Confessions
This is a story about a boy. A boy on the verge of what he thinks is manhood.
This is a story I never wanted to hear.
Please tell me.
This is the story I torture myself with.
Be honest with me.
This is what makes my heart bleed.
What I begged you for.
DON’T TELL ME.
Whispered implications and harmless friendship. His best friend is in the room, hers is down the hall. It is dark, the pitch black of the cleft between a lover’s legs. The door has been left conveniently coincidentally unlocked. And left open.
He lies awake, trembling with many emotions. Nerves, maybe even a profound sadness for the things to come, but that is doubtful. Mainly all he knows is the one feeling that arises in men, the unbiased opinion of a man, and a man’s needs. But he is yet a boy.
No one hears the bare feet on the thick, lush carpet, or the sound darkness makes as it slips over nearly naked flesh. An inaudible hiss. A small, slim, taught instrument, this body. Intended for use. And use it shall get.
Then again, maybe it happened differently. Maybe he slept soundly, doubting (and yet hoping) for the upcoming events in a dream. Maybe she was naked in this hallway, all shyness stripped away with the flimsy layers of cloth that supported it.
But who is to say?
I don’t want to hear this.
Please for the love of fuck just say it.
She slips between the covers with a lovers’ caress, either awakening him or calming him. A squeak of springs commits the slight, slim figure to joining the tight, lightly muscled one.
A girl, and a boy.
Because now, all that makes a boy a man and a girl a woman is the act that has yet to come.
There are shallow whispers in the depths of this darkness, loss of innocence is on the breath of these children tonight. Bluff talk of love, soul mates, and forever.
Children. Mistaking an eternity for two nights of lust.
Lust. Lust is the dying ember of a campfire while love is the fiery inferno of hell itself.
There is talk, and then there is none.
Did her kisses send shivers down your spine? Did her lips send jolts from head to toe? Do mine?
What followed was the Act. Not the act of love, for neither could have handled that, but an Act none the less. Clumsy motions in two bodies not in sync with one another. One responding too slowly, or anticipating the other incorrectly.
And then…the Act is through. A sour feeling in the air. And a whisper of bare feet on lush carpet.
But maybe not. Maybe it was an excellent experience.
Don’t tell me.
Oh please let me know you love me.
One thing is certain. This boy, not yet a man, and this girl, not yet a woman, shared one thing these nights.
That something was nothing.
Wasn’t it?
This is a story I never wanted to hear.
Please tell me.
This is the story I torture myself with.
Be honest with me.
This is what makes my heart bleed.
What I begged you for.
DON’T TELL ME.
Whispered implications and harmless friendship. His best friend is in the room, hers is down the hall. It is dark, the pitch black of the cleft between a lover’s legs. The door has been left conveniently coincidentally unlocked. And left open.
He lies awake, trembling with many emotions. Nerves, maybe even a profound sadness for the things to come, but that is doubtful. Mainly all he knows is the one feeling that arises in men, the unbiased opinion of a man, and a man’s needs. But he is yet a boy.
No one hears the bare feet on the thick, lush carpet, or the sound darkness makes as it slips over nearly naked flesh. An inaudible hiss. A small, slim, taught instrument, this body. Intended for use. And use it shall get.
Then again, maybe it happened differently. Maybe he slept soundly, doubting (and yet hoping) for the upcoming events in a dream. Maybe she was naked in this hallway, all shyness stripped away with the flimsy layers of cloth that supported it.
But who is to say?
I don’t want to hear this.
Please for the love of fuck just say it.
She slips between the covers with a lovers’ caress, either awakening him or calming him. A squeak of springs commits the slight, slim figure to joining the tight, lightly muscled one.
A girl, and a boy.
Because now, all that makes a boy a man and a girl a woman is the act that has yet to come.
There are shallow whispers in the depths of this darkness, loss of innocence is on the breath of these children tonight. Bluff talk of love, soul mates, and forever.
Children. Mistaking an eternity for two nights of lust.
Lust. Lust is the dying ember of a campfire while love is the fiery inferno of hell itself.
There is talk, and then there is none.
Did her kisses send shivers down your spine? Did her lips send jolts from head to toe? Do mine?
What followed was the Act. Not the act of love, for neither could have handled that, but an Act none the less. Clumsy motions in two bodies not in sync with one another. One responding too slowly, or anticipating the other incorrectly.
And then…the Act is through. A sour feeling in the air. And a whisper of bare feet on lush carpet.
But maybe not. Maybe it was an excellent experience.
Don’t tell me.
Oh please let me know you love me.
One thing is certain. This boy, not yet a man, and this girl, not yet a woman, shared one thing these nights.
That something was nothing.
Wasn’t it?