skip to main |
skip to sidebar
[Taking everything into account which has occurred since, you could say Don Famlis never expected to meet his first love in the way he did, and you'd be right.
(He'd thought to himself, "Sometimes, you need to get out of town in order to find such things.")
Being wise for his age, Donald, had acquired a thoughtful, but somewhat precocious attitude towards life. At 17, his hormones were everything; a raging tide of sex, overflowing the banks.
Along the East River, there were many to be found who held the same thoughts; the same nocturnal dreams, unfolding in a darkness of trails and trees. If his Elders, living on the Island, could see him now, they'd spy a young man, in a dark blue raincoat, and knee-patched pants, walking slowly along the River's edge; a glance, left and right, futility's companion.
Just before reaching a street-gate, his eyes fell upon a young woman, hid beneath the tall oaks, amongst leaf and moss, naked as the day she'd been born.
He actually rubbed his eyes in disbelief, as if some Devil had heard of his destination to the brothel, and provided his shameless needs, free of further walking; free of charge.
The woman, he could see, was sleeping, and maybe not much more older than he. Her breasts were fully grown; small, pert, nipples, just asking to be tweaked and pinched and sucked on.
In his dazed, and excited, condition, Don Famlis found himself quietly moving toward this sleeping beauty, buttoning up the front of his raincoat, thereby, shielding his now growing erection. His confidence, ever quickening, told him, the tent in his pants were the next battlement he would let her breach.
To be continued....]
"What!," she cried, "You're not going to tell me more..."
"Not tonight," I replied, giving her bare bottom a hearty smack, "I think I want a little of you, tonight, also. The Woman beneath the Tree can wait....she's already fast asleep."
xx,Pamfilo
Listen well, my dear reader.
(After love, we've settled ourselves.
** She rests her head upon my bare, shoulder-blade, and gazes into the white expanse of ceiling: The walls, a blue sky; the ceiling, a canvas, for her to paint pictures with her mind. Her eyes are open, smiling.
** There isn't a sound, but for our breathing together; murmurs lingering in the bedroom, broken only by my tale,...
...told softly, whispering. A caress upon her ear.)
**
** "When I was a young man, long before I'd met you...."
"....Ahh, give yourself a name, Pamfilo," [interrupting, of course!] "Tell it,
as if you are a character in a book, or story. That would be so much better"
Yes..so much better.
And so,.....
My real name will not be spoken here. I write for the absent one, sleeping in another room; which, might as well be, another realm.
What I'll tell you shall last a year: A story only one "in love " can share.
You, my dear reader, shall know me as Pamfilo, [with a wink, and nod, towards literary pretensions; (a stretch of imagination, unbound, in order to bring my reckless life into some sort of cognizance. )]
**
A year's worth may be too little. Love, as it is, most certainly will last longer than a year.
I need to begin.
There is much I'll gather here....
All for the One who sleeps.
**
A year, begun.
A year, dear reader, of LOVE.
(and, sex...
..and, adventures...
...and,....and,....
....whatever my heart desires to reveal;
to expose, with Time's ever-quickening clock, ticking forward~~Words, period!
**
We live in troubled times. There is darkness in the Land. Let me tell you a story.
(Hush. See now, the candle flame, how it flickers; it's quickness and spark, shall be my guide.)
The heat of passion; ourselves, entwined. The One, my beloved, strokes my chest; her breath, whispers, brushes, my earlobe...
"Pamfilo, tell me a story," she says.....
And so, begins, our year of LOVE.
**(To be Continued...)**
With LOVE,
Pamfilo. 1/1/2008.
