Wild is the Wind
by Nymph Du Pave

            The rain falls violently outside.  To my ears it sounds as if a thousand stone pellets are hitting ceramic flooring, the thunder is the surface cracking under the assault.

            I merely lie back and listen.

            The room to which I have sojourned is one in this massive and extravagant prison that I have never before visited, marking it wretchedly foreign to my senses.

            The odd and tangy smell, like oranges gone hideously wrong, and the low drooping ceiling with frightening designs that in the night seem to slither and snake their own little paths...

            The walls that are made up of tall windows whose translucent bodies seem opaque in the night, their thick inky hue provoked by a sky devoid of stars...

            The fact that the scenery below is vacant from my second story, horizontal view...

            It all adds to the incoherent reverence taking over, this dark foreboding miasma that fills the room.  I am forcing it all upon my being, but it is too much, too soon.  My eyes close, the velvety black behind the lids my preferred companion.  I sigh, instantly finding the comfort I previously lacked.

            Now, this I know.  This darkness is mine and I know it well.

            Depressing music, a hint to the mood that visits me, haunts this chamber that I have found myself in.  Nina Simone's heartbreaking piano rendition of 'The Thrill is Gone', turned up just enough to be heard over the pounding rain and my heavy breathing.

            Normally, I would sit in my study, eyes closed, fireplace roaring, a crystal chalice medially filled with some spirited elixir at my manicured fingertips.  Preferably mellow.

            Normally, I'd be listening to Vivaldi, or Bach, Bocelli or Verdi.  Brightman's 'Lascia Ch'io Pianga' or if in a darker mood the first three minutes of Beethoven's Allegretto from his seventh symphony.  Whatever accurate portrayal I felt fit the soundtrack of the night and my own frame of mind.

            Normally, I plan on indulging myself.

            This, however, is not the time for anything 'normal'.  This is the time for pain, an oddly delicious pain that fate has thrown my way alongside a yearning so wrong, so malignant that it makes me physically ill.  At the same time, I believe this desire makes me more human than I have ever been, and I cannot escape the horrible double blade.

            lips so warm and sweet pressing to mine

            Flashes of a dream, recollections of a few wonderful moments.

            we've escaped temporarily from his friends, from the world to be alone and together

            A recollection of a single touch extended into something more, something beyond impossibly pure.

            i pull him closer and he moans against me, leaning into me, asking for more with his mouth

            I feel my body stir.  Maybe I'll be enjoying myself after all.

            my hands run through his hair, like strands of wet silk slipping through my pale fingers, the black making the digits blinding white in contrast

            It's a reverie I wallow in often, a wonderful dream wherein what I want is not judged, is not depraved.

            our bodies creating intense friction, his rubbing with need against mine, and i'm responding, pushing into his thigh

            Instead my heat is reciprocated with an aroused flame of his own, and our true ardor is allowed to drive us into furiously, passionate displays.

            we're both still fully clothed, and i can feel his pouty lips on the side of my sterile head

            My savior actually feels the movements of my heart, and I find myself breathing with him.

            his hands gripping my arms tight, his hot cock inside his pants silently showing me his desire, he wants me so bad

            We are interchangeable, and that sameness is locked into our mortal souls forever.

            he presses my back against a wall, we are outside at night, drenched in the miserable rain, but we laugh, not caring

            I lie on the cold and glossy wooden floor, breathing hard as the picture show runs through my mind once again.  The setting is new this time, but the person, the scene…  They are not.

            there could be people around but that's why we are here, hiding in the ally, and his hot breath is on my neck as he begs me to do something, anything for his aches

            The hard and hostile platform I lie upon is unyielding to the emotions that wrack my mind and body, but I cannot feel it's influence.  I can only feel him.

            my hands travel down into his tight jeans and as i find his taut flesh he moans my name loudly, slipping his own hand into my slacks

            Feeling guilty but oh, so tangible, I unzip my pants and slide my hand underneath the monogrammed, silk boxers.

            where he finds not my cock, but instead reaches around to find the quivering hole waiting for him to penetrate, i cry out and shiver as his forefinger dips inside of me and slowly begins to massage

            I free my hot cock and scrape my nails against the underside, bucking up involuntarily at the sensation.

            his finger is joined by a second, then a third, they pull out then plunge back in

            Having no body opposite mine to buck against I moan loudly and quickly flip over.

            i cry out loudly and bite his shoulder, i am slowly being driven mad by the pain and the pleasure, oh the pleasure

            Hissing at my hot flesh against the frigid floor, I press into it, rubbing myself against it.

            he removes his fingers, flipping me around and forcing me up against the brick wall, this is not our first time, he knows i like it rough, and he rips down my pants in the rain, pressing me harder to the wall
 
            I am pretending that I'm there, with him.

            the sound of his zipper fills the air and i tremble in anticipation, i need to have him inside of me, ramming hard, taking out any frustrations on my body, it is his to do with as he pleases

            I whimper that I cannot feel his hands on my waist, that I cannot feel the perforated openness those fingers would have left.  I cry out at the fact that I am just a lonely, spoiled little rich boy, fully clothed and humping a cold, alien floor, wishing for the farmboy that barely notices me in passing.

            feeling his hands spread me, i shift under him, trying to make room for us, to make room for him

            Nervous about what I am about to do, I lift up onto one elbow and use my free hand to massage my rear.

            he presses his chest up against my back, his face against mine and he whispers something i cannot hear for the pounding of my heart is even louder than the growing summer storm

            I slip my hand into my pants and beneath my underwear, feeling for the crevice.  I find it and rub my middle finger against my anus.

            he rubs his slippery erection against me, teasing me with its size, its heat, its promise of more, of fulfillment

            I take a deep breath, relax the best that I can, and gently prod with the tip.

            i can feel the head start to enter and i clench my teeth wanting him in me so bad that my brain begins to pound

            I don't want this to hurt, I'm just a virgin at this, but I want it to feel like it's him.

            i call out his name loudly and he tells me to beg

            I lift my ass into the air.

            i do, i beg loud and hard, my voice breaking even with the thunder's depth

            I press two fingers in, apprehensive.

            i can feel him enter me, but he is just teasing, it's not enough not nearly enough and he asks cruelly if i need more, knowing full well that i need it all, i need it now

            I pull them out, biting my lip.

            he pulls out, slowly

            Swallowing, I plunge them in deeply.

            and suddenly he is fully sheathed inside of me and i scream

            I scream.

            tears of joy running down my face

            Tears of pain.  The pain is horrible, but there is something else there, a throbbing sweetness to it all.  I need to reach that sweetness.

            muscles clamping around him, he shouts something to me about being so tight, so very fucking tight, then pulls out and thrusts, pulls out and thrusts, setting a taunting tempo that has me hastily writhing back against him trying to get more faster, needing everything to come much faster than this

            I take my fingers out, knowing that I've done enough in that region for one night and reach out front to my leaking penis.

            his warm and wet hand comes out of nowhere and grabs me

            I gasp at the contact, then breath out hard, my hot breath forming condensation on the surface beneath me.

            he bites my ear and tightens his hold

            I can't still face the floor like this so I turn over and start to pump vigorously, almost screaming again at the pain, but this time it's not physical, this time it's emotional.  It's the fact that this hand is so well known to me, but it is not the hand of my working class lover who knows not of my obsession.

            he plunges deep, taking me almost violently, angrily in the ass, but at the same time he works so hard to please me, his hands moving so well over my cock, knowing just how i like to be touched, just where to squeeze

            I pump viciously, letting suspension of disbelief take over.  This hand is familiar, but for the next minute, it's not mine, it's not mine at all.  It's his hand that teases me so sweetly, those are his fingers that are milking me, rubbing over the tip.

            he drives himself harder, slamming against my ass, i want to touch him, want to feel him, so i reach back and grab his hair, yanking him closer, his hand is bringing me so close to the edge and i cry, it's so perfect

            I'm almost there.

            i can feel him in me, thick and filling so far within me, and he moans my name so sweetly, with such love that my heart hurts

            My heart hurts.  I am alone, and he does not love me.  He barely notices me.  I'm just some rich kid he knows.  He'd never touch me like this, he'd never take me, never fill my vacancy with his cock.

            he shouts my name in the rain, shouts so loud in my ear, it's like a symphony, and comes, heat up inside of me, the glorious release i know that i have given him

            I'm close, but at the same time I pant so hard, his name constantly on my lips, I know he will never hear my cries.  I know he will never feel the sweet gifts that I could give him.  I would spend forever trying just to please him, but he just wouldn't want that from me.

            he starts to kiss my neck lovingly while his hand, still encircling my cock, speeds up

            Almost.  There.  So.  Close.

            my left hand tightens cruelly in his hair, my right pressed against the slick, cold brick of the Beanery's wall and i start to lament, telling him to go quicker, harder and i thrust back and forth, against the softening cock in my ass and the hand struggling to please me

            I come loudly, his name echoing throughout the inert chamber, my prison of solitude.  He is not here.

            i scream his name, never before have i come so powerfully, his hands have driven me to the brink, then steered me home again

            He is not here.

            i whimper a little as takes his hand away and pulls out of me, i feel so empty without his presence, feel so barren

            The room's foreign hues come back to me like an horrific odor, and I wince, my eyes burning behind their lids.

            his strong, capable hands grip my arms and turn me around slowly, gently and leans my back up against the wall, one arm wrapped around my waist and his forehead leans against mine as his other arm comes up, hand stroking my smooth head tenderly, whispering something that I cannot hear over the rain

            I'm cold and exposed and embarrassed, but worse than all of the above I am completely alone.  There is no lover to calm my trembles and my fears.  There are no hands to gently cup my face, or fingers to wipe away the tears.  But, then again, if there was a someone to do all of that, none of it would be necessary.  No tears would ever come, unless they were the tears of joy.  Tears expressing the pure bliss at never having to be alone again.
 
 
 
 
 

            It's so much worse now.  Now that's I've come.  Now that the heat and passion and intensity is gone.

            I've got nothing here.  Nothing but my mess and the cold floor.  The smell of long dead oranges and Nina's voice.
 

            Jesus, her voice.  It's like a choir of haunted angels, each reliving a thousand mortal sins, feeling a thousand mortal consequences.

            Haunted and surreal and like she's felt the pain of such deep turmoil.  Of such moral vacancy.  Such incredible, moaning.  The slow tempo, the deathly timbre.  The voice of a human pursued by their deepest desires, possessed by another, beset by bright eyes and dark hair.

            Nothing could fit my soul more.  Nothing could be like this song, cast in a mold of my various crimes, my outrageous siege and sick defilement of a life so young and vulnerable; so beautiful and innocent.  So worthy of the divine.

            Sing it Nina.

            It should have ended.  I should be dead, but his kiss, his lips...  I'm alive because he breathed for me.  I'm alive because of his kiss.  But it wasn't exactly, so I am without the knowledge of his love, the fire of his tongue, the texture of his love.

            I am without that which would otherwise make me whole.  And I cannot even hope that one day, one glorious, effulgent, lucid day I will receive such love, for I am the parasite that tries to take the very essence of him, the fungus that gives nothing back.

            He is everything to me and I am nothing to him.  He's life itself; with his kiss he brought me to life, not just back to life, but to life.  I had not breathed a day before, I was merely a shell of my father, a walking carbon copy with less hair and more pain, more suffering.

            I cling to him in the hopes that I can one day be.  But one day, like a tree to a leaf, he will shake me loose completely.

            I will not go on from there.
 
 
 
 
 
 
 

            FIN