PostPoems Be Artistic. Be Creative. Be Inspired!

Although we were not genetically related,

you were like my brother---older and more experienced

although only nine days separated our June birthdays.  And

you were beautiful (long-haired, slender, agile as a dancer), and

I was ugly (short-haired, always clipped, ungainly and awkward).

Inhibitions, nost of them parentally imposed, seemed to

collapse in your seductive presence.  Aware of what I was

already customarily responsive to, you approached me that

summer afternoon, in nineteen seventy-one, with a rather

casual invitation.  Our friendship had existed for eight of

our thirteen years; but, since the onset of my adolescence,

each glimpse of you was like the discovery of a new world

orbiting star that, suddenly, emerged in our skies to

outshine the sun.  You were clad in a dark gray, mesh,

sleeveless tee; lavender bell-bottoms---some sort of

cloth far more supple than denim; and, beneath the

flared and unfrayed, untattered cuffs, midnight blue socks

not confined by or concealed within the unyielding

stiffness of shoes (which you had militantly disliked

since at least the time we attended kindergarten together).

You invited me to join you in the cool privacy of your

absent parents' presently empty garage (the house not

private enough with your oldest sibling asleep, after her

third shift seasonal job, in one of the bedrooms).  I

watched the silent, but very seductive glide of your

softly-sheathed feet across the cool smoothness of the

concrete floor.  You suggested I slip my sneakers off, and

then you unfastened my unfashionable pants waist-band; then a

bit of logistical wiggling out permitted our Pleasurers to

emerge and---as our mouths engulfed each other, and our

tongues swirled around each other like merging galaxies, our

Pleasurers greeted each other, kissed each other's vibrant

seamstrings, and exchanged a droplet of sweetness.  Southward,

your slender feet, beautiful in those dark blue socks,

embraced mine between them as we leaned into each other, our

Pleasurers fondling each other in the communication of an

affection that transcends the words we then knew and

understood.  We had been initiated that summer we turned

thirteen; that summer, the first season of our adolescent intimacy.

Starward