Skill Seekers and Fantasy Finders (A Preliminary Abstract…) I grab a taxicab and attempt to wrap my taxed mind around how you’d intelligently, smoothly stripped me of my hesitancy and intuitively, soothingly appeased me in asserting we hadn’t acted in haste as we’d made our way to where you were staying for an overnight of read more..
I grab a taxicab and attempt to wrap my taxed mind around how you’d intelligently, smoothly stripped me of my hesitancy and intuitively, soothingly appeased me in asserting we hadn’t acted in haste as we’d made our way to where you were staying for an overnight of overwhelm. My thoughts work backwards, from the view from the cab window of passersby to that forced farewell, as I reflect on how a man’s story is transitory – onto this distinguishing man, my first best friend’s father, who I’ve desired – and hadn’t seen – since I was 16.
Worked up by design, and transfixed by the disparateness of my gaze’s depth and my repartee’s absurdity, you’d worked around 16 years of my having framed you a particular way, transcending that refraining from possibilities. You required me as intensely in this instant as we’d repressed our respectively parallel passions back then. But did we truly consume the ignus fatuus of formerly ignored, unconsummated infatuation? Was it you recapturing something you’d never had, or were you presenting me with what I so long to possess?: A rapture already located within myself.
An hour ago, as the sun rose on our melancholic leave-taking, wrapping us in its warmth through your hotel room’s floor-to-ceiling panes of glass… Dressed after a daybreak of lovemaking, I painfully asked you – hesitatingly, hastily – if you’d always loved me as we made out before I bolted, wrapped up in your all-encompassing embrace. (And in my memory, it’s not made up. It’s a stirring scenario of pheromones remaining on faces and the impassioned impression of your push in my tush.) And I figure that I’ve fully fallen for you. And I’m almost ashamed of my ridiculousness in this raw state.
All I knew to say to you in parting was, “I still feel you inside me.” And I do, as though I were starting to.
And there I was, where I yet remain, in a discretionary moment, with mouthed confessions of this forgiven, unforgotten adolescent desire. And there you were, still soaping my crack, your lips grazing the back of my neck as you groped my buns. And I feel the ache of puberty’s periphery as I make out your middle-aged frame as you’d lathered your manhood while I’d lotioned my hands. You were abstract through the curtain in that preliminary peek, fulfilling a vision of a veiled shame’s absolution. No longer handing over our curiosity to a hand-me-down compliance – bathed by you, uplifted and purified, in wonder-filled words and in sanctified silence all this time later.
Last night, after we’d banished ourselves from the controls of what we’d known, I at long last confessed that this felt more a revolution than an evolution, as I went back to the length of you warming the small of my back to perspiration… my back to you as you licked my shins and sides, up to consecrate my taint and the tucks betwixt my balls and thighs… and backing under you as you positioned yourself down on my tongue so I could sample your most private part.
My forbidden fantasy, a confronted reality – you who cuddled yesteryear asleep and kissed today awake…
The threat of loss allows for the thrill found in a lack of attachment.
Pick a partner and fake a fight, then have make-up sex. Or begin a fresh relationship, facing up to the risk of its not working out. In either scheme, effect the fiery focus that can result in one’s encountering uncertainty.
Share your wishes to seize along with your suspicions of release with a friend or a fling or a fellow with prospect, and enact passion’s grasping for the full possession of a given moment and its granted man. Or if it helps, I’m here, and happy to be that companion. ☺
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