MyJockStrap
05-27-2005, 03:54 AM
Sex Story I
The slate before me—something started—something new. With an itch slowly burning in my balls, I fingered the soft flesh beneath my head. The shaft hardened until the flesh was pulled tautly over its straining rigidity. For the first time, I became fully aware of this rush of blood. Innuendoes of sensation no longer ignored, my cock fully lengthened before me. Plaid boxers handcuffing my ankles, I looked toward the locked door, suddenly grateful for the gift of shameful foresight.
Finding new uses for its flap, I positioned a plastic sandwich bag over my lower stomach just beneath the tip of my mushrooming head, somehow I knew something no longer containable would have to be contained. I was anxious to avoid leaving evidence.
I stimulated the shaft beneath the supple skin, which pooled around my finger. As the shaft hardened, the skin receded from touch, like a draining pool of water, leaving my finger to rest on the revelation of desire’s ridge.
I fingered its length until stopped by sensation. There I located a spot, which rapture’s amnesia suppressed until summoned by a lover’s searchingly unyielding tongue years later. Olfaction provokes the most precise chorography; bloody nail bitten fingers rush to record what deep tissues remember. That smell of his lips on mine—unknown yet familiar—viscerally missed, like the smell from a childhood home.
I traced the letter o repeatedly—marking the circumference of pleasure. Alternating between the upper and lower case, I learned all the variations of the letter and negated its value by striking across its diameter, and doing so, I found a new axis upon which to turn.
Tracing one world, I fell into another universe—where a purple sun haloed by a distant black hole centers my secondarily sentient unseen body and illuminates the space before my eyes with triangulated rays of green light. There I hover, untethered, in the weightless space of ecstasy. Its gravitational pull strengthens, rapidly dragging me to a shorter orbit but suddenly releases me, propelling me into the black hole beyond.
Melting eyeballs fail with the remnants of green light. I tremble and tumble into darkness and find myself immersed in a molten liquid that conveys me along its current. My skin burns as the hot liquid and a Germanic voice enter my ears. Hard to hear over the burning surging, the voice, caught between laughter and terror, asks with a lisp of broken English: “Is this where god lives?”
I open my mouth to respond, but my tongue combusts the moment my fiery lips part. Flames dance demonically over my flesh. Too delicate to melt, my skin sublimates, leaving my organs momentarily exposed before they ooze into the molten current
Surfacing, my freshly seared bones bob before clanking against other blunt objects. If there were eyes to see, a sea of bones would be seen riding that molten current and rising with it toward a telescoping pinhole of light. Rising to the limits of eruption, everything falls. Ash and bones rain down on the earth, reporting like snowflakes and marbles dropping on clay.
The rain moves over the ashen plain, as a barely perceptible vibration permeates the air. It grows until the clay imprints are widened by the kinesthetic bones, like children’s limbs moving in the freshly fallen snow. Adjacent imprints overlap, creating shallow rectangular depressions, which sound with a rattling of bones, like a fistful of dice thrown across a craps table. Vibrating faster than sight, the bones appear to still as contiguous ends join their male and female parts, framing a template that defies exact replication. The ashen rain blankets the frame, which unifies the vibrations.
A jaw opens releasing a barbaric yawp, as I sit bolt upright and fight to catch my breath. I look down and find my hand covered with a warm whiteness. Raising my hand to my mouth, I lick it clean and realize there is nothing more than this mortal bliss.
The slate before me—something started—something new. With an itch slowly burning in my balls, I fingered the soft flesh beneath my head. The shaft hardened until the flesh was pulled tautly over its straining rigidity. For the first time, I became fully aware of this rush of blood. Innuendoes of sensation no longer ignored, my cock fully lengthened before me. Plaid boxers handcuffing my ankles, I looked toward the locked door, suddenly grateful for the gift of shameful foresight.
Finding new uses for its flap, I positioned a plastic sandwich bag over my lower stomach just beneath the tip of my mushrooming head, somehow I knew something no longer containable would have to be contained. I was anxious to avoid leaving evidence.
I stimulated the shaft beneath the supple skin, which pooled around my finger. As the shaft hardened, the skin receded from touch, like a draining pool of water, leaving my finger to rest on the revelation of desire’s ridge.
I fingered its length until stopped by sensation. There I located a spot, which rapture’s amnesia suppressed until summoned by a lover’s searchingly unyielding tongue years later. Olfaction provokes the most precise chorography; bloody nail bitten fingers rush to record what deep tissues remember. That smell of his lips on mine—unknown yet familiar—viscerally missed, like the smell from a childhood home.
I traced the letter o repeatedly—marking the circumference of pleasure. Alternating between the upper and lower case, I learned all the variations of the letter and negated its value by striking across its diameter, and doing so, I found a new axis upon which to turn.
Tracing one world, I fell into another universe—where a purple sun haloed by a distant black hole centers my secondarily sentient unseen body and illuminates the space before my eyes with triangulated rays of green light. There I hover, untethered, in the weightless space of ecstasy. Its gravitational pull strengthens, rapidly dragging me to a shorter orbit but suddenly releases me, propelling me into the black hole beyond.
Melting eyeballs fail with the remnants of green light. I tremble and tumble into darkness and find myself immersed in a molten liquid that conveys me along its current. My skin burns as the hot liquid and a Germanic voice enter my ears. Hard to hear over the burning surging, the voice, caught between laughter and terror, asks with a lisp of broken English: “Is this where god lives?”
I open my mouth to respond, but my tongue combusts the moment my fiery lips part. Flames dance demonically over my flesh. Too delicate to melt, my skin sublimates, leaving my organs momentarily exposed before they ooze into the molten current
Surfacing, my freshly seared bones bob before clanking against other blunt objects. If there were eyes to see, a sea of bones would be seen riding that molten current and rising with it toward a telescoping pinhole of light. Rising to the limits of eruption, everything falls. Ash and bones rain down on the earth, reporting like snowflakes and marbles dropping on clay.
The rain moves over the ashen plain, as a barely perceptible vibration permeates the air. It grows until the clay imprints are widened by the kinesthetic bones, like children’s limbs moving in the freshly fallen snow. Adjacent imprints overlap, creating shallow rectangular depressions, which sound with a rattling of bones, like a fistful of dice thrown across a craps table. Vibrating faster than sight, the bones appear to still as contiguous ends join their male and female parts, framing a template that defies exact replication. The ashen rain blankets the frame, which unifies the vibrations.
A jaw opens releasing a barbaric yawp, as I sit bolt upright and fight to catch my breath. I look down and find my hand covered with a warm whiteness. Raising my hand to my mouth, I lick it clean and realize there is nothing more than this mortal bliss.