Date: Sat, 07 Dec 2002 01:18:20 -0700
From: sword_and_pen@hotmail.com
Subject: Air Planes, Cinnamon/Sugar Churros, and Long Kisses Good Bye

His mouth tasted of cinnamon and sugar. I remember that. It was an hour
before he was taking a flight to St. Louis where he would meet up with his
business partner, Eve. I don't suppose I knew what this business trip would
mean. I only cared for the hot taste of the cinnamon and sugar churros we
feasted upon before his flight. The bathroom stall smelled of drunken urine
and the dilapidated carcass stench of feces, looming over the stall as no
man on this earth seems to know how to flush. I suppose that's why the
automatic flush was invented. But, amidst the foul odors I was at peace
against the strong caress of his familiar lips. They dipped and pressed
against my lower lip, just enough pressure to make me wriggle in his hold.
His tongue ravaged mine, tackled turbulently the walls of my mouth. One of
his hands slid along my denim surface crotch, and pressed like grasping
firmly and orange to urge a squeeze of juice. I nearly fainted, while his
thick after shave began to fill my nose and ward off the horrible stench of
that airport bathroom stall. And, before I knew to open my eyes he was on a
plane to St. Louis.

I look back on that moment, and furthermore try to understand where it all
began. Perhaps the night when we were eighteen and he made love to me.
Perhaps when we were fourteen and first learning of our developing body.
Then, it hits me square in the eyes.

The sweltering heat was always worse at the end of July and the first weeks
of August. It had been just after the turn of July, and the early days of
August when the temperature outside hit one hundred and ten degrees. Not
even the shades of trees or the full blown assault of A/C units could keep
the sweat at bay. He, and I, had decided to sneak away from our afternoon
classes to go for a swim in the lake a mile behind our houses (we were
neighbors). We stripped down to our old school, white Hanes underwear,
tightly clasping to our upper thighs. Then, it was a race to the center of
the lake, a race he always managed to win. But I didn't care, because when
I reached him he'd laugh and turn and splash water into my face, I'd splash
back and I'd feel his tightly conditioned fourteen year old muscles. He was
a good few inches taller than me, and he already had the development of a
muscular structure. Everyone said he looked more like a high school student
than fourteen, and we knew him to be destined for Varsity football. This
all leads back to the fact that, whenever we wrestled, he'd spin me around
and lock me with my back to his chest and his arms tightly wrapped around
me. I never got out. This was a day I didn't wish to. Something was strange
in the air, perhaps the touch of the heat outside triggered our bodies to
go into their own heat. I could hear his labored breathing against the back
of my neck, felt it tingle warmly on the little hairs there. The world fell
away, our laughing, the splash of the water against our bodies, the trees
swaying in the hot wind that flowed South. All I knew was that his arms
were around me, and I felt, in some way, alive. His lips, I suddenly
realized, were brushing feather lightly against my jaw. I turned my head,
just enough to see that his eyes were watching my lips. His pink tongue
slid between his own lips, and retreated as he tasted the lake water that
already moistened them. Then, I felt our lips meet, tentatively brushing
against each other's as if we weren't sure if this was right yet. They
brushed, parted, brushed a little heavier, and parted again. A little
teasing game that furrowed my brows and whisper, "Please" to him as if I
needed his lips. He took them, his mouth full on collided against mine,
molded, filled mine. The summer air grew ten degrees hotter in my mind, and
his tongue feasted from my mouth. I hadn't, at first, been aware of the
hand that slid against my soft boy stomach. Fingertips that sent an
electrical charge through me as they caressed hairless skin and pressed at
the tight elastic band of my underwear.  My lips parted to sigh, and his
tongue filled my mouth again. His fingers brushed under the band and glided
against my hardening boyhood. His hand cupped, cradled, my small organs of
sensitive lust rather easily in his palm and fingers and he squeezed every
inch of my pleasure drive. His mouth took captive my tongue and sucked
gently on its surface. His hand urged me to grow until I was full and hard,
and aching to feel every ounce of his devices that I could. Then his hand
took my slender, inexperienced shaft, into it and closed around it slowly.
His fingers curling and firmly taking hold. I could feel the water now,
swirling against my all too sensitive baby-cut head. And I somehow willed
away the feeling, saving it for him.  Our lips parted, for only a
heartbeat, and I begged for them with the slight whimper of my lower lip.
He kissed it and sucked it into his mouth, nibbled and dallied with it,
then sucked harder and kissed me again. His hand glided slowly up to my tip
and glided back down, I didn't need a woman ever again, so long as I felt
his hand massage me. His hand was overpowering, rhythmic, gentle, and
fulfilling. His lips greeted me with all the lust and passion we shared in
the need to experiment with raging hormones and new wanton sex drives. His
hand was my tool, his lips were my guide, my body was his to experiment
with. And, perhaps, I thought...that he had done this before. His hand
certainly felt quite the expert against my shaft, knowing precisely what
felt good. That his thumb brushing smoothly along my tip would make me sigh
with pleasure, that his fingers squeezing lightly as he caressed my length
would nearly make me moan. That gliding his hand all the way down to
brushing against my balls would make them contract. Then I felt them
tighten, and the whole world was an oyster I sucked on through his lips. I
was reminded then, of Mass. Of everything I remembered of church, sitting
from the pew, and staring up to Jesus Christ on the cross. The fire, the
brimstone, the passion and sin of faith. Confessionals and Communion, the
body and the light. It all made life so worthwhile, made God so much more
worth worshipping, as my little body writhed at contented with its first
orgasm. I said a silent prayer to him, thanking him for this moment, and I
knew he heard me. I felt him through the soft kiss of my friend, as his
lips glided against my shoulder and his hand pulled slowly away and let the
soft waves of the water wash away my juices...

(To Be Continued...)

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