Stories - By Ian Duncan
Throughout that night our desire never faded. Hours passed; our bodies grew tired. Yet this unceasing hunger for one another kept us from collapsing in exhaustion.

At last we slept. In his sleep he remained silent, his big body still curved as when he was lying against me, his arm thrown out where my head had been resting. I slipped in at his side and fell half-asleep. I wanted to touch his penis again. I did so, gently, not wanting to wake him. Then I slept and in the morning was awakened by his kisses.

Later I discovered that I was expected by John to have been an elusive encounter, disappearing as quickly as I appeared. I stayed, however, not being able to remove myself from the presence of this man who had captivated me. I filled each of my days with thoughts of John, yearning thoughts. This longing never eluded me. In my dreams I felt the touch of his roving hand and of his beautiful voice washing over me in its hypnotic sensuality. In my nightmares I felt only his absence.

The next time we met, John came to Hamilton to visit me while he collected reading material for his courses from the university. Near the campus was a small house John once shared with another student. We walked to this house to see if this friend was still there. After knocking repeatedly nobody answered, but finding the door unlocked we went in. Some things were as John remembered and he knew his friend was still there. John wrote a note for him telling of our visit. I sat on the bed where I was able to watch every movement of John's body as he leaned down to the table to write, taking in every part of him.

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