TICKLE TACKLE

      Yorum yok TICKLE TACKLE

Ben Esra telefonda seni boşaltmamı ister misin?
Telefon Numaram: 00237 8000 92 32

TICKLE TACKLEMornings were never lost on us. Especially spring mornings. Early. In ourreverie. Early in the day when poetry made trees greener than the daybefore. And grass more springy and fuller and richer seeming. More thanloam. And the beauty of the sky was crystal fragrance. As has never beenbefore. And the joy at ties of rainbows or chandelier dawns was that theywere shared together. And we touched up in our morning bed. Stretched ourhands and found each other, close and closer still. Not had to sail theworld at all, after the moment we first met and first were born.We slept naked on these still cool mornings. Light came under the partlydrawn shades of white. The cars passed by singly and every so often. Thiswas a small town. This was a town that had survived a harsh cold winter.It had survived for this moment, as day touched earth, as we touched eachother. We were our morning fields, and after we came back to our bed,after the bathroom, we held each other as though we were morning lights.All the ones that had come before and all the ones that had come since.And if we sexed, it was ballet, and it was sighs far more than size, andit was hands that knew the temperature of a pulse, that knew thecommingled rhythms of hearts. And we loved because we were lovely, and ifwe were not models for Vogue or GQ, we were perfection for ourselves, andour legs touched and our legs leaf folded together and we fell into thegraciousness of each other’s arms. And we spotlighted each other’s eyessoft and sleep filled still, with our own. We were nothing without eachother.As our penises hardened, and our balls tightened. We were envelopes oflove for each other and of each other still. Some people wait for emailor the post or a phone ringing or a door bell chiming and they wait along long time. Maybe for all of their days. We speak our love songs andour words are wind chimes and telephone bells. We touch to each other’schest and play with each other’s nipples, hardening them as much as ourcocks, and the phone is answered, the mail is delivered.We wish never to leave this age. We wish never to go to classes or taketests or have lunch or dinner. We wish to be young forever and vow it so.Our hair is long and our jaws are slender and our muscles are slightlydelineated and we are making love now, as Heaven makes the sun outsideour dorm window. Peerless sunshine, slanting through the shades. Castinghim, my love, in light and shadow as strawberry color somehow, and wehold and are together. Nothing in the world will split us apart. We havecounted each other’s cells. We have paced the thoughts in the topographyof each other’s brains so brazenly, so carefully, so artfully, bahis siteleri that weknow the very grooves of each other’s brain.We remember c***dhood together. We remember the first time we saw eachother in the seventh grade and knew we were destined forever, blond andblond, and hopeless with Math, each, and terrified of bullies. But soonthe days took us and protected us and we were the days, as the calendarsays March fifteenth, we are March fifteenth, we are the seasons. Weembroider the sky with fleece and bleach up the blue to just the perfectshade on the palette of the sky. We are the warm eggs of our testicles.Just as we are the warm eggs and toast and bacon, succulent, food onmorning breakfast tables.We are the runnings in the dorm halls now. We are the ringing radioclocks. We are the rock music turned on and turned on loudly. We are thecoolness of life. And we hold each other’s cock as we have for so manyyears since the eighth grade when he said can we please try this? don’thate me for it….and we have been bulwark and snow and shifting autumns,and we have been the aroma of Number two pencils and Blue Horse notebooksand the cold air of d**g stores and the sharp acrid smell of paper backbooks there that soaked up medicine smells and made us always rememberthat aroma from c***dhood, even now, when we read books.And books we read, my God, name books we have not read, name books thathave not had our hearts encapsulated in them, our minds enchanted bythem, and holding hands with invincible invisible writers, with long agowriters, we found ourselves, for we are imagination come into reality andwe are the locked dorm room door and we explore as we physically devourwith our hands and our mouths the constant virgin flesh of one another,as our eyes devour the virgin white pages and black ink words of books,and we are so giddily in love.We have not, since we first saw each other, been lonely, though god knowswe’ve been sad often enough, when we have to be apart, when we have topretend we are not lovers. The pure and insoluble ache of not being ableto hold hands when our hands crave the other’s. In the lunch room or inclass. Boys and girls hold hands and laugh together and kiss sometimes onthe quad and sit under the campus trees and cuddle, and it saddens us weare not too able to do that. Our dirty little secret, that started thesex play from a limerick perhaps and such fumbling and awkwardness andthe sad fact our penises would go hard when we were in our rooms at ourhomes, thinking of each other but not when we were with eachother–Embarrassment, the early years.We love in secret and we love in shadow but we love and we are makingeach bets10 giriş other cum now and we want each other to shoot in our mouths, and wewant the day to start with the liquid from the deepest parts of us thathave been harvesting it all night as we slept close in each other’sarms, as we dreamed away from each other, and our bodies planning to cometomorrow, to come in a few hours, to come at sun rise, to come a minutefrom now, to come now, and to feel his seed in my mouth, to drink theover spill of him and he the same for my over spill. And out side someoneis revving up his motorcycle, gunning it over and again, so he can tellthe world what a big dick he owns, as hunters (or as we call them mostdisrespectfully, hunners) shoot a****ls and birds, with their prostheticpenises, which gives them big dicks as well apparently.We have come equipped with ours, and there is nothing in the world wrongor hurtful or lonely or crippled and we are narcissistic, not of ourselves, but of each other, for as long as we two are one, then morningwill never die and will never melt into afternoon. It will always be onlyafternoon and night for temporaries, because when we come back to thedorm after classes or see each other at lunch, in our eyes there are thepanes of morning and there are the hills of fantasy come true in hisbrown eyes and my blue. He tells me I have the bluest sea in mine. I tellhim he has the most beautiful tallest mountains of brown in his. And weare together because the world does not want man to kill himself yet. Theworld does not want religion or politics or just plain madness to takeover and strangle life on the planet, and thus there are we, and if wedon’t know to use our magical powers for others, instead of just foreach other, give us time. We are still college sophomores. Even we haveto learn how to grow and think deeper and the need for depth and he playswith my buttocks and reminds me I am naked, as I play with his and remindhim he is naked.We wear clothes of the other. It is as though we have exchanged eachother’s flesh and mind and body and soul, as though we love each otherwith such an intensity that we give everything we have to each other. Werelinquish every cell, every organ, every molecule to the other, and howthen could we be narcissistic at all, I ask you?The motorcycle still revs, the cyclist getting his dick inflated as if byan air machine. The dorm raises holy hell of voices and shouts and laughsand music playing, and they try to damage the air around us with the din,and with the stupid words and the stupid music of some sort in order tofool the gears of their brains that they are really and truly alive andaware of sentience. We however know otherwise.In a few minutes, we will have to get up and shower, not together, weshare a bathroom with another room, and dress and hold one last time andthen walk down the hall of oblivion and out the door to infinity where wewill not see each other for an entire two hours–god, how do we standit?, how do we survive being under the ocean of not having our lungs andheart and bodies and eyes and nose with us all that time. We live theother. We exist the other. And the last thing we do before we leave theroom, after we dress, embrace, before we gather our books to head out tothat sea of not him, we tickle each other silly.And some day we will have more than whole weekends to ourselves. We willhave banished the whole grimy sad horrific world around us, the worldmade by idiots and lunatics and monsters, and we will figure out how tomake spring last forever and love to be not just a gift between the twoof us, for we love this lonely world of lonely people, for we know deepinside how they feel, we remember back when, and also, though we’ve nottalked about this very much if at all, we can’t get close enough to eachother, there is a self that possesses each one of us, and refuses to letus break free from it. We will spend our lives trying, but this membranewill be forever separating us, closer we, than anyone else, and now hebending over to get out of bed, I touch his bumpy arching spinal columnas he sighs so sexily and he reaches back his gentle soft warm hand andtouches my left leg, high on my thigh and I harden, as he turns his faceto me, says I love you and I lean up to kiss his lips and then he stands,unwilling to go, and walks to the bathroom, first knocking on the door,then going inside. I watch him naked. I see him naked.And I know we are each other’s and each the other and how tremendouslylucky we are. And I hear the sun rising more. Rise away and make a lateafternoon sprinkle of rain, warm and friendly and not too wet, so we canrun through it back to our dorm, maybe hand in hand if we find braveryinside us. The shower is running. The times we have showered together, wehold and softly wipe with soap and cloth each other in the tingly waterflow, and our dicks get big, touching tip to tip, and we jack standing upagainst each other, hands on each other, outlining our forever newbodies, my head on his chest sometimes, his on mine, lusty lovesupporting sighs, and we have our own penises that kill no a****ls orbirds, that rev no motorcycle engines, that are used only to make twohuman beings more in love with each other, not with ourselves, but witheach other, than ever before, and I think, lying there, stroking my againhard on that is wet still from his mouth, what in the name of god iswrong with that?The sun paints the day. Life is good. It will get even better.

Ben Esra telefonda seni boşaltmamı ister misin?
Telefon Numaram: 00237 8000 92 32

Bir cevap yazın

E-posta hesabınız yayımlanmayacak. Gerekli alanlar * ile işaretlenmişlerdir