PostPoems Be Artistic. Be Creative. Be Inspired!

Not yet Starwatcher (that was still four days in the

future), I was still "Fairy Jerry," but you did not

make remarks about my ungainly appearance, my

awkward, clumsy movement and my bookishness.

You accepted me with so much kindness unlike my

parents and classmates since---oh, say---kindergarten.

I remember how you came into the room, that evening,

having slid your shoes off on the front porch and,

immediately within the door, untucking and unbuttoning

your shirt---the colors of a local discotheque.

Beneath the frayed, tattered cuffs of your denim

bell-bottoms, your feet, sheathed in midnight blue socks,

glided across the floor toward me.  You put your arms

around me in the gentlest of embraces, and cradled my

head against your right elbow's crease.  Although still

mostly clothed, our bodies' first major contact seemed

entirely right, fit, and (I thought) cosmically destined

without regard to the prejudice of haters and prudes.

Smiling, in a way I would soon come to know more

familiarly, you offered me your pectoral circlets of

pleasure to receive (so eagerly, so gratefully,

during this moment that was better than any fantasy)

with salivated tongue and wetted lips,

perhaps even provocatively probing fingertips.

Later, my nostrils and mouth received, in full, the

fragrance and flavor of those socks; the

sensual warmth and softness of those socks . . .

J-Called

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