Can't we just call this a fantasy? Where DO these Nifty authors get their story ideas, anyway? Copyright 2000 by the authors, who have placed a single copy in the Nifty Archives. No other reproduction or distribution than Nifty Archives is permitted, without the authors' permission.


Spring Thaw



Fear clutches me, as I look across the coffee table. I know we will be kissing soon. Know I will be losing myself. Know I will become helpless before the power of his lips. I glance at him, suddenly shy in my fear of that power.

It wasn't that we hadn't touched already. It wasn't that I didn't trust him. It wasn't that it hadn't been the most exquisitely tender experience of my life. No, it wasn't that. It wasn't that I didn't want this, either. I just was unaccustomed to giving myself so utterly. Knowing I would be helpless, that I would lose myself so utterly. That the body shame would vanish so completely, be incinerated so tracelessly, as would any hint of my name, of my misgivings, of any concern. I wasn't going to be uncomfortable. No. It wasn't that. It was not suffering I dreaded. It was extinction.

I glance at him, shyly. His face has changed. Become half his age, a third of mine. Become the high school lover I'd never had. Cute, witty, happy. Become the boy I long so intensely to look at, shyly, to ask to be my friend. Become the boy I might have become friends with, would certainly have fallen in love with. That I would have been terrified to confide in. This one terrible secret standing between me and a wild, crazy bliss. The friend I would so have longed to touch. Who would have remained forever beyond my reach. Because of my fear.

I glance at him, shyly, catching a furtive, wondering glance at this boy-man transfigured before me. I feel deep, delightful dread for the impending loss of my self.

Nonetheless, the table is moved away. Nonetheless, our lips meet. Nonetheless, the power is upon me. Those lips, the tender invasion. My self dwindling, dwindling under the onslaught of that maddening tenderness. He tries to break and I pursue his lips, a drowning man, a dwindling man. Hard. Inflamed. Illumined. Helpless. He tries to break and I clamber after him, pursuing his sweet lips, unable to break the contact. Unable to let him go, even for an instant. Unable to leave his smell, his taste. Unable to remember who it is that pursues those lips, that touch.

A drowning man. Pursuit. A breath of air. Catching up. His voluptuousness. The lips. Tender. Tender,  panting, his sweet breath. Breathing him into me. His breath like strong, sweet wine. I cannot get enough. I rise to run my fingers through his hair. The power coming upon me. Holding his face in my hands. The tears run down my face, our faces. I cannot get enough with just my lips. My hand rises, involuntarily, to join my mouth upon his sweet, sweet lips. Joins to touch them. To feel them. Explore them. To try to discern what it is that exerts this power over me, draws me so helplessly, strips me to the core of my very self, possesses me so absolutely. I tremble upon his lips, my fingers striving to know, to unravel this mystery before me. This mystery that now stands in place of me. My fingers wanting a taste of what my lips are getting.

The bed, upstairs, appears by magic. The lips return to claim me. As if they had never departed. As if I had never remembered my name, even briefly. Return to spirit me away with tender, inexorable power. To incite me to devour his jaw line, to whisper my love and whimper my need into his soft, cool ear. My mouth returns to nurse upon his lips, returns to draw from them their power. Their power that lifts me up above him, to hold his face, to position it, to hold it letting me get to those lips completely, kiss them with a huge, exultant,  predatory urgency. Kiss them with a lust welling from within my belly. Kiss them in outraged wonder. Kiss them deeply, soul-fucking myself, drunk with them. Downing one last, intoxicating draught, before the power draws me down, draws me to his chest, to his belly, to the glory of his fragrance, to the tender coolness of his fragrant sack.

Draws me to nuzzle them, to pull them, gather them, free them from captivity between his thighs, to draw them up to where my kisses make them tighten, make them rounder, make them bouncy and more kissable still. The feeling of them upon my lips. Their resilience. Their responsive tightening. Their coolness. They way they move, as I kiss and lick them, as I revel in their size, in their fragrance, in their wondrous masculinity, at his boyish tenderness.

I lay myself down on the bed between his legs. Kiss them. Mouth them. Bid them a brief farewell as I rise to press his semi hardness to my lips. As I feel the cool trails of his lust upon the skin of my face. As I lower my lips to accept his benediction, taste his nectar, feel the huge smoothness of him, begging at the entrance to my heart. As I nod down to feel his cockhead soft between my lips, slide my tongue and feel him swell, feel the power come into him, so suddenly. Feel him bigger, more urgent, feel my heart demand him in my mouth. Deeper! My soul demanding him in my throat. Hear him moan and gently -- ohh, so gently -- so trustingly -- begin to give himself to me. Begin to open himself, present himself so sweetly to my begging lips, present himself needily to my lusting mouth. Present himself helplessly to my loving throat. Inciting me to rise, to impale my throat, exultingly, upon the wondrous perfection of him. Impale myself and try to keep him there forever. Try.

Too big! I have to back off, just for a few molecules of air. Have to dive again, impale myself again. A hummingbird, a wanton hummingbird feeding desperately upon his nectar. Back up to treasure the huge and tender head, to suckle and delight in him. In his boyishness. In the wonderment of my high school lover two, three lifetimes removed.

Later, when he comes, I rise again, to his lips. To be blessed. To tremble with him in the tender wonder of it.


Spring Thaw



I don't understand why he's looking at me that way. I'm sitting cross-legged on the floor, watching his wide, intent eyes as he tells me things I don't understand yet. Jazz and spirituality. Mozart and mountain climbing. Where does all that passion come from? Every time he speaks, more comes out. I hunger for that passion. I want him to reach out with his soul and put it deep inside of me.

How did it happen like this? So fast. So demanding. Such whirlwind courtship. Such breakneck speed. Romantic mating dance with the records set on 78. My head spins. Won't stop spinning. Hasn't stopped spinning since he got here. Don't want it to. Want it to spin and spin and spin me some more.

I watch him talk and suddenly I am in awe of him. Jaded me, who is never awed by anyone. He is so vibrantly different. He is everything I never had. The high school jock who took my breath away. The football hero I never could dance with. I'd already felt his heat pressed onto my skin. Now I want more. From the depths of my history, I want him again and I need him urgently. In childhood's sleep, before I even had a word for the need, I'd cry myself to sleep dreaming of him. And now he is here. Sitting inches away.

I look up shyly, scared at the power he projects. His strength radiates. His presence is fire. Next to him, I feel lost, stupid, helpless, weak. I'm not in control of who I am anymore. And I love the liberation.

Suddenly, he is not talking. He is smiling. Telling me how cute I am. How young I look. How beautiful. Oh, yes. Tell me I'm beautiful, please? Please, tell me again. He calls me baby. It makes me shiver. Right now I would die for him, and he doesn't even know it.

The table is gone. Pushed aside. I think I pushed it, in my rush to reach him. To climb him, nuzzle into his strong neck, taste him. Feel his sweet skin with my lips and my tongue. I ache for this. I want to be his child, his man, his woman, his boy. I don't know my role anymore. I don't care, as long as he makes love to me.

He is kissing me now, the thrilling contrast of his baby-soft lips and manly beard licking all over my mouth. I am engulfed, amazed, as he cycles effortlessly from tender to wild. I have to stop. My heart is pounding. Can he kill me kissing me like this? I try to pull away, he won't let me go. I try again, he pulls me back to him harder. There is no breath, no reason, no fight left in me. I let him kiss me. Devour me. I devour him back, eagerly, gratefully, finally his.

The bed, upstairs, appears by magic. The lips return to claim me. This is not good enough. I am whimpering now. Shaking. Incoherent and blind.

I've reverted to some younger age. He is so strong. God, so strong. I want to feel him on me. Please, Rik, be on me! Desperately, I reach up and pull on his shoulders with all my weak might until I force his body down on top of mine. Oh, God. So good on me. I don't know what age I am anymore. I can't remember my name until he moans it in my ear. I shudder. I clutch him to me, I want more. I am selfish. All I know is how good he is making me feel.

He breathes in my ear. Whispers lustful, incomprehensible words. Swirls his tongue. God, I whimper so hard I cry. My body is rigid. I am gasping. I hear myself making the noises, but I don't even realize they're coming from me. All there is, is him. His strength. His devouring. His hunger for me. Please, yes, please be hungry for me. Let me feed you. Suck the life and breath and spirit from me with your urgent kisses.

My face is in his hands. Such strong, soft hands. He kisses me, teasingly, pulling my face toward his mouth. I arch up, wanting more. He pulls his head back, making me fight for him. He is so much stronger than me. I am panting, gasping, on fire, trying to reach his lips again. Don't tease me! Please! Let me have you.

His mouth is on me again. I am helpless. I don't know what I want. Everything. I want him to take me hard. I want him to be gentle and tender. I want him to whisper love words. I want him to rape me. I want all of these things, all at once. I shake him for it. Clutch him. Squirm and writhe and beg for it. There is no me anymore. I am just a body on this bed, just a lost mass of colors and sensations and painful, impossible wants.

His tongue trails down my neck. He pushes himself up on his arms, then his palms, as he hunches over me, trailing cool saliva down my naked stomach, licking me, tasting me everywhere. I arch up. Twist and whimper in wild, lost need. His moans are deep and guttural -- so strong -- so manly. His lust enters through my ears and reverberates up and down my bones. My being. Let me make you happy, Rik, let me make you happy.

His mouth is on my cock now. Kee, he moans... a long, deep sound. Now I can't do anything. I just lay there and whimper as he swallows me deep into his throat. He sucks me slowly, leisurely, expertly at first. Pressing me as deep against his throat as he can, then slowly coming up along the length of my shaft, suctioning me until his lips slide off my tip. Then again. And again. And again. Painful, tight downstrokes that make me cry out. Wicked, slow releases that make me beg him to hurry, pushing up into his face, eager for the next one.

I can't take it anymore. The teasing is too much. I drive myself deep into his throat. I push myself into him forcefully with angry, animal lust that frightens me. He moans and takes it all, letting me know it's okay to hurt him. I'm bucking wildly. Mad, pounding thrusts. I'm so sorry, Rik, I'm so sorry I'm doing this to you... I just want you so much... need this so much... need to have you swallow this wildness in me... soothe me... take away this urgency.

His hands dig into my hips as I thrust into his throat. They knead my ass, pulling me toward him. The pace is relentless. Frantically, urgent to cum, I reach down and start stroking my own cock... yanking on it, pulling on it... causing us both pain as the friction makes me cry out. His mouth, still hovering over my head, licking it, urging it, is being pounded by the top of my hand. So sorry, Rik... so sorry... don't want to hurt you... don't want to be so desperate... don't want to need this so bad... but

Colors explode all over my room, all over the bed, all over both of us. With a moan... a scream... I don't even recognize the sound, I shoot my cum into his waiting mouth. I hear him groaning, feel him sucking. My cock is in the back of his throat again, shooting painfully, blissfully, deeply. I feel him shudder as it sprays into him. Sweating, panting, I collapse into my pillow, too exhausted to see him.

He is at my neck again. Kissing, nuzzling, telling me how much he loves me. I want to cry. I want this forever and I want to cry, but I'm so tired. So, tired, Rik. I can't even come back to my body.

He rolls over and lays on his back. The fan blows our sweat cool. We lay like that, panting, spent, both of us already halfway asleep. I curl myself into him like a child. Lay my head on his strong chest. Drape my arm over his body. His hand reaches up to stroke my hair.

I sigh and taste his skin. Give him small kisses on his chest, while he kisses the top of my head.

I love you, Rik. I want to cry and thank him.

But I'm already sleeping.

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