I don’t know how it starts out, and there may be several starting points, but what I do remember is very similar each time: I’m sitting in a room of vague dimensions – and I cannot really make out much beyond a couple of meters. It’s isolated but not dark as such. I am not alone, though: there is another man sitting very close, our legs entangled, either scissor fashion or one with legs stretched out and the other sitting on top. We are always facing each other with eyes at the same height, though.
I feel connected with that man, but I could not even tell if it is always the same one. Physical appearance plays no role in this encounter, but physical experience most certainly does. Our legs touch, and my eyes gaze into his. Without a word, we embrace and hold that position for a long time, until we have exhausted the feelings received and given in this place, holding each other and caring, until it becomes unbearable to not do anything else.
Letting go gently, my hands glide over his back, sides, shoulders, until only one hand is slowly moving across the hairs on his lower arm, the hollow of his elbow, up his upper arm. And then changing direction and making my way back towards his hands as slowly as I did go up. When I stop my movements, he starts to reciprocate, repeating my moves in detail, and excruciating slowness that awakens my need for more of this. So we switch sides and tend to the other arm in the same fashion. Time passes, racing and amazingly slow at the same time. I am outside of time. There is no such thing as time.
We switch sides over and over again, one gently sending signals on the other’s skin, the other receiving and enjoying the manipulations with full attention. Gradually, we move to different parts of the other’s body: bottoms, thighs, shins and feet, cock and balls, belly, chest and then, very gently, across every single feature of the face, the neck, and ultimately tousling the hair and slowly massaging the scalp, until we find ourselves sitting with the fingers of both hands entangled, silent.
There is a sense of peace and joy and arousal, but no absolute need to consummate our love in a more carnal fashion. This is perfection.
When I wake up at that point, my whole body is tingling, my breath is ragged and I’m often aroused, cock standing to attention. I find myself tempted to follow particular patterns of breathing, which brings with it more involuntary shivers, convulsions and sounds that I often cannot even identify as my own. I wonder when such a wonderful thing is going to happen next, in dream or in reality?
These are my own thoughts on aspects of my work I feel strongly about.