, the fag went quiet. 

Then he walked away.

Originally published 4 May 2006
Amended and republished 8 May 2013 | 3 November 2014

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