Tuesday, August 14, 2007

trigger happy

R called. He lives in Italy.
R was never a go getter. He was well born and chronically unhappy. The mere thought of dating another eligible young lady with marriage prospects made him sick to his stomach. Literally. Indigestion was his biggest excuse for ditching these beautiful young pretenders. 9-10 years ago he stumbled upon me.
R had a larger than normal sensibility. He gambled with feelings the same way people gamble with money. And he was a feeling junkie to the extent of saying things like: "Hurt me" followed by: "Thank you for existing"
We never had sex in the three years we were seeing each other. We had near sex experiences, but we never had sex.
The freeway was extending narrow and dark in front of us. Curves and rocky mountains guarding the road were painting a very eerie atmosphere. R was driving at safety speed: 60 km/h.
"Step on it" I said.
He glanced at me with teary blue eyes hidden by thick rimless glasses. He accelerated to 75 km/h.
"Faster" I said. "I'm in a hurry".
He looked straight ahead this time and the speed was 90 km/h.
"you can't drive, stop the car, I'll drive."
"you don't have a license"
The speed was 110 km/h now.
"you slow fuck.move it."
"I can't see the road"
I pressed his right foot on the gas pedal with my hand. The speed was 150 km/h. The freeway became small and even tighter. Tunnel with blinding lights. Complete darkness on a two lane road.
"I can't" he was sweating, almost crying.
I opened the glove compartment, pulled out the Smith & Wesson 629 and pointed it to his head.
"Drive" The speedometer read 220km/h. R was sweating white in the face and blind in the eyes. I cocked the gun I was holding to his head. The sound of the bullet stopping at the shooting position bounced off our silence.
"Ahhh" he whispered.
We reached our destination and he opened the door and threw up the tension that accumulated inside him for the past 10 minutes. We walked into the restaurant, sat at a table, ordered Brunello di Montalcino wine. The waiter brought our antipasti than the pastas we selected.
"I think it's gonna rain tomorrow" he said.
I agreed.

Friday, August 10, 2007

toilet sex

Dance with me. Dance me to the end of love. Dance like that time you asked me to feel you. You told me you were embarrassed by your hard on. You asked me not to notice it while you were dancing with me and rubbing it against my inner thigh. We were telling each other sex stories and laughing at our own short comings. we didn't know that laughter, that comfort was going to get us in trouble. or maybe we were both looking for trouble.
Remember how we were fighting? Remember all that tension that you always dissolved with a kiss?
Every time you kissed me I had to succumb to you. Which is exactly why I didn't kiss you when we broke up. You kiss with poison. You kiss smoothly. Tease. You kiss like a soft animal's fur on naked skin. I wish I could forget your kiss.
The rhythm builds up and we want to find a definition of what we do. Fuck me. My breath fogs up the glass wall. I see myself in it. I see you whispering. I cover your mouth. People walk in and out of the restroom. I'm sure they heard us. I'm sure someone will see your shoes and pants down to your ankles that show under the toilet's three quarter cut door. Fuck me harder. I can feel your cock enlarging my Ego, my soul, my desire for you. My fingers try to cover your lips, but you bite them and suck them to make me feel even more.
I walked back into the club with sperm drying on the back of my leg. My mind was still on your lips that were tightened around sobs and shakes you were trying to strangle for fear of being heard. Our friends didn't even notice we were gone. I missed you.

Friday, August 03, 2007

four reasons

to love you or not to love you, that is the question, my dear!
ofcourse "to love" has a good argument behind it in our feeling driven society. That's why I made a list: reasons to love you and reasons not to love you.
under reasons to love you: 1. you're Jewish, a girl can always use Jewish witt in her life; 2. you tell me I'm beautiful and interesting 3. we laugh 4. I love you
under reasons not to love you: 1. you didn't call me this week 2. you live with your best friend who has a crush on you (and between you and I, she's slightly over weight)
3. you snore 4. I love you.
should I break up with you? should I come back to reality and pretend it didn't happen once more? Should I give up on love all together?
Of course I can't ask to be the most important thing in your life, the outmost priority, the air you breathe. That would be selfish.
I don't know how to play second fiddle, I don't know how to love without passion and consuming need. Love is no fun without need. Will you let me need you?
What a fool I am. You've got a career to care about. No time for love there. Hollywood is such a cruel place. It promises love, glory and eternity. However, it redefines our concepts of love, glory and eternity by isolating us and sucking out the passion from every minute we love, every minute we feel, every minute we care.
I will break up with you. I love you.