The Arc of Passion Illuminates the Crystal of Desire
Outside the window, Heavy above the roof tops, The sky became A volume, Night's immensity.
In the garden below his window, skirting the tenement, the color of the leaves and the flowers had dissolved into the darkness.
The moon was full, hidden behind a lattice of multi-textured clouds. The room was rose from a red bulb. Half a dozen candles standing in the lids of old glass jars bleached that rose with an amber tinge. The mirror offered him the only companionship, making him his own, only sharer.
If you were in a certain frame of mind, the way he looked was definitely a turn on. He stretched, straining, writhing with excitement. His hard, well-wrought, naked flesh was set off by black webs of intersecting leather straps and silver links of chains. Yet if you weren't in that receptive, almost solemn, frame of mind, if you were in another frame of mind, if you thought about the every-day world, his contortions were grotesque; his regalia was comical.
Aaron knew that, and he managed to get himself enough into a trance to feel the thrill of being hypercharged. After the blast, after the shake, after the convulsion, after the agonizing pleasure of release, he felt shamefully ridiculous. It could not be too soon that he could rip off his fetishes, the clips that pinched his nipples, the straps that bound his wrists and ankles, the chains that circled his waist and chest and thighs, the choker around his neck, and wash away all the remnants of his debauchery, sponging the bathroom tile as well as washing along his inner thighs.
But he could not wash away the memory, the remnants of what might have been and of what had been. He only sharpened it. Thinking of what had been, and had ceased to be, made him grit his teeth as the smart of a never-dulling pain forked his soul like lightening in a mad sky or the sudden touch of a thorn.
I have hurt you, Charles had said. Perhaps it was not, he went on, unintentional. It might have been cruel. That I won't deny, he said. My ability to be cruel is something I value. It is an erotic asset, you might say. It gives me the power to cause pain. But it is not mean. I am not mean.
How can you say it was not mean, that you are not mean when I stand here stripped of everything I once had, including my dignity, my hopes, my possibilities, my life itself shattered, begging? Aaron said. And still I'm left without anything, not even you.
Do not doubt that I have suffered, as you have suffered, to see you suffer, Charles said, stopping him. We have crossed a world of pain together. Your suffering opened wellsprings of pity in me, flooded me with a tender regard for you that I had struggled to feel, that I had not been able to feel until I had caused you pain, he said. I knew I was capable of it, of feeling that way, but until I made you suffer, I had never been able to make it happen.
Aaron shook his head; he feared the confession.
And it excited you, Charles said, when you realized you had to surrender. It showed you who you are.
It showed me who I don't want to be.
Ah, said Charles, that is a different matter. I have given you the best kind of gift, the unwanted gift. It beckons you to inadmissible desire.
That is why, Charles said, taking Aaron in his arms, now I can hold you with the greatest tenderness, gaze at you with a profound softness, and kiss you with the most soul-shattering delicacy.
And he did, and caused such vertigo of surrender that Aaron almost forgot his anguish, and realized that he had, only at the end of the kiss. It was like waking from unreal dreams of phantom happiness back into a world where only dread and despair and failure appear to welcome you.
But you are leaving. Aaron complained.
Yes, I am leaving.
Now, when you have drawn me irrevocably to you.
There is no other way.
No other way?
There could never be this exceptional intensity otherwise.
I'm not sure I want it, if that is the price.
The beauty is that you have no choice.
So the gift you have given me is really an ache.
An ache, Charles said. Yes, call it that.
A poisonous gift.
It is not a poison that kills but invigorates.
In that Charles was not altogether wrong. It was the kind of poison that transforms, like a vampire's venom, the afflicted, endowing him with the traits of the one who has afflicted him.
Not much more than a day after Aaron expels passion, despite his intimation of how ridiculous he might be in his enflamed state, desire commences again and makes him blind with need.
He covered the streets, the subways, the ground at work, wherever he was, for kindred souls driven by the same forces, worshipping the same erotic deities as his own. He wanted to be with them inside a solemn, passionate ritual, to press against the boundaries of pain with them and be driven into ecstasy.
No one likes to live in anguish. Yet anguish is a force that must be reckoned with once it has pressed its teeth against the soul.
Aaron grits his teeth and bites down. The shadow of an indistinct image brushes over him and disappears but makes in its passage a shatter, like electricity, tearing him as it passes through him.
He takes hold of the lamppost and presses a hand to his forehead and stares across the street.
The traffic flows until the light prevents it. Simon looks at him as he crosses towards him.
He says hello. Aaron looks at him, hardly seeing anything. He lowers his eyes slowly and raises his head and looks at Simon. He smiles and only says, Hey.
Hey, I want to take you to bed, Simon says slowly.
Let's go, Aaron responds, unsmiling and solemn, a little defiantly.
I have to warn you, Simon said as they approached his apartment, I keep an altar in my bedroom.
There was, in front of a mirror, a small marble table with a smaller wooden lectern perched on it across from the bed. Aaron had thought at first that Simon was being metaphorical.
There were lighted candles in crystal candlesticks, vases of flowers, variously colored stones, a basket of fruit, a small loaf of wheat bread, and several groups of three or four significantly related Tarot cards.
Aaron was fascinated by the sumptuous arrangement, which included his face, when he looked at it, fixed in the mirror. As he looked at the scene he became the center of this erotic cornucopia of an altar.
What do you do with it? he asked.
I kneel before it and meditate worshipfully focusing on sensuous beauty.
I want you, Aaron said, putting his arm around Simon's waist and drawing him near him.
And I want you, too, Simon responded.
But we have time, he added, removing Aaron's arm, winking.
No touching, he said.
Aaron looked confused and possibly dismayed.
Not yet, Simon said.
First let's take off our shirts, he said.
They were pleased with each other.
You want to touch me.
I do, Aaron said.
I want to touch you, Simon said.
So what's stopping us?
The sense of our unworthiness.
What? Aaron said, somewhat lost.
Simon smiled at him.
Sit, he said.
Aaron sat, and as Simon directed, gazed into his eyes as he gazed into Aaron's.
We only touch with the eyes, he said.
Why? Aaron said, very slowly.
Because that way we learn submission.
What's so special about submission? Aaron asked.
You'll see, Simon said. Now be still.
Aaron was still and felt a force in Simon that was taking possession of him. He was hard, relaxed, and eager with desire.
Simon regarded him. Stand up, he said.
Aaron stood, feeling himself beginning to surrender to being submissive, being obedient, doing reflexively what he is told to do.
On your toes, Simon said.
Aaron stretched himself, only wearing now a pair of jeans.
Take them off.
Aaron was nude like a statue.
You look good. You can be one of my things. Don't move. You're a thing, remember, not a person.
Aaron's eyes dropped shut and he stood like one of those stone carved Greek models of masculine grace.
Simon walked around him as one would around a piece of sculpture, surveying him, touching him, breathing warm kisses on his neck and whispers in his ear telling him not to move as he kissed his mouth and then withdrew and refused more kisses.
Come, lie down, Simon said at last.
The two lay in an incomprehensible embrace. Aaron flowed in and out of himself without any sense of anything but an ineffable pleasure that he had never before known.
So, I'm never going to see you again, Simon said as they exchanged names and phone numbers the next afternoon.
We'll see each other again.
When? Simon challenged.
When do you want?
As soon as possible.
Now?
Now.
May's beginnings filled the air with the clean wet smell of the last trace of a rain shower left over from the departed month.
Simon was laughing and Aaron waited until Simon took him and pressed his lips to his and ran his hands up and down on Aaron's naked torso.
A shiver brushed across as Simon ran his finger like a feather over where he would penetrate him as he held him in his gaze.
After a length of time, it is, not necessarily tedium that starts setting in, but something incredibly like it. One spirit is tied to another, but desires are on their own.
Aaron shook his head.
I did not know how you would respond.
Did you imagine I would be angry or cross?
There was the possibility.
Now Simon shook his head in contradiction and smiled gently.
Are you going to show him to me? Am I going to get to see him?
Do you want to?
Why else would I ask?
Because you want to test my intentions.
I am tired of your distrust.
Aaron was reluctant, after this unfamiliar sort of encounter with Simon, to call Sam a little later, as he had promised he would when he kissed the boy good-bye and plugged his number into his cell phone.
He let the phone call slide and each day that he did not make it made it more difficult to make the next day.
Simon asked him a week later if he had seen him.
I didn't, Aaron said with a pout of petulance.
That does not make it any better.
But beyond that, he let it drop. They went about as they had before, but something was missing.
It was only by accident that Aaron saw Sam again, and Simon was with him.
When did you two meet? he asked, astonished, as they sat down outside at a café on 73rd Street.
I was leaning against a lamppost on Christopher Street and he stopped and stared...
Gazed, Simon interrupted, elongating the word.
...call it what you like; until I said, What you lookin' at?
And I said, I won't tell you unless you go someplace private with me.
And I said, Lead and I will follow.
Do you remember me? Aaron asked looking at Sam with new eyes.
Of course, I do, Sam said. I keep a list of all the boys who stand me up.
Hey, Aaron said, that was...that wasn't...
But it was impossible for him to say anything, to pick any words out of the jumble of confusion that throbbed at the back of his throat.
I wanted you, he said, finally, very much. Haltingly: But that was just the trouble.
Tell me about it.
Please don't be unforgiving.
It was your loss, Sam said, touching his finger to Simon's lips and feeling the breath of Simon's kiss on the tip of that finger.
I know, Aaron said, feeling dizzy.
And do you know where you fit in?
No, I don't, Aaron said, without being able to filter fear out of his voice.
We've got him scared now, Sam, Simon said registering the fact.
The easier to get him to do as we say, Sam answered grinning.
Simon pushed the check to Aaron, Aaron pulled a ten out of his wallet for the three coffees and they walked back to Simon's loft, the three of them.
They all knelt, stripped, in front of the primaveral altar and shared a pipe of marijuana.
Darkness had fallen and the room was gold with candle light.
Sit at my feet, Simon said, tapping the floor.
Aaron kneeled by his feet and put his head in his lap, his arms round his waist, and breathed easily as Simon stroked his cheek and forehead.
You're afraid.
My heart is jumping and my stomach is sour.
I'm not going to get rid of you. This is all part of your training.
How did you know he was the Sam I told you about?
Because I found him on your cell phone.
And you called him?
I did.
Did you tell him...about me...about...us?
After the first time.
You waited?
I like to make my knots tight and strong when I tie men up.
Have you tied me up?
Have you tried to escape? Simon smiled.
I never considered I was a captive.
Do you see now that you are? Simon said caressing the back of his neck and the inion above it.
I guess so, Aaron said.
I meant it when I said you could be one of my things.
Aaron nodded his head, sadly, seriously.
Simon lifted Aaron's face to his lips and kissed him. Aaron swooned.
Sam was on his knees by his side. When Aaron lifted his head from Simon's lap, he turned his head and found his eyes stopped by Sam's gaze. And then his mouth, by Sam's kiss. He responded with a kiss like a breath from the depths of his chest. Simon gently rubbed the back of each one's neck, one with the right hand, one with the left.
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