I feel like there's something he wants to tell me but he can't express it through words, I was thinking that maybe you can help me figure what he wants to say?
Or am I reading too much into this this pic? Am I seeing something that just isn't there?
[PHOTO: A close-up photo of two shirtless men facing each other. On the right, one leans forward, head turned away from the viewer, his right arm behind the other's neck to cup his chin from the far side. The other looks at him with beseeching blue eyes, a forearm sideways against his chest.]
Sincerely,
Gabrielle
Genre: contemporary
Tags: male beauty, shyness, first love, hurt/comfort, disability, despair, love
Words: 4,713
REFLECTIONS
by Justin South
As always, my mind surges in a rhapsody of shameless wicked love when I gaze at him. His beauty stuns my senses, a euphoric accord of orgasmic splendours. His eyes mesmerise me, their colours a miasma of delicate hues, of tropical blues and greens tinged with subtle ambers. His lips intrigue my desire, arouse my libido, ignite the furnace of my lustful mind. Who could resist his enchanting, sexy allure? Not me. Not as I glance at him across the aisle, avoiding him noticing my covert licentious curiosity, more so, my long held, rampant, frustrated infatuation.
On occasions he glances my way, appearing to notice the familiar faces and raised newspapers, not making eye contact with any nor meeting my furtive stares, or apparently discerning my swift evasive head turns towards street scenes. Other times, on hot, sunny summer days, I hide behind wraparound shades, facing ahead although riveting my gaze on him, absorbing the symmetry and craftsmanship of his beauty, again not annoying his attention, let alone arousing interest. Sometimes his eyes smile to thoughts, oftentimes they seem to signal a wary alertness, possibly reflecting sadness, or conflict or pain. I wonder what bothers him. Maybe, he is burdened with a work problem. Or is lonely. He seldom grins, but who does when journeying to work, lost in one’s mind? Recently, when he peered my way, I challenged my bashfulness, nodding barely dimpled cheeks, not detecting reaction. Perhaps, my sudden morning greeting confounded him, or he missed seeing or chose to ignore me, or is shy? Who knows?
Today my heart fluttered, my body warmed to an unexpected rush. Today, he looked at me, his directness surprising me, meeting my defensive response, snapping my head away. Yet, in the window reflection, I saw his lips curve and eyes soften, conveyed on a graceful, unobtrusive nod, honouring me in friendly recognition. I return a nervous, pensive acknowledgement, dimpling my cheeks and half closing my eyes in happy response, ending by resting my gaze on his lips.
Those lips I crave to feel brushing mine, crunching mine and exploring my cheeks and nose and eyelids and forehead and chin and neck and ears while writhing and grinding and rolling and groping and moaning in delirious naked ecstasy on black silky sheets bathed in moon glow. Those lips I yearn to romance my body; dance my nipples, tickle my pits and assault my navel, raging the bonfires of innate lust, before creating frenzied frolic and havoc with my excited cock. Later longing, after similarly enchanting his body, to lie embraced, cocooned in tender, beautiful bliss, exhausted, cooling, reviving our energies. Sweat beads my forehead, cheeks burn, eyes blur, my breath quickens and restlessness rages between my legs. I return his nod and polite smile again, noticing his raised, questioning eyebrows.
How I hunger to taste, inhale and explore his exquisite beauty. To roam my hands over the perfect features and chemistry of his face, and trace the outline of his flawless beckoning lips, those majestic providers of my oral fantasies. To feast my eyes on the beautiful flushed shades of those manly lips converging to his surrounding delectable dark tanned flesh, like sunset gently greeting dusk. How I wish to discover the splendours of his torso. To finger and lip and lick his strong defined chest and nipples, those tent poles under his body-fitting polo-necks he now wears, thankfully replacing bulkier winter garments. And to sink the implements of my quest into the valleys of his abs, and rub and doodle them over their muscly plateaus.
How I desire to nuzzle my face into the cleft of his cool tight jeans, to open the zip with my teeth and free his ample bulge. To lick and grope his cock with my lips through his briefs, seeing the bloating excitement, feeling the heat, seeing salivated outlines of its exquisite tumescent features under the taut, stretched cotton. How I long my teeth to grip the waistband and rip the elastic to his ankles, to bathe my face in the aromas of his manliness, burying my nose in the huskiness of his pubic playground, and taste the delectable flavours of his virility. How I want to feel his manly excitement in my hands and between my lips and cup his butt cheeks in my palms, and scrimmage in voluptuous delight, our hard hot leaking cocks viced between our bellies. My heart screams to love him. And make wondrous love to him.
I wish he could be mine, to end my loneliness, to release me from the closet of cloistered life and unwelcoming attitudes, to free me to enjoy my body’s cravings. How stupid am I? He occasionally wears a ring, he must be married! Nevertheless, I gaze peripherally at him as he readies for his stop, watching him rise, focusing directly to better view his slender body form and visualise his athletic torso, naked. I ogle his buttocks, wishing my hands roamed those two neat half pearls of soft pliable, curvaceous flesh, sinking my fanned thumbs into his divine, sweet cleavage.
Again he stuns me, twisting his lithe body my way, blessing me with another faint lip and eye smile and nod, adding the gesture of a delicate wave. My eyes blaze, appreciating his friendly farewell, watching him alight into the drizzle. As usual, I stare after him, worshiping the glimpses of his taut butt cheeks, undulating under the tight denim each stride towards his regular destination, the coffee shop on the corner. I dream of those cheeks cupped in my hands as my lips pleasure his cock, tasting the dew drops and harvesting his seed. Two stops later, I raise the document case off my lap to depart. Bugger! Another sticky patch.
****
Memories of his farewell invade my mind, rendering concentration impossible. After numerous attempts to start writing the article, I give up, opting for an early lunch, to check out the coffee shop, intrigued by his friendliness, aroused by the hope of seeing him. I enter to whiffs of coffee aromas and tender, stirring notes of bouzouki strings, and gaze over numerous coffee bean burlap bags stacked about the floor, their tops rolled revealing their contents. Above, displays of cheese wheels and quality olive oils and vinegars fill shelves, inviting inspection and sampling.
Their bouquets blend with freshly ground beans and espresso brews, causing mayhem to my drooling epicurean senses. No wonder he heads here every morning I reason, praying again he also visits for lunch. Overhead chalkboard menus roil my salivary glands, causing anguish deciding a low-fat lunch, settling for a roast lamb sandwich and Greek salad with long black special blend. I meander to the remaining seat at a table in the small eat-in area, presided by a Goth chick, her face a junkyard of metal piercings, her fingers gloved in odd medieval ring things, her body seat-dancing to music from a bud in one ear, her mobile clutched to the other. She nods scant approval to share while finalising a date between blowing gum bubbles. I munch the sandwich in silence, gazing ahead to the serving area thinking what I’d do to him on a date, blowing more than bubbles, my steel-hard rod seeking piercings elsewhere.
My jaw drops. I see his face pass behind the counter attendants, delivering a tray of coffee packs to the cashier, her resemblance obvious. I drop my head, sinking my teeth into the shaking sandwich as another burst of bubble gum splits the air, wishfully thinking of splitting his cheeks and bursting my nuts in lascivious ruckus on the stacks of bean bags. To twist and roll and clench our naked bodies in arousing passion over the open tops, spraying beans and cheeses and oils and vinegars about in ecstatic disarray. To slide to the floor on cascades of beans from split and overturned bags, blending them as we grind and crunch and hump our pelvises and bellies and chests and lips. To writhe and thrash and squirm our oil g
listened, bean streaked bodies in torrid steaming, slimy, aromatic fervour, our sweaty moaning excitement brewing our desire, our hot cream erupting in contented satiable bliss. I raise my face to sip my mug, feeling flushed and sticky and heady and grimy, and open my eyes into his staring gaze. My dazed eyeballs lock to his until he beckons me to a door, signed ‘Staff only’. Bewitched, I enter three paces into his lair, stopping close before him.
After months of hope and anticipation, my idol stands in touching distance, his smile inviting contact. I gaze at the fine details of beauty that drug my brain. For the first time, I can examine the intricacies of his distinctive birth characteristics, of the delicate sculpturing and chiselling that make him unique and remarkable and succulently addictive. My gaze wanders over them like a carousel, each scan absorbing more minute detail of cock hardening beauty. He stands calm under my intense inspection. I dart to his eyes, those orbs of bittersweet expressions, gazing into pale oceanic tranquillity, noticing the minute artistry of his sensual eyelids, guarded by cute black lashes, and the stunning natural grooming of his brows.
Weaving lower, I dwell on the lips that capture my devotion and agitate my libidinal impulses. I view their perfect form, balance and proportion, they enchant my gaze more than ever. Their softness radiates affection. Their sensuous colours titillate my nerves, bulging my fly. Spellbound, I raise a shy finger, glancing, then drifting under his left eye, savouring the first touch of his skin. He remains placid, gentle eyes watching. Encouraged, I continue alongside his nose, pausing beside his lips before feathering across the upper and returning over the lower. I smile, hoping he cannot hear my thumping heart or sounds of minute sighs or see the slight body tics of my stunned excitement. He seizes and envelops my withdrawing hand in a soft glove of his sweet flesh.
****
Finally, I’m at the verge of meeting him, at the brink of exclaiming all my emotions and feelings, all those hungers that cause my jerking, pumping wrist to plaster my passion juice everywhere, every night, and under the shower and other places. I gulp. “Um, hi,” I stammer.
“Hi.”
“Want a boyfriend?” slithered from my lips, shocking me. I clamp a covering hand over my dumb mouth.
He stares at my wide startled eyes and crimson blush, and chuckles and nods, easing my apprehension while we shake hands. I raise his to my lips, waltzing over the smooth back and along each finger, imagining them phallic all-day suckers, wanting to gobble them up. He cups my cheeks and raises my lips towards his, my mouth warming to his breath, my heart in spasms to the dream coming true. His breathtaking eyes comfort me as his lips float over mine, like faint flaps of a cupid’s wing. I feel enraptured. But, what the hell? In for a penny, in for a pound, no moment like now. I grip his neck, mashing our lips how I imagined every day for months, meeting eager acceptance. Sentient resonances of our greeting waft between us, the most romantic and heart warming murmurs I’ve ever heard, the flavours of his lips and tongue the best brew I’ve ever tasted.
“Well, I’m glad that’s over,” he said, surfacing for air.
“Um, do you greet all your prospective boyfriends this way?” I ask, puffing.
“Only the cutest, charming ones. You’re the first.”
I cup his face and glide his lips to mine again, not wanting to waste moments from their succulency. “I’ve dreamed of meeting you.”
“So have I, Ben.” He huffs, after another lip attack, squeezing me. “Come and sit. After all that I need a coffee. How do you like yours?”
“With you. Preferably naked,” I blurt, again blushing, noticing his shy smiling response. I wonder how he knows my name while I watch him working the espresso machine, reflected in the mirror above his desk alcove. I continue staring, watching the face I adore approach, watching the body I want to ravish arrive, table the mugs and sit beside me in one fluid movement.
“I’m glad the attractions of a male admirer don’t offend you.”
He laughed, his renewed smile fusing my gaze again to his lips and eyes, creating hell in my groin. “Not by you. In fact, you make me feel flattered and appreciated and…wanted.”
Moments pass while I ponder his reply, scanning his face, oblivious to my rampaging romantic, yet disgustingly erotic thoughts. “Why then did you take all this time to recognise me?”
He paused, examining me. “I’m shy and uptight, Ben. In the end, my father convinced me to ease my defensive instincts and not let my personal issues stand in the way anymore. He knows about you.”
“Defensive instincts?”
“Yes. I’ve been hurt before. I don’t want to suffer again, and besides I have…”
“Personal issues? Like marriage?”
“I’m not married, what causes you to think I am.”
“The ring you wear on occasions.”
“Oh, of course. I find the ring protects me from danger at times.”
“From what?”
His smile disappeared. “Bullies, out to make life difficult.”
“Why?”
“A couple of reasons.” He creased his lips. “I’ll tell you one day, not now.”
Something personal, I thought. “I’m curious how you know my name,” observing his intent inspection of my face.
“Family secret, my friend. You’ll find out soon,” his smile re-emerging.
“Am I also not to know your name? Another family secret?”
“I’m sorry, I thought you knew. Antonios, Tony for short.”
I nod, his name now blazing in neons over all the thoughts, reminisces and impressions etched in my mind.
“Delicious coffee, Tony. What do you do here?”
“I own the business, so I do whatever’s necessary. My father bought the old rundown café for me, to provide a secure income later in life.”
“What do you mean?”
“Oh, never mind.”
His smile faded and the distant look, I noticed on occasions, crept into his eyes. A contemplative pause settled over us. “I’m beginning to think you’re a man of secrets.”
He chuckled. “Well, my friend, a wise gentleman once wrote one should maintain some innermost secrets, especially when first meeting a sexy, god-damned delicious heart throb of a stranger. I agree with his wisdom, do you?”
I nod, gleaming at him. “I suppose I have to, for now.”
“After all, to be stripped of all the titbits of one’s nefarious affairs and devious desires and to have the innate uniqueness of one’s body and mind laid bare on the first meeting, would tend to make subsequent liaisons less interesting, wouldn’t you agree, mmmm?”
“Um, to the contrary, I think the romance of the affair, the love and cuddling and foreplay, and the intimacy and the sex would improve, on each occasion.”
“You do?”
“Yes. Practice makes perfect, you know. Only if of course, he is a chivalrous stranger and not a disguised demented sex maniac, only intent on rutting activities.”
“Mmmm, you excite me. Perhaps we should find out.”
“What? To discover if each intimate liaison improves or if I am a sexual demon?”
“Both.”
“I’d like that very much, an opportunity to show how wickedly sexy I am.”
He grinned, his gaze settling on the desk. Another pause dented our chat. I noticed his humour fade to a solemn demeanour, a slight tremor irritate his lips.
“Have you ever had a serious boyfriend or lover, Ben, a person of integrity with genuine intentions?”
“Not really. Casual acquaintances, yes. Devoted lovers, no. Have you?”
“The same, all ending unhappily. Always being used, never enjoying reciprocation.”
“Are you lonely, I mean romantically and all?” I ask.
“Extremely.”
“So am I.”
“Not any more, I hope, Ben. I’d love you to be my friend, and see where our friendship leads.”
“I’m glad your father convinced you to open to me Tony, ‘cuz, after month
s of craving you, your wish is a dream come true.”
He grabbed my hand, curving and clenching his fingers over mine. “I’ll introduce you to him, although you already know him, and when you learn about me, I hope and pray to God you won’t change your mind and desert me.”
A chilling alarm disturbed my peace, observing some untapped, uneasy emotion troubling his eyes. I sensed if I showed uncertainty, I’d lose him, but probably avoid some issue, major in his mind, more likely irrelevant to me. Yet despite the emotional conflict, his sincerity, honesty and respect, virtues I admire, shone through, gripping my heart. Jumping into the unknown, being the quixotic dreamer as always, I replied, “I promise, my friend,” noticing his eyes mist. “I won’t,” clenching his fingers and leaning to calm the lips of the man I love, want and won.
****
His beautiful words serenade my mind, enrapturing my heart with his perceptions and observations gleaned from his rewarding life. “Love is the noblest of emotions,” he continued in his worldly lilt, couching each word with warm tenderness. “For love is the language of the heart, the passion of one’s soul,” he whispered, prompting me to lean closer. He paused, his mellow eyes gazing to a spot in his garden, sad, contemplative, perhaps reflecting a bygone sorrow, maybe memories of his departed wife.
“Love slumbers in one’s body until woken by the presence of beauty,” I barely heard him say, noticing his eyes moisten, glistening in the midday sun. “For beauty is the food of love, Ben, the attraction between two people destined to become lovers. And love is their language.” He lay his hand on my arm. “I saw your love for Tony early on, the same I held for his mother. I watched your feelings and admiration and desires grow each day, like a vine reaching towards the sun.”
“Oh? How could you observe me, let alone know my thoughts, Leo?”
He chuckled and rocked in quiet humour. “You never saw me observing, did you?” his hand curling to a grip. “I watched your reflection in my overhead mirror at every stop.”
Don't Read in the Closet volume one Page 52