Date: Tue, 3 Oct 2006 11:18:08 -0400
From: Wastrel
Subject: Tears

The following is a work of fiction that is intended for adults only.  It
describes public nudity, which is illegal in most jurisdictions, and a
sexual act that can be physically dangerous and should not be attempted by
anyone.


It was nearly 2 a.m., a warm summer night, and light from a full moon
glanced in through the  open window.  He listened intently to her
breathing, slow and steady.  Asleep.  A perfect night.

He slid noiselessly from the bed, a tall slender nude figure, dark hair
receding slightly.

Down the hall, as if to the bathroom, but although his bladder was full he
moved past its door, down the stairs (skipping the third step, which had a
squeak) and then silently to the front door.  He had left it unlocked and
slightly ajar so that he could do what he was now doing quietly.  He
stepped out into the shadow of his house, looked about in the moonlit
scene, and then walked decisively toward the street, across the lawn and
into the moonlight.

He paused at the lawn's edge, then crossed the sidewalk and strode into the
roadway, into the middle of the street, a street light nearby, and let
loose the stream of urine.  He listened to it splatter in the still night.

Off in the distance he heard the sound of an approaching car.  He darted
from the road back onto his lawn and into the shadow of a shrub.
Headlights approached.  He wanted to step out into their glare, but caution
restrained him.   The car rolled by and he went back into the road to
inspect the wet track left by the tires after running through his puddle.

Why had he not stepped into the headlights?  He wanted to be seen, after
all, otherwise what was he doing here?  But he dreaded to be seen, for the
scandal, the legal problems.

He set off around the house to the back yard, now in full moonlight.  There
was a privacy fence, but all of the neighboring houses had second floors
and anyone at a window could see easily into his yard.  His penis stiffened
slightly at the delicious risk.

He pulled the cushions off some lawn chairs, making a mat for himself on
the grass.  He eased himself down on it and lay quietly for a time,
touching his nipples and feeling his penis respond.  The distant yearning
then began in earnest and he rubbed his penis now with the clear slippery
liquid oozing from its tip.  His breath quickened.

He pulled his knees to his chest and squeezed his penis with his inner
thighs.  Now nothing mattered, no risk was too great, the demand was too
insistent.

He pushed his legs over his head and straightened them, his hard penis
dangling tantalizingly over his lips.  He flicked his tongue and licked a
bubble of clear liquid from the tip.  He put his palms on his buttocks and
pulled his hips down, taking the penis into his mouth.  In his mind's eye
he could see that purple helmet pushing ever deeper into his mouth.  He
sucked and pressed harder and harder, faster and faster, lost in the
madness and oblivious to anything but the pulsing penis.

And then, from the very center of the earth, came a volcanic eruption, the
explosion of magma, thick and salty and smelling of the primordial sea.
Spasm followed spasm.

At last he brought his legs back, slowly, painfully, and he lay still, the
last release of semen flowing onto his belly.  He swallowed and licked his
lips and felt them drying into a crust.

It was over.

He lay still.  Tears leaked from the corners of his eyes.  Tears of
sadness, tears of despair.


A dream awakened her.  He was gone.  She sat up trying to shake the dream
from her consciousness.  She heard a sound from the back yard.  She went to
the window and looked down.  She watched and was terrified, for him, for
her.