Pink Shoes: my life at the wrong end of a batMature

As if in a match of sexuality our naked bodies collide in the waves, my ribs feel the angered pumping of blood rushing in excitement to all appendages.  His hands venture in places never they have ventured before, his fingers examine the beat of my heart and every movement feels forbidden.  Falling into timelessness I feel his ‘manhood’ pressed against my delicate skin; hard, young, alive, and full of excitement, I reach for him.  His hands meet mine in a mutually voluntary motion, together we hold in the moment, like a breath; how could we ever be alone again?  I feel we were never alone, every moment in life has been spent here, our lives have never been.  My leg jumps up in an almost acrobatic motion above his shoulder and I feel his presents slip away, I am lost in the vastness of our surroundings the long shore beneath and the static din of the ocean before my eyes. His hands caress my gently rounded midsection, my body becomes his shine, and no longer do I hear the crashing of waves against the rocks beneath us. The placid skies kiss moonlight across the ocean, endless paths of white openness cascade the ripples of enormous hunger. Like a breath continuous and rapid, building to a climax of peak and crash the ocean understands me, the waters the depth of my longing and hunger, the moon my love dancing across the tips of my existence to bury itself in my ever-changing waves.  I am that ocean, he is my moon.  I turn my exploration of autonomy, of love, of craving, and focus, to the eighth wonder of my world, where I was before this moment was created.    We now lie beneath the stars as one. My love arches the back I longed for years to caress, buttox raised high above the glossy, wettend rock, shoulders bracing the body I fell for years before.  My hands crawl up beneath the pasty whitened rump, evenly carved into lightly reddened but marvelously sculpted thighs. I work my way feeling the silk that is his skin. I see the light glinting ever so slightly off the sharp contours of his hips powerful weapons if not used with care.  Sean was the kind of man you dreamed about, beautiful jet-black hair that in just the right light would shine silver that could knock you to your knees.  Honest, pure blue eyes that, at this moment caught the moon in their grips as to never let it go.  The perfect arch of masculine strength has now broken and I search my way to the top.  I glare deep into this gateway, and see a child lost beneath the blue.  His eyes, his ears kissed with misty waves and male primal rain, his hands embrace my neck. I feel as that lost boy must in these arms, manly scent of sweat, raw, passionate misbehavior.  I caress his face; the gentlest of hairs fall across his brow, beads of water trickle across the carved bones of his cheek.  I hold myself back then turn my head ever so slightly askew, at this angle his lips hold a glossy almost swollen quality, my lips move toward these objects of intoxication and for the first time, with wettend passion, I am complete.

Waking up is sometimes worse than the dream; I wipe the sticky mess from between my legs and head for the washroom to reflect on such a strange but realistic dream. I am at a crossroads in my life and the only thing I can think of is the man I want to become.

His name was Sean, and he was the first boy I ever really loved, the first person I ever felt hard for.  His hands were like bricks, filled with power and built with love; strong and virile, they enthralled me.  I’d watch him for hours from across a room as if he were the only existence with in my world. Many a time I could catch myself daydreaming of those hands or his perfect lips or the moment our lives would exists as one, but never in the years I dreamed had I ventured to speak a word. Somehow in this entire muse, I seemed to realize yet failed to distinguish that we shared more than a keen interest in kickball. I always knew that Sean Hall was the man I was meant to be with forever, the fact that this obsession maybe unnatural as intended by God, had in some way become confused.  This was until one evening while… well breaking in a new tissue box, if you get me; it had suddenly became very apparent to me that we shared the same equipment, down there.  The reality hit me like a ton of bricks, his hands were like bricks, yet the awareness never slowed me down, if anything it made me want it ever the more. If for nothing else I wanted Sean to prove it was right, I understood the will of God but in I, he obviously failed to understand my need for Sean.

I was more than in love; I was obsessed with the thought of this boy. You see Sean was a year older than anyone else in my class, he had muscles, and he was a man. He owed a scooter with chrome stickers and a license plate and everything and he’d glide into school like a god on his fire red chariot. He made my heart sweat and my body tingle in every inch. Mostly I loved Sean for the simple unarguable fact that our bedrooms a mere whisper between them faced each other from across an alley, it was meant to be… although the view was blocked should I possibly have to catch him in a moment.  I dreamed of my love every night and most days. I never understood.

The End

3 comments about this story Feed