Date: Sun, 5 Mar 2006 06:04:06 -0600
From: Timothy Stillman <comewinter@earthlink.net>
Subject: g/m young friends "Song of a Scarlet Evening"

			"Song of a Scarlet Evening"

				    by

			     Timothy Stillman


(for Thomas; I've not forgotten)



We met on a scarlet evening. The air was soft summer. The night was deep.
And he took his hand in mine, for we had need of each other. And it was
as it should be. He held me and I held back, and he whispered, and I came
closer, just a bit, and he said there was nothing to worry about, and
there were wings of diaphanous around him and they were silver gold and
they shone like the sun. And he was proto-human. Proto-boy.

 Younger than springtime in this summer night with the moon playing
dancing shadows over his limpid eyes. And the heart of him was more than
enough to sing me. And the heart of mine beat against his thin little
chest. And he smelled of moon dust and star light and the first dream I
ever had, which I have never forgotten, and have told no one. He knew.
And he became that dream.

And we dusted our pollen against each other and we were in the sky and in
the sea azure it was, and we were the night and we were the tattos of
hearts beating for the world, keeping it alive, and we were significant,
and we were naked. He made the word of that poetry. He made the word of
that majesty. And we never had clothing.

 We were boys together. And we were soft spoken and our skin was milk
shake and our homes were resting in the bodies of him and me. And
everything was tumescent. Everything was moving home and he was home and
he was night and he was penis and nipples and neck and chest and slender
legs and slender more waist, and his penis was a little bridge of hope to
me and he put my hand to it.

Warm it was, like a wash cloth of warm water, when a little child, having
your own bath for your first time on your own, and aware of your body for
the first time, touching it, looking at it, unashamed, for that would
come later, and the wash cloth of water warm and soap and how you
massaged it round your penis and the coral ridge rose, and you felt that
giddy laughter deeply inside you, and you lived there for a long time
until the diaphanous winged boy came to you at gentle evening and you and
he were off and away.

 He was everything you loved, as he touched your hand with his penis, and
you both lifted off from earth, and began to fly; and he was everyone you
loved, and he had small dreams and the small dreams included you and were
of you, for planets interact, planets intersect, and lives become dreams
sometimes, and sometimes dreams become lives, and you and he danced
without a floor in the night of dark.

And you and he danced, as the star light cascaded round you both, and
made your own wings begin to sprout, as you leaned over and kissed so
willingly, so gladly, so sexily, the mouth of an angel boy, the mouth of
an angel boy who was ringed with golden dusted diadems in his long golden
hair, and there were curves around his hair that was full and thick and
you felt the moments of other lands in them. You felt the moments of
other dreams in them and the sky was a dance hall a long time ago, and
the songs were the ones you heard in your memories long before you heard
the songs. This distant dream. Once and future and for all time.

 This endless interplay, two sky children, at hope and in the sand box of
darkness that was bested and waylaid by his light glowing cascading from
his wings and from his body, and you held him and you touched him in your
mid flight, and he lay back and presented his body to you, boldly,
assuredly, and you held his chest and felt then his groin, soft, sweet,
hairless, pure smelling, and his penis, lingeringly, and his tiny balls
and there was robin egg sac and there were the movements of his sighing
being as his wings flapped and as destiny called and he looked up at you
from reclining, as you stroked his little boy legs and kissed their
kneecaps, then lay back in the multitudinous sky.

And you touched between his legs soft and downy, and rubbed your finger
like soft glow of a firefly, down the ridge between his legs, as his body
shifted sharply as if with sudden electricity, and you masturbated him
and saw what he did not see, as his legs came round you, scissors cut
paper, and held to your waist tightly, and you said his name over and
over again, and he was the name and the boy who once owned that name
totally and completely, and you put one hand to your tiny penis and felt
yourself gravitate to his hand which touched you, and his lips moved into
a sweet little boy curl and he watched your hand as it touched him there
and it made it jump and yours jumped as well.

As nothing was taken for granted. And happiness increased by swift
gradations. For you were both learning not to fear anymore. Your lives
had been ruled by it. But now that was over and you both forgave those
who did those things to you. And forgot them instantly. Knowing they were
no longer, or never really, worth your time. No longer back there^ืthe
way it was, with a human of any time and kind because they could always
destroy you and most often did.

But here you lay your face on the reclining boy angel's chest and held
his penis warm to you. And it was first time and he came surprising you
and he came without sperm and you held his hard on as it clicked and
clicked, his tender endlessly fascinating boy gun, and the skies opened
and the fates peered in and pronounced it good and he reached up and
leaned up and embraced you and said he loved you and the talk was not
human talk.

The talk was from somewhere else where things and people did not exist
the way they existed where you had done your time. And now time was
cookies in your mouths and chocolate milk and that is what his little
still hard penis tasted like, in a safe warmed by a stove kitchen of a
winter's day, with snow and cold heaped outside, and you and your best
friend forever together, at the kitchen table, with cookies and chocolate
milk to ease your tummies and make you feel good inside and out, when you
put it in your little boy mouth and he turned his whole attention to
you,  as though his penis was a key and your mouth was the lock and the
safe, and features of his face looked determined, looked so sweetly,
laughably resolute, narrowing down on your mouth and his body, lifted by
his wings, turned a full circle, as his penis formed an O in your mouth,
then round again.

 As he opened you to furtherness, to cascades of sex and love and being
young and not being afraid, and the gifts beyond, that you and he would
never wake up alone again, and his penis moved our of your mouth to your
eyes,  touch, seal with penis kiss, to your chin, touch seal with penis
kiss, and to your chest and then further and further down all touch seal
with a penis kiss, and you would never be scared to ask him, do you love
me?, for he will say a million times over and not get tired of it, I will
love you forever.

And he turned from you and showed his diaphanous silver golden wings and
you eased them apart like heavenly curtains, and your eyes became big and
round as you saw his buttocks, as he turned his head, and smiled keenly
and devilishly and slyly and unashamed, and daringly at you, as you
looked at the little loaves of fresh boy bread, and you kissed them and
you put your stiffy against them and you held to them and you held to his
wings and you found they were sexy too, they were made of boy as well, as
were your own growing wings, they were sexual and they were touchable and
they went tickly as the rest of your bodies did. As he pushed back into
you. So warmly. So companionably. And was quite a handful too. And
squirmy he could be, as could you, as well as dancing with nobility and
grace and delicacy of butterfly wings patterns come to life. Life being
the both of you.

And you then let go and you brushed his shoulders with a kiss that
emitted moon dust sweet and tasting of white chocolate and promises to
keep, and then you and he were off into the distance. Were off into the
sky of golden glow, and you flew with him and you gripped tenderly his
penis as he gripped tenderly yours and you had never felt so enlivened,
never felt summer loved you or cared about you at all, and here, and
here, there was something that made you whole and that made him whole as
well, and thus the two of you needed each other, and thus the two of you
and his hands whispered over your buttocks, between your larger and
larger wings that trembled excited at his touch, and there was no destiny
other than what lay in his eyes. And then you held each other round the
shoulders. Friends. It is okay now to look. To feel. To be. He's back
with you again. And all that other stuff and other people did not happen.
Who did not count. Never happened.

The country road in his eyes, all red dust in nostalgic sunset, with a
friendly quiet white light at the end of it, down which you would run and
fly and be little boy young and there was nothing in the world, no one in
the world, but this angel, not of flaming sword or might or censure, but
something, someone, you could believe in, and who could only live if you
believed in him.

And the sky was pallid and dawn was moving up and the night was azure and
the night was sea and the night was the little boy on wings beside you
and you were both on your way to the Moon, and you both would carry back
the jewels of time to the place of earth and grant all beauty that was
there within to burst forth the shackles and to extend atom to atom of
total and utter grandeur, and life smiled and his pale milk body and his
penis hanging down as he flew and your hand underneath it, supporting it,
and he coming again and he leaning his head drowsy against your shoulder,
knowing he could always find it there, and you would never desert him or
hurt him in any way, even in the slightest.

 As you both coasted through the sky that was becoming light, and you
were heading to space and you were heading to each other's arms and you
held him and he, you, in standing positions as you drifted dreamily
upward, and his hands played with your belly button, and yours played
with his tiny hard nubbed tits, and you and he sucked on each other and
kissed each other and licked each other all over.

Your bodies were miracles and you felt and he felt so open so free so
totally aware with every single pore of your angel skins and you were his
song and his first dream, that he never told anyone, but somehow you knew
and made it you and come true, and there were words of music from the
both of you now. Love was beyond words. Love can gone deeper and more
meaningful and more endless and more timeless than it had ever been
before for any humans.

 And you and he, one, closed your eyes and wrapped your wings, yours now
as large as his, covering the entirety of your back that a single kiss
could move away and easily, to touch each other's buttocks and the
giggles that way, for there were many of those, and much laughter like
silver rain, and you folded your wings round each the other. As in good
night, sleep tight, after the fairy tale is over. But this time you are
both in it. And shall never need sleep again. But love. All that you and
he could manage. And all the time there was.

And you held tightly and you saw up ahead and you saw behind, never, and
you rushed to the stars and the Moon and you rushed with him, and you and
he would never be alone, even together, again. And the sunrise said
golden. And the angel boys' bodies said more golden than you can
imagine. And the sun was ashamed of itself for the shadow it was to be
hidden in now, by comparison.

And the angel boys went home in the morning. And a happy time up ahead.
Without end. Amen.