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K R I S T E N' S C O L L E C T I O N
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WARNING!
This text file contains sexually explicit
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type of literature, or you are under age,
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This work is copyrighted to the author © 2009. Please
don't remove the author information or make any changes
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They Were June Raindrops On His Lips
by Jess Anniwund (address withheld)
***
A little engine trouble turns into a pleasant gay
encounter. (MM, rom)
***
I was sitting in my living room one overcast afternoon.
It looked as if it was about to rain, in fact, pour. I
had a very slow piano piece on the stereo and I was
looking at the vase of gladiolas, remembering briefly
what it was like to be not alone.
I tilted my head back and watched the last of the faint
sunlight slide across the ceiling and out the window.
The approaching rain brought a waft of breeze through
the open windows, animating the light curtains,
bringing the solace of movement like a dancer's caress
against a dried floorboard. A light drizzle followed
shortly, sounding delicate on the streets that have
been softened by the humid morning.
I thought to myself that this was the elegy to the
departure of Spring, that soon, that'd be hot days and
brutal muscular men parading around in sleeveless
undershirts and loud factory-ready sports cars, girls
with obnoxious tans wearing fluorescent sunglasses and
teased hair.
I closed my eyes to enjoy what little was left of the
quiet day.
There was a tap on the front door. Who could it be? I
walked to the threshold and opened without checking to
see who it was.
"Oh, hello. I'm so sorry to disturb you. But my car has
seized just a few streets away, I was wondering if you
I could borrow your phone."
He was a slender, clean shaven man about my age, early
twenties. The thing that struck me from my afternoon
daze was his clothes. He was standing there in one of
those smart, hunting-horse-riding outfits, red jacket,
white blouse, breeches and black boots. His dirty
blonde hair was damp and fell just at the tip of his
dark eyebrows.
I caught myself just in time to keep from appearing
like a deaf-mute and asked him to enter. I pointed up
the short staircase which he proceeded to ascend. I
watched his rear and the elegance in the way they moved
with each step taken. I forgot momentarily all the
women I had lusted after. I forgot for example Pam,
whom I doted on and grew flowers for in the youth of my
adoration.
I listened to his lithe voice mingle with the hush of
the rain pattering outside. After a moment, he
reappeared at the edge of the kitchen arch. "Thanks
very much, I will show myself out."
"Did you get help?" I asked.
"It was an answering machine, but eventually help will
arrive."
"Is your car safely out of the way?"
"Not really, but, I'll manage."
"Oh come, I won't hear of it! I can do a little pushing
myself," I said more or less as a statement and not an
offer.
When we were outside, I opened my umbrella and we
walked together along the glistening lawns. I told him
that I didn't know there were horse-riding grounds
around these parts, but he said he was just passing
through.
When we got to his car, he rolled down the driver's
window to push and steer, but I refused on grounds that
his clothes were too pristine to be spoiled by a
trivial problem like that. I told him to come inside
while I stood against his door and listened to his
description of the car problem. After popping the hood,
I felt around, burnt my fingers on the flywheel, jammed
my foot on the carburetor, and freed the fuel filter in
that order.
I stuck my index finger on the float to keep it shut
and told him to turn it over. Once we got the car
started, he offered to buy me a drink. But instead, I
said I'll make some coffee for the two of us in my
place.
In my living room, we sat and talked about the types of
riding he was into. When asked about my occupation, I
said I was a writer, in other words, a professional
slacker. We laughed and I watched his damp hair and his
thin face almost like a horse warm the arriving
evening. I sat across from him as we talked, leaning
forward with elbows on kneecaps.
Our voices relaxed in a good-natured way. It was nice
to share some time together, even with a stranger. He
absent-mindedly ran his hand over his thigh as he
looked out the window and recounted a story about one
of his horses who had to be put to sleep.
I listened to the sadness in his voice while slowly
being hypnotized by the white breeches that looked as
if they were painted-on to his perfect thighs. The
coffee had made his lips glisten like freshly watered
fruit. He was the very picture of allure.
When he came to the bottom of his cup, he got up and
thanked me for everything I had done. I saw him to the
door, my hands practically unable to keep from touching
his firm, well-dressed body. My arms barely unable to
keep from embracing his thighs and nestling my face in
the warm bosom of his immaculate seat.
Behind the back of his neck, I opened my lips to force
out a desperate plea for him to stay a while longer. He
turned around just then, having reached the door. I
snapped back, mouth opened, transforming to a half
smile with a great deal of effort.
"Thanks again," he held out his hand.
I took it and felt the softness of his palm against my
greasy callused one: his were hands that had been
protected by riding gloves for a lifetime, mine were
weathered by class.
We waved as he got into his car. I watched him drive
off and stared at the empty road for a few more
minutes. The stereo swirled into my attention with this
old song called "1963." It was an airy piece of pop
that danced just as the rain was doing at that moment.
I closed the door and stood against it, eyes close,
listening to the first lines of the lyrics.
The beat was infectious, but it was shortly interrupted
by an off-beat. It was the someone knocking at the
door. I opened it once again.
He was standing there but this time we didn't exchange
any words. We just looked at each other before he took
three steps forward through the door. He cupped my
cheeks in between his hands and put his lips against
mine. His tongue felt so smooth and cool in my mouth.
I unbuttoned his hunting jacket and slid my hands
against his silk white blouse, the warmth of his body
charged through fabric and onto my fingertips as I held
him tight. My eyes close at this beautiful forbidden
union, this sweetness of his mouth, this feeling of
togetherness.
I ran my hands through his damp hair, I kissed his
eyebrows, I caressed his marble neck which blossomed
from his jabot like a treasured stem which had its
roots at his heart. His fingers were stroking the back
of my body as his chin moved against my neck. I wanted
to kiss him some more, and I did, as we lay there on
the steps.
I could feel the hardness between his legs straining
against his breeches, against my thighs. As we kissed,
I reached down to undo his breeches before resting my
hand on his smooth, shaven crotch. It tightened
confidently in my hand, and it tasted as Eve's first
apple must surely have.
When night time came around, it thundered and roared
with lightning illuminating the entire living room
while we lay there on the floor. I kept myself inside
him as I embraced his body and our hands held together.
We were both very still.
***
It had been several months since that day. As quickly
as he had walked into my life like an angel of hope, he
departed without the slightest trace of having been
there. The summer came and took him away. At the gas
station, jeeps and trucks towing jet skis and boats
baked in the sun as suburban boys eager to out-man each
other took to blasting rap music by performers who knew
as little about violence as they did.
Then a truck towing a horse-trailer pulled in at the
far end. I squinted to see more clearly as a pair of
boots came out from the passenger door on the opposite
side. Just then, the attendant came to collect the
money.
"Is there a horse-riding club around here?" I asked
without taking my eyes off those boots.
"Nah, not that I know of. Why, do you ride?" He talked
in a hoarse voice that was empty of curiosity.
The boots came around the rear of the trailer. It was a
heavyset forty-something man wearing a plaid shirt.
"Nah," I smiled to wave the sadness away as I got on my
scooter and started it up. "Just passing through."
END
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
It's okay to *READ* stories about unprotected sex with
others outside a monogamous relationship. But it isn't
okay to *HAVE* unprotected sex with people other than
a trusted partner. 4-million people around the world
contract HIV every year. You only have one body per
lifetime, so take good care of it!
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
Kristen's collection - Directory 64