Volcanic land

[hasheket]

First of all, I want to make clear that this is a fictional gay-themed story. It’s in fact a translation from a tale I wrote a couple of months ago in my mother language (Spanish). I’m not used to writing this kind of stories (I’m keen on horror tales!, ha ha), but my core principle at writing is that I pursue stories no matter the genre, as long as I’m motivated or moved by them.

The story is already complete and I will publish it in three parts, one each day.

Hope you enjoy and please don’t be too mean about the (likely) mistakes in my English writing/translation ha ha.

VOLCANIC LAND

When I woke up that night, it did not take me long to notice the agitated breathing coming from the other side of the room. It was a rapid breath, interspersed at irregular intervals with a plaintive humming. It was the unmistakable sound of crying.

The room was plunged into eerie darkness. We had made sure not to leave a single crack in the blinds through which the outside light could enter. It had been a hard workday.

I fumbled for my cellphone on the nightstand. Three a.m., in the morning.

“Some nights I happen to start crying”, Samuel said once while we were having lunch together at the canteen. “It doesn’t happen to me very often, at most a couple of times a month. All I know is I wake up in the middle of the night with an irresistible urge to… and then off it goes”.

He mentioned it out of the blue and with the same tone with which you would request the bill in a restaurant.

We had known each other for a little over a year, when I was transferred to the same department as him. We had always gotten along well with each other. We would go for a coffee together, say good morning with a smile on the face or offer each other a helping hand at shared tasks. And he, being a staunch film buff, used to give advice on what films I should watch at weekends.

Nor is that our relationship could be defined as friendship. We did not usually see other outside of work and much less did we have the familiarity to reveal too personal confidences.

“I felt ashamed the first time.”, he added. “That was less than a year ago. But in the end I have come to accept these episodes as a part of me. My girlfriend has suggested that I see a psychologist, but…”.



I listened to him for a few seconds before turning on the lamp on the nightstand. I took the duvet off and shuffled barefoot from my bed to his. The carpet muffled the sound of my steps. My body cast a misshapen shadow on his back.

I took a seat on the edge of his bed, which made a screeching sound that merged with that of the crying. His mattress felt somewhat firmer than mine. Samuel was curled up on the other side, facing the wall. His arms were uncovered.

“Samuel”, whispered I as I put my hand on his shoulder, “Samuel…”.

I considered that there was no use asking empty questions like “what’s wrong with you?” or “why are you crying?”. The reason why he was crying was irrelevant.

I whispered words of encouragement inside my head, but they were never uttered. I was convinced that they would get to him through my fingers.

Samuel shook gently on the bed. I felt how the mattress swayed. I kept stroking his shoulder with my fingertips. The cotton T-shirt, yellowish under the lamplight, was soft and smooth and I had the impression that not only was I stroking Samuel, but he was stroking me back as well. The skin of his shoulder was caressing my fingers through the cotton fabric.

(To be continued...)

 

[hasheket]

(2nd part)

I lay down beside him, outside the covers, and continued whispering in my mind while the caresses kept going.

A part of me had always dreamed of that moment. Ever since Samuel told me about those nights when he happened to cry, I had wanted to witness one of those episodes. I found it attractive when men are cornered by their most primitive vulnerability, free at last of all masks. I felt comforted for acting as a protector. The need for others’ suffering as an excuse to give affection may be morally questionable, but that was the way I felt. I am sorry for not being ashamed.

The sobbing continued. I could imagine his face wrinkling from forced grimaces, his pillow moistened with tears.

The caresses soon spread to his neck and back, tracing large circles with my hand flat. The circles grew larger each time and almost always ended in smaller ones, traced with my fingertips. Sometimes my hand would take the shape of a claw and scratch down his neck and back. I wanted to leave my mark on his body (“These marks date from the night when Pablo started scratching me after I began to cry in our hotel room”, would he say). I wanted to tangle my fingers in his curly hair.

Samuel took a deep breath. His nostrils were awash with tears.

“It’s the first time it’s happened to me away from home”.

“There’s a first time for everything. We can talk about it if you want to…”

But no more word was spoken.

I slid my arm under his and pushed myself against his body. My body was subdued to his body heat. A few beads of sweat emerged from my armpits. I desired to drink his tears.

We kept that posture for a while. Our bodies sketched an aitch standing on one leg.

And then I let the reverie carry me away.

My eyes were closed. And yet I could see my lips and chin creeping along his back. Gently. Taking their time to fit the shape of his body. My beard hair was sticking into my flesh.

Never before had I experienced such a feeling of weightlessness. It felt like my body were void of muscles, organs and electric currents and the skin covering were filled with air. Light as a soap bubble, I felt like flying away.

And that is how I flew above the hotel and the city. From up there, the amorphous mass of the city appeared even more imposing to me, with its enormous bluish mantle sprinkled with little lights. My fingers were playing around over his bare belly.

I kept rising until I reached the clouds. Layer upon layer they pearled my skin with dew.

Darkness.

I found myself in a diaphanous space. The place was illuminated by a halo of dim light that did not allow vision beyond a couple of metres. In the centre of that light was him. Samuel.

Only him. He and I alone.

(To be continued...)

 

[hasheket]

(As promised, 3rd and last part)

His countenance reflected the contemplative serenity of a Buddha. That space seemed boundless to me, and yet he was able to fill it up with his mere presence.

I gazed at his naked body. The light outlined its contour.

I took a step forth towards him. Then another and another, until our bodies were at the distance of a sigh. He gave a hint of a smile. I hugged him. His arms were hanging limp along his body as I enclosed him in mine.

My hands slid down his back and I pushed my chin against his shoulder, fitting them together like Tetris pieces. I think I whispered something in his ear. At least I intended to. I noticed how he started to put his arms around me. It was then that I realized that I was naked too.

The hug involved our bellies, breasts, necks, thighs, genitals… Each of them greeted and rubbed at will with their peers.

I had never felt him so close. Workmate, friend, incorporeal lover. I wished that our bodies would dissolve in the fugacity of that moment.

I opened my mouth and slid my lips up his neck to kiss his ear.

His pubic hair crackled under my fingers. I felt how his erect penis grazed my side.



At breakfast I asked him whether he remembered what had happened the night before. He brought the cup of coffee to his lips and took a sip. He had a piece of pastry on his moustache.

“When I was a little boy, my family and I spent a holiday in Lanzarote”, he said, lowering his eyes.

I remained silent, not understanding what he meant.

“Did you know”, he continued, “that if you bury an egg in the ground and leave it there for a while, it’s cooked when you dig it up?”

”It was the best egg I’d ever tasted! It’s because of the heat of that volcanic land. A heat that emanates from the depths, but that remains unnoticeable to the naked eye. Only by going deeper into the ground we get to know the true nature of that land”.

”Some people are just like the island of Lanzarote.”. He finally looked up. “Layers and more layers of earth keep its essence protected”.

“Protected or suffocated, depending on how you look at it”.

There was a pause. Our eyes met, but Samuel did not manage to hold my gaze.

“I was too busy with my dull existence: work, partner, family, work again, partner again… and striving to accomplish all that is expected of a respectable person. But I’ve found out that in the end there was no room to listen to myself. Routine protected me from the person I am. But at the same time it caused me to drown. Routine put me down, I should say”.

”You’ve taught me that no matter how many layers or armors one has on, there’s always a crack through which the inside ends up sneaking out”.

For a moment the vision of an erupting volcano came to my mind. All that incandescent material, unable to withstand the inner pressure, was being propelled skywards.

“Last night I felt how all of the layers fell off at once. You’ve seen me more naked than no one else before. I want to spend the rest of my life with that feeling of nakedness and I think I need your help”.

A smile spread across his face as he grabbed another bite of my croissant.

THE END