These events occurred somewhere in a place I've been. A place where time passes dreamily. A place where our heart's desires are fulfilled. Where every yearning heart is held and kept and lifted up in loving embrace. Please play safe and be kind to yourselves and to one-another.
Our community always felt like a small town. In truth, it is a semi-rural enclave on the outskirts of a large northern city. But it is one of those places that people don't seem to move away from. Or they do, but only for a while, and then they're back again. Our parents and grandparents came here and put down roots -- and boy, what roots! Most of the people in this story still live in the same houses, these grand old cozy big homes that once rang out with the shouts of their parents' voices as children. Grandma's cooking smells are still there, in the walls somewhere, if your nose is keen enough.
Anyway, a few years have passed -- not a lot -- and some of us have moved away. But the place just keeps drawing us back. Some to raise a family, some to heal. And I still see these people in the course of a day and often we have a moment to stop, perhaps to touch, and to look each other in the face and smile, remembering how we were.
The air had a crystalline clarity. He was young and slender and straight of limb. Smooth, as he leapt so high, turning, slowly, to intercept something thrown. Delicious, as he came back to me, shading me, bending. Plunking down to rest partly on me, deliciously. Touching me, arousing me. Bending to kiss me so, so tenderly. He smelled so like Derek.
He moved, then, and awakened me.
He was beautiful and young and smooth and straight of limb. Sweet and tender and he owned my heart and he kissed me so very tenderly, whispering...
"I love you, Brand. I love you. I will always love you, I have always loved you."
Kissing me so gently. Lips resting tender-light upon mine. Hand finding the core of my lust. Kind. Lust inside, so strong I blank and moan. Rolling me, caressing me, pressing me back and sucking me. Tickling, touching my hole and making me want him to break through with the sticky fragrant sweetness of the coconut syrup and the joyous desire of my love for him. My desire to feel him touch me there, and tap the center and press, making me flutter and tremble and beg. His touching me there, so tender and deliberate and so immensely big and important to have him and soon. Begging him to press, to break through. My hole arranging, somehow: becoming a void, a cavity, Derek-shaped and needy. Needing him to touch me, to touch me and press, to press and slide and make me pray for the gentle invader, the gentle loving invader to enter, tickling, so slowly, pulling out and making my lust sting and ache for the next approach, for the gently invading tickling warm pressure, for my prayer to crescendo for the glorious burning hugeness of my need to draw him ever back, so slow and sweet and tender. To visit and press and gently stretch and promise me, promise me he would be mine and in me soon and now the helpless yielding as my weakness rises up and he is in, in, silky, and I am crying out with the joy with the deep tenderness of his warm hardness and strength, of his prickly-warm deepness in me. Of my bond to him as his forever. As the rhythm builds the stinging sweetness in my balls and I shout with the joy of his penetration and the exultancy of feeling him shudder and pulse with his own release as the sweetness devours me and makes me yield up, scalding, a huge thing of desire and fulfillment and we lie sticky together in magic togethercompleteness.