Raz
Bluelighter
- Joined
- Aug 11, 2002
- Messages
- 7,330
It was like a scene from a movie: the moon full and bright, the wide streets empty. A lone tourist stumbling through an unfamiliar city, horny but happy, as drunk on the moment as anything in his guts. The scene was set and then there you were.
Impossibly beautiful, some absurd Baz Luhrmann bit player gliding silently along on roller skates in the middle of the Hollywood night. Turning circles around your prey, spinning hustler spells under stars and searchlights.
There was conversation, small words whose only purpose was to draw attention to your lips. Lips too soft for here, lips too soft for any place, and all of a sudden he found himself filled with the need to touch them, to kiss them and smell your breath, to feel the dimpling of your cheek when you smiled with his tongue in your mouth.
No Alpha dog here, but some queer fragility foreign to everything he would normally embrace. A gentle brush of smooth brown skin. Something differently alive.
Something different.
Money changed hands, and changed hands freely. He would have given you anything he had in that moment, anything to keep the bubble of this moment intact. This numinous connection which fluttered in from nowhere and would leave without a trace. He knew it had to end, but that seemed right too. If thought could ascend that clouded grey matter, he would have thought of the story of Icarus, of bright burning wings too close to the sun. He would have thought of the cold depths of the ocean which awaited those who held on to divinity too close and for too long.
He didn't think of these things, but on some level he understood them.
The moment passed.
You said you would come back, you told him to meet you here again another night, but you both knew the spell had run its course. You would find other prey, and he would return to the world of man. The same starlight shone down from on high, but the stars were no more. Only the husk of magic would be found in this place a second time.
You moved on and he moved home. But the memory remains.
Goodnight, sweet prince.
Impossibly beautiful, some absurd Baz Luhrmann bit player gliding silently along on roller skates in the middle of the Hollywood night. Turning circles around your prey, spinning hustler spells under stars and searchlights.
There was conversation, small words whose only purpose was to draw attention to your lips. Lips too soft for here, lips too soft for any place, and all of a sudden he found himself filled with the need to touch them, to kiss them and smell your breath, to feel the dimpling of your cheek when you smiled with his tongue in your mouth.
No Alpha dog here, but some queer fragility foreign to everything he would normally embrace. A gentle brush of smooth brown skin. Something differently alive.
Something different.
Money changed hands, and changed hands freely. He would have given you anything he had in that moment, anything to keep the bubble of this moment intact. This numinous connection which fluttered in from nowhere and would leave without a trace. He knew it had to end, but that seemed right too. If thought could ascend that clouded grey matter, he would have thought of the story of Icarus, of bright burning wings too close to the sun. He would have thought of the cold depths of the ocean which awaited those who held on to divinity too close and for too long.
He didn't think of these things, but on some level he understood them.
The moment passed.
You said you would come back, you told him to meet you here again another night, but you both knew the spell had run its course. You would find other prey, and he would return to the world of man. The same starlight shone down from on high, but the stars were no more. Only the husk of magic would be found in this place a second time.
You moved on and he moved home. But the memory remains.
Goodnight, sweet prince.
