Page 63 - Some Dance to Remember
P. 63

Some Dance to Remember                                      33

                  were smiles of a summer night, rising together up to that moment
                  before climax, falling back, savoring the pleasure, rising up again,
                  until our final mutual salute to triumphant masculinity.
                      Honest manliness is never half-revealed. When it’s there, it’s
                  total. Roman emperors could have tortured me to Death, and
                  with my eyes upon him, and his gladiatorial smile upon me, I
                  could have been, even at his hands, the most joyous of martyrs.
                      I knelt in front of him, between him and the mirror, sizing
                  up the perspective of his muscle in the posing light. I had never
                  before been ambidextrous; but I found my right hand reserved
                  for myself. My left, as if for all my life I had been saving a virgin
                  hand for stroking his hard-pumped muscle, palmed the contours
                  of his body. I ran my left hand up his magnificent calves and
                  thighs, not daring to touch his long hard rod for fear the muscle-
                  worship would revert to purely genital sex. His dick was veined as
                  thick and heavy as his arms. I ran my hand up his washboard abs
                  and stopped, flat-palmed, where his belly met his hard rounded
                  pecs. We both dripped sweat. He looked down upon me, and for
                  the first time our eyes locked into an affirmative understanding.
                  He raised his magnificent arms wide, never taking his eyes from
                  mine, and rolled his broad shoulders. My hand on his upper belly
                  felt his pecs harden and his abs tighten. He took a deep breath,
                  and with all his might, flushing red, muscles pumped and veins
                  roped around them, he intensified his look deep into my eyes,
                  and pumped down tight and hard into the Most Muscular pose.
                  His body quivered. Veins corded his massive neck. His jaw line
                  set hard. Heavy streams of sweat poured from his blond hair,
                  down his forehead, around his eyes, along his lantern jawline,
                  and dripped, I want to say like sanctifying grace, down on me.
                  I looked deep into his resolute face. We hung in perfect balance:
                  the adoring worshiping the adored. I knelt in high fealty to his
                  presentation of ideal manhood.
                      Our eyes locked tighter in an unspoken Energy of under-
                  standing. Hours before, we had left Dan behind, watching in
                  amazement from the corner. Then we rose from the room, the
                  mirror, the light, the clock. We moved to another dimension. We
                  rose in that frozen moment to where the only clock was the one
                  heart ticking between us. He held his body in the full locked-
                  down power of his muscle armor. He was as graced with spiritual
                  energy as he was with physical muscle. We were beyond words.

                        ©Jack Fritscher, Ph.D., All Rights Reserved
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