* * *
Refrained from View
(Comment Poem #140)
his lumbar on the pillow, his skull
against the oak headboard,
and then Josh drifted -
into sleep, into daydreams
classified by their watercolor overlays
and somnambulant orchestrations.
Josh reamined motionless,
missing the strokes,
the brushing of his parts,
rendering him as was, a boy
in bed with no clothes, napping
as if present participle
were a state of being
and art an act of recording
moments when his cock
refrained from view.
A Larger, Longer Shadow
(Comment Fiction #19)
Josh stepped out of his black Armani briefs and wondered if he should. He knew he would - he was there, already unclothed - and that he could. But rather if he should do this, this nude modeling for his friend and confidant, this baring of his body that only contained him and was only of him. His body that he fastidiously worked to maintain. To contain him well and ably. To present to others in private as something sharable, enjoyable, relatable.
Briefs tossed onto the piles of his street clothes by the chair that held an open bottle of sparkling water he bought at Whole Foods on the way over, Josh considered quickly an escape plan. Plausible excuses and possible physical displays of encroaching regret. He conjured none of merit. He realized his cock was swinging. His very large cock, obscuring his average scrotum, swaying with his shifting weight and the machinations of celestial forces he had never understood. How did he feel so still while the world was spinning so fast? It made no sense. But neither did his unruly pubic hair, which he had attempted to groom, with marginal success despite herculean effort.
"Are you ok?" asked John, as he snapped a couple of polaroids, then placed the camera on the floor beside his sketchpad and pencils.
"Probably." Josh answered, crossing his arms over his abdomen. As he spoke, he raced through the poses he practiced the night before at his apartment. The hallway mirror and muted lighting felt more flattering than the bright open studio. "I trust you."
"I’m glad." John sorted through pencils, glancing at the developing photos. "You look amazing. I’ll capture that."
Josh shivered. He felt captive. His nipples ached. He wiggled his toes and raised onto the balls of his feet. His dick swung more fully. More obvious. “Ok. Let’s hurry though.”
John said nothing, attentive to his canvas, the paper in hand. Josh watched his artist friend so busy with his work and relaxed, slightly, incrementally as his balls eased down the back of his cock, pushing it forward slightly, casting a larger, longer shadow. He thought again of his poses. John gave no direction. Josh settled for slouching, half-crossed arms with a tilt of his torso, implicating a greater protrusion of his dick, creating a focus. He turned his gaze to the floor in the near distance, just past John, past his captivity in permanence and the idea of so many seeing him so nude.
* * *
In reply to this work of art by John MacConnell.