Thursday, August 25, 2011

the matress

she invited him to sleep over, or rather, he invited himself over and she said he could sleep next to her. She said just sleep.
An hour later he was touching and kissing her, her body responded. He wanted everything, she didn't mean to, but her body craved it and gave in. But said no. She said no. She repeated no, I can't.
I have my period.
I don't care.
But I do.
Truth is, she didn't either, but it was a new mattress and the sheets covering it were also new. But that, well that she didn't say. She just said no, not now. Wait a couple of days.

Monday, August 22, 2011

why is disgusting

He promised a wine bar. When she got there he said they should go somewhere else, something about the noise and the lovely day and the heat. Of course he wasn’t dressed appropriately (kaki shorts for a date, really?) but she was. They walked. He commented something about her attire and how funky or something it was. She dismissed his comment.
They ended up in a coffee house. Coffee? Really? Instead of wine? Well, she thought, let him do, let’s see were this gets us.
It is usually the first 5-10 minutes in a first date, that’s when you know its going to be another disaster and you just stay for the anecdote. Bad dates make the best anecdotes.
They ordered bruschettas. He said something about his tomato, no salt he said. But when they came there was some vinegar on top of them. He got angry, she said she would eat them while the waiter brought some others.
“The thing is, what I simply cannot stand, is if I ask a question and the other person asks in return, why? I find that disgusting…”
“Disgusting? “ she asked, “That’s a strong word.”
“Yes, disgusting. Because if I ask a question, I want an answer. If you don’t want to answer, just say so, but don’t ask why… “ he was turning aggressive, his whole body posture had turned towards her and was hovering over half the table. She had to lean back just to breath. Ten minutes of this.
She smiled, half smile. “But what if I asked you right now how much money you make… you would ask why, you wouldn’t say it’s too personal or you don’t want to respond, would you..?” he fell quiet. Didn’t know what to say, mumbled a bit.
“What about if I asked you how many sex partners you’ve had, would you answer me? No, but you would ask why? Yes, why I want to know that. Its obvious and not rude, its obvious. Right?”
“Uhm, yeah, I guess you are right. So some of the time asking why is not disgusting. But most of the time it is.”
And she wanted to run out of there but didn’t know how.
“So, have you been married?” she asked.
“I hate it when people ask that, as if it’s not normal for a 44 year old to be single and never been married. I haven’t found the right one. It should be more normal to never be married like me, more people should be like me than when you meet them and they are divorced and with a kid…”
She just nodded.
“And have you been married?”
“Me? No.”
“And why not?” He tried to be defiant, like her, but the question was nonsensical, especially with that tone.
“Well, it’s not that strange. I am 15 years younger than you.”
“But do you believe in marriage?”
“Do you?”
“And do you like where you used to live? Your country?”
“Yes, do you like yours?”
“And what kind of family do you have…”
At this point she was beyond exasperated, “this is not a job interview, so stop interviewing me. I am not applying for a job. We can talk, we can chat, but stop interviewing me.”
The date continued. She planned her escape.
When he returned from the restroom he asked about other dates she had gone on from the same website.
“Oh, that’s where I’ve had some of the worst dates of my life.”
“Yes. But it’s ok. I write about them.”
His eyes went wider than his mouth.
“Don’t worry, its just for me. I don’t publish them.”
Little did he know. Thank god the check had come and gone. They parted ways half a block later.

Monday, March 21, 2011

white hair mojo

It’s spring and I look at myself in the mirror to look at the traces of the third unwanted hangover of the week and there it is, the strangest thing has appeared on my young, yet tired, face.
I knew it was going to happen eventually, but I never expected it to appear there, right in the middle of my eyes, right on the eyebrow line that I tend to tweeze. Two white as white can go, hairs.
I showed them to the friend I was curing my hangover with, she laughed and told me it was my new mojo, I shouldn’t tweeze them away.
Today, post hangover, post bike riding, post sun, I was walking towards the movie and I saw him. As tall, as delicious and as handsome as I remembered from two years ago. A lover that I would repeat. We talked, we laughed and exchanged numbers again. Dinner in the week, maybe.
The movie was pretty lame, the popcorn, delicious.
When I left the movie theatre, as I was walking on the sidewalk, on the other side of the street, at my exact pace, was a tall, handsome, muscular, bald man listening to his ipod. We walked a couple of blocks at the same pace, exchanging a gaze and a smile. I finally changed sidewalks. We walked in the park, we laughed, we shared a chocolate and he made me listen to the song he was listening when our smiles met.
I left him with my number and met a friend for tea. We talked and laughed.
As I was leaving, a friend of hers appeared. I had seen him before around the neighborhood, and he had seen me. We exchanged names and smiles. My friend will take care of the rest.
It’s spring, and no, I will not tweeze the white hairs away, they do seem to have brought my mojo back.

Saturday, February 12, 2011

tango desperation

They met one night when she went out with a friend of a friend of a friend. They chatted and had a beer. She left with someone else, her ride was a psychoanalyst motorcycle man, lovely, perfect. She projected a lot on the vibrations of the machine, it could have been another story, but its not.
He called her a couple of days later. They met for a tango lesson. They drank some beer and the music began to play. It was so hot and moist the sweat was making her red heels slip off, but he was as wet as she, and he held on to her waist and they smiled and everything was, oh so lovely. And he was leading, she followed in that dance.
They danced and had more beer, he offered to go to his place or somewhere to listen to music. He lived far away, too much of a hassle. They ended up somewhere else for a bite, listened to some more music. He was enthralled by her, her lasciviousness, erotic savyness and whatnot. She thought him cute. They left the second bar, and he kissed her. Delicious. Walking on the streets just after midnight and kissing. He wanted to go to her place, ‘but my friend is there, impossible.’ So they hopped into a cab and he directed towards the cemetery.
She had been there a couple of days before, a tourist’s must, one of the most beautiful ceremonials for dead people. But at night, it was the incarnation of eros and thanatos, it was all there. All around the cemetery were the dance clubs, the strippers, the one-hour only hotels.
He took her to a place, the one sided mirror offered a female voice asking if they wanted a room for an hour, one and a half, two or three our tops. One and a half please. The hotel’s name, one of a beach in her country, spelled with an A. she laughed.
They went into the room, which had a door with a sliding cube in the middle, so food and many other things could be slipped in without anyone having to expose their nakedness.
There were ridiculous things in that place, like a palm, mirrors everywhere, underneath the sheets there was plastic and when lying on the bed you could see the shower thru a full sized windown. The cliché of places to fuck.
She went to the toilet, then he followed. They began to kiss and she let him lead. She whispered, this is like the tango lesson, I follow, you lead. And he thought he did lead. He kissed her, took her shirt and bra off, placed an unmistakable amount of attention on her nipples, introduced a finger inside her, caressed her ass, the wetness and moisture was there.
Then he turned and placed her on top. She began to kiss his neck, his nipples. And then… the biggest mistake of all: he pushed her head down.
It wasn’t a suggestion like push, it was a push, an ‘hey you, go down there’ kinda push. Biggest mistake of the night, the first and, unfortunately, not the last. She, obviously, did not go down there, but her libido did, it was finished.
He kind of got the point, and he went down on her, thinking, masculine brute, that if he did her the favor, perhaps she would do it too. But she didn’t, she was done with favors. She came, a small, barely felt orgasm, and told him to slip the condom on.
He did, and then, the second mistake. He turned her. He placed her in a position in which it was hard to penetrate, and, once inside, he would come asap, because men can barely keep it in once they go doggie. And they did, and he came, and she was oh so bored.
He got up, went to the toilet, cleaned up. She went next. When she returned, he was under the covers… and oh, I almost forget the pre-mistake. Turning off the lights, he was too shy, and too small, and perhaps too small which explained his shyness.
So, she thought, maybe the first go was quick, but a second something will arise, he will fuck me hard and good and long. But he didn’t. He just began asking awkward things and cozying up by himself in that sex infested plastic covered bed.
She was bored.
She began to look at the menus that were resting next to the bed; there was food and beverage, obviously. But there was a menu for sex toys, and he asked her what they were good for, sweet masculine brute. And there was a lingerie menu, and a sexy costumes one too. Oh, what joy and fun she found in those. Much more amusement than in the man who was laying next to her, without knowing what to do.
So, she thought, this cannot be a wasted night, so she took the menus home, as a souvenir, and, of course, she never called him again, pure innocent masculine brute.

Thursday, December 30, 2010

deal breaker

- Who would you vote for,- he asked.
- what? are you serious?
- Yes, if you were American, who would you vote for?
- You are serious? I am a writer, I work in culture, its a joke, isnt it? - she responded
- No, its a serious question. - It was a serious question, his face, his voice and his attitude said it.
- Well, its kind of obvious, isn't it? Democrat. And you?
- I would vote for Sara Palin.
- What? are you serious?
He was serious. His face, his voice and his attitude said it all.
- Yes, I am, I would vote for her.
- Well then, all the appeal you had, is now broken. Shattered by your stupid question, and your even more.... answer. - She said.
- Are you serious? - he responded.
Her face, her attitude and her voice said it all, she was serious. Being a Sara Palin is a deal breaker, and even worse, a sex breaker.

Monday, November 1, 2010

The birds had a stiff neck and he was a drug dealer

They did, he was.
We were kissing and the birds had a stiff neck, so he had to stop and stare at the Japanese made in China painting. In the corner, next to Japanese spricts and semi beautiful flowers, the birdies were suffering.
Yes, the birds, two little nightingales were staring at the wrong wall, and I was in the middle of kissing my big-handed-first-time-lover. We couldn’t concentrate. The shots, the beer, everything got intertwined with the capricious stubbornness of the comfortableness of the little birdies.
Finally, he stopped once more. He moved to the wall and turned the painting 45 degrees. The stiff necks gone, so were the distractions.
My clothes were off, mostly. And the phone rang. A text. He ignored it. Another text. Another phone call. Two more, then to the room, then to his cell again. I couldn’t not laugh. Yes, hornyness and laughter can sometimes get along, as long as you aren’t laughing at the horny-pleasure-giving-partner.
He finally picked up, and set the phone on speaker. I heard, his friends knew he was busy but they really really really needed him. Under the door, they said. So they knocked and he slipped a little bag of white whatevers under. And then they called again. Damn, he said, and I laughed without my shirt on, the bra on the floor cradling my pants, my lonely underwear wishing it was stripped off my body.
I laughed and he turned off his cell and the lights, so they would think he wasn’t there or sleeping, and turned to me.
Yes, without distractions is best.

Friday, July 23, 2010

Dutch it up

In the cab, she sat between them. She began kissing the one on her right, and the one on her left dared to put his had inside her blouse. She let him. Then she turned. And shared the saliva of the first Dutch with his best friend.

She messaged her man, I am going to this hotel, with two Dutch men. The taxi driver almost crashed, about five times, in the ten-minute drive. Too busy was he staring at the rear view mirror.

She met them at the bar, one of them struck her fancy and when the crowd pushed her his way, they had barely spoken, but she had her hand against his chest, and she could fill him with her legs. Their eyes met and then their lips. It was natural, it was anonymous. Her friend tried to seduce his friend. It didn’t work out. They kissed and kissed and kissed some more. And she was eager to get out of there. He said, what about my friend? She said, well, lets take him along. He didn’t believe, she went to his friend and touched his groin and told him that it was time for the three of them to go somewhere else. Her friend was long gone. Frustration wasn’t her thing.

So they hopped into a cab and headed to their hotel.

She went straight to the toilet and messaged her man the room number, you can never be too careful with anonymous threesomes.

When she came out they were both naked, and the marathon began. One and then the other and then the first and they were so similar in body structures she couldn’t even tell the difference. One condom after the next. One orgasm after the other. Moans.

One after the other and then both of them together. One inside her, the other one in her mouth, with his tongue, with his sex, with his hands, with his ass, with his everything.

They were exhausted. One fell asleep, and she kept at it with the second one. On and on.

And then, she said, ok, I’m done. She got up, dressed and left. She was ready for more, but two Dutch men can go just so far.