Date: Wed, 24 May 2006 16:02:27 -0700
From: qwb <qwb@san.rr.com>
Subject: Remember That
Shadows cast from the candles on the bedside table
darkened the hollows of his neck and shoulder as he arched
his head back slightly. He knelt between my legs, knees
spread wide, thrusting slowly into me, slowly enough that I
could feel each pulse of the engorged veins of his erection
rippling against my insides, the ridge around the broad head
of his penis as it tugged at the muscles of my ass.
His face was split, one side shadowed, the other
candlelit, and the flames glimmered in his eye as he watched
me. His expression was somber, almost sad, although I knew
that he was just focused on the feel of our bodies moving
together. I cupped his knees with my hands and rolled my
wrists, my fingertips skimming lightly over his warm skin.
The muscles of his throat worked as he swallowed. "God,
you feel so good," he whispered to me, his voice deep with
passion and love. His hands ran slowly up and down my
thighs, from my knees to my groin, in time with his
thrusting, brushing the soft hair on my legs seductively. As
his hands reached my hips, he'd stroke in, pulling me tight
to him, pressing deep.
Occasionally he'd stop moving and knead the muscles of
my legs lovingly, his strong fingers flexing gently into me.
The combination of strength and gentleness was one of the
things I loved most about him and something that had drawn
me to him when we first met.
-----
He had been in the park with his sister and her
children on a day I'll never forget. Sara had fallen and
he'd squatted down to her, held her close to his broad
chest, comforted her. I'd been reading on a nearby bench,
soaking up the first really warm day of spring, and had been
mesmerized by the sight of him holding the small child. She
was giggling by this time, tugging at his dark beard, her
small hurt forgotten. He was laughing, his teeth very white
against the beard, holding her on his knee.
When he released her and stood, he glanced around the
park and his eyes met mine and held. I rose from the bench
as he walked toward me. My book dropped from my hand and I
could feel my heart thumping at every pulse point in my
body. He stopped a few feet away and just looked at me for a
moment. Then he smiled slightly and held out his hand. He
had large hands, the fingers well made, the nails manicured,
a sprinkle of dark hair on the back of his hand. I took it
in mine and raised my eyes to his again.
As our fingers tightened, the smile faded from his
mouth and his other hand drew into a loose fist at his side.
His eyes were green and as he looked at me they darkened
slightly, roamed over my face once, then settled back on
mine.
"I'm Alex," he said softly, and I knew I'd remember his
voice forever. Deep and vibrant, it seeped through me and
settled low in my belly, igniting a warm pool of longing.
I nodded, waiting for my voice to steady before I spoke
to him for the first time. "Joshua," I said. "Your kids?" I
had to know.
"Joshua," he repeated softly, rolling it on his tongue
like vintage brandy. It thrilled me to hear him say my name
and I shivered slightly. He watched me for another long
moment, then slowly released my hand. "No, my sister's."
We turned to see them waving from the far side of the
park. He lifted a hand and they got into a gray car and
pulled away from the curb. He bent to retrieve my book, held
it out to me, smiling slightly once more. I took it, the
tips of my fingers grazing his. "How about a coffee?" he
asked me as he released his hold on the book. I just nodded
again, unable to speak. He seemed
to understand, taking the book back from me to slide it into
my backpack, then slinging it over one shoulder.
We walked through the park and he spoke lightly of his
sister's family, telling me little stories, letting me
recover my wits. Normally, I'm not a shy man but I was
overcome by him, by the feeling his nearness generated in
me. We walked closer together than strangers would, our
shoulders bumping softly when our strides were opposite each
other's, our swinging hands brushing occasionally. By the
time we reached the coffee shop, I was chuckling with him at
a mime we passed who walked backward along with us for
several steps, patting his hand over his heart and rolling
his eyes.
We talked for hours, over that first cup of coffee,
through dinner at an Italian restaurant he knew a few blocks
away, over a glass of wine at his apartment. We spoke of
ourselves, our wants, our fears. Never have I revealed
myself to someone so easily; it was a magic evening. For
him, too, I know. I watched his eyes as he spoke to me, saw
them warm when I laughed with him, the corners crinkling
attractively, squeezing shut momentarily in laughter,
opening again to search my face as though looking for
something he'd lost and maybe found.
-----
He began thrusting more quickly and I knew he would
climax soon. I know him so well now, the feel of him, his
needs, his likes. He scooped a puddle of precum off my
belly, then wrapped those strong fingers around my erection
and began to stroke me opposite the movement of his hips.
His other hand swept up my stomach to my chest, his callused
palms rough against my skin, to roll my nipple between his
thumb and forefinger. He knows me well, also.
-----
He reached for my hand that first evening, twining our
fingers together and pulling me closer on the couch, till my
drawn up knee met his thigh. He looked down to where our
legs touched and brought our joined hands to my knee so that
he could stroke his thumb against my worn jeans. The slight
friction of his thumb warmed me quickly and I could feel my
penis responding to his touch. After a few moments, I
shifted slightly to ease the pressure and his eyes dropped
to my crotch, roaming over the faded denim, traveling up my
body to my mouth.
I knew then that he was about to kiss me and I leaned
toward him, not breathing as his lips met mine. We were
barely touching, yet I could feel the soft skin of his
mouth, taste the wine on his lips, feel the heat of him. He
opened his mouth slightly and closed it over my bottom lip,
tugging gently, his tongue tickling me a little as he slid
it across my lip. I sighed into his mouth and he pulled back
slightly and opened his eyes. When I opened mine, he gave me
that small smile that I loved already, cupped his hand
around the back of my head, then kissed me deeply, moaning
softly when I sucked gently on his tongue.
We spent hours on the couch that first night, talking,
kissing, touching. I moved closer still, under his arm to
lean against his chest, my face in the curve of his neck. He
rubbed his cheek along the side of my face, tipping my chin
up now and then to kiss me. His hand swept slowly up and
down my arm, squeezing gently, kneading the back of my neck
occasionally.
When I slipped my hand under his t shirt and rubbed his
smooth belly, tugging gently on the narrow ribbon of dark
hair that curled up out of his jeans, he sucked his breath
in and held it. His skin was smooth and soft, a fragile
veneer over the hard muscles of his stomach and chest. He
chuckled and flinched slightly, my first indication that he
was a little ticklish. I touched him more firmly and the
smile died, replaced with that solemn look that I was
beginning to recognize as desire.
When he spoke, his voice rumbled under my ear and
made me
smile. I was drunk on the smell of him - soap,
sweat, sunshine -
and turned to bury my nose in his t shirt. At that,
he wrapped his arms around me and shifted me so that
I lay against him, our chests together, our faces
close. I pressed as close as I could get, feeling the
jut of his hipbone in my side, the curved muscles of
his shoulder under my hand.
He rubbed my back, gradually moving lower until
his hand was down the back of my jeans, massaging the
bundle of nerves at the base of my spine. Eventually
he turned me gently and rose from the couch, bringing
me with him, leading me by the hand into his bedroom,
faintly illuminated by a streetlight on the corner.
We hugged for a long time, standing in the
shadows near the bed, our bodies close, our crotches
pressed together, hardening as we became more
aroused. The magic of the day was still with us and
we undressed each other slowly, pausing frequently to
kiss, to explore newly bared skin with lips and hands
and teeth. When we were both naked, he pushed me onto
the bed, twisting, breaking my fall with his body, so
that I landed partially on top of him, my leg over
his, my arm across his chest.
I pushed my knee gently into his crotch, shoving his
testicles up to the base of his erection, putting a
little pressure just beneath his balls; a place, I
learned that first night, that he loved to be
touched. We made love easily, as if we had been
together for years instead of hours, using our hands
and mouths, bringing each other to strong orgasms
just a stroke apart. We smiled into each other's eyes
after, in perfect harmony, already in love, I think,
although neither of us said the words.
We moved my things in at the end of the month
when my lease was up. We had spent every spare moment
together and we didn't even discuss it; we simply
made plans for our life, knowing that it would be
spent together.
-----
He watches me carefully, timing his thrusting
with the movements of his hand to give me the most
pleasure he can. When my testicles tighten and I
begin to pant, he increases the tempo of his hand,
and I convulse in a powerful orgasm that arches my
hips up from the bed, has me straining into his fist.
The sight and feel of my hot, thick ejaculate on his
hand pushes him over and he pumps in quick, hard
spasms, his head thrown back, groaning deep in his
throat as he empties himself into my body. He pulses
inside me, fills me, and I leak a little more onto
his hand, grunting softly as he squeezes me.
When his breathing slows a little, he opens his
eyes to mine, smiles at me. As he leans down to kiss
me, he speaks. "I love you," he says very softly.
"Remember that."
I'd really appreciate your comments - good, bad or
indifferent. Thanks. qwb@san.rr.com