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The Cover of Darkness

By Soren Riis

July 23 2006

There was something about the darkness. A feeling, or rather; almost a taste, like the one you get in your mouth when you go into an attic that hasn't been entered for years. A dry, dusty flavour of adventure and excitement, tempered with the earthy moisture of the thicket. Slowly the eyes would adjust to the lack of light, and shadows would begin to emerge; the slender lines of the young trees, the blocks of shade that indicated thick and ancient oak trunks, the slightly fluttering dappled shade of bushes and leaves. The womb-like ambiance of the dense wood was contrasted only by the crisp rustling of the dry leaves on the ground and by the occasional staccato of footsteps on twigs somewhere off in the distance.

It was nearly one o'clock in the morning, and somewhere above the canopy the moon would be making its way across the sky, somehow managing to slide effortlessly through the obstacle course of clouds that hovered in its way. Down the narrow path a figure emerged. Tall, fairly slender, and with the outline of a baseball-cap topping off the shadow that moved slowly towards him. A stranger, in every sense of the word, almost inhumanised by his featureless appearance in the half-light. A man? A generic one if so. The approach was slow, but determined, and within few seconds they were standing next to each other on the path through the shadows of darkness and obscurity. A hand sliding around a waist, another around a neck. yet another one making it's way under a shirt and upwards towards a chest.

Then suddenly, as if choreographed, they turned, slowly breaching the edge of the shadows and making their way between bushes and trees further into the seeming wilderness. The walls of organic darkness closed around them, isolating them somehow from reality, and again the hands moved to their respective positions, re-enacting the meeting that happened on the path just before. And this time there was no pause; merely continuous movements, touches, grips. The sound of breathing slowly intertwining with the rustling of the leaves, the feeling of warm hands blending in with the cool dampness of the grotto that the shadows formed around them. No personalities; merely touch, feeling, breathing.

A button came undone with a small sound that seemed to reverberate through the nearest tree trunks. Then one more, the second somehow not making such a remarkable sound. By the time the third button caved in, there seemed to be no sound at all, apart from the breathing and the moon gliding past above. He knelt down amongst the dead leaves, letting his hands slide down the other's sides as he adjusted himself in a moderately comfortable situation and slowly took the cock in his mouth. It's taste was fresh and almost fruity compared to the dry, savoury flavour of the air in the woods.

As he made his way towards the gates of the park, he pulled down his cap and turned up his collar, keeping the shadow with him as long as possible before the streetlight would dissolve it and force him to be individual, recognisable. A moment ago he too had been a shadow, but here he was, reverted to being a self whom others might know, care for or even love.


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