Date: Tue, 3 Oct 2000 01:48:56 -0400
From: C. E. Jordan <c.e._Jordan@MailAndNews.com>
Subject: DENNIS 5

                     MY DENNIS 5: CONNECTION AND HEALING

  I can look up from where I am typing at my desk and see
sitting on a long track across my bedroom wall, the train-set
Dennis and I built together, one car still linked to another like my
boy and I once were. And I can remember just when I realized,
for the first time, the power of this special, impossible relationship.

	Although I write a lot about the particulars of our lovemaking, it was
only one part of our relationship. And one day I may write something more
expansive. But for now, looking back, I focus upon this element of our
relationship because the power of our physical joining seems to me
essential as symbol and as an expression of our total commitment to each
other--in spite of whatever the world at large might think. Together and
connected we were a complete world unto ourselves and didn't need
anyone else.

 It was the second week-end we'd spent together in my new
apartment. We'd had a busy time that day. Together we picked out
a new Persian-type rug. And after grabbing a couple of burgers at
MacDonalds, we were off again to get some stuff for the
kitchen; a teapot, dishes, a microwave oven. I felt so good
that day; D was making me laugh, and he was feeling important
because he was helping me do this important thing. We took a
break to play vid-games in a not too dumpy Times Square arcade.
Later in the day after more shopping, we purchased a more
satisfying meal in a nice resturant. I had salmon, a salad, and a
7-Up. D had steak...and salad...and icecream...and coke...and
cheesecake. Umm...well, he **was** a swiftly growing boy.

 We returned home to my mostly empty apartment. I had no rug
yet and the new furniture I'd bought the day before hadn't arrived.
I guess the excitement of running around with me all day had D
bouncing off the walls just a little bit, so we ended up
throwing a red rubber ball back and forth at each other, across
the long empty living room. Then teasing inivitably became wrestling.
Wrestling became tickling. Our clothing dissappeared at some point
and we were lost in each other's arms. Our bodies kept sliding around
on the smooth, cool, floor.

 I was doing my favourite thing, holding Dennis, kissing him all
over, moving from his forehead to his cute nose; from his full lips to
his chin, then to his lips again. After munching on an earlobe and his
tender neck, my mouth continued southward, brushing back and
forth along the sweet center of his body, pausing at his belly button,
then falling swiftly towards the swelling heat of Dennis's hard young
cock. Again, it filled my mouth all the way--gently throbbing, hot and
urgent. And once more, I was surprised at how natural this felt, as
if this peculiar joining was somehow inevitable and right.

 D's slim hips rocked up and down as I sucked, he rolled from side
to side on the hard floor--constantly moving until I thought his
over-heated dick might melt like sweet milk-chocolate
in my mouth--or perhaps, in my hands. Dennis's soft groaning sounded
far away as the breath rushed from my boy's open mouth.

	D's orgasm raged through his flexing body and his fingernails dug ten
tiny crescent shapes into my bare shoulders. It should have hurt,
but this evidence of D's pleasure and intensity became just another
texture of desire, testifying to the unremitting urgency of our hopeless
lust to possess one other totally.

 Much later that night, as his hands roamed over my body, Dennis discovered
those marks; he saw the beads of red outlining where his fingernails had
broken my skin. "Ohh...you're bleeding...!"

	D was obviously shocked. He whispered, "I'm sorry...".

 I started to say 'don't worry about it' but I lost my ability to say anything
because D's warm, wet mouth was suddenly pressed against my
wounds...and I felt I was being healed somewhere deep inside, a hidden place
where even he couldn't see the hurt--and for once, I was totally happy.

************more later**************

Copyright C. E. Jordan <c.e._Jordan@MailAndNews.com>