The First I love You...

You said..."I love you". And the most I could do was pull your body
tight against me and say it back with the warmth from my body and the caress of my fingers. My tongue tried to find an answer but still found the pursed phonetic of love too bitter to reply. My body instead spoke the sweet reply which my heart insisted.

Saying from the heart lives still in a hollow redoubt of insincerity. Doing from the heart finds worthy purchase upon fingertips and silent lips. A harried word burns the brittle, gasping tinder in a brilliant but momentary flash. Gentleness rolls upon the windswept grasses and reaches the soft peaks of the highest planes at a steady, willfull pace.

Is the peak jealous of it's outer most edges which first feel the soft breath of change? Or does it savor the first tickling glances of desire, knowing it will soon be enveloped entirely?

This is the dance. This is life, sex and death in folgers crystal. These tiny steps we take are only the first but they pave the way for our fate. They need to be soft, gentle and patient and most of all enjoyed. What comes will come but you and I are not in a place to predict. You and I cannot know the outcome nor can we hurry it. If we do, as both of us want to sp badly -- we will miss the most important and intimate times.

I will miss your blush when you become too comfortable with me to tint vermillion. I will miss the way your head tilts downward despite your eyes fighting to lift you, gazing submissively into mine.

I want to dance with you. I don't want to fuck you. I haven't fucked you and I can't imagine what it must be like to fuck you. Those boys. Lying on you. Being inside you yet not understanding where they are. Fucking ignorant of what kind of creature holds them, trusts them, uses them. Wandering off the next day believing they accomplished something but never being able to explain exactly what. Missing it. Missing you.

I'm not missing you.

I still feel every where you have touched me. Every spot your lips have sought, a slow burn still lingers. A stamp from the night before bursting with memories it cannot possibly contain. Proud knowing that it came from your will and your desire.

My neck. My face. My lips. My tongue. My cheak. My chest. My fingers. My stomach. My legs.

My cock.

They beg me for you again. They beg your touch, yes. But they desire the will behind your touch. Your deliberate desire that moves your body across mine searching for a way inside.

I am in awe of you. I am gutted before you.

You have already found a way in.


- Letter, February 26, 2005