In the moments of clouded extacy that fill my mind, the sensation of vibration from my own moans triggered a spark of cognisent thought. That temperary flare of higher function breifly breaks through the primal enjoyment of the situation and cascads into one of those moments of self reflection. A mixture of wonderment and awareness that seems encapsolated in time, a breif tick of a second hand tha encompases every moment that leads up to this point. A lifetime of emotions, of social pressure, boiling down to this moment shared with a fellow traveler. What a commentary on the culture that raised me. Within the act of penultiment organic function: as my heart pounds, as the blood rushes within my ears, as my lung struggle to ballence the need to fuel my body with oxigen with the equally real need to express the primal pleasure I was experiencing and bridge this gap to create a oneness with this beautiful soul I feel smug.

It wasn't out of a lust for power; I give them all of it. It wasn't out of sexual fulfillment, though that was part of it. No. As my fingers grasp at these wonderful shoulders and the rest of my form tries its darndest to find function within this torrent of emotion, this smugness is from knowing that to this person I matter. My heart is just inches away from their own every time we press against eachother, we can feel eachothers chests expand and contract as waves of pleasure fill our form. The language we are speaking now is far baser and far more elegant than poetry. As we mingle, as my grip tightens on them and theirs tightens on me, I work past the hazed cloud of pleasure to open my eyes and look into theirs.

In this moment, for the first time in my life, I know I am not alone. I can not describe the moment before, or the moment after, bit in this moment before the tears distort my view that single existential fear melts away from mind. In this moment, we are perfect, we are whole and we are beautiful.

A sharp intake of air punctuates the passage of time, within the momentary eternity of the arms around me I am feeling their form. I am caught up in the cycle of action and reaction that makes up this congress, this intercourse. The feeling of cloth against my back as I can not help but be pressed against it. The cool motion of a near silk like fabric across my body stopped only by the warmth of the the arms embracing me. The warmth that entangles our two existences, the warmth of the life within us. I feel the steady rhythem as blood pumps against me through those scant thin walls of flesh. I can feel it under my fingertips as they press and grip into the back of this wonderful being before me.

I am beloven.