FanPost

Draft my Junk, admire it, hold it all day Thursday



This is dedicated:

 

“Rattle me like a thunder-cloud.”

When she moved her hand along his chest, the hair chimed like branches gently blown against a window, or as rice poured out onto a metal scale.  Secretly, she sensed even softest parts of his body were forged as though from the fires of Vulcan himself.  Pleased with herself, she silently traced his carved body with her eyes and then with her imagination. 

Carlos Ray Norris believed in death.  He believed in it the way a man believes he’ll awake in the morning before submitting to sleep the in the dark night.  As the sun rises, as the wind moves his perfect locks, so too does death flows weightlessly from his fists and roundhouse kicks.  Whether it was hand to hand combat or taming natural disasters, he kept life simple, and prided himself on this simplicity and his simple tastes. 

He could smell the perfume on her, and it reminded of the flowers that wilted under his lightning fast feet.  It reminded him of being immersed in nature and taming her according to his will.  His imagination roamed its own horizon while his eyes looked int the distance to a forming thunderstorm.  He suddenly imagined himself out there with a steel pole, daring the storm to meet him with its white lightning; he imagined out there, repelling the rain his sheer awesomeness while he casually smashed rocks between his hands.  He thought too, about matching the thunder's boom in harmony with his own clap.

When her fingers arrived and traced his mustache his attention shifted to what lay before him.  Pressed up against her, he could feel her heart race.  The thought of the storm caused the hair on his arms to stand, and the blood thirst to race in his aortas.  Tonight, he'd tame her heart as the thunderstorm raged on.  Tonight, he'd roll back the furrows of her desire and irrigate her fertility with spring of his vitality and passion, from which would their love would take root.  Like a mere wall, he'd smash through her coyness with the gentlest of touches.  His passion grew and soon it would harden with resolve forming a monument to their shared loved here, like a monolith spreading the glorious drapes of time to be reveal the grand achievements of the past to the present....

She lay silently asleep, as he noticed the firelight reflect from her face.  Carlos rolled a cigarette from tobacco he had raised himself, on land he'd won in a duel, where he killed a man, at dawn.  He enjoyed quiet and a smoke after a late night tandem workout.  Meticulously he sealed the papers with his tongue and stuck his head in the fire, which he was stirring with the hard wood that lay between his leg, so as to light the cigarette.  He hummed a few lines lines of Haydn's The Creation while he examined his perfectly lit smoke.  While he smoked it, he causally considered the dialogue on the nature of man between Hobbes and Rousseau in his mind, while he drew a perfect portrait of Nikola Tesla.  He considered resting, but quickly scoffed at that recreational activity as below him, despite the beauty that lay under the covers.  A coyote gave voice in the distance, far beyond his eyes' sight.  Deep in thought, he looked out into the void.  In that moment a chill, like a hurricane, spun down his spin.  He looked for his pants and stirred the fire.  Out there, he knew in the darkness The Furies ran in reckless torrent, and at their head on a horse made of mythology and mystery rode the only chill Carlos Ray Norris had ever know: Lee Jun-Fan.

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