PostPoems Be Artistic. Be Creative. Be Inspired!

During the last camping weekend I attended

while still a member of our small town's larger

scouting troop, you---Farley, one of our most decorated

scouts, a senior in high school to my limited, awkward

sixth grade experience---led me from the campsite of

wildly prejudiced haters, prudes and bullies to an

isolated grove, surrounded. screened, by a circular 

copse of high, ancient trees.  Watered by an narrow

spring, and illuminated by shafts of sunlight, the

grove's surface layer of grass seemed was softly

thick, such that you removed your hiking boots.

Then you pulled your shirt from your cargo pants'

waistband, unbuttoned it, and tossed it onto a

nearby rock.  I inhaled deeply to enjoy the subtle

scent of your tan socks mingled with the natural

fragrances that surrounded us.  I was impressed by

your long, black hair's cascade (years of growth:

troop administrators attempted once, and only

once, to compel a compliant trim, but your maternal

grandfather, one of our state's most successful

Litigators, had issued a warning as yet unforgotten).

I was aroused by, and began to engorge to, the

two prominent and seductively attractive (and suggestive!)

features of your bared torso.  You invited me to be

seated with you,, and then you put your arms around me,

deftly pulling me into a lean against you, and feeling

your gentle strength around me.  I think our respective

respirations even synchronized.  For the first time

since I began to accept my given nature as it was (and

not as my parents commanded it to be), I felt a relaxed

contentment.  You recognized my fascination with your

socks, although you did not embarrass or shame for it;

although you flexed your feet and wiggled your toes

repeatedly and seductively for my rising appreciation.

You knew I was not ready for intimacy; just this, this

comfort in the midst of the kind of weekend I had

learned, early and quickly, to fear and to avoid

whenever possible.  We returned late to the campsite;

dusk was, by then, very near; you had not bothered to

put on your boots or shirt until after we arrived.  No

one attempted to bully or berate me for the weekend's

remainder.  Although you were not always in sight, I

felt your presence.  Your merit had improved my life.

Your compassion's honor had rescued me as from a precipice.

J-Called