Monday, October 18, 2004

black hanes
Sigur Ros does that to me. It pulls at me, making me want to cry but I won't give in. Instead it just makes me contemplative, full of emotion but nothing as simple as sadness or loneliness. It's not the kind of crying from being depressed or disappointed, but the kind of crying from lying in bed with someone, and in the dark, full of each other's sweat, you can let go, and let the tears happen. Not sobbing, and not even interrupting the licking and the holding and the nibbling; but the release, in the dark - having that need to be desired fulfilled.

It was the second time we met. It was a Sunday night at the Cock, and instead of bumping into each other in the backroom, it was as I was approaching it, and there he was. I couldn't remember his name, it was something unusual, South Asian or something. We both smiled, and I stopped, and we began some light chit chat, and that leaning against each other affectionately. No real making out, but some light kissing, and he suggested we go to my place. I hesitated, cheapskate that I am, as I had just given my 10 bucks at the door, had only a few sips from the 5 dollar beer, and hadn't even looked around. I pulled him into the backroom, and we tried in vain to manage some space for unbuttoning. We didn't last long, and he mentioned my place again. Slimmer and smaller than me, it was easy to ride him home on my bike.

This was maybe three years ago, during that too-brief period when I lived alone, and had this whole tiny 3 room apartment to myself. So I brought him right into the bedroom, and we half undressed. I left, grabbed a couple CD's, and returned. After a few minutes of burying my face in his boxer briefs, teasing at the edges of the legs, he warmly said, "I love this band, this is so cool, I can't believe I'm having such great sex with this great music on." He was in his late 20's, so a good 15 years younger than me, but he didn't sound like a kid, just sweetly enthusiastic. Smallest little ass, with just enough hair to make me happy, but not so much as to turn off anyone who doesn't dig hairy butts. As much as I could've spent the rest of the night licking his body, he wasn't content to be so passive, and he got his mouth onto the parts of my body that I had licked on his. Every once in awhile he would suddenly stop, and sit up. "Wait, wait, I don't want to just yet, let's slow down a bit." And I'd hold him, and we'd lie there listening to music quietly until one of us would slowly return to the other's crotch with a hand or a mouth.

After we came, we held each other and talked quietly; I must've had a candle lit, as the shadows were moving slightly, and the room was warm. He had to go soon, but wanted to stay for a bit, which was good. We never exchanged phone numbers, and we never even mentioned seeing each other again. And again he said he couldn't believe how good the sex was, and it made me giggle to myself that he must not get out much. Finally he got up, and started to look for his clothes, and began to get dressed. When he pulled on his underwear, and the pouch just looked so nice, I just had to caress it, with my hand and my mouth. Looking up, I saw his sweet smile, and pulled myself back up, knowing I should let him go.

Then I said, "can I have them?" He looked puzzled, so I explained I wanted his underwear. This made him giggle. Then he looked at me, and he looked genuinely complemented. He knew it would make a good story, and he even said "Wait 'til my friends hear this." But he also got that I wanted them to remember him by, and after he took them off, I quickly pulled them on, and grabbed the soft cotton crotch and kissed him. Even with his dark complexion I could see the slight blush, and he pulled his pants on. At the door we kissed again, and standing there only wearing his black hanes, I watched him descend the staircase. I hit play on the CD player again, and fell asleep with the music, and his black hanes, caressing me.