Tuesday, 27 November 2007

Short Stock: A confessional epistle ten years in the making

I don’t remember your name. I wish I did. I spent the entire bus ride, trying to place the letters to match the name, but somehow, it eludes me. And I feel saddened by that. It’s as if you have never existed at all, all those nights spent in bed, those days spent talking.

But I do remember the first time I saw you. You were in the hot pool of The Spa, your dark fingers playing with the bubbling water and your eyes following the steam crawling upwards to the ceiling. Your dark skin was such a beautiful contrast to the white backdrop of the pool and through the haze, I could almost see the outline of your body and the endless curly wisps of hair that clung on to your beautiful chest and your wide arms.

You looked at me with those eyes, those dark infinite pools, and you smiled. At me. And I was blinded by it, my mouth hazily smiling back at you. Your body lingered a few seconds in the pool, and then you decided to join me. Oh how I enjoyed drinking the sight of you, with every drop of that pool clung to your dark skin. It’s as though every bubble was singing a chorus “Stay with us! Stay with us!” But no, you chose me. The shape of your body was intoxicating, and by the time your ass lifted itself out of the water, I had already melted in my ecstasy.

You joined me in the wading pool, and introduced yourself. Oh, if only I could remember your name. We spent some time talking and chatting about life and work and everything under the sun. When you said that you were a doctor, I could hardly believe my ears. I mean, how could those arms ever be gentle and caring in their mass? But as I learned much later on, those arms were capable of so much gentleness.

We started to carelessly discover each other’s bodies underneath the water’s surface. Your hand crept to my hardening member and gave it a gentle squeeze. My hands found your legs (so well defined) and crept up to your ass. They were so firm and round, every muscle and every hair placed exactly where they should be. Your dick was amazing, especially for someone of such short stature. It too was rock hard, and from the shape of it, I could tell I was in for a ride. It was hilariously thick, and much later on, when I engulfed your member, it was sweetly gratifying to feel it rub against the back of my throat.

For someone so small, you carry a big stick.

When I ate your ass, I was in heaven. I love hairy men and you epitomise beauty in so many ways. I wish I could still finger you now, to have you moaning in my fingertips.

I don’t know where you are now. I have so many questions to ask. How are you? Did you like my collection of Armistead Maupin books? Who are you seeing now?

So many questions. I don’t even have your number anymore. Damn it.

4 comments:

Chris said...

Hi, I can't find any contacts on your blog. Can I ask you to send a note for me? My email is in profile.
Thanks, Chris

Quentin X said...

The one that got away?

dean said...

parang may naalala tuloy ako!

ruff nurse-du-jour said...

aaaw quentin i was thinking of the same thing! :-)

the one that got away. :-(

i love this post marcus. so heartrending and poignant. sana mahanap mo ulit siya. :-)