His name is Nemuel

This is a fun, fantasy piece but written with a small degree of hope behind it.


The sea whispered soothingly against the brilliant white of the sandy shoreline. The waves bobbed up and down as they washed slowly closer to the foaming edge of the waterline but the plastic tube that poked out of the crystal clear water was not really visible to those relaxing on the beach.

The snorkel wearing explorer that I was pretending to be sank back into the water and I moved further along the edges of the coral reef as there had been no-one of interest at that particular point. When I next surfaced it was just enough to see along the water’s surface still hoping not to be noticed. This time an eagle sharp eye inside the mask caught something that sent a tingle down my spine. Not just the fluorescent pink speedos, but the brilliant white smile that caught the sunlight on the smooth and tanned face of its wearer. That person was chatting with what looked like an over friendly guy but luckily neither noticed that they were being watched; that was good, for now at least.

After making a note of where this person was on the beach, I slid back under the water and splashed my way back to the jetty near the beach bar that stood out on stilts into the clear warm waters.

Sweeping the droplets of water from my face and closely cropped scalp, there was an exchange of mask and air tube for a drinks tray that the bartender was holding out. It had become a regular custom to take refreshment later in the afternoon after a swim but today was slightly different; today I needed to know more about the eye candy that I had spotted. Silently I indicated to the barman that we needed another one more of the tall cold glasses that was already dripping with condensation in the heat of the day.

Feeling the temperature of the sand through the still damp soles of my feet and still dripping sea water, I made my way along the beach trying to look relaxed but knowing I had a rather special goal in my mind. The journey was not as easy as you might have thought, there were several pairs of the brightly coloured swimwear similar to those I was looking for but none had the beauty of the wearer I was being drawn to.

Banyugan Beach ResortAdmittedly there were many members of the body beautiful crowd who frequented this private beach front of the Shangri-La’s Boracay Resort and there were even more up in the infinity pool above them, but the muscles and curvaceous figures had little attraction today; neither did the undoubtedly beautiful women fawning over most of them.

Taking a long pull through the straw of one of the drinks, I was concerned that it might be getting warm in the summer heat buffering off the sands, but it was not too bad; for now anyway. Eyes searched further ahead and my strides became a little longer. Then quickly, there he lay, a firm sculpted torso propped up on one elbow, long moulded legs stretching out off the edge of the tastefully bright hotel towel.

The flash of his white smile was almost dazzling set in soft brown features where dimpled cheeks framed rich full lips that curved into a wide crescent smile which outshone all others in view. Long fluttering eye-lashes flirted innocently with the another guy’s equally smooth flawless body, which was noticeably trying to slide closer to the other. My approach went unnoticed to him but I knew this interloper stood no chance of sampling the affections of the dreamy features that looked up as I finally joined the non-event.

“Nemuel my dear, I think someone needs to go and get an iced drink to cool off!” My words were directed at the soon to be retreating well-muscled figure, “the bar is that way or the sea is straight in front of you!”

He took the hint easily, not that he would have done anything else as I stood menacingly over him. It was just a game really, I knew that my Nemuel had eyes only for me and likewise me for him; it was the way it had been since we first made contact in cyber space all those months before.

“David, you are so bad, he goes to my mother’s shop, he was only chatting!”

“I know but it doesn’t do any harm to let these others know that you are with me, you don’t mind do you?”

He narrowed deep-set beautiful green eyes in mock disapproval but reached out a long slender hand to rub against the reddening skin of my rather white body still holding the now not so cold drinks.

“You should get out of the sun, you’re too white,” he laughed a gentle but exquisitely rich sound that made my insides move and I could feel the damp swimwear getting tighter.

Sitting down before I embarrassed myself this was after-all still a private if busy mixed sex beach complex.

“Will you rub some more cream on me then?” I pretended to be upset by his comment, “We can’t all be as naturally beautiful as you can we?”

The stoking of my leg turned into a gentle slap to my thigh as I slid onto the towel he had straightened out from the other guy sitting on it.

“You just lie down and I’ll look after you as usual, you poor white boy!”

I made a sound of my own against his comment but it didn’t mean anything. Having to turn over to my front quickly, the consequences of the pleasures I was about to get from the touch of cool sensuous fingers on my fast burning skin was almost too much to believe. Inside I was starting to burn with another kind of desire yet to be fulfilled with my exotic and beautiful Pilipino friend.

Reluctantly closing my eyes, I hoped that it was not all a dream but the soft, purposeful kiss between my shoulder blades made it very real indeed.

 

Inside the Walls

This is a piece that should be self-explanatory, for some anyway….


From a quiet without peace
in a box without exits,
sky barred from the inside,
in a world with no light.
Hard bedding, hard seating,
hard walls, floors and ceiling,
hard luck for your freedom
locked safely away.

A pad mate that you had
no choice in selecting,
nice boy or some nut case,
you just hope for some care.
Try making some new friends
take note in the choosing,
you may get a little
more man than you need.

Blue jeans and thin sweat shirt
give no man one quarter,
ill fitting and shapeless,
it’s wear it or freeze.
In cell or out yard side,
time passes but no speed,
your term locked around
you will take its own pace.

With smart shirt and black shoes,
tie clipped at the bull neck,
young warder or old hack
takes pleasure in pain.
Not always the hard kind
but inside your psyche,
they hold all that keeps you
from knowing your name.

With hard times ev’n good times,
the choice is no longer
the one, maybe once
was all yours to command.
Just sit out your sentence,
the loss of your loved ones,
all memories and fancies,
locked safely away.

HMP

Appropriate behaviour – Level 2

This is the second part of the trilogy and if you are reading it as that, embryonic questions could, is that should, be forming.


The tearful young individual had walked over with a look that the older took to be one of purpose. Quite what it was he didn’t seem to know although he, the older, had many ideas of what it could easily be. They had already done the shoulder to cry on, the sympathetic older ear but things felt as if there were moving on; it was no longer just an escape from other boys who were obviously not interested in him, the younger, or the feelings and attractions he was developing?

The two had known of each other for some time, not really on an even footing but there had always been a classifiable link. Age was the only spoiler, in the shadow of the world’s judgement that is but such things had never seemed to be a problem for them. This was an intimacy that had been honestly sought and genuinely found, there was nothing that could be judged inappropriate; not in their minds anyway.

The younger slid his facing chair closer with only knees touching as they waited for the background banter and noise faded as the rowdy group worked out that there was more fun to be had without someone older being in their field of play.

Eyes didn’t need to meet nor words be exchanged as this wasn’t the first time they had been this close. The younger’s feelings were a chaos of things stirred up by natural developments which were exciting but there had never been an outlet; the possibility that his peers were going through the same things hadn’t provided the empathy and response that he found with this situation.

He held out a hand easily, still not quite knowing where to place it although he knew wanted to be done with it. The slim pale fingers were taken gently but firmly by ones that were bulkier and creased with age and work but were more than able to appreciate the delicacy of the others body. Still no words had been exchanged, only the certainty of a much desired intimacy.

It was now just the two of them, the world had faded out of hearing and interest.

Eventually the older gently lifted the boy’s chin to see if he wanted to talk or if this was what was now the more usual situation. A flashing glance from the clear grey-green eyes told the older everything and the touching knee changed to a full leg length as the younger slipped easily round onto an adjacent chair. Single hands of each gripped palm to palm and the contact zipped up forearms to elbow and onto uneven shoulders. The smooth movement set a mop of manicured sun-streaked hair falling to one side as a delicate and as yet acne free cheek rested onto the pointed shoulder of the older. Still no words were shared but their body heat spoke for them both.

Breathing synchronised sympathetically and the world around them faded that little bit more.

It was difficult to make out who made the next move, there was no need to assign blame as they both wanted the same result and any underlying emotion for either party was ultimately the same.

It was actually the older’s hand which had been first to unclasp which allowed it to brush past the short-haired nape of the younger’s fine neck where it griped the developing shoulder to pull the figure tighter into him; the freed younger hand slipped easily into the heat and comfort of the older’s thigh. Each paused to gauge any immediate reaction from the surroundings, this was still a public place after all but thankfully, there was none.

In the early days they had sat side by side trying to work out who was helping whom. Then, conversation had found nothing more than a mutual acceptance of a friendship but with a growing awareness of more than that. For the younger it had been sensing and appreciating maturity that his peers were still working out, for the older it was definitely an opportunity to live many moments that had never been realised at that volatile stage in his own life; but had never left him.

The escalation since then had provided adventures in ways that were not so different; education and satisfaction.

Hands 2

Appropriate behaviour – Level 1

This is the first part of a trilogy; it should be read as that. It could be interesting to see what questions the set or its parts may raise.


The tearful individual had walked over to acquire something, but quite what it was he didn’t seem to know. A shoulder to cry on, a sympathetic ear or just an escape from the difficulties that followed him round the recreation area?

The two had known of each other for some time, not really on an even footing but there had always been a classifiable link. Age was the only spoiler, to the outside world that is but such things had never seemed to be a problem for them; how society judged was its own concern. Here in the quiet that had been honestly sought and genuinely found, there was nothing that could be judged inappropriate; not for them anyway.

The younger slid his facing chair closer to gain a little more reassurance, knees touched to cement the transfer. Eyes didn’t need to meet nor words be exchanged as this wasn’t the first time they had been this close. The younger’s feelings now were just some of the many things stirred up by confusing natural developments which were at the same time, exciting; the possibility that his peers were going through the same things hadn’t proved to supply the empathy that he found in the here-and-now.

As if this current need had to be identified he held out a hand, not knowing where to place it or even what he wanted to be done with it, he relied on the experience of age. The slim pale fingers were taken gently but firmly to appreciate the warmth of the others body; their trembling finally stopped. Still no words had been exchanged, only the certainty of protection.

The background banter and noise faded as the rowdy group worked out that there was more fun to be had without someone older being in their field of play.

It was now just the two of them.

Neither moved nor communicated further, not verbally anyway as eventually the older gently lifted the boy’s chin to see if he was ready to talk; as he had done several times in similar situations. A flashing glance from the clear grey-green eyes told the older no but, although the smile of reassurance that was offered went unnoticed, the touching knee changed to a full leg length as the younger slipped easily round onto an adjacent chair. Single hands of each gripped palm to palm and the contact zipped up forearms to elbow and onto uneven shoulders. The smooth movement set a mop of manicured sun-streaked hair falling to one side as a delicate and as yet acne free cheek rested onto the pointed shoulder of the older. Still no words were shared.

Their breathing synchronised sympathetically and the world around them faded that little bit more.

It was difficult to make out who made the next move, perhaps no more one than the other but the response was so immediate as to make it impossible to assign blame; the underlying driving emotion for either party was likely to be very different.

It was actually the older’s hand which had been first to unclasp which allowed it to brush past the short-haired nape of the younger’s fine neck where it griped the developing shoulder to pull the figure tighter into him; the freed younger hand slipped easily into the heat and comfort of the older’s thigh. Each paused to gauge any immediate reaction; again, outwardly, there was none.

They had sat side by side before, trying to work out who was helping whom. Then, conversation had found nothing more than a mutual acceptance of a friendship but with a growing awareness of more than only that. For the younger it would have been sensing and appreciating maturity that his peers were still working out, for the older it was definitely an opportunity to live many moments that had never been realised at that volatile stage in his own life.

The impending escalation would provide adventures for them both, although inevitably in contrasting ways.

Love off the rails

Commuting by train can be such a bore but who of us hasn’t played harmless games to pass the time?


The rocking of the train’s worn out velveteen seat
relaxing where it fits for tired head and hot pulsating feet,
no longer a nostalgic rhythm clickerty-clack, clickerty-clack,
just a quieter comfort from the featureless seamless track.

Images and colour change to quickly for appreciation,
soundless tannoy’s speak of each fleeting, nameless station.
Reflections flash past but too many to clearly view,
the attractions they feed in thankfully, limited to a few.

Amongst the crushed static travellers, few are familiar
although one or two stir up something more vascular
and you hope for a look or even a glance,
but features remain aloof, romance, no, not a chance.

Focused thoughts then seem to raise an attraction,
if only in a mirrored windows dark streaked reflection,
their eyes look deeper into yours, synaptic layers mingle,
you wonder just why they are so obviously single.

Sharp the thorns of rejection stick hard in your eyes,
with such overheated attention, is it such a surprise,
only you can’t give it up and these looks continue,
when you do find a smile, it steps past with ne’er an adieu.

Your station sequels in, the crush carries you in its sweep,
eyes open at what was a pat surely, on your one bottom cheek,
you reach back to find the as yet unseen set of warm digits
they clasp at your reaching and together you and they fidget
but hold on as you move to the freshness of the platform
where smile accepted you stroll, life partners, thankfully home.

paris-men-holding-hands

Reflection

Have you ever been on a train late at night and strange desires tease your ego?  No?  Well I have….


Being an avid people watcher, there was plenty of interest in the crowded train carriage. While actually too crowded for my comfort, station by station the commuting assemblage thinned until there were only a few of us left. My mood relaxed in tandem.

Those passengers left were unfortunately positioned to be reduced to just domes of heads, all different hair colour, scalp tone, hat style; I was disappointed.

Although I know it couldn’t have been by design, there was only one face to be seen from where I sat tightly in my corner. Actually there were two faces, one in profile, warm, friendly, passively looking out into the darkness, the same night-time creating a mirror to accommodate the second; a rather paler reflection that seemed to be looking in my direction across the seat tops. In my direction but there was no eye contact that constituted recognition or communication. My interest was pricked but I was drawn away to muse over a rather shapely dark skinned scull a couple of seats behind him; them.

Further distraction came as the next station slid alongside and my eyes flicked about in hope but returned to the warm face which was now alone, it’s counterpart lost in the whiteness of the platform lights. As the carriage doors cycled open and closed, I studied his rather attractive features. Smooth tight skin, mid thirties, perhaps younger, yes younger; I was trying to kid myself that I didn’t need to consider the youth. Pale grey irises stood out clearly in their clean white pools but a blink hooded then a little and the long dark lashes linking to manicured brows showed them off to perfection.

A ripple on his temple was driven by some agitation of the defined jaw, I caught a pout of gentle rouge brown lips and the forehead rested once more. To one side a neat flat ear was nestling beneath the tightly cropped hair line that gently developed upward only to disappear under a shock of sculpted silk strands wrapping smoothly out of sight to the nape; I could easily picture the 360 degree image in my practised mind’s eye. This indulgence was brushed aside but the sudden reappearance of the boy’s co-conspirator, this time the black backed reflection was not so isolated, in fact it was staring at me, not past me, not through me, right inside me.

Embarrassed, I looked away, but the attraction had already been secured by my psyche and I allowed my peripheral vision to keep the image available; indistinct but available.

They were inviting eyes and my resolve failed quickly and I allowed mine to be locked into them. It lasted for only a millisecond but there was something wrong with this picture; it was my rational brain speaking to me; I couldn’t determine the problem but there was something odd going on.

In the previous minutes, neither of us in this detached intimacy had moved more than the occasional discrete muscle but I froze as the reflective face broke into a smile, I could see it clearly although still locked into the grey pools. His cheek bones had filled out with raised impudence, teeth, white and even, glistened inside lips full. The problem resolved.

The face, the living face hadn’t changed its stoic beautiful profile. Trying to break myself away to confirm this peculiarity seemed impossible but when the wink that was tossed, definitely didn’t come from the statuesque form. Confusion slapped me hard on the cheek and my neck swung round only to be met by the confusion of reflections of reflections in the opposing windows. It was too much to reason and I bounced back to the original conundrum.

The smile was still in place and although I returned it willingly, I hoped that mine was hidden by the high velveteen seat backs between us. Knowing that my reciprocation had been registered, a more comprehensible set of facial niceties beamed out their acceptance of my complete attention.

Still confused I glanced momentarily to the left but felt guilty as a frown dig into his forehead. The visceral version of this peculiarity still hadn’t moved it’s ravishing contours. As my eyes flicked back, I could tell that he displeased as the corners of his mouth had dropped slightly in silent admonishment; I tilted my head and raised an eyebrow in apology. What was I apologising for? I was flirting with a reflection, beautiful, but still only a refection. Was I so desperate for attention? So gullible? My eyes stabbed with pain and they screwed up against another set of bright lights, my head fell forward and hit the seat in-front of me. The train screeched harshly to its rest.

The atmosphere changed. People were getting in my way, there was no room to manoeuvrer or escape as a rotund panting body exhaled some obnoxious curry flavoured breath as it sat heavily almost in my lap; my stomach turned. Disappointment rocked me back into the uncomfortable seat. Craning a stiffening neck around the seat, the vision of beauty was gone, as was its counterpart, leaving only an invisible imprint on the weather streaked glass.

All I could do was scowl at the unfortunate mass next to me.

Why would a lover leave – a second time?

This is a sequel to – Why would a lover leave? You might like to read that one first HERE.


Hope had been so far out of view
that when your lover returned was it you
that need to pinch yourself of was it fate
that was twisting the knife as you stood craving at the gate

Was he for real
was he here to steal
your heart once more
or punch through to your core
and leave you rolling
clasped to a pillow enfolding
waiting for the pain to leave
as you silently sob and heave

But the touch of familiar warmth bodes well
and forgiveness flows from you from your invisible hell
as you stave off the urge to slap that perfect face
knowing it would only prematurely end the race
that you strive to win only by coming second
your eyes lock into his beauty and he is silently beckoned
into your arms where you hold him roughly
and scold him gruffly
only the words are of love and passion and empty vessels being once more filled
if you let any of these feeling out what fragile love you hope for would surly be killed

So with kettle boiling
and hidden tears scalding
you smile and attempt not to over-power
knowing that this could last for-ever or just a faction of an hour
he gives nothing away
but at least for now he will stay
for a heated roll in some metaphorical hay

But you can live with that
in the one bedroom flat
that is for now at least
a cornucopian out-flowing lovers feast

All to soon the morning is finally at its break
and cruel fate once more attempts to take
but some certainty this time lingers on
and he doesn’t slip through your fingers to be gone
but back he slides into the crook of your arm
and for now at least all in this emotional bubble is calm.

Why would a lover leave?

Lovers

Towards the playground

This is a prose poem that is an extract from a much bigger work that I might share over time. I had the pleasure of reading this today in a public performance given by one of the writing groups I am part of; Writers Without Borders. Check them out if you would like to know more about a great group of talented people.


Suddenly all mysterious right out of the blue, school days approach all unknown and new with only one saving grace it seems, a big brothers singular job to look out, Just, if he must, for shy little you only, with the safe sight of home gone he quickly, cruelly, lets go of your tiny trembling hand and walks on at a pace that leaves you blind, while you shuffle reluctant feet, scanning all around, all alone, uncertain of where to go, you run on to where hopefully there should be Others that might somehow happen to know.

Then you see all the other kids, running riotously around, they seem to know each other quite well, not that you can really tell, but doubt delights to confuse you and you’re still not all that keen.

Then recognition intervenes and there, two you smile at but being oh so painfully shy, you still only manage a limp ‘Hi Ian’, and ‘Hi Jimmy’, but they pass you right on by. So you try ‘Hi Helen’ but it’s the same and fully daunted you don’t go for the ‘Hi Peter’, who’s the one that you favoured, it’s sadly all to clear that even by this one impossibly perfect pal, you’re still not really counted.

A bell rings loud and it’s into class rooms all strange with seats that give cold comfort but you diligently do just as you’re told…. is this really what school’s like, till you grow up and get, so very old?

But then with paper and pencils and writing and sums, it all somehow seems to add up to something that actually, quite possibly, could just be fun, so perhaps it’s not all that bad and you decide to give it a go, just for today though, only on trial, you might go with the flow.

Soon then it’s playtime and with cold milk and growing hope you corner your pal Peter, “Hello, would you like to share this?” but with hard spoken “No!” he leaves you all alone again, to just sit and stare into your clean fresh iron hanky and here your disappointment you blow.

Despite many such hardships, this little school turns out not all that bad, days roll into weeks and soon fast forward to unimaginable years, what was all that fuss about, those cold academic concerns, those febrile confusions, bound up in such ridiculous childlike fears. But you have yet to discover that, in whatever educational age, you;’re never going to break into real school society where despite teasing glimpses you remain on the rim of those circles of seemingly impossible friendships .

Perhaps it’s just your mind that blocks such views with perceived incompatibility or can you allow yourself to make that small yet massive move to lift the impenetrable veil of Inclusion…but already you know you’ll suffer the wastelands of Exclusion.

school-playground-006

The life of William

This is a fun piece about a friend all we men have the pleasure of knowing in our own way


When I was born I was generally kept wrapped in soft towelling, but at every opportunity I did my party piece freely into the air, much to the annoyance of my parent.

Getting older and growing nicely, I was mostly left alone, cared for but living a solitary life. Then came the days of being compared with others like me, we were much the same of course but I always wanted to poke my head out a little more than the others but overall I was happy not to be the smallest around.

Things started to change when some irritating hormones started to take over, I often felt more invigorated for reasons I didn’t understand and fine hair started to grow which I wasn’t too pleased with but, as the others seemed to be getting the same, I could live with it. This chemical charge did give me much more presence and I would often pose proudly, even when it might not have been appropriate; I didn’t care did I.

Other changes were more dramatic. Interesting things were going on all around me and at times even when they were just in thoughts, these exciting things got me so worked up they literally made me sick, with a strange salty projectile vomiting; I always had to go and have a lie down afterwards such was the exertion.

It wasn’t an easy life I can tell you, I would often get into fights where I was always beaten up, never bruised but always exhausted. Sometimes it was several times a day and I wondered when it would ever end. By this time I had decided that this was to be my life, some games to be involved in but lots of resting with just the occasion functional interlude.

Of course it wasn’t always the same; things did subtly change over time. Sometimes there was more than one fighting to have a piece of me, sharing the pleasure but always with the same end result. In these new style games I had to admit to liking being washed with a gentle warm wetness that one of the antagonist seemed to enjoy just as much. For them I could play longer and would give that little more of myself if they were kind enough to me.

It was a shock then to be asked to come out to play but then end up being pushed into some random darkness. This was a different kind of game and I have to admit that I didn’t like it at first. Getting used to it though, there was at least less roughness; I was starting to get bored with that. This was more grown up things I tried to tell myself, I was mature enough to do mans’ work and I thought I did it rather well given the pleasurable sounds the other used to make at my performance. The only down side to ‘mans’ work’ was the occasional fishy tinge to the soft play equipment, I often thought a good wash down might be an idea but I had little say in the matter. You did get used to it and it was mostly worth it for the more pleasant sport I was involved with.

Just as I was used to this type of event, there was one time where, after the preamble of the wet play there came another shock. I had never really minded the dark places but this was not so good. Perhaps it was me getting bigger but the entrance seemed much smaller although once inside, despite the different smells, the space was much the same. There was a period when I had to wear an odd sort of wet suit, really tight-fitting and I sometimes had trouble breathing and I would have preferred not to have to swim out of the end of play residue; I was much more free-spirited left to my own devices.

Another down side was when the other person occasionally put some sort of neck lock on me, I didn’t always appreciate the way I was squeezed and held while I fought to get out. They would only let me go once I had thrown up. This by the way was taking longer and longer before I could eventually rest.

Never quite knowing if it was anything I had done, the games started to become less and less frequent. Of course I missed them but I have to admit that I liked the longer respites in-between and also the less tight clothing that I was wearing; the lycra had been rather fetching in my youth, even through middle age but now it showed the wrinkles rather too much.

I didn’t get a hair-cut so often either, the sporting shaved contours might have looked rather out-of-place at the age I was so, perhaps this bushy guise was more appropriate. Memories of youth were always there though and I could still react to them if I was having a good day although overall, I felt my regular playing days were over.

Knowing that it was nearly finished, I couldn’t even do the everyday jobs without a lot of help and patience, there was just no energy left. An experiment with some new-fangled medication wasn’t the best either, it was like having something artificially pumped inside me and although I looked like I used to, there was nothing of the happy-go-lucky fun of those formative years. The result wasn’t very pleasurable and we didn’t try it again.

Finally, I couldn’t control myself at all and this incontinence had me almost permanently choked in padded clothing. The time eventually came when I knew I was ready to give up completely and I was glad not to be awake to witness the ignominy of lying shrivelled in a pool of your own liquid waste.