Manny Boy

I sat on the side of the train where the sun was shining in. It was so gloriously warm, I dozed all the way, gazing, in between eye flutters, out the window at the view. It's a nice way to travel, I decided, as my book fell to my lap from my hands. I've always found the rythym of the movement of the train hypnotic.

Chicka chick. Chicka chic. Chicka chic.

I got home around 2pm, I made coffee and lay back on the couch to read the Sunday newspaper. I woke, sometime later, as the day was changing to night. Lazy, lazy Sunday. I was going to go for a bike ride, I did nothing.

Manny came over, he looked so handsome, in his black T-shirt. I kissed him, I squeezed his nipples, I played with his... well, you know what I played with. I felt self-conscious because I've put on a few kilos. Manny didn't seem to notice. We lay the blanket out in front of the open fire, and held each other in each other's arms.

We blew all over each other, as the last Idol contestant sang, When the war is over. Manny's cum is thick and white, it dribbled down the side of my stomach and onto the blanket, as Marcia gave her judgment. We dripped sweat. We wiped each other down, slowly, with the red towel with the coarse fibres; makes your skin feel alive.

Manny said I love you Chris. I told him I loved him too. I do love him, he's adorable, what's there not to love. I'm just not in love with him, that's all. Maybe that's better, who knows? I don't ache to spend the rest of my life with him, just some time in the night.