domingo, 12 de julio de 2015

Random facts on a Friday night... ok, not so random... CR- VocalesV


I walk out of the bedroom naked. He’s sitting in front of his laptop writing an abstract on Clarice Lispector. We had spent several weekends reading and discussing some of her books. We are sure he is the one who has to write about them. ‘Come to bed’ I say, looking at my own reflection in the window, a pale image against the darkness of night. He smiles looking at me as I move towards him. His gaze is full of intensity and love. I sat on top of him, my face facing his, I want to steal his eyes but I can’t so I kiss him. We take our time exploring each other’s mouths. I suck his tongue and drink his saliva, his eyes are closed and his hands touch my body with desire and tenderness. I feel his body reacting under his pants. ‘Come to bed’ I repeat, my face is hot and red. He stands up and follows me, because that’s what we do, we abandon anything just to make love together.I knew I loved him from the moment I met him. With others, there was always a level of effort that needed to be accomplished in order for me to love them. An effort that was destructed at the very moment they started loving me back. I would immediately felt disgusted and grow colder with the days, until they would walk away, trying to find me in a tenderer version. I always hoped they succeeded. Love is burdensome, but with him it feels light and bearable.

I’m addicted to the smell of his skin, I suck and blow him everywhere, and I don’t seem to get enough. He opens my legs and his tongue encounters my wetness. There’s no doubt he is as crazy about me as I am about him. He cleans me, he drinks me, and he invades me with anticipated authority, ‘Do you want me to go inside you now? – I can barely say yes. He is in and I am anaesthetise, I want to scream, I want to bite him, I want to climb up a mountain and let myself fall, but all I can do is coming with demoniac impatience. When I manage to open my eyes again, I see his face, steady, ready, with hints of painful pleasure. He comes and a river of dead promises comes with him. And we stay just like that, entangled and immobile, between open doors and windows that remind us of the life outside these walls. Our hearts beat hard enough for us to hear them and I drop all my cynicism about love. I don’t idealise anymore, I know he is just as corrupted as I am and I know he loves me, irremediably, but I don’t escape anymore. I’ve made peace with those facts.Real desire lacks rationality, lucky me, since I’m tired of being so rational. Would it last? These days we say it will, but we carry the seed of freedom within us. The seed is strong. Deep inside we’re scared it will not end. But how could we complain? We’ve tasted love.He kisses my neck, I move to disentangle our bodies, and in this very moment I agree with Aristophanes. I kiss him again and my whole body feels ready. I am wet, full of his fluids and I fall asleep with a smile. I hear his steps towards the laptop after he has closed the door. ‘Literature’, I think, ‘his second lover’. I’m more than willing to share him.


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