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What a worthless day, what a pitiful worthless day it is.  I am walking in cold spring rain.  It’s been raining for weeks.  Not just raining - pouring.  It’s not just raining cats and dogs; it’s raining cows and chickens.  This day is over, it’s done, I quit.  I’m going to make it home, even if it takes me hours, which it will.  And then, I’m heading straight to bed.  If there is one good thing that can come of this day, it’s that I’ll have a dream like the one I dreamed last night, and the night before, and all the other nights this month.  How pathetic is a life when the best part of your day is spent unconscious?  Although, sleep is underrated, that’s what I always say.

It was an incredibly severe day of work.  It was also a fan-fucking-tastic day for my car to break down. One thing I know is that I will never buy another thing built in the 1980’s.  It decides to die today, that rusted hulk, after making it through the full punishment of winter.  The least it could have done for me is pitter out in front of the house after I was already home.  Now I have to pay money I don’t have to get it towed.

            There’s nothing I can do about it.  I just wish there was some reason for these struggles.  I wish that someone else was benefiting from my labor, other than my mechanic.  I keep thinking of my friend, Owen.  My heart stretches every time I turn a corner and there is another young man trudging towards me. I think it’s going to be Owen’s eyes glaring at me from beneath a hooded jacket.  Or, maybe he’ll come driving past in his little hatchback blasting music, and stop to pick me up.  But, that’s as likely as this rain stopping, or my car starting, or my boss handing me a pay raise.  Still, it’s calming and pleasant to think about that beautiful boy.

As I take another step, my feet squish down into the soles of my shoes.  It’s like I’ve strapped sponges to them, not shoes.  Walking in the rain wouldn’t be so bad if Owen were here with me.  He would look so sexy walking next to me, soaked to the bone.  His hair would be stuck to his forehead and cheeks.  His clothes would be pasted to his body and I could define the shape of his buttocks.  Delicate drops of water would drip from his lips and off his chin.  What a pretty little gem for my imagination. 

Wouldn’t it be nice if I could be a drop of rain that landed on Owen?  I could so gently caress his skin as I traced the contours of his face.  Then I’d travel down his neck and sneak in underneath his shirt.  I’d take a rest on the tip of his nipple and cling to it with every last effort till gravity finally pulled me off.   I’d carry on my expedition, following his treasure trail, and slip under the elastic band of his underpants.  And, there I’d mingle with his sweet musky sweat while I dashed rings around the head of his penis.  Maybe I’d continue further down, tickle his perineum, interview every leg hair, and amuse myself all the way down to the sensitive webbing between his toes.  It’s so easy to fantasize about him. 
            
            I remember the first thing I said to Owen.  Nope, it wasn’t the first thing, it was the second thing.  The first time I met him I said, “Hello, nice to meet you,” and that was all.  But, a few days latter he spotted me walking down the street.  He crossed the road just to come say good day.  And, the only thing I could think of to say to him was, “Oh, you’re wearing shorts.”  Ha, ha, what an idiot I was.  Oh you’re wearing shorts, I can’t believe it.  But, His legs were so captivating.  Straight dark hair dressed his toned and shapely muscles.  His calves were lickable.  What a silly time that was. 

I’ve made it, finally, to the bus stop.  There’s nothing here accept a tree and a post.  Lightening is exhibiting a fluorescent exotic dance in the clouds.  What was it that I learned back in the Boy Scouts?  I think if you are caught in a lightening storm, you’re supposed to crouch down in the lowest area you can find, at least 50 yards from any trees.  I’d rather not leave the shelter of the tree though.  I’d also rather not be struck by lightening.  It has been a bad day.  Not so bad, however, as that I’d welcome sudden death.  It is difficult though.  It’s difficult to see an end to this bad run. 

I remember, not too long ago, that the world was wide with possibilities.  I was eighteen, and the only question was which direction seemed most exciting to explore.  I needed only myself and a good idea to follow up on, and I’d be gone on some great adventure.  Now life is just a groan of redundancy.  Ever since I got the sensibility to get myself stability and consistency, my life has been nothing but struggle and adversity.  It’s hard to imagine myself ever coming out of this strange experiment unharmed or still right in the heart.  Everyday I feel more beat, more down.   That’s why it’s been so important to have known Owen for these last two years.
           
When, my acquaintances were whispering rumors about me.  When my other friends were forgetting to call, Owen always came through.  He didn’t just casually say hello and ask how I was doing like some insincere fool who couldn’t care less. No, he would run up and jump on me, try to tackle me.  And, he was smiling like he was truly glad to be with me. 
           
In those moments when Owen is around, I am no longer an overloaded machine that is on the verge of malfunction.  I tell jokes and funny stories.  I can play games and make other people laugh.  When he is with me, I am thoughtful and loving.  I stop worrying about the things I cannot control.  I can stay up late with Owen, and I never ask what time it is.

I think what I like best in him, other than his angelic physical features, is that he is a man.  He makes mistakes.  He is not a master of his own emotions. He gets angry, becomes excited, and jumps up and down in his frustration.  He starts sentences before realizing that what he is saying is wrong or embarrassing.  He laughs loud and seeks attention.  He is quiet and pensive, perhaps he thinks about death.  He gets wound up and spins out of control.  He crashes cars.  He kills me.  He kills me when he turns around and skates away, or when he says, ‘goodbye,’ and hangs up the phone.

My bus is now approaching.  I scan through its windows searching for his face.  But, really, what would he be doing on this route?  The pale blue lights are cruel to these people that ride the bus.  They all look like me, exhausted, lifeless and cold blooded.
           
It’s too bad I made such an awful mistake.  I told him I thought he would be a tiger in bed.  I tried so hard for so long to avoid letting him know how much I wanted him.  I wanted to be respectful.   I wanted him to be who he was and be a friend I genuinely admired.  Never did I want to put him in a position of confliction.  I had to fail though.  I had to fail at this.  I wanted him so feverishly. 
           
His reaction was more abrasive than I could have imagined.  “That’s too closed quarters for me,” he said.   So coldly shot down.  And, what is this, what are these words?  I don’t understand, ‘too closed quarters.’  Those sound like salesman’s words.  It’s too difficult to figure these straight boys out.  I’ve been told it’s not worth the effort.  Though, how could I listen to such small and jaded advice? I thought we’d been friends.  How can such a simple sexual comment end a friendship?  But, nonetheless, these are the last words he’s spoken to me.   
           
This whole business, this riding the bus thing is a pain in the ass.  It’s nice to be transported down the road in a place that is warm and dry, but for God’s sake, do we have to stop every half a block?  I can’t really believe he’s straight anyways.  He is drop dead gorgeous, twenty three years old, and still a virgin.  Seriously, he could have any girl he wanted.  What is he really so timid and shy about?…  But, I can’t pry the closet open for him.  That’s a door he’ll have to choose to open on his own.
           
At least I don’t feel guilty about taking him in my fantasies any more.  My dreams have been exquisite since he made it clear that I’m not allowed to feel that way about him.  Now, I’ll have him any way I want him.  The dreams can be tender, touching visions of our two bodies intertwined together.  Or, they can be extreme, forceful episodes where I rap his virgin ass. 
           
I love to think about that boy’s body.  I think about his body all day while I work.  Owen’s physique is like a river coming down a mountain:  fresh and clean, and gaining strength as it flows from one curve to the next.   His legs run marathons, and then they burn on Summer Sundays in the sand.  His eyes, his eyes drop leaves from trees, deserts flood; tides are turned.
           
The details of his masculine, post-adolescent figure swim in my mind’s eye as the city bus lugs along closer to my stop.  I can get off the bus here and walk one and half miles home, or I can wait here for a transfer that will drop me off a block away from my front door.  I choose to walk the remainder.  The branches of ancient oak trees weave a cathedral ceiling over the residential streets I am walking down.  Raindrops falling into those million leaves make it sound as though I were walking under Niagara Falls.  The greens of grassy lawns and leafy trees are deepened and vivified in the supernatural light of the storm.  There is something touching about these tempestuous days.  Something violently awakened. 

            It’s not as long of a walk as I had thought.  So long ago I was leaving this house that I am entering now.  It was only this morning, but it seems like it was a different era, in some distant place, when I was headed to work full of morning vigor.  I enter through the rear door into the kitchen.  

A quick roommate check, “Hello, anybody home?”  No response other than the hum of the refrigerator and the ticking of a wall clock.  So, I strip off my drenched clothing right there.  I drop my bundle of clothes by the door and grab a towel from the drier to wipe down my face and cold skin.  It’s so good to be home, safe and sheltered from the noise and motion of the outside world.  I am roughing my hair up with the towel as I walk to my room.  There it is, my bed, comfy and warm, awaiting me.  My phone is blinking.  Somebody has called 12 times today.  I don’t need to talk to any bill collectors today, so I ignore the messages and hop into bed.  With the rhythm of the rain on the roof, I fall into a deep sleep. 

Here I am, somewhere in limbo awaiting my lucid wet dream.  Now, I don’t know if this has ever happened to you.  But, sometimes I sleep so hard and deep that I become lost between the planes of reality.  I think that I have awakened; only to realize I have woke to a different dream.  And, when I wake up from that one, it is yet another dream that I must wake up from.  Moving through these layered dreams, cause me to be disorientated and amazed.  When at last I am fully returned to consciousness, I have to take several minutes to remind myself of where I am, who I am.  This seems to be what is happening now.
 
I am slumbering comfortably when I feel someone’s lips kissing all the tender parts of my body.  First, I am kissed on my stomach, then twice on my side, then once on the inside of my arm.  He continues across all the skin that is exposed from beneath the covers and blankets I am wrapped up in.  Ahh yes, this is my boy Owen, come to me in the night to fulfill the ritual pleasures.  

            I fake that I am still asleep, but shift and move to provide him access to different parts of me.  He waits for a moment, to see if he has disturbed me.  I can feel his measured breath on my thigh.  He is satisfied that I am still asleep and resumes his passionate kissing.  I could let this go on all night. 

            His face is by mine.  He kisses my neck, and cheeks; my nose, and lips.  I open my eyes.  His are closed.  He kisses thoughtfully, leading with his nose and then gently landing with his lips.  He takes a moment to sniff out his next target.  At last, his eyes open and stare into mine.  Oceanic waves pass between us.  He stares intently.  This is all I would ever need to be complete in my life.  But, subconscious desire draws my hand up and I caress his back.  His naked body relaxes next to mine. 

            Now I kiss him.  I kiss his lips, no tongue, just lips – over and over again.  His eyes are wide open, starring back into mine.  His mouth is open, and I let him taste a sliver of my tongue.  It’s as though he has never kissed before.  ‘But don’t you remember, Owen?  We did this last night.’  He accepts my tongue in his mouth.  I explore.  I Tease.  He learns.  We are like little children playing with tree limb swords.  We engage each other in playful, miniature battles.  He kisses me, and I parry him.  I engage him and he defends. 

            I kiss his face: his ears, eyelids, cheeks, and the cold tip of his nose.  I kiss between his sexy eyebrows, on that magical place where mythology tells us our third eye is set.  Owen hums with pleasure.

            His penis has been hard this whole time.  Now he is impatient to move on from this foreplay.  He is swiveling his hips, drawing his penis up and down the inside of my thigh.  I hug him; bring his body in tight against mine.  His temperature is high.  So is mine. 

            I scratch his back and cup his buttocks in my palms.  He has such a comfortable body to hold.  Owen will become a very strong man in the coming years.  He is guided by nature, by instinct.  He is pushing and pulling his hips.  He wants to fuck. 

             I guide him to his knees and move myself behind him.  I wrap my arms around him and bring his back into my chest.  He twists and rolls his head.  He is hot for me.  I reach down and begin to stroke his cock.  He releases all tension and gives himself, wholly into my control.  ‘Owen, I have dreamed this so often, I know exactly how to touch you.’   I stretch his cock away from his balls with one hand and pull his balls down and back with the other.  When they’re as far separated as they will go, I turn my hand and pass each of my fingers over the tip of his penis and compress his organs back together.  Then I stretch them apart again.  

            My dick is in the sweaty crevice between his buttocks, teasing the warm and sensitive tissue at the threshold of his asshole.  I reach down there and probe it with my middle finger.  His cock responds, it solidifies and lengthens out even more.  We concentrate on our closeness.  We meditate together on the pleasure he is feeling.  He expresses himself well, with subtle motions, deep breaths, and sighs.  He doesn’t ask or demand anything.  He doesn’t speak a word.  Rain drums on the roof and splashes onto the road outside the house.  Everything outside and inside is fluid, flowing easily and guileless. 

            When at last I move to penetrate him, He stiffens a little and lets out a meek little whimper.  “It’s Okay.  Breath, take your time to get used to it.  There’s no rushing tonight.”  He exhales, and then sits down onto my hard throbbing cock.  He takes more and more of it into him.  I am dazzled at how much he allows in.  His ass is so tight.  I kiss him on the neck.  I touch him, pinch at his nipples, and pull his cock hard again.      

            I take hold of his waist.  I lift him up slowly and gently.  Then I place my palms on his shoulders and push him back down onto me.  Four times I do this.  “Squeeze it tight as it draws out.  Now, relax.  Relax, and open up as you come back down onto it.”  He takes over, freeing my hands to stroke him.  “Mmmm, you are so good at this.”  He is.  He is a born natural.  He gets into it; he buries my cock in his ass.  Now I know for sure - Owen likes it deep.

            I straighten my posture and bend him over.  I take charge and continue the pace he has set.   I love this view of him.  Owen’s symmetry and shape is flawless.  His back is a sandy beach that shifts in the wind, each muscle group its own soft dune that rolls and dips into the next.  He shakes and vibrates with the intensity of our fusion, and hums deeply.  I thought he would be a tiger in bed.  How wrong I was.  He is purring, like a little kitten.  His body produces a gentle, regular pulsation, yielding intense pleasure.

            I need to reach out and touch him: somewhere sacred, somewhere sensual, somewhere I’ve never dreamed to touch him. I reach out and clench the front of his neck in my hand.   Owen jumps a little; he thinks I am going to strangle him.  For a wicked second, I am fearful that indeed I will.  But, instead I push my fingers into his neck, pressing his artery up against his throat.  His heartbeat is throbbing, powerful and strong.  Feeling his fast beating heart, fans the flames inside me.  I pursue him vigorously.  His heartbeat increases and sweat soaks his body.  I drive him even harder, my thighs slapping back off of his ass.  Owen emits incredible sounds as air swiftly escapes him.  I masturbate him furiously. 

            Just then, a painful white light strobes the room.  Immediately following the light, thunder crashes.  It’s as if the granite peak of a high mountain has been sliced off and landed right outside my window.  The foundations tremble, picture frames fall off the wall.  In the flash, the visions of this day pass before me once more:  the defeat I felt when I turned the key and the engine didn’t crank; the picture of Owen, walking beside me with drops of rain falling off his imagined lips; lightening sparking across the sky while I sheltered under a tree; The pale blue faces of the people on the bus, they are watching me now as I fuck Owen’s ass.  At last, I see the explosion of green in the supernatural light of the storm and I hear the thunderous torrent of rain in the oak trees.  This day has been filled with awesome displays of nature.  Connected with Owen, I somehow feel connected to the world.  Owen is a force of nature, and so too is my passion for him.   
 
I am focused on Him as I approach my climax.  I am there, I am so there.  Owen is as well.  He fires a jet of cum that strikes him under his chin, and more cum spurts out as I give him long strokes, again and again and again.  He lets me finish inside him.  We hold our pose and enjoy the orgasm that pulses through us.  Satisfaction rides through my entire body, radiating outward from the epicenter of our love.    

This dream was different.  This dream had smells and flavors.  It was quiet and emotional.  And…Owen stayed with me after the sex was done.  In the other dreams we would have done it several times under different lights, in different scenery.  But, tonight, I laid back and he rested his head on my chest.  He fell asleep there while I combed through his hair with my fingers.  What a sweet boy.  I’m getting better at these subconscious fantasies. 

I wake up to an unusual sensation.  It is the warmth of sunlight pouring through the windows.  Ahhhhh, the Sun that I have been so long deprived of, has finally broken through.  Good bye gloomy days.  Its springtime, a time of new beginnings.  Even though I am dismayed that there is no one in my arms when I wake, a peaceful smile colors my face.  It is amazing how a good dream can restore one’s spirits and comfort in the world.
 
Now that I’m awake, I begin to take notice of the things around me.  My clock is blinking digits at me.  The power must have gone out last night.  I pick my watch off the night stand.  Eleven A.M., ‘shit’….I laugh to myself.  Well, I guess I’m late for work.  Maybe I just won’t go back there anymore.  Now, let me check these messages.  What could have been so urgent that someone called me 12 times yesterday?  No wait, make that 13.  Another call came in after I had already fallen asleep. 

Aha!  That’ll make this day even better.  It is Owen’s number on the caller ID.  He finally got around to breaking the silence.  Not a moment too soon either.  I dial him up without delay.  And, just beyond my bedroom door, out in the living room, I hear a cell-phone begin to ring.  I wonder now, who could be sitting out in the living room waiting for me to wake up?

What a wonderful day; what a beautiful, wonder filled day it is.