(no subject)
There is an English man who is such a physically and sexually amazing specimen. He is slightly shorter than I am, but has the built of a man that "climbs the mountains" back home in his days. He has a solid, thick muscled body, fantastic thighs and the firmest, rounded arse that gives the catcher in me the pause. He has a thick poster cock with a proud head that is hard and throbbing as often as he is in a state of aggressive virility - i smell it on his skin, in his crotch, and it puts me into a drunken stupor. His is a virility not tempered by ego but by a very specific empathy: he gives not for its sake, but as a martyr.
I call him "Tiger". In his behavior, i feel a man equally determined to escape the labyrinth of the mind, and of its reified moral laws and social conventions. I hear a man silent on that which betrays him as one still knocking on doors in their own labyrinths - and in his silence he defends his self-determination and acquits his will. In him I see a man equally connected to the gestalt of universal desire - as everyone is - but not in shame, secrecy andor impotent fetishisation, but in acceptance, realisation, and in being. In the moments when we fuck, i lose myself to this gestalt as i lose myself in gaze - a gaze with him that seldom connects, is pulled away - his soul is kept and mine left wanting.
I kissed him once after he turned his gaze slightly and closed his eyes. lightly, and on his cheek. and he smiled one of his beautiful smiles. i nuzzled in his neck and let go into our embrace, feeling the rhythmic flow of his thick, sweaty torso beneath mine. In his hands i felt an urgency as a martyr would brandish his. His cock is engorged and in my arse it throbbed. And as a lighthouse keeper sends helplights out, he sent his throbs out as cosmic reverberations, perhaps his prayer to the divine gestalt, for whom his eyes and soul are captivated by.
With eyes closed I slip three more fingers into my arse together with his cock and he let out a diaphragmatic growl and buries his engorged cock deeper in me. And I heard his prayer and felt his reverberations, and was drawn into a satiating catatonic trance. I grab his arse cheeks in my stupor, and pulled him impossibly harder into me.
I call him "Tiger". In his behavior, i feel a man equally determined to escape the labyrinth of the mind, and of its reified moral laws and social conventions. I hear a man silent on that which betrays him as one still knocking on doors in their own labyrinths - and in his silence he defends his self-determination and acquits his will. In him I see a man equally connected to the gestalt of universal desire - as everyone is - but not in shame, secrecy andor impotent fetishisation, but in acceptance, realisation, and in being. In the moments when we fuck, i lose myself to this gestalt as i lose myself in gaze - a gaze with him that seldom connects, is pulled away - his soul is kept and mine left wanting.
I kissed him once after he turned his gaze slightly and closed his eyes. lightly, and on his cheek. and he smiled one of his beautiful smiles. i nuzzled in his neck and let go into our embrace, feeling the rhythmic flow of his thick, sweaty torso beneath mine. In his hands i felt an urgency as a martyr would brandish his. His cock is engorged and in my arse it throbbed. And as a lighthouse keeper sends helplights out, he sent his throbs out as cosmic reverberations, perhaps his prayer to the divine gestalt, for whom his eyes and soul are captivated by.
With eyes closed I slip three more fingers into my arse together with his cock and he let out a diaphragmatic growl and buries his engorged cock deeper in me. And I heard his prayer and felt his reverberations, and was drawn into a satiating catatonic trance. I grab his arse cheeks in my stupor, and pulled him impossibly harder into me.