Date: Thu, 30 Jul 2009 02:13:07 -0400 From: Tony Subject: The Smell of Water (2) Sorry it's taken me so long to get this next segment finished. I'm in the middle of moving and I haven't had a lot of time to write, but I wanted to get this up before I left for my new place. I don't know how long it'll take to get internet, so it might be a while before the next part of the story comes. That being said, encouragement and non-assholey critique are more than welcome. Of course, this story is of a sexual nature, and the sexual experience contained herein is between two men. If this is something that might offend or nauseate you, I strongly encourage you to navigate away from this page. If this is a topic that strikes your fancy, I hope you enjoy. I present the second part of my story. Tony TheMorpheusMachine@gmail.com Thunder crashes. Gods battle over a strange land in a strange sky. My dreams shatter with the silence, bringing me back to that dark night, the lonely lake so close, the looming clouds imminent... In the distance, bigger than before, is a brooding blackness. The storm approaches, swallowing up the stars in the sky as it comes. But a few pinpricks of light remain above my head. They are oblivious to the coming storm and the few remaining stars glitter beautifully. I feel their silver light in my hair and on my face as I fall backwards onto the grass. I feel their light as clearly as I feel the encroaching storm. I stare up at the sky as thunder roars again. It's much closer this time. I feel my pockets and draw out a rumpled cigarette. I don't like to smoke. It's the stench -- I hate it. But the sensation... I *love *the sensation. I had "borrowed" this one from a friend, knowing that tonight would be difficult. >From the same pocket, I retrieve a lighter. This, of course, is borrowed too. The lighter clicks and its flame hangs briefly in the void, like a spirit without a home, and then it dies out. Only an ember and a curling tail of smoke are left behind. This ember perches between my lips. I breathe deeply, intoxicated by the feeling. I'm a lightweight, and a single pull of smoky air into my lungs leaves me feeling dizzy. As I breathe in, the ember blooms, but it quickly diminishes again. This process repeats for several minutes. With each breath, the ember turns into a blaze, only to recede back to a tiny spark. I can hear the rain now. It's somewhere off in the distance. But I don't move. I *can't *move. The grass is soft against my back and legs as I lay there. The night is so deep. Everything conspires against me as smoke drifts from between my lips. Soon I feel water on my face, chest, and arms. The rain is warm tonight, and I can't help but smile. It's only a spattering at first. A drop here, a drop there. But suddenly it comes in earnest. My cigarette goes out, doused by the rain. I'm not too concerned. Rook never liked smoking anyway... Between raindrops, a final finger of smoke stretches up into the air -- a dying gesture from my cigarette. And with it go my thoughts. Sunfire raced across the back bumper of the car in front of us. It dazzled my eyes, and for a single instant everything was engulfed in a river of light. Everything. All my dreams, my fears, my sadness, my joy... for a single second everything was suspended in that glare, and for that single second I was at ease. Comfortable. Calm. Content. And then I came back to reality. The day had been cloudless and bright. The sky was a kind of blue you could lose yourself in. The scenery was a green blur as it rushed by our car. There was nothing as far as my eyes could see. Nothing but the car before us. The wilderness was an alien landscape. It felt happy and vibrant -- I had never realized there were so many shades of green. But such details are too obvious to be noticed most of the time. The moment you see them is the moment something terrible happens. Something that you don't want to acknowledge. That is when the fuzzy corners of the world come into focus. Because... you'd rather look at the world around you than anywhere else. This was the day I realized my parents didn't love me. I was eight years old. "What do you mean, your parents didn't love you?" Rook asked. The words didn't seem to register with him -- his eyes were confused. "Well... I don't know." I took a breath. This was my favorite phrase to use when I did, in fact, know. Usually I didn't want to tell. But I couldn't stop now. I had buried this memory long ago, and it had been safe forgotten in my past. Now it was too close to my surface. It had to be released -- set free. My hands fidgeted. "I kinda... it's... it's hard to explain." I paused again, trying to gather my thoughts. Rook's hair was in his eyes, like usual, and a warm smile was on his face. He squeezed my hand reassuringly. I loved it when he did this. His hands were strong and certain, unlike so many things in my life. "Are you going to tell me or," his eyes flashed, "Will I have to tickle it out of you?" My eyes widened. *Shit*. The hand squeeze had been a diversion. Or, more accurately, a trap. *What a clever ass.* I tried to pull away from him, scrambling across the grass, using my free hand to push myself away, but he wouldn't let go. He held my hand tightly and he pulled back playfully, causing me to lose balance. My awkward scuttle tumbled to the ground and I landed on my back, laughing. Rook didn't pause a second. He used his free hand to launch himself forward and came up in a crouch. He then slid toward me, moving from his squatting pose, pressing himself against my body. He switched his grip so that our fingers twined together. Soon he had my other hand and I was pinned to the ground. Now he was sitting on my chest, his crotch close to my chin. I was *not* complaining. I was smiling at his sudden antics, but when I looked up at him there was a strange look in his eyes. I could tell that his thoughts were... heavy. He was thinking of something that meant a great deal to him. I started to ask him what it was, but he leaned forward and kissed me. It was brief, but meaningful. As he kissed me, I could feel something beyond his playfulness. Tenderness... hesitancy. People always look for the big signs, like the sea parting or angels tap dancing out of the sky. But you'd be surprised what you can notice from simple things. The intensity of a kiss, the way a person's lips move, the way they breathe... all these things can tell you a lot about the person you love. As he kissed me under the night sky at the athletic fields, I was surprised at what I found. Beyond Rook's silliness, beyond the love and lust, beyond us two in that moment -- there was sadness. No, that's not right. It's almost right, but I don't think it was as simple as that. Maybe it was the *understanding* of sadness. The knowledge that it exists and always will. That it must be suffered through. All these thoughts floated through my mind, distracting me from Rook as his finger snuck into my armpit. My mouth stretched wide with laughter and he laughed with me. He tickled me until my eyes watered and my stomach burned. Soon we were both breathless. Our laughter trailed off and the stillness of the night returned. Our smiles became memories as we watched each other. It's good to laugh when something is serious. It lightens the atmosphere a bit. It makes telling a story easier. Especially a story that's not so happy. But if an "issue" is important, you always come back to it. And as much as I didn't want to -- we came back to it. "What did you mean," he murmured, "When you said... they didn't love you?" Bugs chirped mutedly as he shifted his posture so that he was sitting on my lower abs. His eyes were clear, his face looked soft in the starlight. I could still taste him on my lips. For so long I had allowed that memory had been forgotten. I wanted it to go away. I was scared it would ruin the moment. But I couldn't ignore it. I couldn't. The air in our car was thick with unspoken words. The black sedan was still in front of us, the sun blazing on its rear bumper. The only sound I heard was the road as it whispered beneath our tires. Our vehicle was opulent. My parents had money and it was "nice." But to me it was distasteful. It was too polished, too impressive, and almost gaudy in how sleek and expensive it looked. But I had no say in their choice in vehicle. I had no say in a lot of things... Like I said, it was a bright day. A curtain of light burst through a space in the trees and I closed my eyes, hoping the warmth on my face would calm me. The unspoken words and tension were too much. My chest felt tight, my muscles were knotted, and tears gathered behind my closed eyelids. But I said nothing. There was nothing to say. It was more of a realization, I guess. It wasn't any one thing proved they didn't love me. Puzzle pieces just sort of... came together from all sorts of unlikely places and suddenly it just made sense. My parents weren't bad people. They provided for me. They bought me *things*. They made sure I had what I needed. But they didn't *know* me. Even at the age of eight, they had no idea who I was. And what hurt more than their not knowing was the fact that they didn't *care* to know. I had no brothers or sisters, no aunts or uncles. The only fond childhood memories I have are of my grandmother. I still have an old picture of her. In it she's laughing, her aged eyes almost crinkling closed with happiness. That's how I remember her. Laughing and smiling. She was a woman that you made you feel joy, no matter what. Bad things, good things -- they were all just part of life to her. In her words, "Shit happens, honey. Just smile and think of it as fertilizer for better times." And then she would smile at me, as if proving her point. And it was always one of those smiles that let you know she understood. That something was shared. That things would get better and that life would be wonderful. And when I was with her, life was wonderful. Sadly, I mean that literally. *Was *wonderful. She died. Specifically, she died when I was eight. That's why I was trapped in that car. The funeral had just ended. It was strange to see a smile I knew so well on a face that was no longer hers. And with her passing, I became truly alone. I don't want to give the wrong impression -- it's not like my parents didn't let me bring friends home. I just... never really got along with people at school. I'm a book nerd, remember? Even at the age of eight I was devouring novels and living in a fairy tale. But on the rare occasion I did bring someone over... there was always something bleak in the air. I guess it was always there and I was used to it. But when I brought someone over, it became obvious even to me. My parents were always polite. They wouldn't say or do anything. But there was still an oppressive feeling. Eventually, I stopped bringing people over... My words trailed off into the nighttime air and I looked up at Rook. My eyes had been focusing on something far away -- on the past, I guess. The moon was full and I could see its gentle light reflecting off his eyes. There were faint lines of tears on his cheeks. "It wasn't all bad," I said, smiling weakly at him. My voice sounded empty. "Middle school was a bit brutal, but in high school I joined a bunch of clubs, got out of the house, made some really great friends. I didn't mean to get you all depressed. You just... you asked about my family." "I know," his voice was subdued. He scooted back, moving from my stomach to the grass. As he did this he took my hands in his and pulled me into a sitting posture. The moon hid behind a cloud as we looked at each other. With the absence of the moonlight, our eyes became hollow spaces filled with shadows. Still our dark eyes stared intimately at each other. His hands slipped out of mine and brushed against my sides. Each found a place on my back. He pulled me close. We sat there for a long time, our heads nuzzling each other's necks, our hair weaving together in a strange pattern of light and dark, our legs comfortably meshed. "The first time I saw you, I was playing the piano. You came in reading a book, and I remember how... you didn't seem to be part of this world." His words vibrated across my neck and clavicle. They were a warm and pleasant purr against my skin. "I saw you there several times," he continued, "And I guess you saw me too." He pulled back and smiled at me, "Because that first night in the rain, you kept saying `Do I know you?'" I punched him in the arm. "I did *not* say it in that goofy ass voice. I mean, sure I was surprised, but I didn't sound like an idiot." He laughed silently at me. "Oh, but you did!" I pushed him to the ground and climbed on top of him. He didn't resist. "No, I did *not*." He smiled at me. I tried to look angry, but failed. "Yes you did," he whispered. There was that look was in his eyes again. I was helpless whenever he gave me that look. I leaned down and kissed him. This was nothing like our earlier kiss. This was deep and long and powerful and *world moving*. His tongue danced with my own as we pushed together. Our hands squeezed fiercely and I began to slowly grind my hips into his. We pulled apart, panting. The saliva on our lips shined weakly in the starlight. The moon remained hidden behind a narrow veil of clouds. "Ok, ok. Maybe you didn't sound like that. But I'm still not sure..." I kissed him again. I pulled back from him and he tried to follow my lips, but I brushed his mouth aside with my own and I moved unhurriedly across his cheek to his ear, trailing my tongue against his soft, warm skin. I let my breath tickle him as I parted my lips and wetly traced the ridges of his ear. I could feel him shudder beneath me. "Maybe... maybe I was wrong. You have," I cut him short with another kiss. My hands slipped beneath his shirt and began gently pinching his nipples. He gasped. Our lips parted again. "You have a very convincing argument," he finished. He smiled and I laughed and then our shirts were off. It was cool outside, and his skin was warm. We rubbed against each other as we kissed and rolled in the grass. My hands were in his hair, rubbing his crotch, stroking his slender muscles. We found mutual warmth together and with each passing second we pressed together harder and harder. I arched my back and exhaled loudly as his hands snaked down my pants and found my cock. He rubbed me even as the blade of his tongue ran up my throat to my chin. I returned my mouth to him, hungry to taste him. He continued to jerk me and I groaned. I broke off our kiss, my air coming out in ragged puffs. Our faces pushed together at the cheek, and I could feel his breath on my neck as I unbuttoned his pants. I slid his boxers down with his jeans, and he kicked them off as I began to massage him. I could hear his whispered moans in my ear as I stroked his man flesh. The skin was so soft, so warm. I couldn't resist. I quickly turned so that I was on my side, looking at his dick, and I took him into my mouth. The velvety skin was enticing -- it made me want more of him. His precum tasted sweet. I could feel him fumble with my pants and soon they came off. The warm wetness of his tongue against my shaft caused me to gasp with his dick still in my mouth. I pulled up for air and moved to his sac. His balls were loose and soft on my lips. My tongue darted out, bringing back a musky, intoxicating flavor. I sucked them into my mouth and then allowed them to slip out again. I returned to his dick, but as I did so I brought my hand up to his sac. I just barely touched him, allowing the feather-light stroke to send shivers up and down his body. He imitated the move, and soon his strong fingers delicately massaged my own pouch. Abruptly, Rook sat up. He pulled away from me and reached for his pants. "I need you. I need you *now*." He pulled out a condom and the starlight flickered faintly on its wrapper as he tossed it to me. I snatched it out of the air and tore it open. He laid back on the ground, his fingers toying with his hole. His dick was hard against his stomach, oozing precum on his flat abs. His eyes were hazed with lust as he watched me sheath my cock in latex. My fingers started loosening him up but he swatted them away. "No. *Now*. I need you now." I brought my throbbing head to his hole and pushed. As it popped through his sphincter, I heard him sigh. I continued to press in, feeling the silky caress of his insides as I moved deeper. In seconds I was completely engulfed. I sat for a moment inside him, panting. The moon came out from behind its cloud, and suddenly we were showered with silver light. His face was flushed with bliss, his eyes clouded with lust. Sweat stood out in beads on his forehead; his chest and stomach were coated in a slick mixture of sweat and precum. His hair fell back from his head in tangled, sweaty locks. He looked up at me. "Fuck me." It was a command. Those words left his mouth and my hips immediately began thrusting wildly. He grunted and whined, pushing himself against me while playing with his cock. My motions were furious. I could feel sweat drip down my neck and run down my body. I could feel it collect in small rivers. I could feel it drip off my balls as they slapped into his firm, smooth ass. "Harder, dammit!" I picked up the pace. He grabbed me around the neck and lifted himself while still impaled on my cock. He moved his ass up and down while I continued my assault. He kissed me and his hair stuck to my forehead. He buried his head in my neck as he whimpered. I fucked him for all I was worth -- my passion and lust and love transforming into a whirlwind of sexual power. Soon my eyes glazed over, as did his. We were completely lost in a haze of feelings -- the tingling sensations, the cool air on our slippery skin, the almost physical moonlight that poured down on our lovemaking. He let out a deep moan as he came. His sperm flew in long ropes against my body and his. I could feel his whole body tense, and his hole clutched at my cock, milking me in a way that sent me over the edge as well. We collapsed on the cool grass, gasping and grunting. Our perspiring foreheads rested together as we caught our breath. His fingers traced my stomach and the muscles in my arms. Mine stroked his hair. "That was the best fuck I've ever had," he said, his smile content. Between deep gulps of air, all I could manage was, "Me too." My eyes were closed and I could feel the road moving beneath us. The worn tires of Rook's car created a physical hum that lingered on my skin and echoed faintly in my ears. The windows were down and wind rushed through my hair like a thousand fingers, leaving my scalp tingling. Rook sat beside me, silently drumming his hands against the steering wheel, creating a soothing, tuneless rhythm. I was only half awake. I was in that place between waking and sleeping. That place where everything is fuzzy and unclear, where everything is natural and accepted, no matter how strange it might be. Where the mind cannot conceive the impossible --only conceive. I was on the border between worlds. And it was amazing. The light behind my eyelids was strange. The natural blackness in my head mixed with the invading sunlight that pressed upon my lids, and together they created a dusky orange hue. Dark shapes moved like oil through that tangerine sea, dancing to the rhythm Rook steadily beat upon the steering wheel as the road hummed. I remember that half dream clearly. I can envision it even now... In my mind I see a tree with blood red leaves, standing proud and lonely against the wind. A man who is nothing more than a silhouette walks an empty dirt road. Somewhere, Rook taps his wheel. The man stops his journey. Seeing the tree, he turns his head toward it. The road hums. Observing only blood red leaves, a wind propels the man's thoughts. The wind is in my hair. The wind is in my mind. A thousand fingers in my mind. In his mind the man sees a tree with blood red leaves. It stands proud and lonely on an island of thought. Dark waters lap a strange shore and a brilliant river of light spills from overhead, saturating the sky. The man observes. Half the world is dark, half is light. The two begin to fuse, and blood glitters on the island, and in one symbol all things join together. Dark and light and tree -- in one symbol they become exalted. The images resolve, becoming that strange orange ocean once again. Oily shapes leak in from the sides of my eyes and begin anew their dance. Rook taps. In the horizon of my twilight I see a solid black line. The car begins to slow. Brakes squeak. The black horizon expands until the orange retreats to the corners of my eyes. "Alex?" My eyes blinked open. The car was stopped. Everything was blurry for a moment and I squinted to draw things into focus. I stretched out my limbs and shook my head, attempting to make sense of the waking world. "We're here already?" I yawned. Rook smirked. "For some of us, that ride wasn't so quick." I smiled warmly at him as I rubbed first one eye then the other. I could hear the lake in the close by. I could hear the trees rustle in a blind wind. I could smell the wilderness around us. I leaned forward as I reached beneath my seat and pecked Rook on the lips. From under my seat I grabbed a book bound in green leather, and I placed it in his lap. Rook looked at me with a question in his eyes. "It's a present." The door clicked open and I hopped out of the car to stretch again. I turned and watched as Rook ran his fingers over the smooth binding. "W.B. Yeats?" he asked. "One of my all time favorite poets." "Where'd you get this? It looks expensive..." "I got it from a library sale. Only cost five bucks. I want you to have it." This wasn't exactly true, but he didn't need to know. He stared at the book and was silent a while. "Thank you, Alex." He leafed through the pages, eventually reaching the bookmark I had left for him. I had marked my favorite poem. "He Wishes for the Cloths of Heaven." Rooks lips moved slightly as he read. It's a short poem, and soon he was done. "Holy shit..." he whispered. He looked up at me in wonder and then looked down at the page, clearing his throat. "But I, being poor, have only my dreams. I have spread my dreams under your feet. Tread softly because you tread upon my dreams..." I smiled. By his tone of voice -- he liked it. "Grandma always used to say that dreams are the only thing worth having." "You know what I'm dreaming of right now?" "What?" He leaned forward and raised his eyebrows suggestively. "Seeing you in that water." We stripped our cloths as we ran to the shore and dove in without a thought. As I'm telling you this, I'm reminded of the words of Joseph Conrad. "Do you see him? (Do you see my Rook?) Do you see the story? Do you see anything? It seems to me I am trying to tell you a dream -- making a vain attempt. No relation of a dream can convey the dream-sensation, that commingling of absurdity, surprise, and bewilderment in a tremor of struggling revolt. That notion of being captured by the incredible which is the very essence of dreams... no, it is impossible. It is impossible to convey the life-sensation of any given time of one's existence -- that which makes its truth, its meaning... its subtle and penetrating essence. It is impossible. We live as we dream -- alone. We were both walking on our dreams, then. But eventually even a dreamer must wake up. After all, we live as we dream... The rain continued to pour as I lay there... alone.