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The First Post and Maybe Only Post
Mar. 16th, 2026 10:11 pmso that there is something here:
Some years down the line, when this is too inconvenient, when Hollander stops texting him back, when Ilya gets bored, Hollander’s going to remember Toronto 2010. And it doesn’t matter that Ilya knows the first day they hooked up was a Thursday, or that he can recall the rough scratch of the hotel bedding on his skin. It doesn’t matter that he was the one who demanded his agent email CCM back and say, Get Hollander in there, too. Or that, when Hollander was hard and anxious in the showers, something inside of Ilya rattled with so much want that he felt it in his fingers.
If he puts enough bodies between himself and that Thursday in Toronto, he will forget. If he wants to, he can stop picturing Hollander’s throat bobbing, his hesitant glance downward as Ilya kissed his way down his chest, eager but still nervous. Not sure yet how to let his body do the talking. Ilya will move on with his life. He will fuck other people. He will marry, and some decades from now, Hollander’s photo might pop up for a wedding announcement, crisp shirt collar sitting low, and Ilya won’t even think about his teeth on that neck, his needle through the skin.
Ilya will be able to forget Toronto.
Some years down the line, when this is too inconvenient, when Hollander stops texting him back, when Ilya gets bored, Hollander’s going to remember Toronto 2010. And it doesn’t matter that Ilya knows the first day they hooked up was a Thursday, or that he can recall the rough scratch of the hotel bedding on his skin. It doesn’t matter that he was the one who demanded his agent email CCM back and say, Get Hollander in there, too. Or that, when Hollander was hard and anxious in the showers, something inside of Ilya rattled with so much want that he felt it in his fingers.
If he puts enough bodies between himself and that Thursday in Toronto, he will forget. If he wants to, he can stop picturing Hollander’s throat bobbing, his hesitant glance downward as Ilya kissed his way down his chest, eager but still nervous. Not sure yet how to let his body do the talking. Ilya will move on with his life. He will fuck other people. He will marry, and some decades from now, Hollander’s photo might pop up for a wedding announcement, crisp shirt collar sitting low, and Ilya won’t even think about his teeth on that neck, his needle through the skin.
Ilya will be able to forget Toronto.