Writing Prompt: I feel afraid that I will die while spending time with someone I don't like.

Adrift In A Sea Of Flesh


by D. Jordan

I’m looking for you again, and I’m not even sure if you’re real.  I don’t think I ever met you, though you could be some friend or tertiary acquaintance.  My one, true love.  It has become almost cliché: True Love.  We live in a world of flesh where sex and image are the number one sellers.

Fuck somebody, suck somebody, BE somebody.  It makes me nostalgic.  I miss the thrill of taking a lady out and wondering if I would get a kiss.  I yearn to feel tension while reaching for a woman’s hand.  Can you help me?  I think I lost those feelings.  I’m just looking for someone to give them back.

It’s my own fault, I think.  I’m pretty sure I misplaced them sometime in college.  Maybe I set it down to let another sorostitute into my room.  I might have been too busy watching women flock to the men who treated them the worst.  Perhaps I just got too busy learning the game and how easy it really was.  I wish I knew; maybe I could go retrieve it.  It’s somewhere in yesterday, though, and that is a damn hard place to get back to.

So I decided not to look for it.  Instead I’m holding out on a one in a million chance that you’re out there.  I don’t know you.  I don’t know if your hair is black as onyx or as gold as a sunset.  I don’t know if you will be tall or short, quiet or loud.  I know you will have beautiful eyes.  I know you will be beautiful in mine.  I know you will make me stutter and tie my thoughts into knots.  I know I will love you, if you exist.

  

D. Jordan is looking forward to hitting something on an athletic field.  His favorite Sneakers are Dan Akroyd and Robert Redford.  You get a coolness point non gratis if you get that without having to look it up.

Feathered Kisses and Whispered Words

by D. Jordan

Feathered kisses and whispered words fill our candle lit silence for a little over an hour. We talk about everything and nothing all at once. You and I, where we’ve been, people we’ve known and what life has held for us recently or in our separate pasts. Silly or sad topics, you have a peculiar way of drawing things out of me. At some indefinable point it becomes right to kiss you. Like sleeping starts with a deepened breath, sex between us always seems to begin with a single soft kiss.

My ears are ringing as you kiss me back, leaning into me with your soft body pressing into mine delightfully, your hands searching then finding. I suck in a quick audible breath as your probing grasp reaches its mark and sets to work. A few moments later your mouth leaves mine and traces its way downwards. I recline backwards, sinking into your bed with a soft groan. As I close my eyes and lean back into the bed brief spasms of excitement and pleasure spark throughout my body, courtesy of your generous attentions.

Eventually I can’t content myself with your teasing attentions any longer. I draw your head up and kiss you again, softly as before, but with growing passion. I always try to be gentle at first, letting my fingers trace tiny, twisting paths over your warm supple skin. Light brushing touches travel up your legs, over your sides, teasing your breasts, working their way backwards and repeating this over your back, your neck, running up and down your arms. Like the kisses we continually share, these grow more intense along with my desire. I roll you onto your back, my hands still roaming over your yielding body.

When I am finally inside you, you gasp, or maybe moan. I’m never sure which, but your pleasure is clear, and incredibly sexy. Oh God, even to think of what comes next! Bodies writhing, thrusting, buried within each other, the rhythm of our passion rising and falling in waves. The pleasure coursing through my body matches its speed, huge, rolling waves of indulgence as we slow, and as we speed up an urgent ecstasy that is accompanied by a familiar, building pressure and eventual release. I lay there in bliss, feeling both full and emptied. You tell me I come quietly, I don’t really know what another man coming sounds like outside of the wonderful world of pornographic videos, so I take your word for this.

Your soft presence and the memory of our earlier exertions quickly rouses me from my state of relaxed contentment. Having sex like that just once would be a tragedy, and so we begin again, and again, and again. Three times, five, it seems that we go for hours and a quick glance to the clock confirms this. I climax for the third and final time of the evening and as we catch our breath you kiss me, softly as before, nuzzling your head into a small space between my chin and chest. The rest of your body drapes over my own, my arms thrown about you as we settle into the afterglow. You probe me with questions, curiosities that I answer before querying you with my own. Whispered words and feathered kisses filling the silence left in passions wake.

D. Jordan was born and raised in a place, by a man and woman, he has done lots of stuff. The author doesn't use drugs regularly (pot isn't a drug right?), but is frequently sad and does love sex! As to one thing I'm proud of: Finding so many bright spots in my week, both for myself and others.