Bright Souls
Bright Souls was published in the “Ultimate Gay Erotica 2005″ anthology by Alyson Books
And there again is the pure life force.
Even in this pitch darkness I can feel it pulling me. Rare. So very rare to encounter something so deep, so rich, obsessive in its quality. Like molten platinum. When did it last happen this way? Prague? Moscow? I cannot remember when or where, but I can remember who. A soft and sensuous young man, his arms full of books, his eyes huge and black in the dim snowlit alley. His name… I should remember his name…How stupid. I should remember more than his face as he recognised me, more than his smile lighting up the street in a happy and accusative way as he pulled me into his house.
“Quick, someone will see,” and kissed me in a frenzy that made my very bones ache with the warmth of his welcome. The books fell to the floor and we trampled them as we circled each other, fighting for buttons, for supremacy, for grip, for breath, for dear life. The scent of him hit my palate like opium, want and snow, sweat and longing and I buried my face in his neck drinking just the scent of him, just the very essence of him as he tore at my trousers in his haste.
That was the last that comes close to this, and this eclipses…Stephan. There, that was his name. Stephan, oh how I miss him. Just the thought of him makes my stomach flip, my mouth water and my prick rise in a heavy teary salute to his hitherto matchless incomparability. And yet, if I had not had left him behind, I would not be here sensing this new fragrance with an avid lust that makes every pore in my skin open and call aloud to the night.
It is the rarities like Stephan that make my life studded with jewel-like moments. It is still pitch black but when I close my eyes again I recall his sweet face, his head rolling back, his perfect white teeth dragging at his bottom lip as my fingers ripple over his tightening scrotum. What lucky man was causing such rapture? Was it truly me? Was I capable of making someone so very happy? Presumably; for the vision of his white shoulders, that divine clavicle, the slim neck are all still with me. His skin that night gleamed with our conjoined sweat and saliva, I can see the drops of water dripping from my hair onto his stomach as he writhed beneath me, that pale rounded face twisted in a snarl of ecstasy as I slid and slipped and slithered into his recesses. I pulled forward and tasted his dampened skin with the tip of my tongue; my salt was indistinguishable from his; that startled me, drove me on. I wanted to see what other compounds could be created from our merging. I was not disappointed; our semen, poured freely from him and torn from my cock with such violence that I thought I was ripping us both apart, caused such a meld that could I have distilled joy it would not have tasted so.
His force, so highly charged even in his sweet repose was incandescent that night. He was lit from within. It shone from every orifice, burned with a golden cobweb tracery through every artery. I was staggered that it did not scorch him, inconceivable that he was not even aware of it. I drank it from him, laved his body with my tongue like a cat, while he lay sated and still after expending his seed like the molten life it was.
I lay at his feet and put my mouth over the top of one perfect slim foot in adulation. He stirred, half-drowsy, half-spent but not aware of me in any true meaning of the word. He was so happy.
“Another anatomy lesson, Magnus? I forget the names.” I raised my head from his foot, very slightly
“Try harder then, if you wish to pass those finals,” I run a tongue along the line of the blood vessel, “Arctural Artery” I whisper. “Not practical at all, but close to the surface…and this one: Tibialis Anterior,” I say moving one hand up to caress and kiss the back of his calf “and this…” I say, moving between the long lean legs and burying my mouth in the inside of the thigh, and then releasing, “is the deep femoral artery, much the most erotic place, and fast…oh so very fast.” My head lowered again and I let my mouth open and rest deep in the lit-up crevice between his thighs, smiling as he spread his legs wide to give me greater access. He trusted me so.
I listened then, unable to do anything else, to the life rushing through the artery like the drumming of a billion starling’s wings. The temptation to drink was intoxicating and worth every ounce of restraint. Finally when I could stand it no longer, my will power sapping, I moved up my lover’s body, my tongue tracing his cardio-vascular system and murmuring the names of every vein and artery in turn, like a catechism, like a credo, like a prayer.
No. I did not kill him. I am a collector of fine and beautiful things, how could I have killed him? I kill for food, not for pleasure. I am no animal. He had a fleeting ephemeral life, but I was always welcome in it until he realised that I could not age, and the day came that when there was more fear than invitation in his eyes and his life force had changed from gold to brown. So it is, always, and I move on to begin the long wait again.
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