@ 27.055 MHz: Ad Astra; The Designer's Adolescent Son In His Bath

The infloor pool---shallow tank of glass, warmed

and illuminated from beneath---has

been prepared for his nightly bath.  Fragrant

salts and evocative oils, in rather

elegant containers, line the edges.

Intrusion of prudish inhibitions

is forbidden here.  In a moment, he

enters:  beautiful in the full blossom

of his adolescence (all of fifteen

years old); and almost entirely naked

except for that pair of stockings that sheathe

his slender, agile legs and feet (garments

designed by his mother a whole decade

ago:  Koan silk, wholly translucent

except sensually soft doubled weave

(an opacity) at the heels and toes

(provocative and yet quite practical,

planned as preventative to runs and snags);

but, if you look closely and carefully,

the metallic blue enamel on his

precisely trimmed toenails is visible

beneath the taut fabric.  Already quite

tumescent (at that age, when are they not?),

he anticipates the delights that the

bath, and your well experienced efforts,

provide---when, at the peak of this process,

his sweetness (always confecting within

his core) will release, through seven surges

(contractions of powerful, internal

muscles responsive to your quite gently

adroit manual exertions) into

the receptive water as wave upon

wave of intimate pleasure will flow through

his visibly affected body and

limbs; which are the royal body and limbs

of Ptolemy Kaisarion, Pharaoh,

Lord of the Two Lands, and King

above and over all other monarchs.

 


J-Called

Author's Notes/Comments: 

I have long wanted to write a poetic description of the adolescent Prince, enjoying intimate pleasure, in his bath and clad as the poem describes.  I gladly and respectfully acknowledge that my Kaisarion poems have been inspired by the great Poet, Constantine Cavafy's poems, "Kaisarion" and "Alexandrian Kings"; although my theory of Kaisarion's ultimate destiny and historical achievement is somewhat different than accepted History allows; and, although unproven, is not impossible.  It will be unfolded in other poems.

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