Date: Wed, 13 Dec 2006 04:49:36 -0600 From: Timothy Stillman Subject: Dreams of Winter Dreams of Winter By Timothy Stillman (my other stories are in the extremely prolific authors section, and my new website is novemberhourglass.tripod.com--Please visit--thank you Nifty for giving me the chance to have my work read) Tag and Teft moved quietly in the winter of their dreams. Crossing and re-crossing their legs with each other; quiet like first sex, maybe first love is, ten each of age, locked in the cages of themselves; stern looks--what would your father say?--beatific looks--what would your teacher say?--and they themselves, Tag and Teft naked in their house, while their parents were out at one of their innumerable Christmas parties, leaving their sons home alone, smiling and naked on the living room couch, the TV turned to Christmas decorating, and themselves, heads back and eyes willing and legs crossed and feet on chests, and arms round each other, all these machinations, all these pretzel amalgams done in fleeting seconds, all couched by their loving and hard three inch penises, they knew because they measured, even a bit of an inch would count, and this was fine, for they were identical wines to each other; they were suburban kids gone to private school, and all of the world was winter and snow and Christmas next week, and they each other's own best presents. Caught in the nexus and caught in brotherly arms, there and slender, and their and torsos rising up and down as they coveted and squirmed and delighted and fancied and danced their penises against each other, one boy on stomach, the next on back, and feel the muscles quiver and feel the bodies perspire a bit from the too warm fireplace; this of distance and that of protoplasmic goop that would exit their penises one day, one day; but for now dry cums were excellent enough, and their pink bodies and their big smiles and their little jingle bell balls were there for the fields of boys to play with, to play in, to be played with, all the tingles of nerve endings, all the bums held up for the other to see in three four or more mirrors of varying sizes all around them, as they turned to raise their legs at the mirror perched in front of the couch, and spied their arseholes, and they joyed in them as one put his finger in the other's and then they tousled and then they remained as they were always there, always boys, always brothers and knowing the intimate, knowing the secret moments of their hearts, there with their favorite position of the moment, sure to change any second now, each with his head at the arms of the couch, their legs playing leg games, and their penises there to be untouched until the rifle arms reached out and grabbed and blew their hearts wide open, to see the season of love inside themselves, inside their heads that were lost in swimmy liturgical thoughts, as though there were prayer meetings inside each one of them, as they now were kneeling in front of each other, looking at the mirrors on either end of the couch, and seeing their swan backs and their long brown black hair and they embraced and they did it for each other and for themselves, to feel and touch warmness, and they did it for the mirrors too, pretending they were camera, pretending this was being filmed and put on the `net, and then boys from all over the world could see how true brothers behave with each other. As they wiggled their naked rolly butts as they kissed each other's lips hard and tongued each other's mouth, feeling so hard and good and sexxxxxyyyyy with their tongues dueling in the sun of their most happy hearts, as the fire light and a ceiling light on dim were their only room lighting, as they touched and tingled and tasted and enveloped the young boy smell and taste of each other, wondering secretly, for few word were said in this tableau in front of the huge picture window, the thick drapes covered and all the doors locked, and the alarm clock on the floor by them, set to go off a good hour before mum and dad came home at their appointed hour, though mum and day were always late coming home, but there the alarm was set just in case they dozed off to sleep in each other's arms, and there were their candy canes and there were their mouths, and one to the other, smiling devilishly, they took their canes and offered them up, did Teft and Tag to each other's lusting mouths, and took them inside lying 69 on the couch on the thick shag carpeting in the much too large much too expensively appointed living room here in the house on the mountain that said money and more some, but the boys found the richness of themselves in themselves, and could have been poor as the proverbial church mice, and it would not have mattered, the tattered clothing would have held the same brothers in transit to removal of clothing, as the rich clothing did, and it was boy naked and sucking, and boy reaching out for balls and boy feeling his own balls touched and held and stroked, and then the season of giving was the firing of each penis, one after the other, in the other's mouth, and they felt so giggly warm happy in this, and their penises spasmed and then again and once more and four times for good measure, and the boys lay their with the brotherly penises at each other's faces, and they breathed warm on the hard candy cane boy sticks of joy, and it was nice to close eyes and hold brother tight, hold mirror image reflected by all these mirrors around them in mirror image after the boys down the rabbit hole once more. And so thinking, Teft touched Tag's buttocks and Tag returned the favor, and they felt so warm and satiny and sexual beyond all measure, so while Mum and Dad were at parties after parties, that did not stop after the Christmas and New Year's, while Mum and Dad had their incidental affairs, and had stopped speaking to each other for some months, and used their sons when they were around to convey sentences necessary from one parent to another, and they thought their kids did not know what was going on, and their `rents thought they were finding happiness in sex and calling it love, but Teft and Tag were not morons after all, and when they heard and saw their parents drinking too much and fighting never in front of the boys, but screaming matches from the master bedroom, and that one fateful night of summer last year, when their `rents were really going at it hammer and tong late at night, Teft, or was it Tag?, climbed into the bed of his brother and they were scared, had never heard screams like that before, even from them, and they held each other and they were crying, were Teft and Tag, and they were naked save for their Superman Underoos, and soon they had them off, and were clinging tightly to each other from the storm of screams and words of hate bitter and hurt bitter more, and they had to get inside each other's skins, to hide within themselves no longer but within each other from here on out, and to do that, they had to be categorically naked, for their `rents words were like lightning and jerry bombs and horrible pitchforks aimed straight at their sons who they never had given a damn about in the first place let's face it we've been on our own from the beginning, and if a brother intercepted a kiss that was first a grimace that terrible/wonderful night, and if brother arms held round each other and they nuzzled together, orphans in a storm, then discovered that the `rents words were getting less loud, not that they were really less in decibel, it was just the boys heard them less because they suddenly became--aware of each other-and scrunched up grimace turned to what they had never received from anybody else at all, a soft delicate shy trembling--kiss. And they had been doing what they had been doing here ever since because they were Teft and Tag and they were invincible. And the world was just a sketchy hologram compared to the real actors on the vague boozy stage of those adults around them who had the temerity to call themselves parents, as some man in the movie on TV said to his girl he wanted to give her the stars and the moon if he could, two little boys wrapped in each other's arms, the taste and texture and feel of loving and sexing their mirror image who turned out to be so totally different from each other, their legs entwined, one hand on the other's buttocks, the other hand on their penises, small now, but to rouse soon if the boys woke in time, and before the alarm clock woke them up and they would have to dress and put the mirrors back and rush up to their room and to their beds and pretend sleep, like that man and woman whoever they were pretended they were alive and living and intelligent and brave and adult and real and that they cared at all about their children--but they would wake in time and they would blow each other once more--the mirror images in mirror images and love and sex a few days before Christmas, and the unwrapping of Teft and Tag and how they winter dreamed in school, counting the minutes till they could be alone at home together, and they were alone at home a lot more every passing week it seemed, and they refused to think about divorce, and if one parent got one boy, and if the other had to go with the other parent, like they were cuts of meat to one customer and then to another, no, they would not think about that, they would instead hold their faces to each other, their cheeks to each other and dream their winter dreams and never let me know. So, from Teft and Tag and me too, Merry Christmas, everybody.