The hunter sets the rhythm: a grunt for a grunt, a moan for a moan, and a push of effort for mounting pleasure. The hunter uses the prey, but use is reciprocal: something for something, someone for a moment. Gay sex For after each time he reaches it, he dies a little. Buckles flicker under opaque sun; leather murmurs in cool, marine air; and heavy boots positions and reposition their grips on the asphalt. Both men gulp deeper for air, and although their efforts are for a similar end, the prey only wants orgasm. The hunter moans desire and pleasure, for he knows he will experience the wonder of arriving and lingering in that existence where time is replaced by nothingness, where physics is disobeyed, and where mere mortality moves to a fist of indescribable, incomprehensible feelings. Oh God, Yes!” is said by the prey, yet much more is felt by the hunter, who curls his upper lip, for he IS God-or at least he becomes God in the fleeting brilliance of Perfect Knowledge.And it has arrived.The action suddenly stops. The hunter is a mature aggressor, an aggressor of experience, of responsibility, who knows that violence, for violence’s sake, holds only pleasure for the troubled, for the insignificant. Buckles flicker under opaque sun;
