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.

 

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

The Wheelie Bin Affair

This piece was written for an ‘in house’ competition for one of the writing groups I am part of; it didn’t win but that’s OK. You can see the winner here if you would like – or dare to!


Although I don’t personally have the pleasure of using the new recycling wheelie bins, I sometimes hear the chatter of them; today for instance. I was picking at a few errant weeds in my front border when a quiet conversation weaved its way through the hedge and caught my attention, mainly because of the rather superior tone that was being taken.

“He always gets left out there, look at him, all black and dowdy, always last to be collected but then that’s understandable I guess.”

“You can be such a snob at times.”

“Excuse me, doesn’t my natural pedigree show, blue blood always comes to the top you know.”

“Well it’s blue and on the top but you are hardly something very much different…..”

“I beg your pardon,” the voice cut in, “I know you’re green with envy but have you seen my special compartments? You can’t deny that I’m here to provide the more valuable service, this bit in here, that bit in there and only the best of course, would you like to have a read of yesterdays Times?

“No thank you, I’m more of a Gardeners World reader.”

“Humm, I guess you are. Anyway, all the dirty rubbish gets passed on to him. All that black bag business and constantly smelling like some, well I don’t know what I’m just surprised I’m expected to stand next to him, he can get a little whiffy you know, saying that, so can you on a hot day; is there nothing you can do about yourself?”

“I’ll have you know I’m just as essential as you, I was specially purchased you know, not everyone has one like me, we are very particular who and what we service.”

“Well that’s just it isn’t it, you service whereas I’m a necessity, EU regulations don’t you know! You two have been around for years doing your best, but now I’m providing the new and most valuable service.”

“Watch out he’s coming back.”

I was almost tempted to pull back the bushes as see what was going on but didn’t want to be seen as the nosey neighbour. After a rumble and a scrape, the conversation continued.

“A good dump today was it?”

“I do have to say it’s nice to get rid of it, I think two weeks is a little long even with a good fitting lid like I’ve got but of course you don’t have to think about that in your cosy separated life do you?”

“Now now my good man, we all have our part to play, someone has to deal with the dross, and if the lid fits, or in your case not very well,…hahaha.”

Even I could see that this wasn’t very a kind attitude but another sound of movement dragged me away from the thought.

“See you later boys, I’m off to do my Special job, all that fresh-cut grass, mmmmm, sweet heaven.”

The voice faded and was soon accompanied by the gentle hum of a lawnmower. The remaining parties were quiet for a while and I was struggling to find any more weeds to remove but continued the pretence anyway.

“You can be quite harsh you know, even a dirty old thing like me has feelings you know.”

“Well, yes, I’m sorry, but it’s him, he’s itching to get in-between us, every time he goes out I dread that he’ll muscle his way back in and then where would be, we household chaps have to stick together don’t you know.”

“I do, but it’s still not very nice to listen to, you understand how I would be lost without you, how I managed all these years on my own I shall never know.”

“Now then you silly smelly old thing, you settle here next to me and I’ll sort the other one out, we can sit here quite nicely and sort out the troubles of the world together, I don’t think I could do it on my own if the truth be told.”

“Thank you Henry, you are so good to me.”

“That’s OK Bert, someone has to take charge so it might as well be me.”

Things went rather quiet but I had a picture in my mind of the two of them happily nestled in the corner of the yard quite happy in their own company. The haughty voice piped up again.

“I do wish you could straighten up those numbers though, they do rather let the side down… what, what?”

“Now then Henry, you know you like me being a little kinky, mmm?”

Back in my kitchen I tied off the top of the carrier bag that I used for rubbish and tossed it into the industrial sized steel bin in the communal area, the receptacle grunted it’s usual gruff thanks and I nodded in return.

Dark Island

It’s a dark day today


This narrow circle of life in an ocean of sharks is getting smaller by the day. The dark water lapping inexorably at the delicate shore-line is eating inwards towards wrinkled feet where the general isolation is beginning to feel cold and more desperate, almost by the hour.

For years this had been your happy place to live, despite being only a sad rocky outcrop, there were small pockets of lush enveloping scented greenery and cool satisfying pools of delight to submerge in and rise refreshed and sated; but now even these were drying up and wilting in the emotional drought.

Pacing around the shoreline, avoiding its grey foaming lips, the tip of a once tall proud outcrop flicked into view but remained swathed in the feathery spume of the waves that washed it clean of all humanity and hope. You can’t bear to look it for long fearing that the memories of more intimate times will overwhelm you. It’s lone inhabitant that had often allowed the heat of human entanglement was long washed to their uncertain death in the watery hunger. The few other such places were now only clouded memories but at least they couldn’t taunt you with lingering promises but the certainty of a dry shrivelled humiliation.

Even the occasional glimpse of a white-topped rescue only prove to be tricks of the mind, often only theirs as yours has given up that hope long ago; a knightly vision on rearing grey dappled stallion is a thing of beauty but holds no benevolence in this jaded pit.

With less things to distract a crumbling ego and forgotten care, you stumble back to the shelter that now only hangs together with wisps of dreams. Darkness is quickly drawing you in, the light of a life clouded in mouldering billowing fungi and the threats of rumbled horror.

The hiss of the foam creeping ever closer makes you draw up the rough sackcloth and you croak back a cough from the dust of ashes now long cold, night could take you now and no-one would know, would they even care?

Beside you an email pinged into its inbox but just from the subject line you know it wasn’t from him; that boat has sailed and deep down you know there would be no others cruising onto your horizon anytime soon.

Dark Island

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

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.

 

I am

It’s late at night and I had a thought, it’s not the first time I’ve had it.


I’m thinking of bed now, thinking of having you in it, thinking of passions so hard and deep they bring tears to my eyes, my fever is fired and rampant yet goes unfulfilled, I am lost I am lonely I am loosing lucidity…. I am……

I feel you roll your eyes in the pain of a distance that you can’t remove, sympathetic vibrations rock the air waves reduced to only a ripple by the miles but the sentiment is full, the sentiment is received, your sentiment is felt as if you were almost here in person. I smile at the memories of heat and sweat and penetration to the hilt of ones resources and sleep…. I am….

I write this for you my sweet lover man and bid you good night and like you…. I am….

Bedtime for one

Why would a lover leave?

Just a thought I had this morning.


The emotion of close, touching flesh,
heat exchanged through moist breath
Why would a lover leave?
From your arms they reluctantly heave
Despite attentions where you tease and smear
duty calls.

Far outside these comfortable walls
Waitrose creed is soon spent
M&S food halls have catered
How can penetration compete?

Alone now, the passions of copulation retreat
and you lay curled in the half-filled bed
running the events back excitedly in your head
and reluctantly you react again,
will your true desire be fully fed?

Despite what you think,
reality joins you at the sink knowing,
They’ll be back.lover