Читать книгу Visible Lives: - Terrance Dean - Страница 22

My prayers have been answered. All of my dreams have become a reality.

There is a man in my life.

And his name is Quincy.

I am overjoyed.

Happy.

Loved.

I cannot believe it’s with a younger man.

I keep thinking I am going to wake up and realize it’s a dream.

This is one of our reality shows and the scripted plot is part of the grand scheme.

But it isn’t.

For the next month and a half I am with Quincy.

Every morning.

We wake up together. Our naked bodies entwined. Legs and arms entangled. Refusing to let go and be free. Our bodies warm and sticky from the love juices smeared on our chests, stomachs, and crotches from our night of passion.

In the afternoon.

We work silently and discreetly, not giving away our secret. We snatch glimpses of each other. Smiling. Winking. We both agree to maintain our professionalism. No time together, alone. Only if it’s an arranged meeting. No outside lunches together. No fraternizing. I am his boss. He is my intern.

Then at night.

We make dinner together. Chopping, cutting, searing, and plating. Eating from one plate, sharing our food cooked from our hands. Our love. We curl in one another’s arms on the sofa. Flipping through the channels. Caressing, stroking, and kissing. We fall asleep wrapped in our world.

When we are not together I find myself thinking of him constantly. Yearning for his deep voice. The gentleness of his strong arms. The greeting of his juicy lips.

Then we reunite later and laugh, smile, constantly grabbing hands, touching, and kissing.

His affectionate manner is extremely comforting.

Endearing.

Longed.

On some weekends, when he is not playing basketball at the local courts, we explore the city, going everywhere from Central Park to SoHo to Harlem.

Every other weekend we take long romantic walks in Central Park. We start in the early afternoon, walking from One-hundred Tenth Street to the middle of the park. We stop at the summer stage. We take in the featured weekend concert, events like Dwele, Erykah Badu, Jill Scott, and Ledisi.

My type of music.

We dance and sing with the crowd.

Waving our hands in the air.

And Quincy drapes his long muscular arm over my shoulder.

I reach up and put mine around his.

We rock from side to side with Quincy pulling me close to him.

In the middle of the park among thousands of people I completely let go of my inhibitions. I feel a gravitational pull so strong I know it’s a love that binds me closer to Quincy.

After we explore mature grown-up music, Quincy drags me to Virgin Records in Times Square to share his version of lyrical geniuses.

Jeezy.

Lil Wayne.

Drake.

Gucci Mane.

Young Dro.

He even updates my iPod with these inspired great musical selections.

I put them on my iPod under the playlist—UHM, OKAY!

One Sunday we sat in the Studio Museum of Harlem for two hours just observing the paintings and sculptures. Whenever I ventured off to a different part of the museum admiring a piece of art Quincy would gently brush against me, or bump my shoulder then smile and wink at me.

After leaving the museum Quincy took me to Best Buy department store. He was trying to convince me to buy a Wii video game. “I don’t play games,” I said as he attempted to teach me how to play the basketball video game on display.

“Come on. Give it a try.” Quincy jumped, and moved his hands and arms quickly from left to right, then up and down with the game’s remote.

“You’re an expert at this.” I clumsily jerked and twisted from left to right.

“I have one at home and at school,” he said, maneuvering swiftly and precisely.

I couldn’t quite get the hang of it. My coordination was off. I was stumbling around the showroom making a fool of myself. I was moving my arms left instead of right to dribble and shoot. “I am too old for this,” I said, frustrated. I wanted to throw the remote control across the store.

Quincy laughed and said, “You’re never too old to have fun.” He then grabbed me. He put the remote back in my hand, stood behind me, reached his arms around and placed them on mine, guiding my hands and arms. “Just take your time, baby. Slow down,” he said in my ear.

I bought the game and now I am addicted. I play when I come home from work. It’s totally relaxing.

Besides, I need the practice because Quincy is extremely competitive. “You don’t want none of this,” he yells every time he scores. “I’m the king up in here.”

I shake my head and put on my game face. “This is my kingdom,” I yell back. “Get off me and watch this drop in your face!” I score.

Fun.

Lots of fun.

And, Quincy loves eating dishes from varied cultures.

Indian.

Ethiopian.

Spanish.

French.

Italian.

And we explore restaurant after restaurant.

Feeding one another off each other’s plates.

“Here baby, try this.” Quincy scoops up a forkful of food and feeds me.

At the Ethiopian restaurant it’s customary to eat with your hands. So when the dishes arrived Quincy gathered the meat, vegetables, and bread between his fingers, reached across the table, and put his hand in my mouth. I slowly licked and sucked the food out of his hand. My head moving back and forth, then round and round. “You didn’t get all of it,” he said. “There is some left on my fingers.”

I opened my mouth and Quincy fed each finger to me one at a time until I captured all the leftover food and juices.

This turned Quincy on.

As well as me.

We rush home after dinner and finish devouring one another.

For dessert.

Quincy is the quintessential lover.

Making love with him is like dew drops on a summer morning.

Perfect.

He makes love to every part of my body.

From the balls of my feet to the top of my head.

Quincy’s warm mouth succulently explores places that have been completely left desolate. Like a roving inquisitor Quincy reminds me what making love is all about.

It isn’t fast.

Quick.

Or painful.

He is tender.

Passionate.

Gentle.

He whispers in my ear with each stroke.

We work our bodies together in perfect rhythm.

Having multiple orgasms in one night. Something I’d never experienced with any man.

I also enjoy giving oral pleasure and satisfying him. I gently place his massive erect dick in my mouth and taste his juices.

He is sweet like nectar.

Whenever his pulsating dick jerks and he wants to pull out of my mouth I push his hands away and swallow all of him.

He returns the favor.

His tongue flickers around the head of my dick then he licks and sucks every inch of me.

He won’t stop until I let go, shooting my juices in his mouth.

He loves tasting and telling me, “Give me more. I want to taste all of you.”

Then he crawls on his hands and knees, arching his back, lifting his fat bubble ass, wanting me to stroke him as he does me.

I can’t and don’t get enough of Quincy.

My mojo has been restored. I am refreshed and replenished.

Every day I get my fill of Quincy.

The most generous lover I have ever known.

My days are easy.

I am floating.

Stress-free.

Youthful.

I am in love.