On the Wings of a Dream

January 27, 2009

Sometimes fiction conveys more than facts.  Perhaps this story will speak to you.

I’m meditating by a shallow brook, naked. A young man approaches –  a red bandanna around his neck.  He asks if he can sit  –  unconcerned about my nudity.

He takes out a harmonica. I say, “Go ahead.” He begins to play – long slow notes. a trace of vibrato. The music takes me deep into myself – or maybe into space.

The music stops. He’s gone. My head is full of what might have been. I might have walked to a deep pool downstream. He might have joined me in the water. We might have –

Leaving my clothes, I walk downstream. The rocks cut into my bare feet. He might be in the water now.  

I reach the pool. There’s no one there. I sit on a high rock, eyes closed. I hear the sound of his harmonica. I open my eyes. There’s only the sound of the stream. I close them. The music returns.

He’s in front of me. With closed eyes, I see him – red bandanna, bare chest, the top of his jeans open. I take hold of them. He smiles. I pull them down. His cock springs forward.

I recline on the rock, spreading my legs. lifting my hips, yet somehow I’m sitting. I’m experiencing two planes of reality, and on the spiritual plane his cock can penetrate without fear of disease. His thrusts are slow and deep. His lips press against mine, His tongue enters my mouth. Time stops.

Suddenly he’s erupting inside me – not semen – energy that fills my body

The music has stopped; and I’m sitting upright, several hundred yards upstream, next to my clothes. I dress and start to leave, but something catches my eye. Next to where I’d been sitting is a red bandanna.

One Response to “On the Wings of a Dream”

  1. Davdi Townsend said

    Sunfire, what a fabulous vignette, the very best melding of eros and spirit. A narrative to meditate on and sink deeper into.

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