...
We're at some exclusive retreat, on a couch in a luxurious private sitting room, listening to someone hold forth, and we were intertwined almost into a ball of arms and legs and ears intimacy... fitting transcendentally, not just bodily.
When it was over, Terry, whose hair was cut short and he was clean shaven, instead of disengaging, merely stood up and carried me off to his room. I'd forgotten how tall he was, and how strong. He'd always seemed so gangly and cerebral that it sort of shrinks those manly features in one's imagination. He dumped me off at his room while he went off after something.
I took the opportunity to have a spit bath in his marvelous bathroom, in the dark. The lights didn't work. I was in there washing with various hotel towels and taking care to arrange them so they would dry instead of just molder, and I could hear him out there in the hall, griping to someone about the electrical hassles in a place that was supposed to be where you go for relaxation, mental edification and spiritual uplift.
We were in bed, still fitting beyond my best powers of description. I only fit with men on another plane. When we're on that one men are perfect, no flaws, no discomfort. On the split second they leave that one for this one, they feel like bags full of elbows and knees and whiskers and I'd rather just wait somewhere peaceful and manless until they come back.
He said something that let me know he understood he is dead. This was a relief to me because I hadn't wanted to bring it up, but just at the moment he was about to make this permanent crossing into me, he stopped and he disappeared.
Maybe he went off to get reborn.
always and any time....
