An account of my life through my writing, the arts, men and media. All things homoerotic.
Thursday, July 15, 2010
SONS Chapter 8
That night Miles slipped into my room around midnight. I had just turned out the lights when the door opened and I saw the silhouette of his naked body squeeze through the opening in the door, closing it quietly. In a moment he silently lifted the bed covers and slid into the sheets. I felt the warmth of his body as he inched himself closer to mine. He reached out, touching my shoulder slowly, caressing my torso as his hand made its way to my erect cock. He brought his lips to my neck, licking behind my ear as his mouth made its way to my ear lobe, his tongue exploring the inside of my ear. My mouth opened as I gasped for air. My breath increased as he stroked me, biting my lobe, kissing his way to my open and eager mouth. I felt light headed and faint as his tongue explored the inside of my mouth and I sucked his tongue. “I want thee to fuck me, Stevie,” he gasped and turned on his side, his backside facing towards me. I turned and spooned him, my cock pressing up against his willing ass. I embraced him, kissing the back of his neck and smelling his wonderful aroma. He spit on his hand, lubricating his anus and then grabbed my aching cock, guiding me to the desired destination. His back arched as I penetrated him, catching his breath, a high gasping sound escaping from the back of his throat. I sighed as I slowly thrust deeper, nestling my face into his neck and hair. “Oh, God, Stevie! Don’t stop.” I rolled him over onto his front and climbed onto his back. Moving only my hips, I plunged into the warmth of his body over and over again. We lay exhausted as the fire died in the fireplace, the warm glow of the light in the room slowly dying as the moonlight fell through the windows, illuminating the room with a soft blue radiance. The next morning I couldn’t find Miles anywhere. “Morning, Lettie, have you seen Miles?” I asked as I popped my head into the kitchen. “He was up early and out of here with tools in a bag. Yer breakfast will be ready in moment, sir.” “Thank you, Lettie. I think I’d like to take it on the porch, if you don’t mind.” “No problem at all, Mr. Reid. It’s a lovely day, it is.” A copy of the London Times was sitting on the credenza in the dining room as I walked by, so I picked it up and walked out onto the porch. The world was slowly recovering from the horrors of the war. The Americans had occupied Japan and Europe was being divided by the Allies, like so many pieces of a pie. Germany had been divided with Berlin being split in half also. But the big news that day was that Schellenberg had been tried in Nuremberg and sentenced to six years in prison; three of which he had already served. The sentence was handed down on April 13, 1949; three days ago. I breathed a sigh of relief. Schellenberg had testified against other Nazis in Nuremberg and had gotten off lightly, sitting in prison until the Ministries Trials two years later. Of the twelve defendants sentenced to death by hanging, two were not hanged: Hermann Göring committed suicide the night before the execution and Martin Bormann was not present when convicted. The remaining ten defendants sentenced to death were hanged. The death sentences were carried out October 16, 1946 by hanging using the standard drop method instead of long drop. The U.S. army denied claims that the drop length was too short which caused the condemned to die slowly from strangulation instead of quickly from a broken neck. Lettie brought my breakfast and I enjoyed the morning alone longing for Miles.
"An artist has always gotta be in the state of becoming"... Bob Dylan...
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