Undercurrents

It lurks, out of sight, just beneath the rippling surface.

Eddies and ripples of daily routine distract, and the swell of life pitches me about, swaying and rolling me from week to week. And I think, foolishly, that perhaps I’m content with what I have. I sleep deeply, dream without waking sticky, my job keeps me busy, interested – even enthused.

Christmas approaches, and thoughts of family, preparations and impending happy times occupy my thoughts. Blogs, affairs, even sex becomes a trivial whisper, barely audible, never over-whelming.

Perhaps, I muse, I don’t need all this. Perhaps I my ‘lot’ is sufficient, and all the dark thoughts and fantasies were unnecessary and self-indulgent.

But.

A small glance. A poster on a wall. A blog post, particularly appropriate and familiar description of a scenario that has played through my head so… many … times. The smouldering coals deep inside me begin to glow, the flesh turns and stretches, and my need wakes again from its light snooze.

Like a dark shadow following me through the cold winter alleyways, my desire stalks me, devours my thoughts, consumes my mind. And now, every little detail hardens me, every dream is of raw, perspiring flesh and desperate feral fucking.

When I eat, I think of cunnilingus. When I shower I imagine soaped hands slipping around my loins. When I see dark shadowy corners, my mind wanders and I’m in the shade, trousers undone, cock in the mouth of some woman – any woman – who kneels before me, my fist gripping her hair, the cold frosty air chilling me as her saliva cools on my tight squirming balls.

There is no respite, no break, no pause. The animal within me will not sleep for long.