Date: Sat, 12 May 2007 21:34:36 +0000
From: Timothy Stillman <menovember@hotmail.com>
Subject: Boy in Their Summer Trajectory

Boys In Their Summer Trajectory"
By
Tim Stillman


(For Francis--my good and personal friend)

Any feedback is very much appreciated--thanks, Tim

Boys in the summertime. Yawning and stretching in their beds. Rubbing their
penises in the early morning. Finding their friends stiff and ready. Boys in
the summer attics, reading comic books and their lives away. Robin and
Aqualad, where are you? Don't you want to go bare swimming today? School is
over and boys run to tables for breakfasts and drink their milk, pretending
it cum. Drink the morning sunshine gold in their heartbeats. Boys in gear
for their run. Bare chested and short shorts, barefooted in the grass of
summer yards. Feel of sexual. Feel of masturbation five times in one day,
and laze and sleep the rest of the summer away. Boys for baseball and for
group examination. Boys in shorts and boys naked in their rooms. Proud of
their developing bodies. And isn't that a little pubic hair finally too?

A world of boys and bicycles and long summer hills. Riding their legs like
pistons on their trust metal steeds. Dressed for themselves, dressed for
summer heat and long down winter winding roads no more. Boys of red hair and
black hair and blonde and brown too. Eyes of all the colors of the rainbow,
whispering pastel most of the time. The scene of boy hood, the creepy little
frogs that youngest hands catch, before letting go. Boys in shorts with
their penises an arrow, round the fine neighborhood they go. Feeling their
oats and feeding their fancies with the summer sun blazing down on them in
break through summer mist. Call all boys and feel the dissention, and feel
the nervous fingers and hands and muscles and legs and arms and hearts with
this powerful pump of a beat. And when mom finally goes to work and no one
left in the house but a singular boy to pretend fucking and to cum so
finally and with all the interior sucked out of him, let him know that in
that five minutes of bliss, this is the will of summer and the beast of it
and digging his toes and fingers into his bed spread, touch the summer clock
and please never let me go.

Boys all sexy and boys all pondering, and boys kissing up lips real close.
And boys measuring their hard-ons with rulers, and boys touching each other
you know where. Boys masturbating and could that be some sucking each other
off? In gentle spread washdays with the smells of summerhouse hold products,
Spic and Span and Windex and Joy dish washing liquid. And summer homes where
school does not intrude and the gentle summer trees in the yard are full of
fecundity as it the grass on a series of plotted square summer lawns.
Nothing on loan here, filled with erections and balls that grow tight all
the time. Feel boyhood and feel the reflections of a naked boy lost in the
lake of time. The air seems all gold and blue these days, as summer starts
to unfold its flag of freedom and books to read and movies to see and TV
shows in the day time to watch, and holding their penises secretly with
their hands in their pockets and jacking off gently with stealth a
forethought as "I Love Lucy" plays again for the millionth time before their
eyes, and they seeing not that but into their dreams that can always and
forever become summer candy. Create a love, create a boy not of mirror
variety, but one who is there and when you are mas--, say jack off, it's
cooler man, there would be another boy of light fingers stealing your heart
away as he touches your prepubescent penis and says let me try, as you give
over to him and he knows exactly the right way to do it. And he puts his
face next to yours and it is beautiful swan and peacock and silver moons at
night time when the day gives way and lets shine sparkle off lightning bug
lights and blink moth killing lights on summer porches as the night comforts
and gives you a hand in leading to warm sleep and warmer tomorrows when you
run the down length and breadth and side wise too.

All boys and all summer leading on a fine thin leash, all the wires attached
to the moments, attached to the fireworks leading to the Fourth, and catch
ball and swimming pool municipal, where boys can shower before going in or
dressing again, and can play with their own balls just getting them clean
after all, no big deal. And the summer you remember the joy of first
cumming. The wonderful giggly feel of it and the smiles through your body,
of course it will take some cleaning up so Mom doesn't notice but now is for
effluvium and now is for rejoicing and pennants and carnival music, that
will come with the rag tag carny at the end of summer, but for now it's all
beginning as your penis clicks and clicks and pours out even a little bit
more of boy froth, and you look at your penis and balls and your body
amazed, thinking this is me, and this is my name, and I am a boy and I am a
person and I am suddenly crossed the wide gulf, for I am somehow pulled
together as one, I am suddenly somehow imagine it--me.

And summer moves to heat and humidity and you take in a movie or two, who
cares what it might be?, IT'S COOL INSIDE, the banner outside the theatre
reads in frosty and icy words, and you go to the dark for the ten cent
matinee and you watch horror films or even things that bore you to tears,
but IT'S COOL INSIDE and that makes it worth if, even if you have to endure
Pat Boone singing "April Love"--quick, someone, gag me with a spoon. And
summer is for running and summer is for flash pasting the world in all its
happy finery. All the smiles Bergman promised are here at your doorstep, and
friends are to be found just across the street. And if DC comics rejected
your latest letter to them, it was fine, because they sent you a post card
thanking you, with drawings of the faces of Superman and Lois and Jimmy and
Perry and Clark, treasures you put with each other and think the cards came
all the way from New York, right from within the DC comics building. Where
summer is songs and dancing on lawns at midnight, and some one fine late
night, taking your life in your hands, building the courage from now to
uncertain tomorrow night, filled with stomach butterflies and daring and now
and run in the dark house, having become somehow bare, and out the door to
the front yard of darkest night--god you think I must be quite mad, which of
course you are, as somehow in that fear you managed to sprout a boner, and
wave it up and down, without even touching it with your hands, which in fist
form on the sides of your hips and proudly saying silently the whole goddam
lonely world, hey, over here, come on, world, suck me..And then adding in an
addendum of mind whisper..please..before running fast as hell back to the
house and to bed, covering up and  shivering, knowing and knowing somebody
saw you and with much guilt sweating weeks away before letting up on the
fear. And for forever stunned that you actually stoked your shy terrified
self to do it^Å.

Summer and ice cream wagons and summer and Dairy Queen parfaits, and summer
and the drug store with swimming gear and Coppertone, and the paper back
rack where you bought other people's dreams and raced back to your summer
time finally air conditioned house, and sat in your bedroom, in the rocker,
with your tennis shoes shod feet on the bed and read the summer afternoon
away with books of treasures "Too Friendly, Too Dead" and "The List of
Adrian Messenger" and "Warrant for X" and "Stories From The Twilight Zone"
and a glass of lemonade on a TV tray by your bed. Thinking don't end, don't
pull me away from brocade skies and soft morning winds when a boy every July
morning came to your door and he was your friend.

And summer and night time after lime sherbet, then to bed with fresh smooth
white sheets, covering over in the sprinkle of dream lights and tomorrow for
cinnamon toothpicks at the corner grocery, and hills to ride up and ride
down like the Flash and doorsteps to walk up and away from for good and down
town with deeds of nothing to spend and spending with such easeful alacrity.
To be in a body of boys part of a splendid complex variety, to be a child
and to have secret pleasures that were found in the vicinity of this
wondrous thing called a penis that you rubbed at night and felt so orgasmic
good, that drifted you off to soft sea sleep, and in the morning the summer
sun would turn on its light again, sure as clockwork, and the day would say,
now, boys, what next?, what can we do in our days so very fleeting, and oh
yes, I have an idea, I had completely forgotten, forgive me summer, you in
infinite kindness and largess and summer heart sun, have introduced me to
me, and it's off and running at six a.m. the next day and it's a friend
running by your side, when everything was new and you believed in forever
and there it was, right there next to you, sweet smelling newly cut grass
and tasting like peppermint leaves and little wax bottles with juice in
them, the bottles you ate of course, that tasted so delicious, and there it
was, forever and tomorrow running with you, right at your side.