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Your hand comes to immediate and reassuring rest upon the small of my back, as it unfailingly does whenever you are lying next to me as I stir into awakening. We have shared this moment many times over the years, and this familiar yet ever unexpected gesture continues to move me. I sometimes ponder how a subtle, unabated desire for you has remained so alive and flame-like within me; familiarity so often dulls our sensitivity to the changing beauty of those we love.

We don’t sleep like spoons and our shared time is as sporadic and imperfect as the paradoxical creatures we ourselves are. We part for a time but always come back to each other to share the intimacy again.

Your hand knows (whether you yourself do or not) that I need its warmth, its current, its solidity, to bring my body to life. I have lived much without it, given our penchant for separations, but it is still the current of life to me, that hand on my back; it is my food, my desire, my reason. From your palm to the small of my bark and out through my belly, which rests flat on the surface of the bed, your solar glow begins its slow radiance, suffusing my heart with its warmth, flowing downward like molten lava over my Venusian mound, down farther, down the insides of my legs, stirring like lights the inner spaces below my ankles.

Perhaps you are still dreaming, unaware of this journey we have begun. It is as though your instinct is ahead of you, moving you toward me, drawing you from your solitary flight in the boundless universe of dreamland. I don’t know — can we ever know another’s experience directly? Still, my imagination seeks images of explanation; what is it at your deepest core that knows me? I don’t ask, I feel the current travel from you through me and out again; our molecules, heedless of our possible intent, begin their rhythmic intimate dance.

I listen to the sound of birds outside our room, then the sound of our breathing, now in unison, all of my senses coming alive. This time, this unique and unrepeatable time, I hear the rustling of the sheets as you stir. Moments pass. Your hand changes pressure ever so slightly. Our breathing is slow, rhythmic, relaxed, yet deeper.

My eyes, resisting morning, are still closed and I am awake within that light-darkness. You are wordlessly aware that I am awake; our ritual is silence. We are orphan-close, so far away in this moment from the day which will soon press in upon us. We are farther still from our differences, our troubles, far from who we often pretend we are, even to each other. Do we really even know each other? I think not. Yet, our intimacy is so complete that we are like one being in this quiet time of shared arousal.

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A nice evening at her place, I thought as we got out of the car. Good wine, a wonderful sex goddess, and a good dinner lying happily in my stomach. What else could a man ask for? “To fuck like crazed weasels,” I muttered as I watched Jennifer slink up the walkway, with her one flawless leg catching in the light from the street light. “What’s that, dear?” she said, pivoting to look at me. A flash of white skin caught the dim yellow light where the stump I’d been thinking about through dinner was. “Nothing, I was just muttering to myself. They tell me the insanity isn’t anything to worry about unless I start st-st-stu-stuttering.”

Her infectious laugh filled the still air as we went into her apartment. I walked in and took off my shoes and watched as she placed a crutch tip on either side of her red pump and lifted her right foot out in one fluid motion. She was worth another hungry look in the room light. That oft-admired bare leg was perfect right down to the way the toes curved. Her hips and backside were pushing against her tight death-by-red dress. A bit further up, her full breasts were pressing hard against the fabric, with firm little points crying out to be touched. Her pretty hands flexed around the grips of the aluminum crutches that helped her look so athletic.

Her eyes sparkled above her wide smile when I finally looked up at her pretty face. She turned and hugged me, and said, “Could you pour the wine? There are stem glasses in the cupboard above and to the left of the sink.” She then headed to the sofa as I uncorked the bottle and found the supplies I needed.

I thought about her as I made busy in the kitchen. I’d met her how long ago? Was it really only two weeks? From the first time I’d seen her hop past me at the pool, I’d been addicted. That stump, ending just above the knee, had just not been out of my mind since. But nor had her breasts, her earlobes, her very fingers – she was just everywhere! I’d almost jumped her in the Japanese restaurant earlier when, after I gave her right foot a good massage, she slipped said bare foot up above my ankle and started rubbing my leg. Yes, she’d be a dish in any language, and that truncated thigh just made it more exotic.

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Bobby was now glad for one important thing. That he had always thought that it was important that he always be in top physical shape. After all, not only was he soon to go into the service in a few months, but always being conscious of how he looked had always been an important factor in the way he felt.

There was also a third reason now why the 18-year-old man appreciated being in top shape. For the past hour now, he had been riding his bike either along with, or behind his most recent girlfriend, Barbi. And in spite of his knowing that at any time he could easily outrace her, he was constantly surprised and highly pleased when the 18-year old girl continually proved that she could stay right up with him. Like now, having ridden almost a mile up a steep hill, following close behind her to protect her from traffic, he was soon beginning to spend more and more time really ‘noticing’ her for the first time.

At first she was merely hunched over the bike handlebars, and as Bobby pulled up beside her, he had an unusual feeling deep within his loins as he noticed how her costume fit her. Her tiny cut-off T-Shirt, of a semi transparent material, was fluttering in the breeze, and from his position slightly behind her, Bobby gulped as he noticed that he could stare into the deep gap under her shirt and see the soft curve of her under breasts.

He was amazed to see that in spite of her not too small size breasts, she needed no artificial support. He could see her hard, flat tummy. He saw that her stomach was extremely flat, almost like a block of cement. He could see the only crease in her body, at her waist, almost hiding her tiny indented belly button. And then the slight curve of her lower belly before it disappeared into the low cut hip band of her jogging shorts. Like the material of her shirt, it was semi-transparent, and in fact at time he could see the bright sunlight through the thin material, seeing parts of her body that really surprised him.

Now, the most exotic feature of her totally overwhelmed Bobby. As the hot sun blazed down on their heavily sweating bodies, even his flesh looked sexy. As the sun gleamed off the muscles that were tensing and relaxing. As his arms and legs worked that bike up the hill. Yet it was nothing compared to the body of Barbi. And why? Simple. Because this wonderful young woman was in fact a black woman. Not pure black, but her flesh was the color of dark coffee, with just a twinge of cream. And as each muscle of her body tensed, strove to move that bicycle along the narrow country road, the bright, burning sun gleamed off her flesh, highlighting it in such a manner that made her look as if she were made of polished mahogany. The special effect caused by her body being completely coated with a sheen of perspiration made her look like a Queen of the Nile.

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I flew into LAX and when I came through the gate I saw Brittany standing there. She was even more beautiful than her pictures had allowed me to believe. I approached her and the closer I got to her the more intimidating she became. I watched her face light up in a smile that I interpreted as one which said, ‘this is going to be easier than I thought to break this one into little pieces.’ We hugged and I thought she was going to break my ribs or knock me out right there in the airport; but, she eased up and whispered in my ear, “that was just a little sample of my arm strength. I’m going to destroy you with them and then break you in half with my long, strong legs. You belong to my muscles.” I could only smile and respond as any male would when that close to a beautiful, powerful woman.

We walked down to get my baggage and Brittany made sure that she walked in front of me so I could watch the flex of those gorgeous legs of hers. We talked while waiting for my bags and she would verbally tease me every chance she got. My bags finally came out and I pulled them off of the conveyor belt. They were heavy and I suggested we find a porter to take them out for us. Brittany said, “don’t be silly, I’m stronger than any of them ever thought of being. I’ll carry the bag you think is so heavy; do you think you can manage the camera?” And she picked up my bag as if it were empty and off we went. When we had the bags loaded into the car she took my hand and placed it on her arm then she flexed. The muscle exploded and my hand could not fit around it. Brittany said, “this is what a real arm feels like and you are going to be feeling it a lot around your scrawny little neck and weak body as I crush you into unconsciousness.”

We arrived at my hotel, checked in and the bell man took us to the room. I had gotten a suite as Brittany had instructed me to. After the bell man had been tipped and he left Brittany walked over to me; wearing her 4″ heels she stood about 6’2″. I looked up into her smiling face as she raised her right arm and flexed her muscle in my face. She then grabbed a handful of hair and wrapped her arm around my neck in a headlock. “Put your hand on my arm and feel how hard my female muscle gets as I knock you out.” I touched her arm and the next thing I knew was Brittany straddling my body as I lay on the floor. When she saw me open my eyes she laughed and said, “You only lasted 3 seconds but I won’t put you out so fast from now on. I want you to squirm and cry and beg some. Now sit up and put your neck between my thighs. You may feel them as I crush you out again.”

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“…And four is just COMPLETELY OUT OF HAND”

Our parties are usually nothing to be laughed at and this one turned out to be no exception.

We didn’t have as many people as we expected but we did get the ‘core’ group of people together so we had a quality party rather than a quantity party. On the whole, it was a WONDERFUL occasion. Steve, as usual, brought a gorgeous woman along to introduce to the crowd.

Shelly was incredibly cute. A little short, 5’4″ or so, and a little heavy, but, for some reason I was immediately attracted to her. I walked over to Steve and whispered in his ear

“Who’s the babe?”

“Oh, don’t know you Shelly?” he said with mock surprise. “Shelly, this is Kurt, Kurt this is Shelly”

“Hi, I’m Kurt, nice to meet you.”

“We usually call him ‘Speedy'”

“Hey, buddy, I don’t need any more of your shit tonight.”

“Well it’s true” he said with a grin.

“Yeah, well…” It wasn’t worth trying to salvage a good first impression with him around. I decided I would try a little later.

“I’m Shelly…We met before a couple months ago in Chicago,” she said, offering me her hand.

A woman as physically pleasing as this I would have remembered…and I know I wasn’t THAT drunk.

“I was with Steve and you were with…what was here name?” she said to Steve.

“Who, his squeeze toy?…that was Karen.”

“Steve, give me a break…its been a long day and I cannot defend myself against this barrage.”

“Ok, I’ll give you a little breathing room.”

“Nice to meet you, Shelly, I think I’m going to wander about the party and see if everyone is having a good time”

“Ok, nice meeting you again.”

They turned back to their conversation and I slipped away through the crowd with my tail neatly tucked between my legs.

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