Chasing the Sun

Transcript

I don't know why I look with this sudden urge to walk outside into the chilly morning air. I didn't even stop to grab a gown. Even by the thumping sound behind me, I was so hasty I forgot to close the back door.

Despite the cold temperature, which currently sits at a single digit, I walked outside in nothing but my birthday suit. Here I am, standing barefoot on my backyard porch, with my cock out for all to see. And I don't feel an ounce of embarrassment.

Well no, that's not entirely true. I am embarrassed. Although this particular word doesn't adequately describe what I'm feeling right now.

Honestly, what I feel is intimidation. For some reason, in the face of the wind, I feel small, tiny, as if the wind were some mythical giant that would smite me if I dared tread into its path. But not even this intimidation, this cold numbing fear, is enough to convince me to retreat into the house.

I want to go inside, back to bed, back to the warmth of your body. But something has called me to this spot. A memory.

It is the 21st of June, the beginning of winter in this part of the world. But as far as I know, everything outside the comfort of my home is cold and frozen. If the entire world had been threatened with a cold snap, it would not have mattered to me.

Not now, not here, not in this specific moment. This porch is a line drawn in the sand, an equator of sorts. I can feel the warmth at my back, pouring out from my house in hazy puffs of pleasantly warm air.

I can feel the wind in front of me, daring me, filling me with a strange concoction of fear and fleeting courage. My entire world seems to be confined to the two meters separating my cozy house and my frigid backyard. With this crazy notion now in my head, the memory comes back to me.

A memory of an event that had occurred exactly one year ago, although it feels like an eternity has passed since then. The cold has a habit of doing that, making things seem slow, stagnant. This memory has lain dormant inside my mind, hibernating, and the act of remembering it feels like, it feels like, like this.

Like walking outside, completely naked, and shivering as the wind lashes my skin. Suddenly I find it hard to remember, as if the wind has blown the memory away, scattered it into hundreds of fragmented ideas. I can hear the back door rattling against the wall behind me, once, twice, thrice.

The thudding doesn't follow any coherent rhythm, and the noise makes it hard to think straight. Desperate for any shred of warmth, I run my hands down the goosebumps of my arms, but that only worsens the situation. My hands are perpetually cold.

They have always been this cold, regardless of the season. For the first time in my life, I realize that I can't even comfort myself. Now the back door smacks the wall again, and again, and again, and I sigh with relief as your warm arms wrap around me, clutching me tightly.

I sink into you, feeling every muscle soften under the heat of your body. You are warm, so, so warm. I want to be enveloped by your heat, which radiates from your body with an almost intoxicating potency.

A comforting sense of nostalgia begins to flood through me, rushing through my veins, tickling the most sensitive parts of my body and mind. Feeling the comforting pressure of your arms wrapped around me reminds me, strangely, of home cooking. It reminds me of comfort, shelter, protection.

It reminds me of love, unconditional. I want to turn around and admire your beautiful face, but I'm too embarrassed. How do I explain my reason for being naked outside on the very first day of winter? How can I explain when I can't even articulate my own thoughts? But as your warmth begins to emanate through me, I begin to calm.

The clamor of the wind muffles your speech, so you lean in closer and closer. I can feel your breath on my neck, hot like fire. Your breath smells of hot chocolate and marshmallows, soft, warm, decadent.

I want to turn around and drink you up. I want to feel your tongue on mine, to taste the sweetness, to see the comforting fire in your eyes, and let it consume me. As you kiss my neck, gently bathing my skin with your saliva, I feel a playful tingle between my thighs, but I can't give in to my temptations, not yet.

Not until I tell you about that memory. Do you remember that day, exactly a year ago, the storm I had driven through to get to you? Of course you remember.

On that day, I had felt the same peculiar mix of fear and courage that I feel now. The one major difference is that, in the present, I have you, however, back then, well, back then, I wanted you. So I had woken up bright and early that morning, so long ago, savoring the last shreds of spontaneous courage that ran like electricity through my veins.

Each step toward my car seemed like an electric shock urging me forward. I climbed into my car, switched it on, and let the industrial roar of the machine stoke this fire inside me. Then I put my foot to the floor and kept it there.

Despite the storm that threatened to fling my car off the road, I raced through the city for so long, that by the time I stopped to look in my surroundings, the season had changed. No, that's probably not true. It was the weather that had changed, not the season, but it sure felt that way.

And perhaps, in some way, the season had changed. As if I'd driven so far that I'd crossed hemispheres. That's impossible, I know, but the shimmering heat of your body tells me, told me, something different.

Even as I cringe against the cold, even as I feel it gnawing through skin and bone, I am so strongly aware of your presence that it doesn't matter. In your arms, I feel myself thaw. I feel myself slowly melt into a blissful puddle of complete and utter contentment.

And now, as you reach around and touch me in that sensitive spot, I feel the warmth start to radiate through the rest of my body. Against the elements, I turn cold, I freeze, I harden, both as a defense mechanism and simply a symptom of the weather. But now you are here.

Now the temperature rises despite the outside world, and I melt in your arms. I am free to be vulnerable, and the memory comes back to me once again. The memory of our meeting, our bonding, our solstice.

I had raced through the city, through the cold, gray darkness of this seemingly never-ending storm, chasing the sun as if it were possible to catch it. In that darkness, my mind had gone blank. My thoughts had turned into basic instinct, without introspect, without critical analysis.

In that deep, dank gray blackness, I couldn't see anything. And just when I'd thought I'd lost all hope, I found it, a beacon in the sky. So far away, yet so near.

The wonderful thing about the sun is that no matter how far it is, no matter how gray the clouds are, nothing can stop its sunlight from peeking through eventually. And so I found it. I found you.