PostPoems Be Artistic. Be Creative. Be Inspired!

At first sight, I thought he was beautiful---

that profuse, waist length hair cascading in

soft, tight curls; those slender limbs, and

his sparkling eyes and shy smile:  all

perfect to the expression of certain desires

without regard to inhibitions imposed by

envious old prudes and prejudiced haters.

He rewarded me, not my pimp, with an

extravagant amount; and then declared that

nall seven of us were free that pimp, who

was compensated for loss of future profits,

provided he depart from Alexandria (never to

return)---which he did, after his recovery from the

enthusiastically thorough beating he received at the

hands---fists---of the Inimitable Livers, the

bodyguard organized and trained by Mark Antony.

But the young man invited me (despite my low station.

despite any objection that might be raised by the

administrative bureaucracy that served his mother)

back to the Royal Enclosure, and, therein, to

his very private and luxurious suite of

chambers, including an enormous bed and an

infloor pool of warm, scented water.  Naked and

tumescent before me (the glistening lavender

bulb blossoming to offer a first droplet of

sweetness), he drew on to his legs a pair of

gold, silk stockings---totally translucent and

sheer, except for the smooth opacity of the

doubled weave that ensheathed his toes.

We discovered, together, the pleasures that

our bodies both provided to and received from

each other; pleasures always best when

shared together and not apart.  He was always

attentive to my responses---that which I

enjoyed (sometimes breathlessly) while

carefully avoiding anything which I

found uncomfortable.  Sometimes we

bathed together---he still clad in those

stockings; but always, to end each night, we

slept together, in each other's arms, until the

following mornings grew late and breakfast

arrived.  During all of our encounters, he

presented his genuine feelings:  humbly

appreciative, shyly seductive, and sometimes

humorously silly.  In the quiet privacy of

his suite of rooms, or the refreshment of

his infloor pool, or the expansive softness of

his bed and the coolness of its linen sheets:  in

all of this luxury, he was---simply, beautifully, and

erotically---just Kaisarion, rather than Ptolemy XV,

Pharaoh, King above other Kings, Lord and

Ruler of Upper and Lower Egypt; and in his

gentle embrace, and the release of his

sweetness upon me, I was no longer a

boywhore---commodified chattel---but his

Lover and Friend, his intimate Lover and Friend.

Starward