Stroking Slowly

Stroking, slowly. Stoned, I overreact, but with slower reflexes, reflexes, reflexes… You notice the sudden change in the atmosphere as my breathing adjusts, slight heat of a blush, also with your slower reflexes, reflexes… floating in the air. The aroused calmness of the situation manifests in the slow, deliberately taunting, teasing, tickling way you touch me.

A light touch, a heavier sigh. Floating away from myself, anchored only by the hand going slowly under my shirt and the pressure between my legs where my jeans press “just-so.” Focusing on everything, staring at nothing. A GASP! escapes that I didn’t know was trapped. Anchor weighing me down harder, with a rougher touch. Lose focus of the posters on my ceiling where I’m staring, absent minded, slow delicious. Wondering “matter-of-factly” if I should think of the pornography I have that’s now an image burning into my irises. Stoned, stupid, slowly. Realizing I have the opportunity to come. Push harder on the anchor but the harder the touch the more the rest of my conscious floats away. Tell the hand to lessen the touch. Reach out, check my options. Slow, stupid, stunned bliss while moving as little as possible, or losing the heady rush of spontaneity if I make it a point to make myself come.

Decisions, decisions. High, floating dreamily between here and the next dimension of feeling. To describe this feeling is to demean it. Words are flat, sounds are too structured, pictures merely photocopies of the heaven I feel. Perchance this feeling could be a movie? Combination of the senses, but how will the viewer feel/touch/know? Artistic orgasm are still art, but now art is just a myth… Stop! Focus on sex. The pornographic images hidden in a secret folder on my computer, the sound of his moans, now silent like the love we let die, the touch of the hand (mine), the feeling of the pot, pressing my brain into the shape of a square, as it tries to fit the feelings into a new form. The exhale of the ragged breathe. Faster, harder, thoughts/words/flashes/images/feelings are simpler, so I EXPLODE in slow motion… Stroke my cheek, and eventually fall asleep like 1, 2, 3.