This time is me who starts the game. We have come to Anxo's attic. He inherited it from his uncle, who was a sensitive writer. One can perceive his degree of sensitivity by taking a look at the attic, at how it is decorated and furnished; at how the light comes in through the windows, at how the furniture, plants and pictures are located in the house, at the colors used,... He didn't want to change anything from his uncle's home.
We're sitting together in a modern white sofa of rectangular straight lines in the parlor, opposite the TV and in front of part of the terrace glass door. The light is starting to disappear. It's half past five. We sit arm in arm, just listening to the lovely sound of the falling rain and our breath. I wink him my right eye. A slight smile is formed in his face muscles. I open my legs and seat on him. I lick slowly the left side of his neck. I sit on him face to face. I stare at him, and he stares at me, awaiting my next step. Our tongues and mouths meet in a lascivious kiss. I suddenly take his jersey off. He sighs when I lick and kiss his haired chest, paying attention at his nipples. I unfasten his black leather belt and throw it away onto the floor. He contemplates the show with a special enjoyment of the wonder of what will happen next. And... I undo the buttons of his jeans; one by one. I carefully caress his bulging equipment on his cotton briefs. With a sign of my eyes and eyebrows to the right I make him understand I want him to move into the bedroom, since the game goes on on the bed. I feed his faith with a brief French-kiss. Slowly I stand up and take my clothes off. He stands up and takes his jeans rapidly off, runs childlikely into the bedroom and jumps backwards onto the bed with his arms open outwards. I go into the bedroom. There he lays, my sexed angel, with a naughty smile in his face, awaiting with great enjoyment of what will happen next. With a soft jump I get on him. I kiss him once and over, and over again; thousands of times. I feel electricity along my skin when our bodies contact. Our blood throbs faster and faster in our veins at the heart rhythm. Our breath becomes deeper and more intense. I explore his whole body, tracing new routes along his skin, calling at every pore, discovering never seen places. I kiss his mouth, his neck, his cheeks, his hair, his eyelids. Profound peace. I lick his neck; he trembles. I lick his chest, his waist, his buttocks. I interlace our hands... and, I make him mine...
Our bodies lay embraced listening to the rain, naked at the gray light, spending the slowly passing-by time.
Bernie Wrightson, 1948-2017
1 week ago