Oh, The Places You'll Go

Opposites - or three ways of saying the same thing

the topography of its blots

Dan was an open book. A well-thumbed, cracked spine book with colour plates, diagrams, labels, a table of contents, appendices. There was nothing you could not read in the book of Dan.

Casey was a dry, dusty reference tome: wordy and close to obsolete. High on a shelf: untouched, complex, elite.

It shouldn't have worked. But somehow it did. Because Casey was the only one who could discover the hidden words between the lines of Dan's transparent prose. And Dan possessed a step-ladder and the knowledge that, on Casey's book, his would forever be the only fingerprints in the dust.

the long and short of it

There are days when everything is short and sharp. Curtailed gasps, quick nips, fumbling hands shoving, pushing, pulling in the dark of the closet. Days when it's impossible to wait: when need trumps prudence and fast relief is all that's on Dan's mind.

Other days it's slow and easy — sunshine and soft sheets. Drawn out moans, long, languid kisses, sweeping strokes of hands and tongue. Slow burn of pleasure. Delayed gratification.

Dan can never decide which he likes best. But, he reasons, as long as Casey's there with him, fast or slow, vertical or horizontal, the journey's all that matters.

And the Last shall be First

Dan's first lover was brash, inexperienced, enthusiastic, energetic. Meeting during an interview for the school paper, Dan thought he saw something behind the star athlete façade — a poetic soul. Turns out he was wildly wrong, but the sex was fun — a lot — even without the connection Dan had hoped for.

Dan turns in bed and looks at his current lover, his last he hopes. There's no doubting the connection here — strong, elastic and durable: an umbilical cord pulling him home. The sex took work, but now they're expert.

Waking every day with his best friend. It's all he's ever wanted.

Contact Cat

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