| 1. It’s so cold and lonely on the bus without you. When Johnny decided to give us two buses, I was praying to every saint and god I could think to pray to that we would be put together, just us two, on our own bus. But fate wasn’t so kind. So now I lay here, in the cold of my bunk. It’s always cold without you. Without your skin pressed against mine, your smell swirling around me. I can hug my pillow to me, but its not you. Its soft, like your skin, but it lacks the firmness of your body. But, and don't laugh, but I sprayed it with your cologne, so I can bury my face in it and breathe you in. And god it turns me on, your smell. And I wonder what you are doing up there, ahead of us on the road. JC and Chris are sleeping, and I am just lying here, listening to the CD you made me. And your voice is so passionate here, not like on stage. Why are you always so closed off onstage? You have such fire in you, but you are so cool onstage. Its like you are scared. I think I would be. Scared that that fire would burn me if you let it go. But I want you to burn me. To set me on fire with whatever would burst from your soul. To sear my skin with the heat of you. God, can you imagine the looks? When you finally broke out of that shy boy mold and let loose? I can’t wait for the day. I wonder what you are doing. Oh god, your voice is so incredible here, so low. Just like when we make love. Are you thinking about me Lance? Are you picturing me laying here, in my bunk, in just those flannel pants you bought me for my birthday? I am picturing you. In my minds eye, you are on your back, your arms raised above your head. Your pale eyes are slitted…your golden lashes barely brushing your face. And your lips are parted. You’re thinking about me. God, I hope you are. And maybe, just maybe, you are as turned on as I am. I slide my hand over my stomach, imagining that you are doing the same. Your strong soft hands. Perfectly manicured. Not like mine, mine are knobby, with chewed nails. Yours are beautiful. Maybe they do slide over your skin. Your perfect glowing skin. Down to that beautiful line of hair from your navel down your pants…that gold that glinted in the candlelight the first time we made love. I rememeber that. I remember how you trembled as I touched you. How you cried when we kissed. Our tears mingled with the sweat. Oh god Lance. I cant stand being so far away from you. So my hand snakes under the waist of the pants. The ones you like because they ride low on my hips. I wish my hands felt like yours…but they don't. I can imagine you though. I can imagine your touch. Your hand wraps around me, gently but firmly. Oh god Lance, are you touching yourself? Are you thinking of me? I imagine that your hand moves, slowly, then faster, and all I can see behind my lidded eyes is you, only you. Your glowing skin, your fiery eyes, your beautiful amazing hands, and your lips. Your head is thrown back, your back arched, like it does when I am in you. Your neck arches and that Adams apple gets so huge, and I could suck it all day, Lance. And your hand moves faster, faster, getting you there. Oh god Lance, I can see you. You bite your lip as you cum, messing your sheets, but I see your mouth as you relax. Those lips. Those amazing, talented pink lips, that smile so crooked and mysteriously. They form my name…Justin. And that thought, that image sends me over the edge. And it’s all I can do to not call out your name. Lance. I want that image as I slide into sleep. Lance….Lance… 2. How can one boy be so perfect? I have a picture of you in here, in my bunk. Remember that day we were messing around with that camera...with the timer. I have one of us kissing. Its breathtaking. I dont know if we even knew the camera was going, but its amazing. And then there is this one of you. I swear I would get so much for this baby. Just you in your skivvies. Those grey boxerbriefs, that show off everything. I may have missed my calling, because I think Marc Selinger can eat his heart out on this shot. The light glints off your skin, and makes you look so young, but so old. God, when I look at you, I understand why those little girls scream. You make me scream. I wish you were here to make me scream. I know what you are doing. You are on that bus, trying your damnedest to be quiet, but you are touching yourself. I want to call you, but it would wake up the bus. I want to tell you to imagine me, my hands on you. Imagine me kissing your skin, your perfectly masculine skin. I want you to imagine me, not sweet Lance, but passionate, lusty. You make me that way. I don’t feel like this with anyone else, I never have. But with you, I want to push you into the pillows and molest your body with my mouth. I want to torment you until your moans are so loud that Mike and Dre are banging on the door. Imagine me baby, as kiss your stomach. You seem to like the goatee; I know I love yours. I love the way it scrapes my skin. Especially my thighs. When you take me in your mouth. Those plump lips kissing me in my most private places. Oh god. Tomorrow baby, we will be at the hotel. And after the show, you will go back to your room. And I will sneak in, and you will pull me to you and kiss me like we have been apart for years, not hours. And then, you'll take me by the hand, like you always do when we have been apart, and lead me to the bed. And you will peel off my clothes, and cover me with kisses. And you will slide beside me, and then inside me. And you will be so scared. You are still so scared of hurting me, even after all this time. But then, then we will be one, one being, one heart, one soul. And we will make slow love all night, and not give a damn about wake up calls or meetings, but only about us, and the feeling and the movement. Looking at this picture, I can’t help but want you here. So I take care of things. My hand in my shorts, moving, pulling, stroking, squeezing. All the while my eyes on this picture, on your eyes, your body. And then, at the last moment, I look at our kiss...and its perfection. And as I drift off in the last moments of my passion, I know that you have done the same. And in a way, its like making love to you. Knowing that ideas of you and me can bring this on. Its spiritual sex I suppose. And that proves how much we are meant to be. And how much I love you. |
| THINKING OF YOU |