You are the potential for pain within a gleaming mountain of ice. You shine there, in hot summer, at the northeast corner, talking to Bob. 

You're telling him he's on the way out, and I've been let in. I know exactly what you're telling him because you and I just spent three days together, and you couldn't possibly remember anything else to talk about. You're not talking about sex though. That's not like you. But you're getting the message across in some way. You could be talking about how luscious you feel, and assign one of a great number of lame reasons to it, as long as you were making it known the lame reason couldn't have been Bob. And I know what you're telling him because I can see the way his face is no longer his. Now it's jerked by your lusciousness, which has nothing to do with him, and which he cannot even fully see.

I am on the southwest corner, watching. With his back turned almost completely to me Bob doesn't know I watch. But you see me as you touch his arm, as he quickly draws it up and into himself, away from your touch. And suddenly I want you once more. I would tell you to bend over the couch so I could see and touch and fuck you from behind. I'd revel in your waiting for what I'd do, and the lusciousness of your responses. I'd be the one waiting: for you to twist your head just to see me, and to let me look into your eyes. I want you once more, watching you from my corner. 

Bob was just a mistake, now you know. His shoulders lower; his head lowers. In hot summer your cool touch becomes pain. You're mine, and I know what you're saying, and you know what I'm thinking.

Bob slowly begins walking away as a bus halts between us. You blow me a kiss from your corner when the bus finally moves on, while Bob is still only a few yards away from you. 

You blew that kiss to me beckoning, the other day. 

I thrust through your pursed lips and you squeal a muffled joy. You suck at me, then let your lips travel, root to tip, and a lick. Your lick turns to a tonguing, and a wrapping of your tongue around my cock. You're very taken by your own arousal, I'm sure, but I only see it as you being taken by sucking my cock. 

Bob has made it across the street. He looked back once. 

You nestle your head between my legs and inhale me. For days we find each other in the delight of each other. You have feelings for Bob, but what does that mean? You are not obliged to continue a journey on a path leading you astray. You find yourself in me, and you send him away by showing him your absence. 

Keep looking at me, through the crowd, the traffic, the noise. My breathing has changed. You move your hand to your breast, in a gesture of breathlessness.

I watch you turn and leave. Bob is gone from sight, and you are walking west. I call out to you, and people passing by turn their heads, some toward me, some away. I watch the sway of your body and the bounce of your ass become less distinct as you leave the corner. 

Now it is night and we are together. You tell me that when I touch you it is a new touch everytime. My fingers brush down your cheek and I think about Bob's arm withdrawing from you, and the kiss you blew, and your receding ass. You hold me like you are trying to squeeze memories. I can only say it's you, not me who is new each time. Your fingers wrap around me and you squeal. Life must be business-as-usual somewhere, but not here. Everything here is as certain as you wish it to be, and as lasting. 

I still hold you as you fall asleep. I remain awake, thinking of Bob, and how quickly he withdrew his arm, and how slowly he walked when he had to leave. 

Copyright © 2001 john e. All Rights Reserved. May not be re-printed in any form without express written consent of the author. Do not copy or post.