Archive for December, 2007

… lovers, dreams, and pride: things I have misplaced.

Posted in Uncategorized on December 20, 2007 by moderngatsby

My darling lover lost, 

Today I wanted you to know that even though the road less taken is one most trod, the familiar path that has become our past, still manages to surprise me. That I have become a warlock, clothed in bespoke rags and daringly enchanting, used to trading souls instead of my own. Forcefully I have borrowed the wings of angels and given them back with contempt and frayed at the edges: a poor fit. And yes, like the statue of Icarus that reminds me of you, I had no sense and I didn’t much like falling back to earth when you tired of me. Since you I have had lovers by the dozen, always craving the same feeling of you inside and although some were poets and others will remain faceless and nameless some became faithless boyfriends that were left behind in the end. Searching for your words from shadowed parts of my enlightened soul I have written painfully evocative letters from across Europe on the back of a thousand postcards. But this is the last letter I will write, for today on your birthday I am giving you something I know you want: 

Your freedom from the old-school ties that used to bind my wrists to your bedposts as you tried to fill me with your emptiness.  And here, from the summers’ shade I sit relishing your impotent displeasure of knowing that somewhere out there I am waiting not for you but the ghost of who you once were to me. Although I long ago kissed the names of the nine Muses goodbye, I never forgot their sweet fragrance that suffocated all reason and logic that brought you to my gates. And as Persepolis burned at the hand of Alexander, the fires tore down the walls of my pride and became the anger that fuelled the hate not of vengeance but a scorned love. ‘G’d is in the details’, an old priest like your father said to me on Skorpia and I wanted a reason so badly, that for months I believed in him, transfixed by small miracles and clutching my golden crucifix on my knees by the empty bed. But your ghost never abandoned me like the old friends who gave no reasons. Instead the nights slip slowly and purposefully across the sky towards an empty bed. In the mirror, though my eyes are not my own, my soul has slowly seeped away. But this is the last letter I will write, for today on your birthday I am giving you something I know I need:  

The power of goodbye. 

I remain, yours as always 

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… moral relativism.

Posted in Confession with tags on December 4, 2007 by moderngatsby

Tie me up tie me down. Make me moan real loud.

Something overcomes me in the magic hour, that time when the sun has set but it’s still light outside, and I never realised why until tonight. 10yrs ago I sat in the dark, and it felt as if she was right next to me telling me a secret that no one else knew about. There was something in her textured words as they floated on the hot, dry air that evening as the sun set over a mountain range and in the distance you could hear the predators coming out to stalk the watering holes that stirred a need inside of me. We all have the need to feel special and the spark of desire had now fanned the flames of lust. We would be alone here in this tented camp in the middle of a game reserve just north of Waterberg Mountains. Just him and I.

Take off my clothes no one has to know. Whisperin’: ‘I wanna feel a soft rope burn. Wanna feel a rope burn.

It started out innocent enough when late one night we drove the staff back to the main lodge in his open topped Land Rover from the tented camp. Illegally I drove since I was neither an employee of the lodge and he had had a few beers. It wasn’t the first time I was driving and since I knew my way around the dirt roads well enough, it became our thing. Under the light of a soon-to-be full moon I could see him looking at me from the corner of my eye. It was a look that I had seen before but never from him. It was a look of open lust that betrays the body’s primitive need to connect with someone on an emotional level but in the basest form possible. But between the drive there and the drive back the cold reality of his fear sobered him up. And while the fire had been curtailed, the flame remained deep inside.

When you walked in the room you knew just what to do. You could have gone from door to door but you knew just where to go to. Come into my velvet room and tell me fantasies.

He had just left with the last two guests for the week along with the staff that all had the weekend off. It was his suggestion that we stay out here rather than return to the main lodge. He to his staff quarters and I to the family bungalow built on land within the game reserve. With the fire wood already packed, the kerosene storm-lanterns already hanging in the open-air dining area and in the one tent where we would sleep I sat waiting for him to return. About half-an-hour later I heard the V8 engines of his Land Rover in the distance. Perhaps it was unrealistic expectations but he never ran from the car and into my arms. Rather he kept me at arms length for most of the evening before dinner. A dinner that I prepared and he cooked on the open flames of the braai. Domestic bliss was a thought that crossed my mind.

The passion in your voice I wanna hear as you start to tell me. While you’re at it take the blind fold tie it gently on me. Don’t wanna see but feel the things you’re gonna do to me.”

And since he showed no interest I doubted whether I had read the signs right. What did I know at 20yrs of age anyway about the great world out there with my limited experience as a gay man? Hardly a word was spoken between us as the sky turned from ice-cream hues to burnt oranges to shades of black. In the deafening silence of nature I could hear my screaming heart trying to reach out to him telling him that I adored him. That I was in love with him. But he seemed a gargoyle in the semi-darkness of the dying flames. I collected the used plates, washed them in the small kitchen at the back. He helped clear away and just as I was finishing I could feel the heat from his body nearing mine. He stood behind me and as I turned around I could see tears welling up in his eyes and his hands shaking. He leaned in to me. And I took him in.

Tie me up tie me down. Make me moan real loud. Take off my clothes no one has to know. Whisperin’: ‘I wanna feel a soft rope burn. Wanna feel a rope burn.

As he took a fistful of my hair, he pulled my head back exposing my neck. Slowly he started at the small of my throat and working his way up in a confused kiss/licking motion and as he bite my earlobe I felt my knees give way in total surrender. Half undressed and undressing some more we just managed to get to our tent before the animal instincts that dominated our hormones overcame any sense of reason or common decency. Ripping open the last few buttons of the shirt that I was wearing that he couldn’t undo he pushed me backwards onto the bed. In no time my shorts were entangled with the heavy hiking boots that I was wearing. I lay there naked while he was still fully clothed. Slowly easing himself down, he straddled my chest, unbuttoned his khaki shorts and force-fed his hard, thick cock into my mouth.

One in the mornin’ I’m feelin’ so free and sensual. Lyin’ here wearin’ just my imagination for you. Any sensation will do. Can you feel the warmth of the candlelight embrace your body?

I lost track of time after that. I could have been there only a few minutes or a few hours. I do remember him easing his cock out of my mouth and telling me not to move. The breeze on my damp chest caused goose bumps to cover my entire body. I wasn’t sure if the shivering was the cold or the sexual tension that had formed like a funeral pyre within. Ready to engulf my sanity in flames. And then his darkened silhouette turned back towards me. As he eased himself back on top of me I could feel that he was now totally naked and as he took both my wrists into one of his hands as the other bound a soft rope around them he continued to rub the length of his body against mine. With the tasselled end he fixed it to the metal frame of the bed and I was now a prisoner of his sexual hunger. And some part of me shivered. Not because if was cold but because I wanted to be a sexual object to be used.

I’m feelin’ the hot candle wax drippin’ down the small of my back. Do you want to know what my tongue feels like? You like that?

In the single flicker of light from across the room the shadows gave rise to a momentary thought that I was no more than a replacement for his hand while his mind masturbated to every suppressed fantasy. A feeling that was subtly reinforced by manoeuvring me into as many blow-up figurine positions he could think of. Eventually I sensed rather than felt his whole body begin to quiver and then spasm as he found the release he craved. Afterwards I could feel the sheets damp with the sweat as we had slithered against each other during sex. As his arms encircled me and held me I could feel his beating heart bursting against his chest while his breathing started to become normal again. As I dozed off I could remember his smell carried on the heat of his naked, sweaty skin. He smelled masculine.

Tie me up tie me down. Make me moan real loud. Take off my clothes no one has to know.

As I stood in the open shower looking out towards the grasslands in front of the tented camp, his words as we woke up were slicker than my still distended asshole. The pain that had filled me up in the darkness slowly ebbed away when I realised that I will live my life as my heart needs rather than as my environment dictates. I had one night with a fantasy but what I really wanted was a lifetime with reality. He may have extracted a promise never to reveal this to anyone but I had already felt that the world was opening up to me and no matter how many hangers-on he fucked in his room between now and the end of my holiday none could fulfil his need quite like I could. As I rinsed off the lather of the soap, dried and walked out to the room to get dressed he lay there still. He looked up at me and we were bound together forever in the one night of carnal exploration. He had his release. And I had …

Rope burn

… twenty-foreplay.

Posted in Uncategorized with tags on December 4, 2007 by moderngatsby

‘… Wentworth Miller and Channing Tatum,’ I replied to his question as we lounged on his bed watching the movie, ‘now that would be the perfect gay couple.’ In the silence that followed I wasn’t sure if that smile meant he agreed or disagreed with me, so I poked him in the ribs with my elbow. Just to make sure he’d heard me. Making a noise that could have been mistaken for a grunt he got up off the bed, walked towards the bathroom and returned a few minutes later to his slumbering position beside me. ‘What about you and me?’ he asked looking straight at the TV screen.

My regular Tuesday dinner with the Bradley Cooper-esq guy had kinda increased to Thursdays, some Saturdays, and a few Sundays too. This week was no exception when we started outside on his newly timbered deck under an ancient apricot tree with herb and buttered baby potatoes, garden salad and a rack of roast lamb cutlets. As the air became a little fresh, we moved inside for dessert and coffee. Unsure how my espresso was made quicker than the messy meringue dessert (think Pavlova crumbled up) and instead of a tour around the galaxy our after dinner entertainment was a DVD he had picked-up.

It struck me as odd because I’d never seen a TV in the house and so with my second espresso I followed behind him and found myself in his bedroom. And solved the mystery of the missing TV. For a gentleman his study is often the window into his soul as he whiles away the hours contemplating lofty ideas and concepts. For a gay man his study has been replaced by his bedroom as he whiles away the hours exploring the tormented delights of his lover’s responses, deftly wielding not only his feathery finger tips to entice the naked skin but his moist, warm tongue for sensual pleasures as well.

As he put in the DVD into the machine, switched the impossibly large TV on, kicked off his trainers and padded to his side of the bed, it dawned on me how welcoming his room felt. While my taste tends to run towards modern or functional his house had been furnished almost deliberately as if he wanted every chair cushion or curtain to provide comfort. Corduroy, bulwark denim and stressed leather softened with raw silk, velvets and cotton. You eased into a chair rather than sat down. And with every French door or sash window open the line of indoors and outdoors blurred to one environment.

Since we’re only friends I thought nothing of kicking my shoes off, taking one of his extra pillows and getting comfortable on his bed to watch the movie. One of those typical fluff films that I had mentioned in the past I had enjoyed because of the lead actor it reinforces that elusive dream where anything is possible if you just happen to be gorgeous. It wasn’t until half-way through the film that I became acutely aware that he was only inches away from me – almost as if we had crept unconsciously together – and that I could smell the heat from his chest.

To be fair, his bed wasn’t the stereotypical King size that the men in my past all seemed to have. Obviously chosen to fit the antique frame that it was on, it seemed lumpy now that the goose-down cover had been ruffled and the pillows less plump since being used as back support against the wooden head-board. A cable knit cashmere blanket covered our feet against the closing chill of the jasmine infused breeze the only illumination other than the screen was the one reading lamp in the corner of the room. To lessen the moment we started playing that avoidance game: if you could, would you?

Okay then’ he joked a little while later ‘who is the most unlikely gay couple?’ And even though they are total pretty-boys, and therefore attractive to even the most cynically hardened heart ‘… Wentworth Miller and Channing Tatum,’ I replied. He had that strange smile on his face that turns the tips of his lips slightly upwards. I had seen it before when someone complimented something of his that he took pride in. Often you tell what people want in the games that they play. ‘What about you and me?’ he asked looking straight at the TV screen. And then I realised that this wasn’t a game anymore.