All she wanted was his kiss. she felt like drinking him in, ebriating herself with his touch, his saliva, his tongue. she felt like having him raw, savagely and frenetically. she wanted him and was not afraid to make the first move. in fact, she felt that that was almost what he expected.. if not, he just went along, stopping at the right moment, backing out at the very last minute. then she discovered his secret.
he was also looking for passion. but not merely carnal passion which he could get anywhere, from the street prostitute to the girl next door who often showed him her nudity for free.. he was looking for intelligent passion. a beauty with a brain which was fast becoming a scarce commodity. he thought he had found that in her. but after a few encounters, he realised that this one was like the others, no different. a Samantha, a Jessica, a María. in fact, she had all the pieces but they seemed to fit clumsily together. so that when he asked her opinion on the death of the author or when he probed her understanding of certain concepts like free will, fatalism, essentialism, her cracks would become so evident, that he would immediately withdraw, afraid of breaking them altogether and causing an unwanted boomerang. he still felt a tinge of passion for that body, that smile, those warm hands, that childish laughter which both annoyed and fasinated him...but he would soon get bored in her presence...
She began to feel the distance between them growing despite their regular encounters. her charm no longer seemed to mesmerise him. she tried dazzling him with that gold bracelete or that new sexy lip gloss but he would always have a distant, distracted look that seemed to come automatically to his face when he was near her. words like "slow", "silly", "unrefined" would regularly blot their dialogues, leaving huge, heavy stains imprinted on her heart for days. she needed to let go a little, but she couldn´t.
love was swallowing her up, effacing her ambitions, blinding her insights; she was not willing to surrender to defeat, not again. He was the one for her..she only had to make him see that too...
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5 comments:
Are you writing a novel?
nah, me disfruto un poco, jugando con las relaciones hombre-mujer, nada mas.
i must admit that i was looking forward to your comments seeing that u are the only one to show a genuine, constructive interest in mis divagaciones.. así que..
> me disfruto un poco, jugando con [...]
Eso es escribir, en una buena mayoría de casos. :-)
> i must admit that i was looking forward to your comments [...]
I read all your posts. Many times I don't have a word to say, of course. When some artistic tone rise up, the most respectful attitude is to remain silent.
I thought that it was going to be alone in my blog wanderings too... I just waited and commented others people blogs of my interest, and then people started to insert comments in my own blog too. I even get e-mails and faithful readers.
You are on the links of my own blog. Any time people will click and come here. But know that your s is a complex blog; hard to get its orientation, like blogs of artists I know.
I think I upload posts easier to understand.
Writers, poets, people with artistic orientation in thoughts, might get a lot of hits in their blogs, but very few comments; except for renown cases.
>Eso es escribir, en una buena mayoría de casos. :-)
Sí, es así el oficio de escritor. Lo que quería decir es que no es mi intención de momento..sólo explorar un poco con algunas ideas estereotipadas..ver hasta donde llego con ellas..
La última vez que revisé tu blog, estaba en construcción. Veo ahora que has añadido muchas cosas..de lo poco que leí de momento, parece muy interesante.
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