Leonard

A Night for Passion

A poem of love between a man and a boy

Gently, his soft stomach expands,
contracts,
expands,
contracts.

Inhale, exhale, inhale, exhale.
He stands naked in front of me.
I sit on the bed,
breathing in and out,
my breathing in time with his
as if we were one.

I am mesmerized by his belly button.

I love his short brown hair,
the way it reaches down his forehead,
tapering off into his white skin,
hanging just above his blue eyes
that shine as they look at me.

I love his long legs.
The gentle curve of his thighs,
so soft, so sensitive.
The way his flesh bunches at his knees.
His beautiful feet,
with their long toes,
and perfectly cut toenails,
with an ankle bone in a perfect L-shape,
and a vein visible under his skin
tracing along the L.
I love the way his big toe digs into the carpet
with nervousness and anticipation
and joy
for what is to come.

I love his smile, with his white teeth,
how he laughs,
and then how his tongue always runs across his lips
right after he finishes laughing.
An unconscious habit he's always had
for as long as I've known him.

Again I lose myself in his soft stomach,
in his rising and falling belly button,
an innie,
in the gentle slope of his stomach,
in the gentle curve of his flesh,
the simple, perfect curve,
with its promise of warmth.

He comes to me then, and we embrace.
I smell the sweat and soap in his skin.
I feel his breath against my cheeks
as his cheeks brush against mine
and my stubble rubs gently against his smooth skin.

I can smell
the peanut butter and jelly
he had for lunch.

I can smell
this little human
all of his humanity
his unique scent
in his breath.

We kiss, then.
He opens his mouth
and the tips of our tongues touch,
a tradition from our first kiss.

Then
he presses his mouth against my own.
I feel his rapid breaths
rushing out of his nose
impacting against my lips.
My tongue enters his mouth,
and his enters mine.
Practiced. Confident.
Our tongues dance together in those warm places.

I can taste
the peanut butter
mixed with his saliva
and it is beautiful.

More than anything, he feels warm.
Warm, the heat of life,
of a boy's life,
of his energy
and vivaciousness
and power.
Of the future he has in the world.
It feels like he is more alive than I have ever been.

His hands slide along my back
hugging me close.
His fingers
trace patterns
in my back.
I think of the patterns
as magical runes
for each touch is like a lightning bolt
beneath my skin.

One of my hands holds the back of his head,
engulfed in his full hair,
and a little bit slippery with his sweat.
The other hand sits on his back,
my forearm along the skin like silk,
my hand cupping a shoulder blade
that rolls back and forth his he caresses me.

I lay back on the bed,
pulling the boy down with me in our kiss.
He presses against me,
smooth chest against mine,
hair against hairlessness.
He pushes his torso against mine,
pressing into me,
grinding into me,
sliding along me,
an explosion of sensation that is nearly overwhelming.

Still we kiss.

His legs are sprawled along the bed,
bracing
to press his body
tighter against my own.

My hand
runs down
along his smooth back.
Gently down,
frictionless against such perfect skin.
Then up, then down,
in circles,
as his passion rises,
and he presses still tighter.

My hand goes to his little penis,
hard against me.
(Not that mine is any less.)
It jumps at my touch,
jumps as I run a finger along it,
jumps as I encircle it,
jumps as I pull my hand along and off the tip.

He moans
and I can hear it clearly as we are still kissing,
the beautiful sound echoing in my ear.

"I love you," I tell him as we break for a breath.

"I love you more," he replies.

Then we are kissing again,
and my hand is moving along his inner thigh,
and he moans and moans and moans.

He cannot reach my thigh with his hand,
so he bends a knee,
placing his thigh
between my thighs,
the warmth rippling through.
We stay like that,
two bodies,
engulfed,
sharing,
joined.

Awkwardly,
we shuffle up the bed,
so that my legs no longer hang off of it.

Again, a quick kiss.

And then he lifts himself off of me
and turns around
and takes my penis into his mouth,
and I take his.

As he sucks, so do I.

He holds his hands above his head,
caressing my inner thighs.

His tongue
runs patterns along my cock,
each pattern different,
unique,
each one a surprise that sends me
into waves of bliss.

As I suck his little penis,
I run a finger along his calves,
tracing out patterns of my own.

Soon we have reached ecstasy,
overwhelmed with passion.
We moan,
together,
in synchrony.

As his hands caress my thighs,
I feel them twitch
unconsciously
from the new feelings
that race through his young
but experienced
body.

His legs, too,
pulse with each feeling,
kicking out into the pillow,
overwhelmed with sensation.

His breathing, like mine,
is faster. I can feel
it against my ball sack.
And I realize
that we are breathing in rhythm,
still together.

His tongue
does the work of an expert,
still sliding along my overwhelmed cock,
sliding gently and easily,
soaked with his saliva,
sliding and slipping and gushing and gliding,
my mind a blank with the incredible pleasure.

I too work my magic,
my tongue floating, flying along his cock,
all of it in my mouth,
all of it in my warmth.
His whole body shivers with pleasure.

Close, overwhelmed,
I shove my pelvis forward.
I want more,
more sensation,
more love,
more warmth.
This passes too soon!

"Mmmmmmm," he moans.
A soft voice, far from manhood,
beautiful,
young.
Lost in pleasure beyond imagining.

It warms me to hear it, and I suck harder.
"Oh! Oh! Ohhhhhh!" he exclaims.

He pushes forward with his cock.
I purse my lips,
and I suck,
pulling, caressing, toying.
Pulling and pulling and pulling.

Again I feel the euphoria
of his tongue against my cock
of its dance
and its play
as only a boy can play!
I feel the pressure
of his sucking
with all his might
with all his strength.

His whole body starts shaking,
overwhelmed.
I feel a sheen of sweat along his skin.
His hands clench against my thighs,
gripping them,
in the throes of passion,
his body's motions
no longer in his control.
His thighs snap shut around my head,
but I don't mind,
because they're warm,
and soft.

My world
collapses to his tongue
floating along my cock
that feels adrift in a sea of warmth.
Again and again I feel the pull of his mouth,
the overwhelming pressure,
the all-encompassing sensation,
of his mouth
that engulfs my cock.

"OHHHHHHHH!" I shout.
"OHHHHHHHH!" he shouts.
Together we thrust our hips forward,
together we suck,
our breathing in rhythm,
each pull of our cocks
happening at the same instant,
each slide of our tongues,
like ice dancers,
in perfect synchrony.
An overwhelming ecstasy.

Our cocks pulse forward,
straining for relief,
for the warmth,
my semen floating into his mouth,
seeking a home.
And though his pulses too,
it gives off no liquid,
but is no less sweet for it.

"Mmmmmm," he says,
relaxing in post-orgasmic calm,
licking my cock as it slows and eventually stops,
white drops gently oozing,
to be licked up
by the boy.

I ruffle his hair. He drank of me,
he drank all of me,
and I know it for the act of love that it is.
I would drink of him,
if only there was any to drink.

Together,
in the calm and peace,
we lie together,
embracing one-another,
enjoying the beauty
of youth.