You look at me that way all the time now. You look at me as if you wish you weren't here, as if you were anywhere but with me.
You look at me with eyes that tell me you believe what we do to be a sin.
(How can there be any sin in sincere?)
How can it be a sin if I love you with my whole being, with everything in my heart? How can it be a sin that we, two young men, are in love? Since when is love a sin?
As I look at you, you telling me that, according to the Bible, two men in love is wrong, all I can think of are those muscles underneath that thin shirt.
The only images in my mind, as you attempt to paint pictures of hellfire and brimstone, are the images of us wrapped in one another, your hard abs on my stomach, your toned arms around me.
I hark back to the times we've shared: sizzling, sweaty midnights; mornings where we've snuck off for a quick kiss in a vacant alley; and best of all, the times in the lodging house where we find an empty room and sit, our bodies locked, your hard muscle surrounding my own body.
(How can there be any sin in sincere?)
Stop, stop, stop! Mush, stop saying that! Stop saying we can't be together because you're afraid of what will happen when we die!
How can two people so in love and so blissful with one another be damned to spend eternity in torture?
Either way, Heaven or Hell, I say we go there together. I say we walk, heads held high, our saunter intact, and we march to wherever we're destined to go in the afterlife.
As I watch you pace the room, I wonder who made up those beliefs about gay men being unable to swagger like, say, Spot Conlon, the straightest son on a bitch you'll ever meet. You, Nick "Mush" Meyers, have the most self-assured, almost cocky stride I've ever been fortunate enough to bear witness to.
(How can there be any sin in sincere?)You pause in your pacing pilgrimage—for you are truly on a religious crusade at the moment—long enough to glance sideways at me.
I stare at you with the one eye I have. As your stare sears into me, I reach up and, rather unnecessarily, adjust the suede eye patch over my left eye.
You open your mouth, apparently ready to keep on with your bantering, but I'm on you before you can draw a satisfactory breath.
(How can there be any sin in sincere?)You attempt to push away, attempt to pull back, but I surprise myself with my ability to hold you in place.
I ram my lips onto yours, hungry, trying to prove that there's nothing better than what we have.
You don't seem totally convinced, but I can feel your lips giving in. They soften, opening slightly. I seize the opportunity and thrust my tongue in, wet, hot, ravenous.
I feel it connect with your own, and I hear your soft moan, a moan of ecstasy mixed with defeat.
I enjoy the way you soften against me, enjoy feeling the way your body emanates your feelings.
I know you're happy, relieved even, that a decision was reached at last. And yet I also feel your worry, your fear.
I wrap my arms underneath yours, and you, shuddering, return the gesture.
(How can there be any sin in sincere?)
Our lips part and we embrace. I feel your stomach muscles heaving with every ragged, exerted breath you draw; I feel the mixed emotions slinking out of your body.
But in your eyes I see the way you look at me, your eyes now full of a look that says you want to stay here forever, wanting to be with no one but myself.
I laugh out loud, and you grin that top-toothed grin I love so much. And as we laugh together, I realize that love is love, no matter who loves who.
(How can there be any sin in sincere?)
For aren't we sincerely in love?
{EndNotes}
Right! Wow, this came flying into my mind out of the blue.
The lyrics in this little diddy (Good Lucero, man! Skittles help!) are from the song "Sincere" from The Music Man, and they belong to those wonderful people. (Lyrics are those in parenthesis)
Now that you've read, press the li'l review button and review me up the wazoo!!! I'll be gone at camp till the 3rd, but Skittles will, I'm sure, be mailing me the reviews…right Itts? ((wink))
L'n'MP,
Chelsea aka Glimm