9
Out on the deck, down the slope toward the stream, the shadow of the house lay before us. Some eager soul had already brought out the table and set the bowl in place.
Out on the deck, down the slope toward the stream, the shadow of the house lay before us. Some eager soul had already brought out the table and set the bowl in place.
“God, why do we do this?” I asked him.
“Uh… maybe because for the last year we’ve had the hottest sex of our lives?”
“Christ Almighty. Feast or famine.”
“You ever experienced anything like this before?” he asked.
“Never. I float for six weeks on the afterglow. Then waiting for the next time nearly kills me. I’ve been horny twenty-four hours a day since the end of May.”
“That’s the whole idea, remember?”
“Yeah,” I conceded. “Well, it felt like a good one a month ago.”
“We just need distraction from the thought of my cock inside you,” he smirked, taking my hand and nodding toward the burbling creek. “C’mon. One last dip. Maybe the cold water will help."
Long shadows played over the surface of the stream from the branches above, new depths revealed where reflections had obscured the creek bed earlier in the day. Luke lowered himself, flinching a little, then plunging beneath the surface. His hair swirled like black and grey seaweed in the current. The minnows that had investigated us in the morning swam up again but now seemed decidedly interested in our crotches. We stood still, side by side, arms slung over one another’s shoulders, fascinated by their attention. The sight and feel of their light nibbles were delicious and a little weird. Could such tiny fish could recognize a few premature sperm leaking out of us as morsels to snatch as they swam by?
“I don’t want this day to ever end,” Luke sighed.
“I do, and don’t. I’m ready to move on. I don’t know to what. But it’s time to let go. At least for me.”
“The long buildups, maybe I can’t take that either. But I want to live in a place where I can make love with my whole tribe day by day.”
“The utopian dream, with a hardon,” I chuckled. “But it never lasts, does it? A few years, and the dreamers pack up and merge back into the crowd. The Summer of Love ends, and everybody buys hedge funds.”
“At least they’ve known the dream. Land’s cheap in central Florida, if you stay away from town. I can buy twenty acres and relocate my greenhouse for a fraction of what I’ll get for my house. Come with me. Give up winter. Grow orchids for a year. See who’ll join us.”
I couldn’t bring myself to answer. Just reached out to take his hand.
We still sat on the rocks above the pool, drying off in the last of the slanting sun, when the sound of the singing bowl called us back to the deck. The air was moist and warm, but a breeze blew from the west down the slope, pushing the bugs back into the woods below. A perfect night to be naked together under Father Sky well past sunset. A three-quarters moon gleamed to the south, intensifying as the light went down, as though it were as full to bursting with pent-up energy as we were.
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