I sat drinking my tea, the sweet steam from the matcha rising into my face as I sipped gingerly at the rim of the large bowl in my hands. I looked at Kenji’s fine body, sprawled out before me, naked and asleep. He lay on his stomach, his face buried in a pillow, his manhood smothered in the sheets, staining the soft pale fabric with the frothy mixture of him and of me; the cocktail of our sex.
The muscles in his body moved languidly as he shifted his weight and he let out a long slow sigh before his breathing settled back into a slow and steady rhythm. I lowered my tea, feeling the warmth of the cup in my hands, in my fingers, like I was holding a secret in my palm and it was burning to get out and be told. I thought of the secrets that lived inside the womb of my being and I closed my eyes and my mouth so that these secrets couldn’t suddenly escape from me at this moment when I was weak from the aftermath of copious use by my young lover.