You were with her. What was I supposed to do? I saw her for the first time then, she had blonde hair, harmonious breasts, soft movements. She had an expensive dress, look drawn with a liner, a bit pretentious lips. She had a glass of wine in her hands, she was drinking and talking loudly, she had a look under the liner, over the glass, pointed at me… She had you.
Did she know who I am? No. Because you didn’t even say hello, you didn’t even touch me with your eyes, even though I longed for that. But she, she followed me her eyes, and she was smiling at me, and now, I was convinced, she really has no idea who am I. Oh, well… Who am I to you exactly? The girl who spent a couple of nights in your bed, crumpling the sheets with you, groaning Jesus’s name along with you… Irrelevant amusement. Who am I, really? Irrelevant… Did I know about her? I assumed, yes, and that’s why I left your place on a Tuesday that was too warm, and I forgot to answer the phone for the last couple of weeks. I found out the other day, her name, and her star sign, and address, and the number of her brothers and sisters, and which school she went to. But she didn’t know me. I turned my back. I don’t want her to look at me like that.
I feel a warm hand in my cold palm, she is calling me. I turn around, and I meet with that look, outlined with black ink, she looks at me and her whole being smiles at me, liner seduces me and her arms wrap around my waist, inviting me to dance. I am flooded with astonishment, I am asking to see you, and I realise that you’re confused as I am, the beer bottle is stopped halfway to your mouth, you do not know what to expect. All the people are watching, they know me, I love scandals, I – I kiss girls, but with this one, this one, no, no, no, that’s too much. She does not know who I am. She draws me closer to her, entwining and dancing with me tightly, she caresses my face, I tremble and look for you, but I see that you are furious, furious! Why are you furious?! I didn’t ask for this, the blond scented hair tickles my nose on her own, she came on her own, she does not know who I am, but she approaches me with her lips, god – I pronounce his name again.
Female kiss is soft, how much softer than males’ I thought that for a millionth time, how much softer and gentler, much more fragile, wetter, more subtle. She kisses me all the way, she opiates me, I feel your perfume on her, I feel your touch on her, I kiss her to trace your lips on her, I kiss her to feel your taste, to feel why her nights are warmer, why her lips are more alluring, to feel the taste of your sperm when you came into them, to see what a Leo in horoscope really is… I kiss her, because I have nothing more to lose, she has everything, an expensive dress, tastes blended with yours and… We’re kissing.
Everybody’s looking at us. Someone knows, someone doesn’t know. She does not know who I am, I heard who she was, but so far I haven’t heard the sound of her voice, and our lips have already met, and I touched her body, she touches mine also very dangerously, and she dangerously feels my zones that are known as erogenous. You approach us, but you do not know what to do, you want to separate us, you think it’s all my fault, I feel that without even looking at you. Our dance is unstable you realise that, and you’re taking her hot hand from my icy palm, you’re taking her away from me. She wants to take me with her, but you pretend to be mad although you’re just confused, and you’re taking her to the car, accusing her that she is drunk even though you know she is not, you’re taking her outside to grab some air…
I remain alone among the crowd that devours me, but I pretend it is not like that, that everything is fine and nothing has happened. I go outside to breathe some air myself, they say clear air is good, they say it clears your head. But no. You are standing in front of me, you put her on a cab home, I thought you came with a car, but you let her go and told her not to come back, and I thought you were both gone. You’re looking at me furiously. Why? I didn’t look for her, on the contrary, you looked for her, you called her, you held her warm hand. You look at me and squeeze me, your eye is finally mine, but not as I wanted. You’re offended and angry. You spit at my face. Yes, you spit at me. Your secretion is wet and it slides down my cheek. With your saliva on my face, one tear blends. Proud. Defiant. Sad. Only one.
You close your eyes, holding me still. When you open your eyelids, your eyes are finally different. You lick the spit from my face. I’m sorry, you repeat, but you’re not sorry, because you’re licking and you’re lustful, and you’re not sorry, you want to fuck me in that alley because your girlfriend is gone, the party is still on a couple of meters away, and my body feels sweeter in the course of the last couple of weeks. You lick me and your tongue runs across my lips, greedily. Are you looking for her taste, I ask? Are you asking me to repeat that scene for you? Let me go, I think. Let me go. Let me go, let me go, let me go. Let me. Did I say that aloud?
The morning was cold and disgusting. And I went home alone. The scandal master. Spat over. Worn out. Changed. The same. Likes to kiss girls. Thinks of someone who doesn’t think of her. She may still not know who I am. And you? And… Me?