we can stay here

Chapter 1

'a well of hope cast in the mirrored
light ~ like the serpent crawls
through the crust ~ the cool summer
breeze soothes my naked skin ~ and
the background in itself is
a whole other world ~ with
cold kisses and desperate sex ~
not robed in plastic fibre
wings ~ carry on i'll plunder
you ~ longing to be loved ~
like swarming bees ~ licking
their tongues dry ~ like
in a slow dream'

-Lengsel (from The Kiss - The Hope)


'I believe in making sacrifices for personal gain' is the last thought that goes through his mind before the momentary lapse. The detachment always increases and peaks when the skin-to-skin contact begins, and like a cleverly disguised melody in a piece of free form jazz, the climax appears and flitters away long before the observation may take place, or, in this specific case, the presence of muscular contractions leading up to eventual ejaculation are made clear. The true beauty of the experience comes instantly and without warning, although recently diminished due to his growing affection. A queer smile is felt but not seen, as his own eyes are determined on a course of closed action and the other pair of observing members are busily working anatomical knowledge with tactile stimulation. Quick glances mean little to the overall outcome, although light-speed communications between open eyes certainly lower the amount of time needed. It is interesting to note that the total time has only become more and more record, in spite of the expected increase in stamina that one might naturally observe as a result of any chronic activity.
     
However, back to the original thought: he gains full consciousness again as a result of a popping sound. His eyes open and connect the sound to the source: her mouth had slipped off quickly as a result of her accelerated motions, but this was soon remedied, although not after a short apologetic gaze that is, as always, part of the act. After the return of a continual encapsulation in the oral cave, his other senses balance out. He regains awareness of his crude chair, a large spool of heavy-duty rope, which is kept behind the many stages in case the curtain ropes begin to fray. He locates the powerful stench of bleach and cleaners across the room: hundreds of gallon jugs, stacked haphazardly and left teetering, each bearing a handmade label reading 'Big Gulp Cleaner'. He could not see in detail, but prior knowledge reminded him that the warning labels and ingredient information had all been fully scratched off, albeit meticulously heeded nonetheless.
     
Attention drawn back to her efforts, he realizes that his finish is nearing. She can obviously sense it as well, as she begins increasing the pressure, keeping a perfect balance between the speed of her pumps and the force between her tongue and the roof of her mouth. The agreement did not call for gagging in the least, and as a result it had obviously become her goal to never achieve this unhappy circumstance, a task made easier by his continual lack of interaction during this step in the sex. Her first attempts, therefore, had been cautious ones, but the perfection of practice under the encouragement of others yields the predictable result of expertise. Stated simply, they had been doing this a long while now.
     
He feels the most uncomfortable portion coming on: the enlarging of his veins signaling the rapid approach of his climax (unbeknownst to him, this is her favourite part). Recently she began to add an additional flicker of the tongue at this stage, which, almost without fail, hastens the ejaculation. This time is no exception, and as the final tremors run their way through his body, going first along his limbs to the extremities and then back to his core, his prick lets loose several squirts of semen into her mouth, which she immediately swallows. La petite mort. The entire affair lacks the incident of sound, with the exception of tiny bits of shuffling noises.
     
Without a break in time between the conclusion of his pleasure and the introduction into hers, the two bodies transition, working together in a manner befitting the tumblers in a door lock. As he grasps two handfuls of her back and lowers his head to begin, he glances up at her and, with a face offering no expression to otherwise reassure an onlooker, mouths the words entrusted to the top of the page as the title of this work.
     
(A closing note from our narrator*: For those in the observatory of the non-fictional climate unaware of the dialect contained in this particular volume of language, the aforementioned phrase, in this scenario, translates nearly directly to our expression "I love you", although perhaps it is better translated as a promise and combination of two Greek words for love: Agape and Philia.)

*the narrator entrusted with the disclosure of this first body of insight is none other than the distinguished Mr. Bousquet, who has dedicated himself to understanding the workings of this fictional universe, a selfless and time-consuming act for which we are all are eternally grateful.