Angel Lust

Chapter One-3

“Oh, I see.” He nodded his head. “So, maybe, I just sought you out, even without knowing it. Is that what you’re sayin? And this angel stuff, it’s like you’re talkin in symbols. Right?” He stopped, then shook his head. “Man, symbols or not, that stuff is freakin me.” He smiled and shook his head. “I dunno if I’m ready for it.”

I kissed him again. I liked the way his mouth tasted, kind of spearminty and tobaccoey; salty and young. Some men just have a taste that drives you crazy. This one did. “Forget it,” I said. “What I meant to say is that some people know about you, even before you know they know. You don’t have to say anything. It all travels between us.”

He smiled. “I like that. I just don’t want people to think I’m a poustis, a cocksucker. It bothers ‘em.”

“But you like to suck c**k, don’t you?”

“I like to do a lotta things.”

He did not say anything else after that. He lifted me up and kneeled over me and put my d**k into his mouth. He was good at licking and sucking me, at caressing my balls and softly playing with my ass. He ran his fingers into it, and parted my cheeks. I got real hard and then maneuvered him down onto the bed, so that I was f*****g his mouth for a while; then we switched around and I sucked him for a while and was happy. Happiness is not something people can take away from you that fast: it’s just there.

Then we started going at it together, sixty-nining with one another, doing it at once. I stroked the soles of his feet while I sucked him, and sometimes took his c**k out of my mouth and sucked on his toes that were dark and hairy and nicely made. He liked that a lot. He had my whole c**k down into his throat and was playing me with all the skill he had at this. Then suddenly, he drew away from me and we pulled out. “You knew I was sad?” he asked. “Like I was missing something? Lookin for it? Or maybe what we’re talking about is not a “it” but a ‘him.’ Is that what you mean?”

I nodded.

“You’re right. I been so lonely, I feel like a hungry dog.”

The words fell out of him. Suddenly he started crying for real, as if a huge emotional force had he had been hammering down had started to push its way back up, all the way through him. It was uncontrollable, natural, and beautiful; like his beautiful sweet schlong—a real New York word for a big d**k: a little peter just never makes it as a schlong—that went limp while he cried. It got hard again as I kissed the tears off his cheeks. It was a pure, real hard-on that comes from closeness itself, when the naked, physical part of the brain opens itself up to tenderness.

Maybe it was just too late at night. He was drunk and his feelings were coming out too quickly: he had ripped the mask finally off his face and I got to see him whole; beautiful; truly amazing to me. We couldn’t stop kissing one another, and I began to dissolve into him as I knew I would.

It was a moment beginning in overwhelming s****l lust, that somehow turned another bend in that river of Life that pours through you. You’re never sure where that river begins, and you end; and for that moment, I disappeared completely while I explored his whole body, every part of it, like some vast, virgin territory that went all the way back through time itself. I explored it as that territory circled and then returned to me; there, in that little dark room that had been his since childhood.

Soft slow music started to play inside us; bells, strings, off in the distance, making a circle vibrating around us. Until the music joined us together and our breathing became one breathing and we had our c***s back in one another’s mouth, and we were making music that way, too.

Sometimes together; and sometimes separately. Sometimes him over me, pushing his into me, with me gratefully accepting. And sometimes the other way. He was getting close, I knew—ready to release any second—I wanted his semen, that liquid life force of his, all over, on my chest, face, in my face, in my mouth. All over. To taste it, run it over my tongue and lick it, and wash it down with my own saliva. I wanted it. The music. The him part. The smell, the life of him made liquid.

But I also wanted this to last and not be over. I kept freezing us both from climaxing, using techniques of my body as well as my mind: walking over the fields of Heaven; squeezing my d**k on its head, pulling at my balls, counting distant markers on those fields that revealed Time, shining at me. Ten, fifty, a hundred, a thousand. A million. Years, breath, your own life . . . now you’re soft again.

You’re in a cloud, a garden, walking with him. I knew he was getting softer, then pulling back, then getting harder again. I’d come back to him. To this Greek gladiator with his beautiful body, his chest wet with coal-black hair, his c**k warm then hot and so very nice—that all I wanted to do was get it back into my mouth. But before I could do that, he said: “Man, you know I’m not into getting f****d, but—”

“But what?” I asked. We were now sitting up, legs locked around each other.

“I like a finger up my butt. My wife used to do it sometimes, if I got her in the right mood.”

I was in the right mood. I used some lubricating lotion by the bed and a little spit and stuck my index finger up him. He squirmed a bit, then I used the index and the middle. “Slow,” he warned. “Just real slow and nice.”

I did that, and he began to go all gooey and loose on me, his c**k getting even harder, so hard and hot that I knew he was not going to last more than a minute like this. I pulled out of his ass, and then gently squeezed the head of his d**k. “You know about that?” he asked.

I nodded, and then as he came down I sucked him a bit more, just along the shaft, finally licking the fat dark head that was juicy with precum. I liked the taste of it. It reminded me of salty wine or maybe rainwater. Yes, right then I remembered that: from going out in those distant fields—almost a thousand years ago—and watching crooked little rows of vegetables . . . as the sky opened up back then, and I saw myself at that age, as I once was.

He started to pet and stroke me on my stomach, chest, and shoulders. We could not stop touching one another and I liked that. I released myself to him, to that warm, intense, touching experience. And I started feeling this glowing, weightless, definitely familiar sensation in my back.

I was levitating. Without Niko knowing it, or even seeing it. I was slowly rising up from the bed even though, physically, I was still in it. I could see him now completely: I was floating directly over him. He smiled.

His face was close, yet distant as some moon. . . he had that celestial innocent smile that I wanted, that I remembered from another time. (Yes, I had not been wrong.) My presence above him intensified. I became a ball of s****l energy, my hands roaming over the dark terrain of his muscular Greek body. I stroked his soft testicles, warming them in their supple sack with my palms and fingers. I gently lifted his c**k up. I was floating over him, even though he was not aware of it: he could not see this. How could he? But how could he know at that point what I was?

I was floating face down, in a shimmer of heated energy above him, my mouth holding his stiff c**k, so warm and throbbing that it glowed like a firefly’s torso in the lightless room. I could feel that cool soft cool glow on my face; it didn’t burn; its reflection trembled on the bed sheet, a slight buzz of light hovering there. I stopped sucking him and held his member, and looked into his eyes. Dark as they were, jet black, they were glowing like two placid distant moons, reflected in a midnight lake.

He closed his eyes. Then he reached up for me and started to stroke my d**k. I let him have it, to hold and keep it in his hand, as I came down to him, sucking him more, playing with the tension and heat in him, feeling the contractions and spasms of his body as they rippled through him. Through his strong thighs, his chest, his balls, legs, and c**k. I was controlling him now, and knew it. I pushed the two first fingers of my left hand up his ass.

Before the tiny tender mouth of his prostate, I wiggled them playfully: his d**k twitched and vibrated. With my other hand, I kneaded and then released his balls, keeping them where I wanted them . . . drifting with me, along that warm, fluid coast of desire that I was exploring with him.

We were swimming there; sometimes floating; sometimes only pulling each other by the legs, shoulders, or s****l parts. But mostly skimming along the brink of orgasm, his; mine, then, in that vast darkness of the coast. . . the door to his room cracked open.

The light was blinding. There was Paul.

The little boy was walking without a thing on, naked, towards us. I saw him in the dark, with his tiny, hairless c**k hard, playing with himself, even while I was sucking Niko’s fat d**k. He crawled into the bed with us. Niko reached up for him, hugged him, and then took the little boy’s p***s in his mouth. He began sucking him, and I knew that something even wilder and stranger than I knew myself to be, had happened.

It was now completely dark as Niko stroked me and sucked the boy . . . or someone who was the boy; was it really Paul? I was no longer sure, only sure that I felt much younger than I had ever known myself to be. As if I, too, were Paul’s age and I, too, was down there, with my lips all over him; but he was there, somehow, and we were all passing through those muddy, dark, tangled roots of s*x: warm, flowing, alive with tiny beads of oily light; milky, pulsing, spermatogenic, whipping around us. We were brushing through all this; along this unchartable, deeply pocketed coast of desire that seemed so strange and yet (how can I say it) . . . familiar?

We were slick, newly born, covered in these primal roots. Back. Back . . . as the child and I mutually satisfied one another, wrapping our hands around thighs, until the water and flesh between us dissolved, and I knew I had returned farther: to the womb, to the very belly of my birth, as Niko’s hot jet shot into my mouth—exploding in me and on me, in great, eye-filling star bursts of cosmic spurts.

“Wowww!” Niko said. “Ain’t never had s*x like that with nobody. Boy or girl.” He was still wrapped around me. We were both naked and we must have dozed off for a moment. I looked around.

“Where’s the little boy?” I asked.

“What boy?” He looked at me shocked. “What you talkin about?”

“Paul.”

“Paul? He’s asleep. He better be. He ain’t in here. Gee—did you? Don’t tell me; did you see him?”

“Didn’t you?”

“No. He just sleeps through the night.”

“While I was sucking you, did you see him?”

Niko smiled. “No way. That is real malakas, but—”

“What?”

“There was this moment when I felt like I was about three years old. Funny. All tiny and light.”

I nodded my head. “I brought you back,” I told him. “To being that young. I was having s*x with you at—well, that age.”

“How’d you do that? Man, this is nuts!”

“I can’t explain, Niko. Don’t ask me any more, okay?”

“Man, you’re crazier than crack. I ain’t even sure I wanna get you on that s**t!”

I smiled and said: “I don’t think you’re going to have to worry about that.” I got up and told him I should get out of there. He shrugged, and asked me why. “My folks are cool,” he told me; they never talked about anything they did not want to know about.

I told him I thought that was helpful.

“It’s the Hellene way; not American, but the Greek.” He smiled. “Why don’t you stay here, unless you gotta go someplace else?”

I did, there was some place I needed to go back to. But for the moment, I wanted to stay there. We snuggled, face to face, on the narrow bed with one of my hands on his firm hairy butt and the other on his resting c**k. I felt strangely home free now: I had found him. I couldn’t explain it, and he would never know what that meant to me. It was like something he could not talk to his parents about. I had to hold it all inside me.

We settled into a kind of mutual relaxation. He whispered a few things to me. Mostly, I remember, “Don’t worry. I’m gonna take of you really”; then a short while later I fell asleep with my face cooled by the soft black hairs on his chest. Some got into my mouth and brushed my eyelids. It made no difference. I didn’t want to think about anything else; there was a big road ahead and behind me, but who wants to think about that? I slept there in Niko Stamos’s arms for an hour or two, the dark pasture of hair on his forearms around me; then I woke up while he slept.

Something had pushed me out of sleep. I was no longer in control of myself; I thought I had been, but what was the use? These things were bigger than I could be. There’s only Fate; I knew that.

I got out of the bed and sank down on my knees on the cold wooden floor. The cold crawled through me, but I could not get back into bed with Niko. I knew that. He was who I thought he was; but I could not at that moment return to his bed.

I became frightened. No matter who I was or what, no matter how long I had spent walking carefully through the blowing fields of Time, there were still things I could not control. Had I transgressed? Had I gone against the will of my lord, the one knight to whom I had pledged fealty and all of my submission?

“My lord,” I said quietly, “I know I can not control my lust for this beautiful Greek man,” then I realized that my lord still would know this. He knew the whole story, but he still disapprove, almost a thousand years later?.

“My lord,” I sobbed, finally giving vent to how unworthy I felt. “Were not angels once clothed in lust, as well as in love?”

Then I prayed softly: “Bertrand, my lord, remember me. I am drawn to this troubled man as I was drawn to him before. For his sake, I have come to shed peace on him, for I know that he wanders and wanders, as I, do, too. And, also, that he is looking for me, as I was for him. But only you , Bertrand, can make me whole again with myself. Amen.”

I looked up at Niko’s face which was now sleeping, but turned towards me. He seemed at such peace. He had returned to his own handsome innocence there in the land of dreams, where angels are real, if we know how to dream of them. But my own peace? Where was that? Despite going through the fires of death, I could not control my own unquenchable desire. I, Thomas, was Desire.

Just as I could not control my own unquenchable desire to know myself.

This desire would be the life and the death of me over and over again. Tears suddenly flowed from my eyes. I remembered then a prayer that I had brought with me from so many years back. Another life? We all have them. We know it. It is the truth. The truth behind the thin veil on which we exist: the veil of violence, greed, and vanity. But at some moment, this very veil will be ripped apart by Existence: by the reality of Truth.

Then all lies and untruths will be shredded, only to be made whole again in the vast material of the human soul.

My lord, my knight, I prayed.

My sheltering angel,

take me once more by your side,

kiss me with your wine-sweet lips,

spread your strong hands over me

and bring me calm and peace.

Take me across the woods of Time

that can never hold us apart

and let me to lie atop your chest,

surrounded by your loving arms.