jockedguy: A Dream of SummerSomewhere, there is a ringing, a buzzing, some insistent sonic prodding
jockedguy: A Dream of SummerSomewhere, there is a ringing, a buzzing, some insistent sonic prodding at my eardrum, something nipping at my brain…But the sunlight is pulsing rhythmically against my closed eyelids. Warm, spreading samples of melted orange and yellow. Then there is wind, neither warm nor cold. It is a force against the small of my back, urging me along. The wind has a voice. It is a familiar sound. Someone I know. There might even be words, names, places, times, plans, in that voice, but it just sounds like the waves on the shore. In the dream, we are on the ferryboat, crossing the bay. It is summer - finally - and we are leaning against the rail. I can see myself against you, half-melted against your hard body. If we stood motionless, we could be mistaken for mannequins, models, displays, pure bodies of summer, placed elegantly there to establish how summer it is. In the dream, I do not quite remember how I got there, but it feels so real, so vivid. The waves spit playfully, tossing their white tails in the air like deer in the forest before vanishing into the thundering wake of the boat. The gulls make their strident calls across the seamless blue above. The wind ruffles your hair as if it is admonishing you, lightly. And I, I am so in love with you. I am so in love with you and I am crying in my dream because my heart is held with tight iron bands and it is hard to breathe. You turn your face towards mine and you smile and you chuck under my chin. We are wearing similar outfits. You’ve chosen them. This has become normal now, after months of being together. Half of the time I don’t even remember what I’ve got on, but sometimes you’ll show me a side-by-side, a before-and-after, before you post it to the internet, and remind me slyly how Far I’ve Come, and Who I Used to Be. Feels like a movie. A dream. Dream within a dream, perhaps. I’m in a tank top. It’s to show off my guns, because I have spent years working on them, crafting their sinews and their contours. Looking at them, in the dream, I feel the urge to flex them, and you notice, and you nod, and without words, you give permission. Not that I need permission. It’s been so long now that you are my entire world, and the dream-people around me are this cream-coloured blur, possessing only eyes and legs. They see me flex and all they feel is jealousy. A thought worms its way into my head, a nasty little look at that dumbfuck, flexing like a moron, grinning like a moron, look at that dumbfuck jock but I feel you coaxing your thoughts over those, I feel you take hold of my chin and pull it so that my eyes lose themselves in the reflection of myself in endless recursion. The lightest smile on your lips. You know what I am thinking. It turns you on. I’m a little hard too, in the shorts that are a little shorter than I’m used to. In the neon orange Nike Roshes that ended up in my mail one day. Not sure how, but have stopped trying to guess. You turn my cap around on my head and I wrinkle my nose in faux-exasperation, but your mouth on mine makes me stop. Your hand creeps up from my shoulder to the nape of my neck, and your finger idly rests, climbs, rests, climbs, at the apex of my spinal cord. And there is the sound of traffic? Something huge and heavy is whooshing by, there are murmurs and footsteps. I am suspended in gray. My body is not responsive and my thoughts are gelled in aspic…“I love you,” you say, soundlessly, in the dream. You pull away from my body and the boat rocks on the blue waves of the summer day. Do you open your mouth to say it? Do I open mine to reply? The islands are spread out so widely in the bay. Which are we even arriving to? Where are we sailing?Bro. Bro. BRO.The dream pops, filmy, leaving its neon residue dripping down the walls of the subway station. You’re there, too, in a different outfit. You’re smiling a world-eating smile. I love the small chip on your front tooth. “Hey bro,” you’re saying, gesturing at my white Jordans. “Wouldn’t those look hot on me?”I look down at your sneakers. Bright blue Under Armour sneakers. So bright blue it’s almost like I’m back in the dream, squinting through my Ray-Bans at the sky above. I hear a gull cry. Or it’s the train squealing to a halt. Your hand, light on my shoulder, shaking it. “Bro. Switch with me.”The subway car rattles back and forth, jarringly. I have to hang onto one of the metal posts for support. My biceps bulge slightly, and you growl playfully, kissing the side of my neck, forcing my gaze downwards. I am electrified. Currents of unnameable energy ricochet from the base of my spine, around my ears, down my lats, through my pecs, and tingle down to the impossibly bright blue sneakers on my feet. “I love you, bro,” you say into my skin, and I feel that, too, tingly, as it shoots through me. “You’re mine, forever.”The tunnel’s darkness, emphatic, pulsing, like squeezed-out ink from a tube. My lips form a desperate smile. Desperate for you. For your direction. For your guidance. For your limitless voice, as formless and as strong as the wind in my ears and against the small of my back. At the nape of my neck. And I know that when we get home, you will guide me into our bedroom, and we will stare again into each other’s eyes, we will stare until the winter’s hold on the world is broken, until I wake up beside you on that ferry, blinking, convinced that I have woken up for real. -- source link