"A Life on the Stage"
By
Timothy Stillman
Yo Love,
Here I am again.
The word. Love. The magic of it. The sound the taste the look of it. Like a sea shell all pink and virgin on the sea shore, under a copper sun that burnishes it and hides the shell to itself for eons perhaps. Till someone comes to it, pick it delicately up, and holds it to his, close, deeply. And sees inside the pinkness, the wonder, the hidden chambers that just seem in sun and shadow to continue onward, down and down.
Until the man's hand is locked to the shell. His veins are attached to it, not in a trap, but in a plea for freedom, for truth, for joy, and from that shell there is the pungent smell of desire, the need of the man holding if, to be naked, the need for the sea to surround him, and the sun to pound its lust into it, knowing somehow then, that the world is in that seashell, that is huge, much larger than the world, that there is the man and his erection and it pounds deeply too, it throbs as he puts the shell now boy now man now child now grown now born now matured to himself, and holds diffidently, turning away if need by, but the young man stops him, and with the lips of the shell opens his mouth and there is the roar of the eternal ocean of the universe inside him.
It is you, it is him in some nascent plan to conquer all the hatred and all the indifference and all the spite and lies with pure unspoken by words, love. To think of the first time your jism comes to ignites from your penis tip and explodes and you lay on the beach with him, and the sky is so blue it hurts the eye to look at it. But the sky is in his eyes too, and you both caress each other's flesh, you from the earth, and he from the sea, and he will tell you a thousand lonely stories of all the people who walked by him all those years and never saw him and how it is that sea shells weep, for they do.And save for the hair on your heads, and your pubic hair, your bodies are bare and burnished like coins from Zeus, and there is no one luckier than the two of you, and your balls tighten as he tentatively touches them, and he puts his mouth to your nipples and bites them delicately like a grape between his teeth so hungry, and you feel the electricity grow up you, go up you, and your penis is a stagpole,..
..your penis and his cross with each other and duel with each other and dance on their own and with your hands on them, change from one to the other, so you are both masturbating, and neither of you know which cock is your own, because it does not matter, and earth and sea become one, and you pull each other closer, and you each reach for the others buttocks, and fingers pull the globes back and feel the pink seashell inside them, the constant sea inside them, and you are moaning and pistoning and your faces lick each other and your hearts beat together, and you are filled with sand and love and rocketings of emotions, that spear you and destroy you each in turn and then bring you back to life again......and you come on your lover's noble face and you hold your dick and it just gushes all over his beautiful tender eyes and his cheeks and
... splashes in his mouth as he laughs and you fill him and fill him......
...as the stages continue on, and man must have his day.
Thank you for your beautiful letter. You have brought out this in me. Please do write again. Take care, Tim
Timothy Stillman comewinter@earthlink.net