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Kingsley and I: Together by Gary Martine

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Kingsley and I: Together

Title Kingsley and I: Together
Author Gary Martine
ISBN# 978-1-60820-022-1 (print)
978-1-60820-023-8 (ebook)
Release Date April 2009
Cover Artist Deana C. Jamroz
Paperback: 200 pages
Sexual Content: Rated Explicit
Available At: mobipocket
AllRomanceEbooks
Barnes & Noble
Amazon.com

What is it about Kingsley? Only a few days have passed since Kingsley and I spent our first three days and nights together as a couple. Reflecting, my thoughts return to when we first met, my first same-sex experience with him, the silver anklet he gave me as a token of our mutual love, our numerous passionate love-makings. All seem this moment like a beguiling flight of fantasy, as if, perhaps, they never occurred. Did they? I wonder, and, if they did, where is Kingsley now? Why hasn’t he called?

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What is it about Kingsley? Only a few days have passed since Kingsley and I returned from our Magical Mystery Tour at the inn on the California coast – our first three consecutive days and nights together as a couple. Reflecting, my thoughts wander to when we first met, my first same-sex experience with him, the silver anklet he gave me as a token of our mutual love, our numerous passionate lovemakings. At this moment it all seems like a beguiling flight of fantasy, as if, perhaps, none of it actually occurred. Did it, I wonder, and if it did, where is Kingsley now? Why hasn’t he even called me?

I vividly recall driving him back to his house after our romantic tryst. What by all rights should have been a frivolously happy drive together proved one of the loneliest tasks I’ve ever had to accomplish. Kingsley was silent the whole way, gazing distantly at the passing ocean, the wind ruffling his hair. Both of my hands tensely grasping the steering wheel, my eyes fixing hypnotically on the ever-flowing road ahead, fragments of thoughts and memories raced through my mind, some touchingly intimate, others rough and coarse, but all sizzling with primal animal passion.

Those few wonderfully wild days and nights together had changed me forever. Despite my initial fears, Kingsley and I were never at loss of words or what to do. Myriad feelings from our brief holiday continue to lurk just beneath the surface, like a pride of lions pacing in their cage, waiting for the slightest opportunity to burst out. I want Kingsley here beside me, to embrace me, to let me cry my heart out on his shoulder and let these imprisoned beasts loose.

So where is Kingsley? Love, if that’s what this is, certainly is a crazy ride. Just a few days apart and I am lost in unfathomable depths of loneliness. I hunger for him, for the warmth of his body, his electric touch, his firmness rammed solidly into my belly. I don’t want to be alone anymore.

At the same time, I have also acquired something tangible from our intense time together – something I can hold on to and cherish forever. I can now, for instance, vividly recall Kingsley in exquisite detail at will. Even in the midst of my despair, I can call him up before me: black, wiry hair; dark, bottomless, liquid eyes; distinguished, aquiline nose; swarthy, rough-cut, half-shaven face; warmly inviting mouth replete with fatherly frown, playful grin or childish pout. Intense memories of his smell, the soft touch of his long fingers, his slippery, long shaft sliding back and forth inside of me, seduce me again and again as I recall him. I sense a new kind of tenderness for him within me that I wouldn’t, couldn’t have dared dream possible just one week ago. My memories of Kingsley challenge me to look into myself and decide if I want this relationship to continue or end. I can’t help but wonder: Is it possible that a relationship as intense as ours might not have to end? If so, where can and will it yet go?

So, what is it about Kingsley, I ask myself over and over. Is it his five-foot-eight-inches of burly man? His weather-stained skin? His rough, just-woke-up continence? Is it his thick, lush lips? His strong shoulders and sinewy thighs? His strongly muscled legs? Or is it the penetrating gaze; rich, liquid voice; sharp, tangy taste; or excitingly musky smell? What exactly is it about Kingsley that keeps me returning to him even when I want to fight, growl, scream or run? The animal inside me says it’s his incredible sexual prowess. The rest of me doesn’t care. I long for him. I want him. I need him. Now.

There are a few other things about Kingsley. He’s gay and he knows it. He’s known it, in fact, since early childhood. He appreciates the beauty of a male body, mine included. He gets excited at the thought of another man’s interest and I’m interested in him a lot. He likes gay sex, especially with an agreeably receptive partner, and I’m very agreeable. He’s experienced with gay relationships, something I don’t know much about yet, and he says he’s been looking for years for a lifelong, monogamous partner – me. Kingsley says he loves all five foot six inches of my active body and mind.

Me, I’m not terribly patient. I can’t sit still. I’m forever fidgeting, inquiring, exploring, poking my cute little nose into everything and anything. Kingsley says my inexhaustible curiosity is one of my more endearing traits. It’s certainly a big part of who I am, and right now I’m very curious about him.

I’m a professional dancer. I teach and perform partner dancesport – that’s ballroom and Latin dance, in popular terms – most afternoons and some evenings at a big dance studio on the east side of the bay. Whenever the opportunity arises, I escort ladies to social and diplomatic dances. I’m especially proud of my reputation for quality dancing among the many single women frequenting the embassy party circuit. I’m told I wear a black evening tuxedo as handsomely as tight black Latin pants. It’s not an overstatement to say that dancing is my life. When I’m not dancing, I’m practicing, at home or at the studio. I like my body lean and supple, and people who see me dance do, too.

Unlike Kingsley, I’m not knowingly gay. I don’t remember as a child ever questioning whether I was anything but straight. I love a beautiful body, male or female, but am naturally attracted to women, and especially flattered when a beautiful woman is attracted to me. On the other hand, I’m painfully shy. I don’t know why, but it’s hard for me to make first contact, or take the initiative in a relationship with a woman. I remember as an adolescent wondering what to do when my steady girlfriend first kissed me. Whether it’s something about me or just my naivety, things don’t seem to come naturally for me with women. I often feel somehow left behind, suspended, lost forever in awkward adolescence. It especially bothers me when I overhear guys just back from a date talk about their amazing sexual exploits. Intimacy? No problem there. Romance? I’m a hopeless romantic. Erections? Staying power? No problems there either. Interest, always. Yet oddly, sex with women somehow eludes me and if and when it finally catches on, the sex seems perfunctory, like a diet of vanilla ice cream. Perfunctory, vanilla…that is, until I met Kingsley.

I first met Kingsley at one of the many obligate social cocktail-and-dance parties put on by various sponsors and organizations that my line of work requires me to attend. I didn’t like the huge crowd or the loud continuous chatter at this one. I didn’t really want to go in the first place. I don’t know why exactly, but right from the beginning the situation awakened an unpleasant, “being watched from behind” feeling, an itchy sort of tingling between my shoulder blades that slowly crept up my spine till the hairs on my neck were standing stiffly. It was at that moment I noticed Kingsley staring at me from across the room. His piercing eyes were locked onto me and followed me as I meandered in and out of the crowd, nodding, introducing myself, and exchanging pleasantries. I definitely didn’t want to be there, but it suddenly came to me with unavoidable finality: I am…and so is he.

Kingsley is, well, not forgettable. It isn’t just me, he affects almost everyone he comes into contact with in the same way. It’s his eyes.

We were drawn to one another from the first. For me, the crowd, the chattering, the social hellos and nice-to-see-you-agains drifted nondescriptly into the background, and a space miraculously opened up obviously reserved for just the two of us. When we actually met, we immediately began seeking and discovering commonalities: people we’d both heard of, places we’d like to visit, things we’ve both dreamed of doing. That conversation, first begun that day, has never ended for me.

Today, frustrated and lonely, those memories, thoughts, hopes and desires seem like a shattered mirror, with the pieces put somehow not-quite-rightly back together. Where is Kingsley? Why hasn’t he contacted me since our lover’s tryst? Where is the man I can’t help but love so dearly?


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