Kitchen

Summertime, in a studio kitchen.
So small.

I find my head titled backwards.
A strong hand is on my
Chest.
Another is reaching
Inside my shorts,
Playing with my somewhat
drowsy cock.

There are kisses on my shoulder.
His chest brushes my back,
Tickling me with his short black hair.
My shorts are suddenly off,
Thrown to the side.

I have never allowed anyone
To be this familiar with me.
It wasn't so long ago that I
Was too ashamed to walk around
My apartment naked.
Now I have embraced my nudity
And abandoned the
revulsion.

I am no longer an obese
Pre-pubescent boy fearful
Of the locker room.
I am a man to be
Admired and fondled.
Someone who gives the
Sexy dark haired man
Who shares my bed a
Throbbing erection.

His hands
Glide down to
Cup my balls.
Gentle and intoxicating.
An arm snakes around my torso.
Eotic,
Warm,
Comfortable,
Safe,
Tingling.

The immensity of my
Cock,
My heart
And the freedom
In my soul
Cannot be contained
By this tiny room
With the half
Stove and fold away table.

The heat we generate
Melts the plate I
Was drying.
The daisy petals on the table
Bubble,
Like paint on an
Old door in the August
Sun.
The cabinets sweat,
And the freezer doors
Swell and burst
Spilling its white ice
Onto the floor.

A soft sigh escapes
My lips.
I pour unintelligible, soft words
Over his chin
And chest.
I am held,
Spent.
Safe and comfortable
In a way I've never been
Before.