13 Years

13 years since then. Since Seattle. Since the sun opened up in a way it never had before and never would again.

13 years since the beautiful green and rain dampened mornings.

13 years since I saw a path.

13 years since I was pure, whole, complete, and knew what to do.

13 years since I first had a drink alone.

13 years since I made up my mind.

13 years.

I walked everywhere and hardly slept. I worked, and wrote, and took it all in. I knew I was home, knew Seattle would be home -- or at least would be the way I found a way out. A way home.

I once thought there was a way I could find that clarity again. That my spirit could soar.

13 years since the one, brief opening.

13 years since I chose to try one more time, to give a little more of myself.

13 years since a month turned to two and turned to something from which I could never turn back.

Now 12 years since the darkness crept in, forever clouding the light.

I escaped that first darkness. I thought I did.

Now 9 years since the darkness returned. 8 years since it took over.

Just 6 years ago I realized I'd been robbed of joy. And that marked 7 years since Seattle. Since hope.

One sentence. Three words. Words I wouldn't say. Not out loud.

Instead, I wonder.

13 years ago I could have been pure, earnest, with but one tiny blemish.

13 years ago I might have offered myself as a source of strength to the brown-haired girl I'd known from school.  Or perhaps more eagerly pursued the clearly interested co-worker.

Or just left. To home. To Seattle. To Somewhere.

13 years since Seattle.

13 years since the bright sun. Since the clarity of purpose.

13 years since purity.

13 years since I was whole.

I can trace each minute in my mind, can see each hour pass, can feel my heart race and my spirit sing.

13 years.

A Few Minutes on Thursday

Their bodies stuck together with a light, pleasant sweat. Both completely naked, exactly the same height. Her long fingers played in his hair, their legs intertwined.

Her words soothed him and his words made her smile.

In these moments, he marveled at her beauty. Her small, perfect breasts with pierced nipples. The length of her tan legs. The Latin words written down one side of her body.

The sheets and comforter a deep red, the lights off and blinds drawn.

The day outside hot, summer at full strength.

Her sister back in about an hour.

But now, right now, for these few minutes, they could relax, close their eyes, say words, and smile.

Just minutes before, hot semen on her back, dripping down her leg...On all fours as he entered her, found rhythm, admired her tiny, tight asshole and the tattoo just above it, held her waist, and pushed all the way...

Before that, her mouth on him, his boxer briefs tossed aside, the head of his cock throbbing and pulsing against her lips and tongue.

Holding her after her climax, the one caused by his mouth, his fingers, his hungry tongue.

Never more than two hours together, mostly just over one.

They both craved those moments, those minutes. All of it intense, passionate, wondrous. The few minutes just before he left the most wonderful of all.

Alone. Together. Darkness. Words. Light touch on sensitive bodies.

Every Thursday for one summer. A few minutes.