March 29, 2020. STORM

“Charlie’s legs” by Paul Uebler

Me and Charlie were sitting on the wall watching the straight guys. My hand was on Charlie’s leg and we both pretended not to notice. His trunks were a faded purple against his pale skin.
Mine were orange.

We watched the guys play ball and walk up and down and high five and laugh with each other. It gave us a certain feeling of power.
We were watching.
We were the ones judging.

It was a strangely illicit feeling.
Enjoying the view, but knowing you should not.
I was enjoying it usually, but I could barely focus today.
My hand on Charlie’s leg was higher up than normally and I felt his warmth against my hand and I knew had someone asked to tell them what the weather was like or what the guys we were watching looked like I could not have told them.
I could only feel Charlie’s leg against my hand, his naked skin under the trunks.
I didn’t even know if I was hard, because that would have required me to switch my attention from his sweet, warm thigh to my own body and there was nothing I was less interested in than leaving this moment and returning to a world where my hand was doing anything other than resting upon Charlie’s leg.
The hot setting sun caressed his face and reflected in his grey eyes making them look blue and silver.
We did speak sometimes when watching the straight guys.
Not acknowledging why we were here or what we were actually doing.
Just talking of the weather and our mutual friends, drama that was going on, his mom.
It had been hot all summer, unbearably so.
I was careful not to press down too much. I wanted my hand to almost only linger and yet I craved to feel as much of him as possible.
He leaned a bit towards me, almost not at all. His shoulder slightly brushed mine.
Barely noticeable, it meant the world to me.
I was by then of course looking at naked men online and had seen my fair share of performers doing sexual stunts online and yet if you had asked me to describe the most erotic images I would have immediately thought of Charlie’s half exposed thigh with my hand on it.

I didn’t speak and it was not for lack of thoughts, my head was filled with images I could not put into words and feelings that rose from my body into my throat and made it impossible to speak. I didn’t speak out of fear and out of love for him.
A love I did not know was love and could exist a such.

“My parents found a house.“ He said and his eyes looked into mine. “I bet they’re happy.“ I scoffed.
“Yeah.“ He replied.
I sat where I was but the urge to hold him grew unbearable.

But I did not , could not and we sat until the girls came back and we ate ice cream and we went home.

In the half dark I pushed my bike and thought about my life and about Charlie and I felt a sadness laid on top of me like a heavy blanket.

In my hot bed, I could not get sleep and even though my sweaty hands stuck to the sheets and I felt gross, I reached between my legs.
The very thought of him got me hard and I swallowed heavy and in rapid short breaths I reached an unsatisfying wet climax.

I laid in my shame for a while and even though the physical need had lessened my body still yearned. I was shaken out of my thoughts by the sudden thunder storm.
The lightning bit into the dark sky and I heard thunder rumble.
I got up and looked into the night sky.

It started to rain.
Gently.
Then heavier.
I opened the window and held out my hand.

The rain pooled in it and washed the spunk away.
I undressed and took a shower, accompanied by sound of the rain that grew heavier and heavier. At one point I could not discern whether I was standing outside or in the shower, lost in thoughts of him. His soft voice came to my mind and I made it say words I wanted to hear.
My name. How I made him feel. Moaning.
I got out the shower and without thinking I put the swimming trunks on.
I grabbed a sweater and went downstairs.
There was a desire in me to stand outside in the rain.
I pushed the terrace door open.
Charlie stood in the rain.
His hair was wet and his glasses foggy.
He breathed heavy and looked at me.
I wanted to speak but I felt like the air was knocked out of me.
I opened my mouth.
“Charlie-“ my voice was so quiet, I could barely hear myself over the rain.
He bridged the gap between us and in a single motion he pressed his lips on mine.
He tasted of rain and sweat and joy.

“A Storm at Sea” by Seán Delaney
“Rain” by Kimmi Kerner

“The Storm” by S.J. Saighead

The air was still, waiting
for a storm that did not come.
The clouds descended on the sea.
each light across the bay, struggling
to reach across the water and fall
on to eyes of onlookers, waiting
for a car crash to finally arrive,
rolling in from across the sea,
each violent life pushing and struggling
till one by one before the storm
                                                   they fall.

Published by artisticdifferencescurator

My name is Seán and I am the creator and curator of the Artistic Differences Project. I started this project during the lockdown in Ireland due to COVID-19 in March 2020 as a way to get my friends and I creating during a troubling time. From there the project as gone from strength to strength and now we publish a new exhibition every two weeks.

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