Nathaniel Feldmann

Pilgrimage of Desire

A young handsome guy is chasing the God of Love in the woods, his desire unmistakable and body signalling the need for release.

Sweat dripped from my nose. I needed an ice cube, a can of cold beer, something that could soothe my overheated forehead, anything to run down the length of my spine, along the waistband of my underwear. The heat had gotten to me already. I was not yet accustomed to these midsummer days, a new northern European climate.

Stuck to the couch, all I could think about was cock my ass cheeks spread far apart, my fingers playing with my hole. I arched my back and presented, my dick rock hard, plastered to my abdomen. Pre-cum leaked from the tip.

An arrow of uncontrollable desire hit me and I moaned. A fire ignited and inflamed my cheeks. I wanted my man to notice, to pay attention to my offering, but he was down the hall, preoccupied with tying his shoes, getting ready to leave, to escape the heat that drove us mad. The summer nights had repelled our bodies from one another, too hot, too sweaty, our skin sticking and stinking.

I stuck my ass further in the air. Come to me. Come in me. I stroked my dick through my shorts, but he didn’t notice. Pay attention to me. In my head, I screamed for his attention, but no words left my gaping wet lips.
The door slammed. He didn’t even say goodbye, that fucker. I fell on my belly and sighed as my hard cock was left wanting, rubbing on the rough upholstery, fitting it into the gap between the cushions imagining that these loose pieces of foam were a tight hole willing and able to be ravaged.

He rang his little bell three times as he pedaled down the narrow Amsterdam street: his own way of saying goodbye. He put his hand in the air and enticed me to follow with his thick forearms that said, come find me.

I watched until he disappeared around the corner, taking the road along the canal. I stroked my dick in the open window, welcoming the eyes of all the neighbors, their windows blacked out, and not a single person walking below. I stripped off my sweat laden t-shirt, the armpits and lower back wet, a scent as rich as musk with inspiring notes of honey: a sweetness that I wanted to bathe in.

My dick throbbed as I used my other hand to lightly caress the skin on my arms, my stomach, and chest, feeling all those nerve endings explode in their own exquisite manner, wanting my man to come from behind and kiss my neck, for him to take hold of his possession. I jerked and bit my lower lip raw as the sun crossed over the neighbor’s roof and burned my skin. I opened my eyes just at the moment before I came into the air, letting my spunk fly and settle onto the brick two stories below. I stopped the second I felt my insides spurning and denied myself release.

Sweat collected in my mustache and flowed like a stream into my mouth, tasting my own salt. I threw my soiled clothes back over my body, the fabric sticking this way and that, a peculiar presentation of my freshly tanned skin from that one day at the beach, swimming in the North Sea. He wanted me that day but in the open air. Under the premise of finding a place to pee, he took me into the dunes. Hidden from view, I kneeled below his glory and let him cover me in warm piss, letting it cool on my skin and dry under the bright sun as he came in my mouth and across my chest, a smirk painted on his face the entire time. In the days that followed, the heatwave intensified and he drew away from me in bed, but I still longed for his touch, his conquest. He left me dreaming, wanting, and maybe that was his goal all along.

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