| Winter moon by: Ulrika Standing by the window at 5 am, bathing naked in the last of the moonlight, he looks so much like an angel it hurts. An angel, or maybe an elf, brought to me from a dark enchanted forest by some incomprehensible fate. "What's the matter baby?" I say, crawling out of bed and creeping up beside him. "Can't sleep?" "'M Ok. Just a bit restless," he answers, lifting his gaze to the velvety sky where the moon hangs full and bright. The beams seem to swirl around him in a soft ethereal dance, glinting off his raven hair in electric blue highlights and rendering the pallor of his face an almost unearthly glow as he whispers: "Don't you sometimes wonder if it's looking back at us?" How many nights since he came to me? I don't know. Plain linear time means nothing to me anymore; a lifetime in his arms could be but a second, and the next moment, the other way around. Moving closer, I can smell the past hours on his skin, the tangy scents of blended cum, salty tears and sweat of ecstasy shared. A scent so familiar, yet so intoxicatingly sweet. It saturates my every sense; it sets me on fire and wakes the roaring beast inside of me that will not be denied. My hands close on his hips. He feels so tiny; I could easily lock my long fingers around his waist if I wanted to. "Look at me my love," I say in a voice I don't recognise as my own although I know I have heard it too many times. And my voice is trembling now. I've got to have him again. But I'm scared. I never thought I'd hear him say "I love you". But this night, just hours ago, I did. At the peak of our passion, when he moaned in my arms, the words simply slipped from his lips, and as I gripped him tight and exploded inside him, I heard myself say "I love you too", and that was it. Face to naked face at last, no more masks left to hide behind, no more games left to play. And it scared the living crap out of me. How strange was the stillness that followed. Surely he must have felt how I was shaking like a leaf. What am I gonna do now? The moment before he turns to face me, I almost panic. Because I just don't understand. *Why are you here?* His hip rubs invitingly against my crotch for a second, and I want to, I really want to ignore the voice in my mind that is shaming me, reminding me of my sin in words I read in a book not long ago. *...Can't you see I am an impure?* And then he turns around with a none-too-hasty, gracious spin - I can almost swear - on the tip of his toes. And as our eyes lock and burn together, green on green, I know I am lost again. The second before our lips meet, he looks so much like an angel it hurts. It hurts, because I know that my own animal craving will force me to desecrate his beauty again, force my greedy human hands to touch him too ungently and my body to get rough on his. And how could I ever be worthy of that? ********* Book quoted: "According To Mary Magdalene" by Marianne Fredriksson - very recommended. |