Sunday, August 16, 2009


This story ain't for everybody, just the sexy folks! Short but sweet - aka A Quickie.


Copyright by Roy L. Pickering Jr.

Pushing, pushing, pushing. Harder, faster, deeper, as deep as I can go within myself to find what it will take. What will it take to surge past the boundaries I reside between? They can be overtaken if mind is at one with will, transforming the material that forms me into an iron piston, pumping relentlessly, fueled by ego, mastering the rigors of perpetual motion.

Complete and total singleness of purpose. Focus funneled down to a pinpoint. Mind instructs heart to pump blood through throbbing veins to nourish ligaments and tendons, enabling them to perform their one and only task. Perform as if life depends on it, as if everything I hold dear is on the line.

Muscles creaking like an ancient rocking chair straining to support the bulk of a not so easy rider. Can I surpass my breaking point? Thrusting upwards, downwards, up then down, back and forth, again and again, primed to succumb to God and nature, driving onward nonetheless, solely on primeval instinct.

I cling to her desperately, like an infant to its mother's nipple. My sweat forms hundreds of steaming rivulets, becoming hundreds of minuscule waterfalls, abandoning my body for hers. Our movements are in perfect synchrony. I give she yields, she gives I yield, we are as one.

My body begs for immediate gratification, but I deny myself this selfish pleasure to obtain a greater reward. This is the moment at which I usually falter, conviction overmatched by senses. Not this time, I command. Not this time.

My limbs are taut, like the strings of a guitar over tuned. One infinitesimal turn will be enough, cause them to burst, yet I must take that risk, I must go on. The time for rest will soon arrive, and once it does will be richly deserved. But I cannot cheat the clock, must not betray the oath I made to see this through to the end.

Moans escape my lips, not quite drowning out the gentle, steady hum she makes. My pace quickens to match the pulsing of my heart. I see myself echoed in the mirror. Body gracefully poised, muscles fully flexed, limbs rotating in perfect symmetry. Vanity steps in to aid the flow of adrenaline. I hope I can, I think I can, I know I can.

The tunnel's end is gloriously illuminated. Finally I have succeeded in overcoming thresholds imposed by the mortality of flesh. I did not allow myself to fall short, ignored the protests of this aching frame and pushed forward to a new plane, a final frontier.

Her hum converts into a sigh. I am entitled to sweet repose, merciful release. Tension has vanished, satisfaction taken its place. Inner peace serves as masseuse.

All is silent now, my breathing no longer labored and audible, she back to a state of initial expectancy, awaiting the next man willing and able to put her to the test. She won’t have to wait long. There is always another in line for her services.

I climb off of her, full of self-congratulation. Forty minutes. I knew I had it in me. No challenge is too great for determined manhood. History is a testament to this fact. All it takes is desire moderated by discipline. I stretch my exhausted appendages and give her an affectionate pat. Then I walk away. No time to savor victory, there's still work to be done, new foes to conquer, more fertile ground to be tilled.

Now that I’ve mastered the Stairmaster, I think I’ll move on to the Lifecycle.

x x x x x

No comments:

Post a Comment