So, Luke was over until a few minutes ago. There is something that trembles in me, when I think of him. Some kind of a need for  his touch and the solidity of him. I guess it's been awhile and we are a little older. Luke is bigger and we are both stronger, and it's a joy to hold him and wrestle and contend and yield and feel the solidity and the reality of him. He also smells good and has a cute butt and a really sweet smile. Somewhere, there is a... like a magnetic pole... that needs... that's drawn to something that only a boy can fill. When you I look at Luke, at his butt and his goodies -- even his face and his shoulders -- there is a fullness, something he adds to my lacking-place. And for me, the source of the cure for all my deepest lacking is called Luke Furlow.

Mom's fine, and so is Luke's family. The other day, we were at school and Luke had me backed sort of into a corner and was asking about the food for our boating trip this weekend, and some kid in 9th grade cruised by and looked at us and smiled. And it was so strange: that flash of panic and "What do we look like; can they tell?" and then the relief that we don't need to do that, here, and the gratitude for Luke, and then a sort of backwards protective thing, a hope that this kid (he is pretty cute) could have something like I have. Like we have. Because we both know we have something special, that we are growing up and moving into the place in life where you need someone, where life is starting to get more complicated and the future looks kind of big and scary. These this sort of aching acrophobia, and the need for a cocoon of someone's caring and protection and love and sexual safety. And so many of the other kids are either numb or bewildered or needy or confused.

How about "E: All of the above?"

And Luke and I have safety. We have the plenty of each other. We have the tenderness and the deep, piercing ecstasy of the soul-touching. (And we have the grunting whimpering, trembling, shuddering note of ultimate healing, just before the helpless, pumping boy-satisfaction of coming with each other, coming on each other, coming in each other, coming about each other.

So anyway, it's been an average Wednesday.

Our lives have changed some, but mostly from continuing to grow up. To tell you the truth, it's kind of sweet, getting bigger and stronger and faster all of a sudden, like this. A few of the other kids have become less half-witted, too. Not enough of them, though, and an unfortunate number of them seem to top out at about 3/4 (of a wit). In our town, it's not considered cool to be vocally homophobic, so that's not particularly an issue. It is also not particularly cool to be a Neanderthal as far as pushing the "Thank Huh Jay-Zus" thing, so you don't have to listen to the "Y'all gonna burn" thing, either.

I have sort of moved on from doing so much computer stuff. These days, there's a billion shade tree computer hacks out there,  willing to charge less to do a shit job. A few months back, I did do a full-dress LIMS (laboratory information management system) for a radon testing lab, though. The guy had gazillions invested in ancient custom data acquisition cards that only worked under DOS and he was all hot to go WIN2K or XP. We had a long talk and it was sort of cool to guide a guy that smart through the thinking process, 'till he understood. So I had to do a mixed environment from DOS to Win 2K. I haven't kept my chops up quite enough to move him 100% to Linux, or I would have given it a shot. Maybe if I can find the time.

As I said, where we live, the whole orientation thing isn't quite as huge a deal as in some of the Neanderthal occupied territories. Plus, there is the good example set by the Navajo, who traditionally never have made a big deal out of the whole thing. In fact, they honored the "two spirited people," in part because they could swing both ways economically, doing the work of the women without shame, but bringing the strength and size and a lot of the peculiar male style of thinking and perceiving and problem solving to the task. And, as if anyone has any doubts, us guys ARE different, political correctness aside. Speaking of which, it's really amazing to meet some of these big craggy, stocky, hulking Navajo guys talking about their boyfriends. Luke says stop it it's tacky, but I say it's an undocumented piece of American Homo Culture. And now it's a matter of record, so there, thy pinknesse!

(Yup, they still are!)

We had a little bit of adventure this last winter. Luke clobbered at the local ski area and broke his left tibia. So he had 9 weeks in plaster -- luckily while the weather was cold-ish -- which left us a lot of quiet time to become intimate on a different kind of scale. You know, the soft touches and vibes and slow kisses stuff. And "Scratch my foot!" Followed by the always obligatory cum yelps and the pumping of massive blasts of burning love lava. Yawn, ho hum: your basic teen testosterone slavery!

We both have some hair. Luke's is sketchy and cute, but his beautiful pink nuts have hardly any and they maintain that wonderful bouncy boy fullness that just gets my pulse rate up, thinking about them. There just is nothing more beautifully tender and sweet and iconically boyish in this world, and I just can't leave them alone, sometimes. A lot of times.

Luke has become quite a proficient flute player. The metal kind, too. (Sssssssss!) I just love to sit and listen to him (and think about his bouncy pink nuts and what I am going to do when he finishes practicing). He and this guy Ray jam at the local brew pub, but Luke has to be outside in the patio area or be accompanied by a grown-up even to go take a piss. Kinda fucked, but cool at the same time, cuz it means his skill is ahead of his years.

He's all done with the plaster cast and the physical therapy. They won't let him rollerblade, though, 'till after Thanksgiving. Our folks are all planning some sort of trip for the holiday period, but it's still kind of up in the air. Oh, and we went to Kauai before Luke broke his leg and sucked each other on the beach, under some overhanging bushes. You have to be really careful, or you get sand in all the wrong places, and then after that it's just admiring the view until you can get it all cleaned off. Unless you have some sort of an abrasive fetish, I guess. There was something about the air and the surf noise that made the focus so intense. At one point, there was nothing in my world but his boner and his bouncy bag and the hardness and tenderness and feel and size of him and the love. And coming was a "going in" experience and being "in there" was an explosive radical surrender. And it was almost like returning to consciousness when it ended. Whew! I guess I understand the term the "little death," now. I think my hole was pulsing for 5 minutes. So was Luke's wanger.

So anyway, Luke came over this morning, right after breakfast, and I just looked at him. And the sun was on him and his colors were so wonderful and young and healthy and blooming. And his eyes had that clarity and flash. And I had to go to him and touch him and feel him against me. And hold his face in my hands and tilt our heads and kiss him. And kiss him. And push him back against the rough stucco by the patio and press myself to him and feel the merging with his wonderful boyness, before I dragged him inside, to the coolness and gloom of the house, with the blinds all drawn against the sun's drumming heat. Before I took off his shirt and tasted his sweet young skin, kissing his boy tits and the soft furrows of his clenchy tummy, before his shorts came off and I mouthed the growing fullness of his boxer briefs, inhaling the delicious smell of him, before we were both naked and hard and joyous and groany together and took in each other's boyness and came for the blinding joy of it. And then rested, breathing our delicious cock breath together, on each other.

I love Luke, so there! All civil e-mail is read and answered. Actually , it has all been civil: you all have been really nice to us.

hkeylocalmachine@hotmail.com