Date: Sat, 10 Sep 2005 21:16:41 -0500
From: Timothy Stillman <comewinter@earthlink.net>
Subject: A Life on the Stage

		   "A Life on the Stage"
			    By
		     Timothy Stillman


Yo Love,

Here I am again.

The word. Love. The magic of it. The sound the taste the look
of it. Like a sea shell all pink and virgin on the sea shore,
under a copper sun that burnishes it and hides the shell to
itself for eons perhaps. Till someone comes to it, pick it
delicately up, and holds it to his, close, deeply. And sees
inside the pinkness, the wonder, the hidden chambers that
just seem in sun and shadow to continue onward, down and
down.

Until the man's hand is locked to the shell. His veins are
attached to it, not in a trap, but in a plea for freedom, for
truth, for joy, and from that shell there is the pungent
smell of desire, the need of the man holding if, to be naked,
the need for the sea to surround him, and the sun to pound
its lust into it, knowing somehow then, that the world is in
that seashell, that is huge, much larger than the world, that
there is the man and his erection and it pounds deeply too,
it throbs as he puts the shell now boy now man now child now
grown now born now matured to himself, and holds diffidently,
turning away if need by, but the young man stops him, and
with the lips of the shell opens his mouth and there is the
roar of the eternal ocean of the universe inside him.

 It is you, it is him in some nascent plan to conquer all the
hatred and all the indifference and all the spite and lies
with pure unspoken by words, love. To think of the first time
your jism comes to ignites from your penis tip and explodes
and you lay on the beach with him, and the sky is so blue it
hurts the eye to look at it. But the sky is in his eyes too,
and you both caress each other's flesh, you from the earth,
and he from the sea, and he will tell you a thousand lonely
stories of all the people who walked by him all those years
and never saw him and how it is that sea shells weep, for
they do.And save for the hair on your heads, and your pubic
hair, your bodies are bare and burnished like coins from
Zeus, and there is no one luckier than the two of you, and
your balls tighten as he tentatively touches them, and he
puts his mouth to your nipples and bites them delicately like
a grape between his teeth so hungry, and you feel the
electricity grow up you, go up you, and your penis is a
stagpole,..

..your penis and his cross with each other and duel with each
other and dance on their own and with your hands on them,
change from one to the other, so you are both masturbating,
and neither of you know which cock is your own, because it
does not matter, and earth and sea become one, and you pull
each other closer, and you each reach for the others
buttocks, and fingers pull the globes back and feel the pink
seashell inside them, the constant sea inside them, and you
are moaning and pistoning and your faces lick each other and
your hearts beat together, and you are filled with sand and
love and rocketings of emotions, that spear you and destroy
you each in turn and then bring you back to life
again......and you come on your lover's noble face and you
hold your dick and it just gushes all over his beautiful
tender eyes and his cheeks and

... splashes in his mouth as he laughs and you fill him and
fill him......

...as the stages continue on, and man must have his day.

Thank you for your beautiful letter. You have brought out
this in me. Please do write again.
Take care,
Tim

Timothy Stillman
comewinter@earthlink.net