Staring Into The Distance Of Dreams

Under the oak tree atop the hill, looking into the hot Texas wind, south through the haze toward his past. Peering beyond the new johnny-come-lately structures of the modern invaders, across the cedar breaks, and onto the prairie.

From his high vantage point, he leaves the weight of reality to fall into the dark reaches of his mind where the past and the fantasy intermingle into a recipe of self-indulgent decadence. A caldo of lust bathed in the broth of truth. Sustenance for the heavy heart stroke that pushes fresh blood and breath to his lengths all too long dormant.

There he stands, facing south. Looking through the shadows of the blowing oak, into the shadows of his heart. The dark places. Not of malice. Not of regret. The darkness that pulses renewed youth into one's spirit. The darkness of his bedroom.

The only illumination is the early morning first light sneaking between the cracks of his blinds. Just enough light to reflect off his pale green bed sheets. They paint the outline of her thighs straddled his waist, full flowing arcs of beautiful strength.

He has awoken with a start. The force of her perfect ass pushing down onto him was a startling way to wake. He was shaken by her movement followed by a disorienting intense pleasure as she sunk onto him. He could not see her in the darkness. Yet his hands found the picture of her outline beautiful in his mind, the wide bend of her perfect hips the perfect handle to grip the waking reality of his situation.

He throbbed inside of her, consciously reaching deep with his cock. He need not say a word, for she knew his desire instantly. She simply affirmed his want with a broken moan. A moan that ended with the staccato of caught breath. She shook already. He felt her thighs tremble and her essence seep onto his pubis. He smelled the earthen tones of her lust heavy on the air, waking him fully into the moment.

His fingers dug into her quivering hips. He stared into the shadow crowned by the cascading spirals of hair over him. He grunted out loud as his control of the burning sting of restraint slipped ever more precariously to the edge of the cliff of paradise.

She shook. She quivered. She did not stop her assault. His fists closed upon her flesh. He heaved his breath into the darkness, exploding into her light.

A car horn blew on the road below his oak tree. Shaking his daydream into broken pieces with the oppression of reality. The wind picked up and blew cool against his flush face, there under the oak tree, atop the hill, looking south into the haze of distance. There he stood, panting into the wind, throbbing in reality, wishing to escape again into her lips in daydreams.

Those lips she possessed. Full, soft, strong in her smile.

He stared into the heat of the afternoon across the bottom of soft puffy clouds blowing in their march from the Gulf of Mexico. Their buoyancy was dictated by the heat of the day, lifting off of the baking cedar trees in the karst wash below. He stood in the shade of the oak, sheltered from the attack of the summer afternoon.

He could feel her lips brush against his as the afternoon gulf wind marched north with the clouds. He thought of the way her kiss tasted, a flavor of excitement that jolted his heart with impulse. He wished to taste her succulence slowly, tenderly. Yet that impulse always leads down the path of uncontrolled passion that razed any semblance of slow control.

He could pull his kiss away. Stroke the side of her face. Find the comfort of her visage in his hands. The clouds drift away and he finds her visage in his view. He can feel her jawline press into his palm, his thumb softly stroking the line of her cheek just below her eye.

Her eyes. Those bright coffee-toned pools of energy. He can read her story just from the light within her eyes. He can see her strength. He can taste her beauty in the fluid pull of her gaze. He can hear all that she has to say with the simple expression of her look. While his impulse longed to be satiated, he desired most to read her pleasure with the silence of her loud eyes.

So he looked into her captivation, he was in control, yet he was fully entrapped by her allure. He could not escape. He could only manipulate the way she looked at him. He placed his lips gently upon hers, slowly kissing into her resistance. He watched her right eye flutter closed with his blurry view. He kissed her with ever-increasing intent, his control over his impulse slipping inverse to the force he applied to his grip on her hair and jawline.

He backed away from his kiss once more when all control was sure to be lost, remaining the master of his instincts. Her eyes remained closed. He looked upon the divinity of her relaxed expression. He had control. Yet his longing pulsated openly in the full revolt of his diligence.

Her legs accepted him without being asked. She knew his desire. He need not communicate his want. She knew. She accepted him.

Her eyes fluttered open with renewed energy upon the pleasure of the resistance of his first thrust in. He slowly sunk deeply into her spirit. He could see how every inch of his incursion lifted vibrancy into her eyes. At first, she merely looked intently into his gaze, her eyes narrowing in a locked invitation. Then as he pushed deeper, resistance vanished, her acceptance with warmth and wet delicious substance paired with the dance of pupils lifting higher.

He reached a maximum depth of understanding. The full force of his press rested firmly against her embrace. Her pupils escaped to the cover of her quaking eyelids as her voice lifted in an escape of her supple lips. He felt her shake in reverberating pleasure, her eyes white with intensity.

His coworker's greeting behind his back surprised him. The white of her eyes was replaced with boiling white clouds angry in the reality of the heat of the day. He masked his heavy breathing with the guise of surprise. He pretended to be interested in the clouds so as to not turn around and show the evidence of his true interest, her pleasure.

He remained as still as possible, standing between the waves of heat in the shade.

The heat lifted off the ground and boiled at his patience. Perhaps it was not the heat of the day, but rather the audacity of his peer. He was agitated by the interruption. His breathing remained labored, lurching from the pleasure of dreams to the frustration of social expectations. He remained standing. Staring out over the building traffic below him. The stimulus of the heat, the movement of the traffic, the interruption of unwanted conversation... all of it too much.

He felt the physical reaction to his frustration well up from inside. Truly such silly things to be frustrated by. He needed a visceral release. He needed to have his strength tested aggressively.

Moments passed by. The anger subsided. The tension persisted. A tension that made his arms wrought with potential energy. His legs tensed to pounce. He was a spring on a hair trigger.

His energy was manic like the traffic below. He watched the vehicles dart around with no particular interest.

But her ass...

Her ass with the amazing circumferences of her supple arcs filled his mind. He felt the aggression inside of his being shift from anger to simple want. The kind of want that dictates action. Unrestrained action. He bit into his lip as the intensity of the afternoon glint matched his aggression and dulled reality to oblivion.

Now only her arched back was before him. Her curls fell over the cut of her spine. A spine that drew a direct route to the target of his uncontrolled aggression. He bit into his lip a little bit harder.

His hands grabbed the top arcs of her ass. His cock was as aggressive as his mood, standing perpendicular to his heart, yet jumping to the same rhythm. He wanted his tension released. She was there for him. She was always there for him.

He thought of nothing. He simply wanted an outlet. He simply wanted her. Badly.

His right hand released her hip. Fingers splayed, his energy at a critical point, he made contact at full force, his hand pushing through the supple flesh of her right cheek. The sound of his strike followed the ripple upon her buttock. The strike wafted the scent of her desire to his nostril. He bit his lip harder in response, her aroma of want always inspired him to action. Her response of pain that transitioned to moans of pleasure did not offer resistance to his conscious to stop.

With both hands, he clenched her hips. There was no gentle aim. There was no checking to ensure she was ready. He simply thrust.

Deep. Hard. His cock slipped easily into the innocence of her acceptance. Instantly bathing him in her pleasure, it leaked all around their union. He did not hesitate. He simply withdrew quickly and slammed into her again.

Full reach. With abandon. With ferocity. Each stroke connects with a sting of antagonized instinct. Each blow caused a wave of flesh that crashed into her lower back. She cried out. In pain, in pleasured pain. The song of their flesh created the meter to her cries.

The violence of his lust pushed deep inside of her. She responded by pushing into his strikes with equal aggression. He grabbed as much of her curls into his right hand as he could grip, just at the base of her head. He jerked her back hard. He wanted all of her.

He took all of her. Her voice of acceptance and pleasure brought him close to a throbbing conclusion. Her screams of delight rang loud into his ear.

The scream of the prehistoric-looking cicada pierced his fantasy. The actuality of the traffic below steals his conclusion. The manic reality remained.

He stood beneath his tree. Leaking his dream onto the denim of his jeans.

He stood in the arboreal cool, beneath the dense leaves of the oak. The afternoon air was heavy. Humidity, haze, and the mania of the city beneath him leaked fumes of toxicity into his island of peace. The grit of human's lust for control and power tarnished his air, polluted his heart, and shaded his spirit.

However, beneath the tree, out of the reach of the scorching sun, he cleansed himself. A shower for the soul. She was the surfactant in his absolution. He needed little else. Just the cool breeze glimpses from the gulf. Just the gorgeous glimpses of the tingles her caress brings.

The wind blows cool against his skin, much like the showered dampened skin glistening in the air. The mania subsides.

He is standing in the back of the shower. The shower water is warm. Yet the water on his skin has cooled as the heat dissipates into the steam of the shower stall.

He is not cold. Not in the slightest. For she is pressed firmly against him. Her ass pressed hard against the support of his thighs. He fit so perfectly into the small of her back. His arm wrapped around her rib cage, just below her breasts. He watched with delight as the heave of her breath swelled her bosom with just the slightest jiggle. He watched beads of water fall to the path of gravity, pulled to the center of his attention, her.

He listened to the chant of her half-voiced moans. Breathy, raspy, earthen moans were generated deep within. The purity of the streaming water against the heat of her want cleansing the strength of her restraint. Every moment the stream remained focused upon the sow of her desire, the more her resistance crumbled. Inversely, her voice began to crescendo with her ache extolled upon the echo of shower tiles.

He held her tighter and tighter against him. Supporting her spasms with a slow strong constriction. He pressed her hard against his own pulsations, reaching up her back. He was certain that his own quivers instigated some of her moans. Their root took hold the moment he felt the resistance of her back against his throbbing cock.

He dared not release her. He simply held her. Supported her. Coaxed her pleasure in half spoke mumbles of want, broken sentences that were ended with his lips upon her ear. He kissed the structure of her shoulder. He bit into her collarbone. He devoured her bliss, pulling her increasingly closer to his center.

She let go. Her cries disappeared into the quake of breath lost. She released in waves. The sound of cascading water dropping to the shower floor matched the period of her frequency. Water broke in splash crowns at their feet. He did not let go. He watched with delight. He pulled her tighter into the line of his silhouette. He shook with her. He held his breath with her. He supported her.

Her parted lips slowly began to let the steam-warmed air back into her lungs. She breathed deeply. He watched her breasts grow upon the horizon of his sight. He saw her firm nipples lift to his fingertips. He loosed his grip on her middle so that he may fondle a kiss from her lips. Without a word of command, she turned her head in unison. She offered her kiss and her breasts.

He consumed her kiss, her breasts, her hips, and her trust.

The shower massager swayed by the hose, pushed to and fro by the water pressure it administered, spraying at their shins. They dripped with water and with desire for each other in the diffused light of the shower curtain.

He stared into the diffused light beyond the hill in the clouds above the distant prairie. He breathed easy as her peace cleansed his anxiety. He stood firm like the oak above him.

He stood erect, peering into the blue distance of the prairie. The haze dissolved the horizon, the green valley phased to the bluish hue of distance, then to the grey of the unknown transition, then to blue again where the clouds swam heavily in dark foreboding purples of the future storm. The high sky above the oak was dark indigo in the summer dusk, waiting for the flush of sharp light from the sleepy moon.

In the distance, he could make out the cement factory. A long-time landmark of his youth. A childhood spent along the prairie and the creeks that ran clear from the heights of the plateau in the west. A past where the details of events blur in memories. A distance he had traveled, to get to this point beneath his oak tree high upon the uplifted land above the fault. A distance of time that saw his boyish way of thinking give way to the tumultuous thoughts of manhood.

Manhood. Something that he still cannot define. Somehow the physical distance represented the difference. Somehow the physical distance of the cement factory represented the time of his travel into manhood, the trials of his journey across the valley, and through the society of the liberal city that pushed his definition of virtues. The abrasion of city life wore down the sharp defining lines between good and bad.

The sky grew darker with the approaching storm and evening. He stood firm. Erect. Proud.

She was lying beneath him. He used the tops of his thighs to keep her open, though there was no resistance from her position. His fists were clenched firmly on either side of her head. He had hastily pushed the pillows away in earlier fits of lust.

Now they moved slowly. Slow with the pleasant feeling of physical exhaustion. Slow with the ecstasy that feasting on their bliss presented. His breath was still labored from the violence of their euphoria.

Sweat and their sublime essence lubricated the warm sensations of where their flesh met. Their skin was marked red; where he collided with her resistance, and where she dug into his back to return the pleasing assault.

He now moved with slow unstoppable inertia, with the vector and victory of paradise before him. He pulsed. Strong. She wrapped her arms around his shoulders, her hands resting on the back of his neck, her fingers interlocked. Her heavy breath struck the pattern of someone in a relaxed state.

The darkness around them was of no consequence. It embraced their shared state and exhaulted a peace without distraction. He could not see her lips, yet he could see her smile. He could not see her curls, yet he could feel their texture against his hands and arms.

He pushed deep into the comforting lubricious warmth, he felt her breath hit his chest. He followed her gravity and collapsed, pressing hard against her. He pulsed with pleasure deep inside their union. He could no longer tell the difference between the dampness of sweat or the dampness of lust. Her perfume long faded, his cologne long worn away.

Yet she smelled more desirable in this state than at any other moment. The earthen musk of sweat and lust, mixed into odorous ambrosia. She smelled of paradise. She smelled of woman. She smelled of him.

The final strokes along the path of pleasure were the mightiest. Not in force. Not in the strength of the body. Rather in the strength of their symbiotic spirit. Their shared time was no longer simple lust. A union of acceptance. The pleasure of the other mirrored exactly. No ounce of resistance, no reserved secret of energy. Just the moment. Just them together.

He let go. Flooding her with his surrender, vulnerable to her wishes. She caressed him, accepted him, filled with his waves of hot energy that pushed deep, propagating a vibration in celebration of the moment shared. She caressed the idea of him being with her heart, impressed into her soul. She accepted his growls, grunts, and groans as trophies of her success, she heard no threat. Just a shared paradise of resting souls.

They remained still as one. The peace found only in their union.

This is what it means to be a man, to be human, to protect those that you love with violence of lust for life. That protection comes from the selfless call of instinct, a gift from the creator and the fathers before. Masculinity is not defined by the wants of society or simple animalistic desires. A purpose is defined by the strength and comfort of a heart open to be shared.

For however strong he thought he was, she was as strong. For everything he gave, she gave in return. He reflected her light, her energy. He cannot tire of their symbiosis. The physical evidence of this can be found in the evidence of their bed, in his dreams, and in his memories. Most importantly, in his actions.

The lights beneath the oak tree erupted in a blinding explosion that jarred his consciousness back into the reality of the darkening summer evening. The sun is defeated in the course of time as the moon rises along the periphery of the thunderhead. Lightning flashed in the distance. He remained, beneath his oak tree, making sense of his thoughts.

"I love you", he said into the wind.

He started to descend from the hill, into the valley and din of the chaos of the city. He left the past. He left the present. He left for his future in the traffic below. He left to find her.