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My fingers caress the keyboard, dancing on the letters as if I caress your body. I am searching the Internet for what moves my soul. Among my messages is an album of pictures, Pictures 1988. I open it and the beauty it holds dazzles me.
First plane: the white and perfect body of an adolescent; the feet, the hands supported in the frame of a window. In a second plane: behind the boy, in the shadows of the interior, the body of a man, strong and powerful his legs and torso, his penis almost erect penis. The man's hand slowly approaches the white body. "Don't touch me", the fearful souls of the dead ones scream. "Touch me", the live souls whisper in pain, those that never enjoyed forbidden beauty.
Now in the picture, the cock of the man seems to rise in the shades. The adolescent's head is turned. Hypnotized eyes follow the evident growth of the man's sex. The image is frozen; boy and man, both still, both await their destiny. Finally, the hand touches the white body; the man cock is now completely erect. The boy's sex among the shades, surely it too is erect. Communion between them, what is and what will be. The truth of pure and hard masculinity, and a boy's awakening to sex, the man will define for him. The hand is between the beautiful legs' they open up to welcome the intimate caress. The boy does not know his body; he waits to know its value, but offers it still. The man now can honor nothing; he only feels the force of his sex and the yearning of his soul. They both need one another. The fire and the water. The light and the darkness.
I cover my eyes as I close the album of pictures. Let us leave them alone; let the gods light the pathways of their bodies and of their souls. But in my mind the hard cock, perfect and beautiful, touches the white buttocks. Will it be? I cannot resist. I open the album again and decide for the life. The hand caresses the youth's flank; the boy turns his face, searching for the man's lips. All motion ceases; incredible, beautiful. The boy offers his body to the man, the wild animal arches, and is ready to make the fatal strike.
I jump some pages. Here are two erect sexes, the one of the boy and the one of the man. A few centimeters separate them; they are waiting for a hand that joins them, the hand of a mother, of a wife, or a sister. Now the moist penis tips kiss each other. The boy's thigh ascends in the dimness between the man's legs. What it is that the boy lips seek? Now the small boy-ass is high, those perfect white savannas, half-open legs, and his face smiles to the camera. In the next pane the man's face collapses into the white semi-spheres. I turn the page. Here the boy sits on the bed and contemplates the man's naked beautiful body. Then the boy body leans forward, his hand extending, hesitantly, toward the man's body. What dose he caress first? The masculine chest? The soft body hair of the strong legs? The sex, almost erect? Yes, the adolescent's white hand touches the curly body hair of the man-chest, one of his fingers on the dark and erect man nipple.
In another image it is the boy's cheek that caresses the beautiful and already completely erect cock. And following, the boy's rosy tongue brushes the man's bulbous gland, with a crystalline bead thread overflowing from the small opening, making a fragile bridge of semen, or it only saliva? Does it join both tips? I jump a few pages. On an armchair, the two nude bodies, the boy threaded by the man's member, both pairs of legs open wide. The white and almost feminine boy, the dark and virile man. I see the testicles of both clearly, and the penises erect. Only a few centimeters of the man's, the rest is buried in the interior of the boy body. Both with closed eyes concentrated in their deep pleasure.
These images excite. My eyes descent to my pants, I contemplate my erect sex, the vision of it and of the discovered part of my legs excites me more, it took could make a beautiful picture, and in an album too. I caress my member lightly, as my eyes return to the page Here the man's hand wraps the adolescent sex, the other one caresses his white chest. In the next, the boy's torso is rotated; his hands connect to the man's neck. Both gaze in each other's eyes, while they bring near their lips in search of kisses. These beautiful scenes fill me of lust. I see myself as the man, and other times as the boy, remembering my adolescence and youth. I touch with a finger the wet of the tip of my penis and I take it to my lips. A flood of melancholy washes over me, thinking in that in my youth, I did not live those moments of the boy's first happiness.
I turn to the first leaf of the album and search for identities. Both are seated at a table, they seem to be writing. For a moment, they look to the camera. Can it be? I review with zoom wide details. A mole under my right nipple this there, and there it is too on the boy. Now it is clear, that boy is I, and the man, that too is me as was some years ago. Who did this, who wrought this magic? I look for the address of Internet. Who sent these pictures? There it is! It is my old address! How can this be!
Then I wake. In this world something so beautiful could not happen. With those images in my head I masturbate until the dawn.
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