Date: Sun, 06 Sep 1998 20:38:49 PDT From: "Matt M." <ganymede@hotmail.com> Subject: The Return (m/m) THE RETURN by Matt M. (ganymede@hotmail.com) Author's Note: This is a gay male erotic story. If you don't want to read this, how the hell did you find this story? Anyway, you do have a delete button If you're under 18, don't read this, but if you do, don't tell anyone. ganymede@hotmail.com : feedback cheerfully acknowledged, flames cheerfully ignored. This story is dedicated to my sweet Tom, because I love you and I miss you. A thousand kilometres isn't far enough to keep us apart. This story hasn't actually happened. Yet. But, Goddess willing, it will. From your Matt. ------------------------------------------- You shall sing, feast, make music and love all in my name for Mine is the ecstacy of the spirit, and mine is also joy upon earth. My law is love unto all beings.... Beloved of all the Gods and men, let my worship be in the heart. Rejoice, for behold all acts of love and pleasure are my rituals. -The Charge of the Goddess ------------------------------------------- My heart is like a rainbow shell That paddles in a halcyon sea; My heart is gladder than all these Because my love is come to me. -Christina Rossetti, "A Birthday" ------------------------------------------- THE RETURN by Matt M. I'll be waiting for you on the upper platform of Central Station. Platform 17: the Amtrak train from Schenectady, to which you connected from the earlier train from Cleveland. Your arrival time is 17:45, according to the large train-clock suspended above my head. 5:45. I pore over my wristwatch as the seconds tick lethargically away. 58...59...5:48:00...01...02...03... Seconds turn into minutes and terrified thoughts assault my head. *There's been an accident.* I think. *A terrorist bombing... a derailment... No. Matt. You're being paranoid. The train's three minutes late. Stop it.* So I sit, intently thinking about nothing, watching the aperture leading down to the rails. Finally, the synthesized voice comes over the speakers. "Le train Amtrak sept-soixante-deux, en provenance de Schenectady, est maintenant en gare sur la voie dix-sept." You're here. Dear goddess, you're here. And safe. My heart splits into fragments of mind-twisting light and joy, a charismatic ecstacy only topped when you, yourself, appear on the stairs, looking around, confused by the light. It was dark in the tunnel under the station. I cry your name. Your neck whips around and a smile which is as joyous as I feel explodes on your face. "Matt!" You run for me, toting your baggage as though it were mere feathers. We collide, hug, kiss, unashamedly, right in the station, and weep. Several elderly travelers are nonplussed. "Tom! Oh goddess, Matt! I missed you so much. I'm so glad you're here, glad I'm here, finally, finally," we say, our voices mixing in one joyful/tearful amalgam as we rejoice our togetherness and mourn our long separation. Ever since we met in person for the first time, two Summer Solstices ago, we have been in love. You had come here with your mother and your insignificant brother and sister for a week of vacation. We had known each other as friends on the Internet and I arranged to tour-guide for you. We were both sixteen and we fell in love at first sight. So you begged off of dinners and shopping excursions with your family to come to my house, and I told my mother that we were not to be disturbed because we were celebrating the Summer Solstice. Which we were, but not in the way that she assumed. You had your first time with me. And it was so difficult, being with you with your family around, not being able to touch you even a little bit. And when they came back to the hotel room just as we were about to make love for the last time... we had to content ourselves with a last kiss at the elevator and a promise that we would see each other again, soon. But the days stretched into months and then years, and I watched my life pass by with nobody else in it. I graduated from cegep, found a job, turned 18, and moved out, and nobody else entered my life. I wasn't looking. I knew you were there, far away, and we were meant for each other. You believed it too. You had doubts, you looked at other men, and so did I, I suppose, but not seriously. Look, but don't touch. Nobody ever meant what you meant to me. Gods, all those nights, imagining you were making love with me when there was nobody there but me. Fearing some cataclysm that would kill one of us before we got together again. But now you're here, to stay. You were accepted to go to McGill pre-med, just like I was accepted in computer science. We'd even be going to school together. Your mother still doesn't know; she thinks that you and I will be just roommates. We bundle ourselves into the metro; you buy a weekly card since it's the middle of the month. You're a rather rich person now, since you converted all your American dollars into Canadian, which is on par with the Albanian lek or something dismal like that. I sponsored you through the landed-immigrant process and you're now a fully signed, sealed, and delivered resident of this country. We go north to Berri and change to the green line. On the way to my stop, we pass Place-des-Arts metro, which serves the hotel where you stayed the first time you came to Montreal. Since you left I associated the station with loss, and got a little pang whenever I went through it, because I got on at that stop to go home after we said goodbye. As we speed through it, the cleansing fire of our passion purifies that station for me forever. It's not the station of the Delta Hotel, it's one station away from the station of my - our - apartment. We get off at McGill and walk the few blocks up to the McGill Ghetto where my small apartment is situated. It's a two-and-a-half, with a small kitchen, a bedroom, and a room which serves as my office, living room, guest bedroom, and covenstead. We get through the door and barely have time to get into my bedroom before we embrace so tightly we almost fuse. The kiss is long and glorious, which is expected as it has to make up for two years of agonizing separation. You roam my back with your hands, and I reach up to cup your face. I lift it up to mine once more, running my fingers through your impossibly fine, silky hair. We kiss delicately on the lips and remove each other's glasses. "Matt..." you say quietly. "I love you, but you are so freaking tall I can't reach." We burst out laughing. I note that you haven't lost that sweetly endearing habit of not swearing - I would have said "so fucking tall". We sit down on my bed and embrace, and kiss long and lovingly. I delight in the feeling of my goatee against your smooth face. Our bodies go limp from the sheer sensual delight of the kiss and our warmth against each other, and our heads fall together onto the bolster without ever breaking the kiss. We lie there, kissing passionately, moaning quietly, for several minutes. I recline, away from the kiss, and look at you. You're even more beautiful than I remembered, flushed slightly, smiling blissfully. Your light brown hair - that exquisite, silky hair that I love so much - has fallen back over the pillow. Your eyes, languid, soft, crystalline and sparkling at the same time. I love you so much. I begin to weep softly. "Aw, Matt..." you murmur, and fold me in your arms. I lay my head on your soft breast, crying into your shirt. "Oh, Tom..." I choke out. "I missed you so much. So fucking much. Now you're here... I love you so much." "I love you too, Matt, so much..." I lie with my head on your chest for a while, soaking up the beautiful feeling of your warm body against my head. I recover. "Tom?" I ask. "Yeah, Matt?" "Remember what I promised I'd do when we saw each other again?" A wicked glint flashes in his eye. "Of course." "Wait here," I say, jumping up and running into the other room. I return after a few seconds, with some incense and candles. It's corny, but what's wrong with corn? I light the candles and fume the incense, and as I lay slowly down beside you again, my cluttered bedroom takes on a mystical air, a temple sacred to Aphrodite, Eros, Dionysus, Ishtar, and all the deities of true, beautiful love, and as I make love with you I will be worshipping, for behold, all acts of love and pleasure are Her rituals. I take the tie out from my ponytail and lay it aside. I kiss you on the lips, just once, then move to your ear, sucking and nibbling on your earlobe. I lick my way across your cheek, and kiss both your eyelids and the tip of your nose. You giggle, and stroke my nose with your index finger the way you did the very last time we were together. When I lick your other earlobe, you suddenly take my own left earlobe into your mouth, and suck on my earring, cleaning it with your tongue. I shiver. "This is your time," I murmur. "Don't worry about me yet." "Aw, but Matt..." you protest. I silence you with a kiss. I fold my hands into your overshirt, and slowly push it over your shoulders and down your arms until you are lying on it. Then with a quick, cruel snap, such as one uses to tug the leaves off of an artichoke, I yank your tee-shirt out from your belt. I smile viciously, and then place my hands on the skin under your tee-shirt. Wriggling my hands slightly over your skin, I once again slowly push it up your body and over your head, allowing you to put it off entirely. The play of my hands over your sensitive chest cause you to emit little susurrations of pleasure. I salivate, then move in for the kill. I lie down on top of you, our bare skin sliding sensuously, our jeans grating together. My chest hair tickles your smooth skin. I lick your neck, then your breastbone, and the space between your breasts. Then carefully, I take your left nipple in my mouth. My hard tongue presses against the sensitive, delicious area, and you squirm in delight. I brush the tip lightly with my teeth, then lick it with a long, languorous motion, scouring it with my taste buds. I move over and do likewise for your right tit. I look up and you have what must be described, I beg your pardon, as a shit-eating grin. Your brain has achieved the pleasant state of mush and you've given in entirely to the sensations of your skin. You expand your chest, giving me greater access to the surface of your abdomen. I reach up again, and start at your right armpit, systematically working my way across and down. My promise to you was to lick every square inch of your chest, and I do. I surreptitiously reach down and place my hand on your groin, where I can feel your straining erection pressing against the fabric of your underwear and jeans. You grin lasciviously. I pull myself up along you again and kiss you, folding you in my arms. We flip over so you're on top, and I feel your weight on top of me. I feel warm and secure in your embrace. "Tom," I whisper, "shall we continue, or go to dinner?" "Like there's any argument. We continue," you grin, and we kiss again. "Good choice," I murmur, rolling you over. I slide my hands down your bare back and into your jeans, where I cup your buttocks. You giggle again. I slide down your body and bite the top of the fly of your jeans. I pull open the button and pull down the zipper with my teeth, then push my hands down behind you, pulling your pants and underwear down to your thighs and letting your engorged cock spring free. I look up, and see you smiling deliriously at me. I bring my mouth down over your cock, and your head falls back onto the pillows. I lick it slowly, tasting the thin fluid which is emerging to lubricate you. I caress the head with my tongue, bathing the shaft with my saliva. The tempo of your breathing speeds up, and your inhalation becomes ragged. I touch your frenulum with my tongue, rubbing the sweet spot right underneath the head, and you are overpowered. "Oh gods, Matt, that's so good...." My hands are busy during this time, reaching up and caressing your nipples, or reaching down and helping my mouth by stroking your shaft. Through all my sweet labours, it isn't long before you suck in your breath sharply and moan desperately that you're about to come. I take my mouth off your cock and continue to stroke you, and when your body shudders with your climax, you ejaculate over your chest. I look at you then, with your erection ebbing, your skin flushed, your chest anointed with your own seed, the forward strands of hair stuck to your sweaty forehead. You are perfectly beautiful, and I love you more than anything. I go into the bathroom for a warm, damp washcloth, come back, and clean the sticky semen off of your chest - but not without licking a small amount off of you as well. I taste it slowly. It tastes salty and sweet at the same time, a rare delicacy. Then I lie down beside you and we hold each other again. "Matt... what can I do for you?" My brain grinds for a while. "What if you licked my tits and jerked me off?" I say softly. "I'd like that." You grin cutely at me again. You know that drives me pleasantly nuts. "Sounds like fun." You unzip my fly and pull my cock out from my boxers, and begin to stroke it. I let my torso drop onto the bolster as you fasten your mouth over my left nipple and swirl it around with your tongue, drawing in your breath to create negative pressure. I laugh slightly. "Remember when you came here the first time?" I say, my speech intermittent as my pleasure centres focus on your hand on my cock. "Remember when we made out in your hotel room right before you left, I gave you that big hickey on your nipple to remember me by?" Your hand speeds up and you reach with your other hand to rub my other tit, as if to say, "I remember." I lay my hand on the back of your head and pull your mouth off my tit and up to my own, and we kiss as you masturbate me. And when I come, I moan into your mouth, but we don't break the kiss. And my semen spurts onto both of our chests, and like me you lick some of it up, and you smile. And without even cleaning it off, we embrace again, and my seed is slick between us, and it is a beautiful sensation. We get cleaned up and dressed, and go out to dinner. And we get home, and go to sleep, together. After all, it was a long train ride from Cleveland. And we both have lovely dreams. ------------------------------------------- finis