Wednesday, May 11, 2011

The Memory



“I want to remember this moment,” I said. It was late, and dark, and I was sleepy. Hour after hour we’d kissed and licked and touched and stroked. We’d kissed and held each other tightly. Our hard dicks had pressed against each other, relentless and straining. I was afraid that all those instances of pleasure, all those little pinpoints of desire and need, all, the tiny sparks of humor and sweetness would begin to blur together into one vast and sweet wash of memory. I worried that in the stress of the days to come, I’d forget all the little nuances that made the evening special, and that left me feeling happy and perfectly at peace.

My forehead rested against his shoulder; his long hair covered me like silk. “You want to know how to remember something?” he asked. I felt his lips against the crown of my head. “Just close your eyes. Count to three. And remember.”

I closed my eyes. Then I counted slowly to three.

And I thought about how, when we’d undressed that afternoon and I’d raked my beard down his stomach, pausing here and there to plant warm kisses on his hard, flat stomach, his throbbing dick had overflowed with so much pre-cum that as I watched, the fluid puddled and beaded on the outside of the black jockstrap barely constraining him.

I thought about the sound of his voice when he’d read his poem aloud to me, how broad and wide my smile had been as I basked in the sensuality of his words, and how, at its conclusion, I’d opened my eyes and tears spilled down upon my cheeks.

I remembered the noises he’d made when I’d buried my face into the blond fur growing wildly between his ass cheeks, and the sweet, metallic taste of the flesh just inside his hole.

My mind played for a moment on the downy softness of his close-cropped beard, the exact shade of a perfectly-baked golden-brown cookie, and it remembered the gem-like color of his eyes, and the narrow dark fringe of hair that were his eyebrows.

I smiled to remember the giggles into which we’d dissolved, when I asked him to show me how toppy he gets with his college boys.

I remembered the delicacy and narrowness of his hands, the slenderness of his waist, the solidness of his ribcage against mine, all the times I’d pulled him to me and wrapped my arms around him.
I thought about all the compliments he’d given me, the array of beautiful superlatives that seemed less a burden and more an honor to bear.

And then I opened my heavy lids, and smiled.

When he spoke, he sounded puzzled. “Man. How long does it take for you to count to three?”

19 comments:

  1. Lovely. There are moments that counting to 3 takes lifetimes. :) Love you.

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  2. Sounds to me like you remembered all the best parts. :) That night was so special to me, I could never pick out just one, two, or fifteen moments and call them my favorite. I would be doing a disservice to the thousands of other moments that made me so happy I wanted to melt down into you, that drove me crazy with need for you, desire to keep touching you.

    That night was amazing and every day since I left you has been a blur. The only true memories are of my time with you.

    -Ace

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  3. Also: this is the nicest thing anyone has ever dId about a night with me. Thank you.

    -Ace

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  4. Man, that is one of the most wonderful post you have ever written my friend. That night was special in every way for you and you deserve to have time like that happening to you. What you wrote is so sensitive that when i read it, my heart was in the top of my throat and tears almost came out of them. You are, my friend, the most special person that i know and would love to meet one day. You are who you are, the greatest and kindst person that i know and i am proud to have you as a friend.

    Yves

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  5. Dear friend Steed - These past weeks' posts and comments touching on your impending uprooting and transplantation have me thinking often of the huge task in front of you. Looking back over a largely-complete move of my own I think I have some sense of the magnitude of change you are undergoing. I've had it easier, I think... I suppose I'm just saying that my thoughts will be with you over these coming many weeks.

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  6. Writer,

    And I love you back. Thank you!

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  7. Ace,

    No, thank you, for being so open and sharing. Not just with me, but with my readers. That takes a lot of courage.

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  8. Eugene,

    I'm glad you enjoyed it. Thanks!

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  9. Yves,

    You always think my current entry is the best. That's probably the best kind of reader I have, actually. :-)

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  10. RedPhillip,

    Yeah, it's going to be a rough few weeks. I'm glad I'll have some good times to reflect upon while I'm going through it.

    Thanks for thinking of me.

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  11. My friend,
    I always think it's the best but that one surpass all the others. That one come front the heart and you have one of the biggest one, and thank you for sharing a lot of it my amazing friend.

    Yves

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  12. Smokin hot image today.

    Ray L

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  13. Blogger chowed down upon and digested a good ten or more comments this last week. I'm sorry if you made one of them and are looking here to find it.

    --Breeder

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  14. This is, quite simply, the most erotic of photos - and your writing. Truly beautiful. Thank you!

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  15. What a beautiful follow up to the last post of Ace's poem. It is an honor to remember along with you and to catch (more than) a glimpse of how you felt. Again, thank you both.
    JPinPDX

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