The scent of them is enough to send me reeling. No matter how many times I experience it, it never fails to send shivers down my spine and raise goosebumps on my limbs. I steady myself on my trembling legs. I haven't even touched them and I'm already quivering. Touching them might make me combust.
I've smelled them, stared at them, had lascivious dreams about them. However, I have not touched them since their procuration. I've always thought that it would be too much for me. That I would succumb to their gravity and never return to reality.
There are dozens of them, each special in its own way. Each one has a different shade, a different scent. It's miraculous that I can remember them all.
I finally compose myself enough to walk into the room. After I shut the doors softly, I give myself over to it completely. My legs quiver so much that I can no longer stand on them. I collapse, crouching on the floor. The scent, the memories, they all wash over me like the high tide rushing in to shore.
I'm on the precipice, balancing on a scalpel's blade, but this, as intense as it is, is not enough to push me over the edge. I need more. I need to look at them. Touch them.
As much as my body and mind crave it, I am apprehensive. I have to keep control of myself and not fall under their spell completely. I need to do this. I need this release. I've been on the edge for too long.
I crawl over to the nearest shelf, a difficult task considering how badly I'm trembling. I pull one of the masterpieces off. It's a special one. My first one. He was twenty years old, pale as the moon with bright blue eyes. I haven't looked at him in a long time.
The tone has darkened over the months, but the beautiful alabaster boy I remember is still here. This one. This is the one I have to feel. I have to know if he is as soft as I remember him.
I hold my breath as I gently uncover him. This is it. My palms are already tingling. I slowly touch him with the tip of one finger. It's electric, more intense than I could have imagined.
That single minute touch is enough to send me over the edge. Somewhere in the back of my mind I know that my moans of ecstacy can be heard for miles, but I don't care. All that matters is the warmth flooding my veins. I stay in my blissful state for a good five minutes as I escalate my contact from a light fingertip to a caressing hand.
As I finally come down, I put him back with the others. I did it. I touched one of them. I'm hooked now. I crave it like a drug. Now I can love them the way they deserve.