"Te Adore"
By
Tim Stillman
They placed their hands side by side on the bed. Thereby pledging their love. They kissed. And it was the first time. For both of them, as they touched tentatively each, the other's shoulders. They kissed tentatively. It was winter, and warm in their dorm room. They pressed their lips against each other's more firmly now. Each trembling a bit, each daring not to get excited, for there had been sadness in each boy's life that had gotten to the bone, and they dared not trust, as they sat side by side, fully clothed, trusting.
A small nervous laugh escaped one of the boys. They drew their faces back a bit from each other. One thought, "Te adore, Antone." He did not however have the courage to say it. They smiled and were each other's entire world. They would need no world save for the other. They would live here in paradise forever. One turned a bit to the side. They wanted this to be a movie and to know what to say and do. They wanted the bad memories to go away. They both were thinking of "West Side Story"-"you're making a joke?" says Tony to Maria. "No. I do not know how to joke like that. And now I think I never will." If they only knew and if one had only said.then one boy leaned his head and placed it on the shoulder of the other. They felt each other's warmth. The sensuality and the boldness each felt, and thought, in all their clumsiness, they were doing it correctly and definitively, though at the same time, knowing this was not so. "Te adore, Antone" the other boy now thought. With a rush of fear. Keep it like a movie. Keep it like a movie.
They wore long sleeved shirts and thick jeans, though each was barefooted. The rug under their feet felt warm, soft, nubby. They turned, not in synch, to each other again. Sitting side by side, directing only their faces again to the other, the one boy having lifted his head from laying on his friend's shoulder. They kissed again and tasted mint and Listerine simultaneously. A tongue darted to the other's lips, then darted back, shyly. They both had erections. Their love had been a slow one for one of the boys. Fast, the very moment eyes laid on, for the other, in a split second. Neither believed the other was gay. Both said they were not. One lied.
The boy who fell in love immediately knew his heart would always be here, that wherever he went, he would be coming back to this moment. When he saw him. And fell in love. And such a long time later then-this.
His friend had had girlfriends and did not really pay much attention to him for a long time. Then gradually and incrementally things happened, nebulous things, inconsequential moments that turned on a hair and then were gone, but had left such a wake of impending revelation behind. For one, sustenance. For the other, curiosity and sexual desire.
They had seen each other naked. Going to the shower and coming back. Partly naked. Dressing for classes. Sleeping in their underwear. And silent snow was out tonight and Christmas was up ahead, and they sat on the bed and could not remember who had made the first move, if indeed either had made the first move. And the boy who was so good, seemingly so, with the girls, no, who was good with the girls, was so clumsy now, so trembly. Just like his friend.
One touched the other's crotch and held the outlined erection beneath his fingers. Traced it. Made it jump. The erection throbbed. The other boy held his friend's erection the same way. Traced it. Made the erection jump.
They felt to the core of each other. God, each thought, God. "This was real. God. This is really happening." Rosemary Woodhouse to Anton LeVey, Satan himself.
That this was sex and beyond and doors opening inside them and they felt freer than either had ever been, as they kissed not like trying to figure out why and how to do it, playing it like they had seen in films, but in their own way, in their own to this point individual worlds, but now they kissed hard and tongue tips touched. They held each other. One said, drawing back, nothing. Started to say something. Then they kissed. This would be done without words. Words could trip a person up. Words could drive the other away. Words could mean each or one or the other was taking this seriously, and was ready at a moment's notice to say oh come on I was just kidding around, you know that.and the other would laugh and say, sure thing, course, me too, let's see what's on at the movies tonight. So. No words. Each thinking then. Words. And what would come to fill in the blank of their absence. They felt so tenderly warm. They wanted to be closer than it was ever possible to be.
One's hand reached into the other boy's shirtfront, and down his chest to touch a taut nipple. The other did the same to his friend. And then their bodies turned finally to each other and one lay on top the other. They rubbed their bodies together. They rubbed their hard ons together. They lay side by side now and unzipped their jeans and each boy pulled out his own erection. Their eyes looked so closely at the other's and their own, and then then lay beside each other and held and groped and pulled out shirts and felt chests with feverish hands.
They were a parabola of sheer human deliciousness. The boy of the girl friends had never felt so needful and so fulfilled, though he still preferred girls, he knew, and would think so, after this, long after this. And they pressed their faces together, their cheeks together, and their naked chests were adhering to each other. They had no chest hair. They were thin and had long hair. They had long legs and their penises were sculpted perfectly, just the kind of penises each boy knew the other would have. This of course was the first time they had seen each other's erection.
They played with the penises. They laughed and felt good. They kissed each other's necks and they felt the throbbing of the pulse in those necks, and with their hands, the pulses in those cocks, and balls, (I'm really feeling them! Utter transcendence and joy-don't get too carried away, don't let him trap you into being a dodo, easy does it) but right now, there was the need of electricity, to shock each other into rampant sexuality, to push them over the edge into, not what they guessed they should do next and next, to what they wanted to do next and next. They felt fashion go out the window into the cold snowfield night. They felt the instrumentality of each other replacing the instrumentality of how it should be. For one, the matching of how he made out with girls, to resemble how to make out with this boy, used as a template. For the other, the dreams and secret masturbation at night when his friend was asleep on the other side of the room. Making impossible love dreams. Sex dreams. Fearing to be found out. Wanting to be. No dreams. No imitations. Themselves. Now.
And they were out of their clothes soon, all tangled, awkward; the shy boy fell down on the floor as he tried to get out of his jeans. His friend helped him and they were laughing, but then back to this, and this was being naked with each other, out of the envelopes that had restrained them and covered them and hidden their bodies and they looked at each other, all over. They felt each other and touched and examined, as though one boy was an alien to be contemplated after millions of years wondering who lived on those stars and planets up in the night sky.
Then the other boy felt his Earthling counterpart's body, thinking the same thing. Their cocks together felt funny, felt odd, felt unique, felt the warm and hardness, felt the throb from penis to penis, felt the skin and the ridges and the heads and the edge at the bottom of the heads which provided a nice place to rest your fingers against as you masturbated, and to help you gage yourself, like a little ridge on a ruler, to give definition, to define the border of territory.
They were in the light of the lamp on the nearby table. There were enough shadows however to make it even sexier. The wind outside howled. Snow would be piled up even deeper in drifts before morning came. Please, one thought, don't let morning ever come. They were at this point, lovers.
They had not talked much, as roommates. They knew a bit about each other. Backgrounds. Bare bones stuff. Now bare naked stuff. And now they explored and now the shy boy took this huge step and leaned his face down and traced with tongue tip, his friend from neck to navel and then to abdomen and then stopped, hands at his friends' nipples. He tasted wonderful.
He wanted to do it. But he was so scared. This could be the thing that made it all go wrong. Guys jack off as kids, sometimes with each other, because to them it was just a joke, but not to him, and it was terribly unfair, when he wanted to do what they didn't care about, with them, and he wasn't allowed--but to suck his friend's cock, this was where his friend would push him away, or bash his head in like Joe Buck did to the man who came onto him in "Midnight Cowboy" and kill him for sure.
There was a moment of tension in each boy. Each deciding in his own way, for his own reasons, and for reasons both boys had that they had not thought of. They were passionate now, far from the adding machines they had been in the stick figure leading one the other up to this if one led the other at all, but now they stopped, and now they were perspiring and now each boy felt his friend's body tightening, alert. The shy boy looked at his friend's erection, harder it seemed than even before, and he breathed warmly on it, and the penis trembled a bit as though it was a frond on a palm tree on a South Seas island in lazy eternal summer salt breeze. He felt his friend's hand on the back of his head. To push him away of course. And to die him for sure after this one way or another.
But the hand was pushing his head down toward the waiting penis, so he did it slowly, nuzzling in the sparse dark pubic hair and then his hand to the hard device that held his lips to it almost as though the penis were kissing him.
He examined it, the slit especially, and touched it with his tongue which made his friend sigh and raise up on his elbows and look at his roommate now taking inch by inch his cock into his mouth, expecting violence at any moment, but his friend felt the warmth and wetness and the teeth and tongue and his cock strained and his balls were large and they felt so tight they might explode, so he put his hands hard on the back of the boy's head and made him less shy by the second, and the boy, heart throbbing hard, he's going to let me, he wants me to do it, and was so incredibly excited, and he developed the rhythm of being a cock sucker.
He rushed his lips and slowed down and then at the urging of his friend's hands, pushed up and down in rhythm, and then far far too soon the cum and it rushed into his mouth and it was his friend rushing into his mouth, it was his friend's life, the essence of the boy he adored, the adaptation of the most secret thing his friend had, the most romantic feeling and tasting and textured giving of love-making love-that was what this was.
Yes, and he swallowed and enjoyed and thought, you do make something when you make love, there is a symbol, a talisman in white liquid thick, there is this precious product that comes to you from your true love and it is inside you and it makes you him for a moment and gives you cause to reflect and remember that it is waiting, he is waiting, to make love again, to make this miracle and sacrifice part of himself to him, to say this is my sacrament, this is the blood and the body of me, take and eat..
. And he lay his face down next to the penis still hard, his face on his friends' left thigh, and he feather touched it with his eye lashes and his friend held him and pulled him up to him and to his face and they held faces against each other, and they thought the same thoughts, but still could not say them.
There would be the punch line, or the oh well I tried it once god it was awful get away from me. That was more what it would be. But his friend held him round the chest and back like in a vice grip; and those eyes looked into his and he looked at this boy whose essence, whose love was still tasted and now in his stomach and it was not awful, the taste of it, the feel, as he had feared, but quite wonderful, because it was from his true love's, and he tried not to think it, because he knew this would not last and it would hurt him the rest of his life when it was over.
It would cling to him, the memory and he would cling to it, and throw his life away in utter despair afterwards. But he could not help it. He loved him. He had not called a quorum to discuss this falling in love business. He just had. It was beyond him.
In his friend's eyes, he saw romance. For him, please, yes. For a time. Before his friend went back to girls and hearts broke in the night from everywhere and everyone in the world past present and tomorrow and he was positioning himself in the crook of his friend's arm and laying his head on his friend's chest. And each thought, as the not so shy and shyer still boy felt his own cock massaged by true love, that he was about to make love of his own and he prayed his friend liked what deep inside him was stirring for him and him always, alone, and alone. But for a moment they rested.
And each thought, again, but this time, at the same time, "Te adore,
Antone." Neither one said it however, as his friend moved slowly to the straining boy's arching (and bigger than his friend's, hehe) hard on, and touched it with warm breath. It began. The being made love to.
If one had had the courage, the trust, but they could not trust, already too many sad things had happened to them, and after a time, this would be another one to add to their lists-
If one had said "Te adore Antone," it might have made a difference. The other boy would forget in time. But the boy who fell in love with him at first glance, would always wonder if he himself had said it, or something like it, would it have made a difference? Would they have been together now? No, he knew it would not have. But still, he would always wonder, and know that that was what kept him together at the same time that it tore him apart.
His friend began to feed.