PostPoems Be Artistic. Be Creative. Be Inspired!

Partly to imagine the beauty of exquisite male love, and

partly to assuage my own desires---half a century frustrated---

I imagined a sultry, heavily starlit night over Alexandria,

then narrowed the focus to the ancient royal palace, and

then narrowed it further to a private suite and bedchamber.

No inhibitions or societal expectations shall be permitted to

interfere with the Love I want to describe, or the beauty of

its intimate expression.  On a gilded raised bed, covered

with one silken sheet, midnight blue, he lays on his back.

He is clad in stockings---sheer pink, translucent except the

opacity of the doubled weave at his heels and toes.  You

sit on the edge of his bed, in a comfortable posture that

allows the rhythmic movement of your thumb and fingers'

clasp around the seamstring (now that the foreplay of the

playful, plentiful caresses have led to this point) as he

squirms and writhes at the approach to the peak of pleasure,

contentedly confident that you will not interrupt your efforts

due to some kind of residual shame imposed by haters and prudes,

nor alter the pattern from what both of you have agreed is the

most pleasing.  A quick glance down his legs reveals the

almost wild flex of his feet and curling of his toes, that the

sheer silk that sheathes them enhances.  Suddenly, your

sensual positioned fingers detect, through the seamstring, the

powerful contraction of muscles deep in his core, leading to the

sevenfold surge by which his sweetness launches toward

release, and achieves splashdown across his belly and upper

torso, just below his delectable nipples.  And at this most

satisfying moment, he is a typical, long-haired, slender

adolescent boy who has just enjoyed, with your eager

assistance, a most satisfactory orgasm---just beautiful

Kaisarion with you, his boyfriend, rather than Ptolemy XV Caesar,

Pharaoh and Lord of the Two Lands . . .

Starward