4th Street

Sanity can be a place.

11-2-11

Once when I was a young boy, my mother walked me down a street. I had not been feeling so good that day, and she knew what to do. She threw me in a jacket, and walked me down 4^th street. The sun was dimming over the horizon as we stepped onto that old street. Through the dirt and across the grass we strode, loving every minute of it. The neighborhood dogs all kicked up dirt as we passed them. I enjoyed seeing them chase their own tails, around and around until finally they fell down. I enjoyed it so much, because I was not the one doing it. The night air was just then falling upon us. Its refreshing cold crept slowly behind us, embracing us ever so gently. My mother looked down upon me and smiled. The street had cured my illness.

When we finally arrived at where we first started, I looked back down the lamp lit street and began to cry. My mother knelt down and voiced her concern. Through a cracking voice and running eyes, I explained my fear of never walking down the street again. She kissed my forehead and told me that no matter how old I become, or what the illness, I could always come back to 4^th street. It would always be there to cure my illnesses.

That was nearly seven years ago. Life has changed so much since then. I am no longer concerned with turning nine years old and what impact that will have on my body. Much bigger problems exist now. The thought of girls and love constantly plague my mind. The sun no longer shines as bright as it once did. My back hurts with growth pains, and my head hurts with thoughts.

I think back to the memory of my first visit to 4^th street and I am saddened that I hadn't been there for nearly seven years. I think of the happiness that coursed through my veins on those past visits. I miss it. My sadness at the thought gets worse, and soon I am unable to think clearly. Only one thing can cure this feeling. I must walk down 4^th street.

With my puffy coat around my shoulders, and mittens suffocating my hands, I made my way onto 4^th street. It was exactly as it once was; the lush grass, the field of dirt, and the tiny homes were still intact. I began walking down the sidewalk; my breath creating huge smoke clouds in front of me. The street lights were just then turning on. My sadness receded into the cave in which it dwells. I began to feel much better. My walk went much faster than when I was younger. As I came to where I first began my walk, I turned back and looked at 4^th street. All lights had gone out in the houses. The families rested their heads for tomorrow. I took in one final hit of the cold night air. As I exhaled I glanced to my right. The corner house still has its porch light on. A figure made its way towards the door of the home. I squint to get a better look. The girl looked up through her golden hair as she grabbed the door knob. I froze for a second, stunned by her beauty. Do I know her, I asked myself. I cracked a friendly smile at her. She put down the heavy trash bag and stood up straight. Her smile is intoxicating. Her emerald-green eyes sparkled in the street lamp. My sadness was destroyed.

After that night, my visits to 4^th street became a regular affair. I would hurry down the street and back to see that girl. She would always be waiting on the steps when I arrived. At first I stood under the street lamp, and we talked from a distance. As the nights went by I moved closer and closer, until finally she invited me to sit down next to her. My school work began to slip. My friends became a blur; I didn’t care. She was all that was on my mind. Those slender arms and those milky soft thighs; her desire to wear the shortest of shorts on those cold nights was anything but a problem. The nights got longer as my feelings got stronger.

The first time our hands touched was by accident. I coughed to clear the silence. Under my coat my face began to turn red. I was shocked to numbness when she reached through the silence and grabbed my hand. I looked at our hands intertwined, and then up at her. Her eyes had turned mysterious. A slight blush covered her upper cheeks, and her smile was very true. Looking at her face, and feeling the electricity coursing into me, I knew that I loved this girl.

I no longer visited 4^th street to cure an illness. My visits were of a much happier purpose. My mother became increasingly concerned with my heath, until I finally announced to her that I had fallen in love. Her reaction was genuine and happy; she was happy for me. I was happy for me.

One day I visited my mothers house for dinner. The sun was setting and I planned on walking down 4^th street that evening. I told her the visit must be quick, and that I wasn’t even that hungry. She frowned, but understood my reasons. Bent on feeding her son, she rummaged through her cupboards looking for something I could take with me. Alas, in the back of the bottom shelf she came upon an apple. She reached her hand into the darkest corner of the cupboard, a place where no light shines, and grabbed the fruit. When she got to her feet she was amazed at what she saw. The apple was golden in color. It sparkled in the kitchen light. Amazed, I took the apple from her hands and bit into it. It was crisp and cold. I closed my eyes and relished in the sweetness. Every chew released more and more sweet nectar into my mouth. My mother screamed. I opened my eyes and looked down at the apple. The skin of the apple was golden, but the insides were blacker than the night. Shock overtook me. I turned the apple a little and the insides poured out in a goop, splashing across the floor. The piece in my mouth began to taste sour. I spit the black tar out onto the floor. Desperately I wiped my tongue against my sleeve. How could something so beautiful on the surface be so horribly rotten on the inside? My stomach threatened to turn. I quickly left my mom’s house and headed to 4^th street, in hopes of feeling better.

When I arrived on 4^th street it was later than usual. I hurried down the street and back to catch up on time. By the time I reached her house the burning in my stomach had stopped. She stood up on the steps to greet me with a hug. I explained why I was late; leaving out the part about the apple. The sadness of my late arrival was apparent on her face. My heart leapt for her. We sat down close to each other.  With our backs leaned up against the wall we began to talk. Words and sentences passed, as did time. Our hands danced with each other as she giggled. Her soft white legs were more exposed than ever before. She moved closer and threw her legs over my lap. I began caressing her soft tight skin. Goosebumps ran up and down her thigh. I traced my finger up and up towards the top of her thigh. Her giggling became softer and softer until, finally, it ceased. I looked up at her. Her breath was hot against my face. Blood flooded her cheek bones in the most beautiful pink blush. Her emerald eyes gleamed with water. In the cold night air, all that was to be seen were two frightened teenagers. Feelings we had no idea how to handle flowed through us. The silence was beautiful. We communicated through our eyes; my eyes wanting to give all I had, her eyes ready to receive.

Almost instinctually, she stood up and led me inside by my hand. The lights were off in the house. The Prozac would keep her mother asleep. She led me down her bare hallway and into her most private place. The desk lamp was on, casting a dim glow all around. She moved in back of me and locked her door. My heart pounded through my shirt. In the dead silence she moved in front of me and stared. Our bodies were burning up. Her slender arms and her tiny chest screamed for attention. Nerves began blowing up in my groin. Everything about her eyes said it would be okay. I grabbed her hips and pulled her close. The room had become a sauna, powered by the red hot coals of young love. She grabbed the back of my head and pulled me down. Our lips separated each time with a wet smack. My hands worked independently from my mind. I took her shirt off. The kissing got heavier. I shot my tongue into her, and she opened her lips wider. Sweaty clothing fell to the floor. The heat of her naked body rubbed against my stomach. I backed up against her bed. Our lips separated and our eyes met. She lowered herself onto the bed. I lowered myself onto her. Instinct took over. Her feet tied behind my back as I slowly lowered myself into her. She moaned out of ecstasy. Her breathing broke up into rapid whispers. My hands caressed her body. Her hands caressed my head. The grinding became easier and easier with every passing thrust. Her body was opening up to me. Our souls howled in ecstasy with each other.

Nothing outside that room existed anymore. There was no door, and there was no room. There was no world, and there was no street other than 4^th street. She was all that existed and belonged in my life. The thrusting got faster. Her breath became lighter and lighter once again. Our souls were connecting.

Beyond this street there are many other streets. They are all plagued with the filth and disease of other people. The big shiny houses are filled with black goop. Sickness and disease fill the outside world. But not on 4^th street.

Nerves fired off in my body. A tingling sensation rose in me. She whispered something in my ear. I thrust harder. The wet smacking of our bodies got louder. Her bed sheets were damp with love.

Outside this house there is 4^th street. In that street there is happiness and joy. Dogs bark, children play, and parents grow old together. People never get sick here. Others come here to get better.

The sensation crept up my thighs and into my groin. Her touch became electric. My thrusting became faster still. She could hold it back no longer. Her head shot back against the pillow as she screamed out in passion. Her body tightened all around me. The sensation became too strong to hold back any longer. My thrusting became irregular. I yelled out into the night. Together we howled in ecstasy. My soul was released into her, and a part of her I too received.

Outside this street there are many other streets. Outside this house is 4^th street. Outside this room, there is nothing. Only we exist.   

Author's Note

Any criticism is much appreciated.

Reviews

[Tyler Sampson]

My only real criticism is that there is no clear moment where they meet, one paragraph he's eyeing her from the street lamp outside, and the next they begin holding hands. It felt a little weird, like i was missing something. Nice to see a story that didn't end in disaster!

[AAmell]

Tyler-------- "At first I stood under the street lamp, and we talked from a distance. As the nights went by I moved closer and closer, until finally she invited me to sit down next to her."

[SVermeer]

You should switch to straight Erotic novels. lol

Serious criticism:
I felt the transition from outside to inside was actually well done, for this, the less you directly tell the better, in my opinion. The brisk description of their encounter from outside to inside parallels the rush of young love and lust. Their thoughts are racing and your pace reflected that well.