Wednesday, January 12, 2011

For Him

For him.

Our bodies, twisted, serpentine, writhing across the sheets. A trail of cotton marks left behind, stretched and distressed from the weight of us together. My arms around his chest, grasping him from behind. His hands at the back of my head, as he sightlessly reaches up and around, armpits exposed and elbows pointing at the ceiling. Our sweat glues us, back to chest, shoulders to shoulders, hip to groin. My mouth on his. Our tongues twined together, the roots of two water-hungry trees, permanent and joined.

For him.

Connected. Flesh to flesh. Hardness to softness—hammer meeting heat. Together we’re creating sparks that seem to light up the pitch dark room. With every thrust, he cries out. Grasps at me. Pulls me in more deeply, craving more. Cum from his ass joins the sweat, adhering us more tightly. My pubes are soaked. The hair on his ass is matted and wet.

We shift. I rest on my back. His ass rises. He’s lying atop me now, still joined ass to cock, legs spread wide, hole open, lips swollen and puffy. He’ll sting for hours after this fuck, and think of me. My hands rappel down his ribcage. Fingertips tease his nipples. Nails dig into his legs. Every sensation makes him call out, howl to some invisible, personal moon in the bedroom skies. My fingers circle his meat, lightly, so lightly. He thrusts up and through the loose circle I make, cock angry, as swollen as mine.

He hates the teasing. My hand closes, grips him. Like a madman he thrusts, buckling and taking my dick along for the ride. This is for him, all for him, and I let him know as I whisper the words into his ear. I doubt he hears, doubt he can distinguish one sensation from another—word from touch, sound from thrust, or scent from blinding flash of pain and pleasure.

I whisper that I love him. Hot as lava, the eruption that soon follows. Off the Richter scale is the ferocious quaking of the floorboards. He seizes, and strains. He’s not breathing—he’s heaving, and huffing, and rasping for air. His eyes are open and sightless. Twin craters form where he digs in his heels, vast and bottomless.

I cannot tell where my self ends and his begins, but if I could be any deeper inside at this moment, I would.

I hear him telling me he loves me. It’s the last sound I hear for some time. I get my wish, and seem to grow an extra inch in size. I cement our reunion a second time, hearing nothing more than the rush of blood in my ears, feeling nothing more than pulse, and heartbeat, and the warm blanket of him covering me, surrounding me.

For him, I said it was. But for me, as well.

13 comments:

  1. As a work of literary expression, this entry ranks among your very best. You constantly dance on the high-wires of language to create such striking images - original, never-before-thought-of, and yet stunningly apt and inevitable...."howl to some invisible, personal moon in the bedroom skies" is simply brilliant.

    As an expression of love, though, it's still more powerful. Your connection to each other resonates with mutual concern, need, and fulfillment. The depth of what you're feeling is wrenching to hear about.

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  2. Thank you, Jon. And thanks for watching last night.

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  3. I am repeating my comment from another posting, but this is really phenomenal writing. Not just because it isnwellnwritten but because there is such fiercely focused passion in the way you recount your adventures. A stark contrast from fucking to making love. Well done.

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  4. Loki,

    Thank you for that. I definitely am happy to hear it.

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  5. Rob, your passionate love has changed you and your writing. At this suspended time of you life as you have a house to yourself and family far far far away, you have this rare gift of a home in which to fulfill your desires unencumbered by your domestic existence. It may be transitory, or might be transformative, and you are living fully in each moment so deliciously there is no reason to ask how long and where to this love shall go.

    I am full of complete envy and joy for you. What you have is rare and beautiful and you both have let those words of love encircle you in its intensity and heat and divinity.

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  6. Jayson,

    Gosh, I think your comment is a lot more sensual than anything I've ever written. Thanks, my friend!

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  7. Wow, that's what you call passionnate love.
    Great writing and another great one to read.
    Seeing both of you like that is great and wonderfull. You're so into each other that you forget averything else and that you live in the moments.
    I wish you more moments like that sexy man.

    Yves

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  8. You're in deep, Mr. Steed, in every way. Another tour de force of erotic writing - loving the sharp contrasts of each bout you have had with Spencer. Your strong grasp of metaphor careers the reader into the present of your time together. You firmly planted the image of rappelling down Spencer's ribcage showing both a command of him and the language you use to describe your shared passion. No wonder the volcano took over once you'd uttered those three potent words. Was that that first time you have let it slip?

    Yours aye, Westie

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  9. This just titillated both my dick and my brain. Howl to some invisible, personal moon in the bedroom skies? Genius.

    anonymous tony

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  10. Yves,

    That's the kindest thing anyone could have wished me. Thank you.

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  11. Westie,

    No, it wasn't the first time I said those words. Not by a long shot. It was the first time I've written about saying them. That took more courage than ever uttering them to begin with.

    Thank you.

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  12. Anonymous Tony,

    Your genius is extremely grateful for the kind words. Thank you, sir.

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  13. This one gave me chills, sweeping through me, starting at this point:
    Together we’re creating sparks that seem to light up the pitch dark room.

    How do you make me feel like that just from writing about you and Spencer? Lord, I cannot imagine what it would feel like in person.

    Awe.
    JPinPDX

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