Page 477 - Some Dance to Remember

Some Dance to Remember 447

wanted back. It was himself. It was his ideal of manhood that he wanted
redeemed like a deposit on a bottle. He could not mourn forever Kick’s
tumble from his pedestal, because when the sailor falls from grace with
the sea, the sea remains, turbulent in places, calm in places, rolling under
the pull of the shining moon.
What is one sailor on the great sea?
Ryan stripped himself naked and lay back in the bed of grass. The
warm night air was soft on his body. His cock filled and rolled untouched
up his belly toward his navel. The last sliver of the moon was orange,
spectacular, lightly veiled with the dust of young lovers forever drifting
through the atmosphere from Mt. St. Helens.
“We were lovers once,” he announced to the moon.
He pulled on his dick. He did not close his eyes. He willed to imagine
Kick, somewhere back in the deep South, watching the moon at this same
instant. He stroked himself, trying to conjure Kick in space and time. He
sent Kick his sexual Energy to communicate with him the way they so
often had before in the good, golden, gone days.
“I love you,” he said, and he said it, sighing, pulling his hand from
.
his cock to keep from cuming. He breathed out a deep breath like a man
releasing something he had been holding against all hope for too long. A
small pearl formed on the head of his dick. Its clarity caught the last light
of the orange underbelly of the moon disappearing into the total dark. He
touched his finger to the pearl and raised it to his lips. Then he took his
dick in both hands, the way Kick had always done, one above the other,
and pressed down the shaft, hard, to the base. The crown of his cock was
in direct line between his eyes and the moon. He stroked the shaft with
both hands, slowly, inhaling as his hands rose up, remembering the fresh
blond smell of Kick’s body, exhaling all the air from his lungs as his hands
slid down his cock gripping its root hard. The deep breathing made him
lightheaded, but it kept him on the cusp of cuming. He raised both arms
to the southern sky and shouted the one long sound of Kick’s name across
the deserted distance.
His body fell back to the grass. His head was lower than his cock
standing at full measure against the sky. It seemed larger than he himself
was. It pointed to a life beyond him. It was alive, sensate, lonely, calling
out more loudly than he ever could to Kick. A teardrop of slick tube juiced
from its head and glistened down the shaft.
He hated its carnal betrayal.
He had loved Kick with more than his cock. He spit long white flume
at the throbbing traitor. He took it in both hands to strangle it, but the

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