I Want to Sleep with Aaron Schock

and by “sleep with” I mean let him do whateverit is he’s been dreaming of doing to a boy willingto let a United States congressman do whateverit is he longs to do with another man as he liesawake at night, staring down the stars throughhis window, imagining Orion whipping off his beltto tie Ganymede’s wrists and take what he canof Zeus’s honor — which is not to compare Schockto Orion, but if you’ve seen his spread in Men’s Healthyou know what I’m saying. I want to suck him offunder a stall at the Ronald Reagan National Airport,to drop the soap in the showers after CrossFit, tosurprise him in his Capitol Hill office wearing nothingbut an “I Voted” sticker. In America we pull leverswith our conscience, with pangs in our cheststhat don’t quit after a few late-October attack ads,that don’t quit after the latest scandal, the oneI may or may not want to cause. Schock gets mehot, gets me in the mood to lock myself upin his closet and try on his low-cut Calvins,his jockstrap. I bet he leaves it sweaty, hangingthere after his run like the one swing voterin this country who actually gives a damnabout where he plugs his pecker. This time,firmer than faith, I want it in me.