Other guys from my past I haven't thought of in ages - Craig Dempsey

Saturday night clubbing, just going out to dance and then there he was across the dance floor.

Craig...

Do you wear your emotions like your clothes? – they fit you well. I’d like to touch your emotions and know you, like I’d like to feel how your jeans do up just so, and know them too. You look fine in your shirtless presence and your dance is sexy, as is your smile. Black jeans, is there a sexier look on a boy? Is there much space between them and you, as you smile at me and I can do nothing but smile back.

We’ve gazed often at each other, your mouth breaks into a grin, in a crooked kind of way; nicely crooked, your lips should always be that way. Your face is strong in delight, perceived or not. I like to see you smile, so I can too. I feel I know you when you smile, or would like to, or will. There is innocence in your eyes, framed behind glasses and I steal a look at you, as you seem to steal a look at me.

I spy you as you dance with a friend. He kisses you, nonchalantly, as friends do and his hand gently rubs down your neck. Your eyes are passive as you are kissed and you look serene as lips meet your lips, like you should be kissed, kissed often. All your life is in your mouth for as long as the kiss lasts; life and you are for kissing. I wonder if your brain sparks, or trembles; you look so composed, as red flesh lingers on red flesh, shiny, shiny. I wonder what sort of kiss makes you tremble, makes you tingle, makes the elastic of your underwear tighter?; unnoticed under black denim that fits you well. I wonder what your saliva tastes like? If your tongue is always moist, always red? Fat. Warm. Big. Do your teeth feel like marble, like porcelain, like lacquer, like tombstones? Are they flat and smooth and thick across the biting surface, or uneven and ridged, if there are lots of them even, double as I venture to the back of your mouth with my tongue.

How do you breathe as you’re being kissed, in strong, slow breaths, stronger as you exhale? If I could make your breathing change, what would make it short and sharp, where would I have to touch you?

Your eyes open, as the kiss is extinguished, slowly and you smile, as you catch me looking, your sexy smile is once more. You dance on amongst the bodies on the dance floor under the flashing lights.

Your eyes find me, look away. Find me, look away.

Your shoulders are thick and curvy, they bump out in the right places. Who has sucked on your nipples, who has bitten them, as lovers bite? Does having your nipples chewed, does having the skin on your chest sucked, make you breath differently? Longer on the inhale, shorter as the breath comes out? Does saliva, some other man’s saliva, glisten on your skin, on your lips, on your chin, do you wear it well? I can see you with pink, chewed circles around your nipples, glistening, telling the story of another man’s spit, from being sucked slowly, intently, luxuriously.

There you are dancing with your eyes closed and your nipples wet and red.

If I sucked your nipples and cupped the front of your black jeans could you dance in that sexy way that you do, for me? Would the hair on the back of your neck bristle with excitement, as my hand slides across it? Would your hips continue to groove in that languid way?

I think you’d be sexiest if you kept your brain half way to somewhere else; that your body could enjoy such sensations without your mind having to have control, as minds do. Sensations to be enjoyed but not thought about; let the sense of touch reign supreme, uninhibited by a minds keen interpretation.

If you continue to groove, eyes closed, half hard, it would be the sexiest dance of all.

A thickness about your legs and a dreamy expression.

You’re next to me. I’m touching you as you dance. My finger tips brushing your skin. Caress your bellybutton, as you groove to a distant beat. Caress the skin from there, radiating in circles to the top of your jeans, to your side, to your arm pit, you casually lift you arm. My flat hand holding your chest; rubbing slowly, holding one warm breast and then the other. Holding the skin on your neck between my teeth; your chest, the back of your neck between my teeth, your hair in my nostrils; the smell of you as you dance; your back against my chest and your arse against my jeans; we move silently in rhythm. I feel your form and dance with it caressing my senses. I have you there, your size, your heart, your smell, to dance together to wherever that may lead us.

I kissed you goodbye, our lips lingered together and I tasted you, you were sweet and moist. Your lips felt shiny and wet with life and I closed my eyes and existed only on your lips at that moment. So perfect. I thought of it as a prelude to more, to existing with you gently with ourselves and our skin and the fragrance of each other. How I’d gently like to wrap up with you in a quiet moment with warm, gentle sun on our skin, feeling every touch of our flesh together, in a long moment of softness and languor; feeling the hair on our legs together, our nipples touching, our tongues exploring and out strong arms around each other. Our lips moving in rhythm together, exploring, not a care.

I turned to leave, you took my hand, you didn’t let go.