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He is not handsome,  but his nose and jaw are strong and sweat drips down



his cheeks from his damp and dark hair. He has no expression, is as unseeing as



if hypnotised or drugged or mindless. His chest is strong and the  sweat  flows  



down, down, over the hollow of his stomach to be absorbed by the  band  of



white. There his sex is veiled, virginal, vigilant. He has the legs of a runner and  



when he turns I can see the ripple of his backbone, the dancing shoulder-blades



and lean hollows of his hips. I want to take him, to have and to hold him, to



kiss and lick and stroke and arouse. He would be mine to make as I wish and



yet he would never change. He would listen and learn and yet be my teacher.  



He would lie in my bed, our bed, and be made love to, he would overpower me



and make me his. We would fight and forgive, leave and live and love each



other. He is everything I desire, he is my desire and he is here before me, he is



here for me.



Discotheque - Four Voices in A Sense of Loss




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