Thorn

The Thorn on the Rose

I must have drifted off, that happens so often with you, this floating dream of sleeping, waking, making love, sleeping again. I�m still holding you; you�re asleep, yielding and warm against my chest. I don�t want to get up, but I have to, to urinate, my bodily need making itself known, insistently. I get out of bed, gently disengaging myself from you, wincing at the blood on you and myself. I know you need it, and want it, but the evidence of my hurting you makes me feel a grief I always try to hide from you, although I always fail, you know me too well, old man. I do understand, you like it rough, the pain is pleasure to you, and I want to give you pleasure, but it gets muddled up for me, not wanting to hurt you, wanting to give you pleasure, you needing pleasure and pain, mingled. It�s the only thorn on our rose. And my fault. I need to get over my preconceived ideas of love, of sex; I have changed so much, why is there this last obstacle to our complete joy? Why do I feel so sad, and yet so happy, so loved, and so disquieted?

I go to the bathroom and do what�s necessary, then wash your blood from my body, the grief welling up. I find a damp towel, now I know why there is no dried semen on the front of my body. You washed me clean while I slept, I wish I could do the same for you, to wash the blood from you, but you would wake, instantly, and I want you to sleep a little longer. It�s almost dawn, and we should go home soon.

I start to pick up our clothes; they are strewn all over, wherever they landed, tossed in our uncontrollable need to touch each other, but you�ve rolled over, restless, your hand moving across the rumpled, love-stained sheets, your long fingers searching for me. Even in your sleep you are searching for me, wanting me near. If you don�t find me soon, you will wake, so I lay down, quickly. Your hand finds me, touches me, and you move to me, wrapping yourself around me. Why do you love me so much? Why do I love you so much? It�s strange to me, this depth of love for a man. Never before have I given myself like I have to you, and you know this, and cherish the knowledge that I am yours alone. You have loved so many others, but I am unique, I am the only one that holds your heart and soul, as you hold mine. If only I could love you gently, tenderly, if only that would make you come, crying in pleasure. If only you didn�t need the roughness every time. If only I could give up my grief. I must give up my grief�

I�m holding you, pretending to be asleep. I can feel the little hitches in your breathing; you are on the edge of crying. I�m sorry, I�m so sorry; I pushed you too far, made you get too rough, and now you are hurting. If only I was not so afraid, afraid of your endless tenderness. Why do I fear your tenderness? Every man I have ever loved has been rough, some even cruel; your tenderness is so strange to me and so compelling. I want it, so desperately, but I�m afraid, afraid to give in to it, afraid to let your tenderness overwhelm me, I�m afraid I will drown in its depths and be resurrected, baptized into a new life with a love I�ve never known, a love so sweet that I would live in fear of its loss. I�m afraid I will never be able to let go of you. It�s too late. I can�t ever let go of you.

I stop pretending, and rise up on my elbow and kiss you. Your lips are so soft and warm, and you welcome me, want me, need me, I can feel it in your touch, see it in your eyes, taste it in your mouth. I need you inside me, again. I will let you, this time. I will let you make love to me the way you want to, gently, I will give myself up to you, completely, no holding back, no hiding from your tenderness. I love you that much; I don�t care if I�m lost, forever, in you. Take me�

You want me to make love to you again, and the grief must have flickered across my face, but you�re fast and see it, recognize it, because you say, �I�ll let you be gentle this time.� You lay on your back, legs up, open and vulnerable, in this position I have all the control and can be sure of not hurting you. An expression flickers across your face, so fast, but I see it. What are you afraid of, old man? I want to know. Are you afraid of submitting, giving up control? Afraid of me? I�m so hard, all at once, and I want to be in you. You are wet from our coupling earlier, and I enter you easily, gently, and you let me, your body still and quiescent. I move in you slowly, you are so tight around me, so hot, the sensation exquisite. You are moaning my name in a litany of love, Duncan, Duncan, Duncan, I can�t believe you are so aroused, so needy, yet so passive beneath me. You open your eyes and look at me, all the love is in your eyes, and I am drowning in it, in them, in you. Oh, my love, my love, I can feel the love, the giving, the opening of your soul, oh my god, what is happening? I feel us joining, deep in our souls, a light flowing over us, like a Quickening, but not pain, not violence, a joining so deep, and I can feel you, I can feel me in you, I can feel what you are feeling as you feel me, we are melting together, becoming one. Was this what you feared? Why? The light is so beautiful, you are so beautiful, it is almost too much to bear, we are joined, never to separate, never to part, always and forever one, truly one, we can be only one�forever�and ever�and to all eternity�

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