Category: short stories

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a new direction

 

 

I am here. Wide awake, when I should be sound asleep. All alone, when I should be with you. Your scent still lingers on the pillow next to me and I pull it closer against me. It makes me safe. Safer than I am without you by my side. I want to inhale it and bring you back to me. I am not ready to let go.

I knew, that this would happen sometime soon. I knew, that one night, I would wake up and you would be gone. That night is now. You promised, you would never leave me. But you broke your promise. You did this to us.

I came home and your bags were backed, ready at the door. You said you would go back to your mom’s, until I found a new place to stay. But where am I supposed to stay? I don’t have the right to work here. I don’t have much money left and the friends – they are yours, not mine. Not one of them will offer me a couch to sleep on, because no matter how you’ll twist and turn it, I’ll stay the stranger, the foreign woman, who gave up everything for you. You couldn’t look at me, when you walked out of the door and I refused to scream and shout at you. I refused to call you back. I refused to cry in front of you.

Maybe that was my biggest mistake. Maybe I should have fought for you. Maybe I should have asked what was going wrong. I didn’t even think about it. I just saw you and your bags and the determination in your eyes. And the sadness too. I let you go and it broke my heart.

 

It’s the middle of the night and I am still clutching your pillow. I don’t want this to end. I am not ready to let you go. In the spur of the moment, I grab the phone and dial your number. I take a deep breath and sit up straight. I pull your pillow onto my lap and straighten the cover around my legs. On the third ring, you pick up and for a moment, I am speechless. No words are ready to be said.

“It’s me.” I finally say, still running my hand over imaginary creases in the sheets.

“I know.” you say. I wish I could hear more hope in your voice. Instead, I hear wariness and sadness.

“What happened?” I ask, coming straight to the point.

“Everything. Nothing. I am dried up.” he confesses and wouldn’t I know what he is talking about, I wouldn’t understand. But I do. He has lost his creativity. The worst possible scenario for a painter. He hasn’t touched a brush since I am here. I am not keeping him from doing so, but he doesn’t paint anymore.

“Is it my fault?” I ask, dreading the answer. Maybe it is my fault. Maybe it’s the natural way of creativity. It’s like a wave, sometimes all consuming and there and other times only barely tangible. Almost nonexistent.

“Maybe.” he whispers and I can feel the tears burn in my eyes. I knew it, but I didn’t want to hear it. I am certain, that I will never win his heart over his art. He lives, breathes, sweats for his art. I can’t win this war.

“I don’t want you to go.” I finally say, after a short silence that was heavy in the line.

“I don’t know what to do. It’s all I can do. I am good at it.” I can practically see him running his hand over his bald head. Back and forth, feeling the stumbled underneath his fingertips.

“I know. I know.” I whisper and I can feel him pull away even further from me. He is slipping through my fingers and there is nothing I can do.

“I can’t sleep without you by my side. I never thought, that I would be addicted to you like this.” he says and I feel the same. I can’t sleep without feeling his body close to mine and hearing his rhythmic breaths.

“But I am draining you. Why can’t I be a source of energy for you? Why can’t I inspire you?” I don’t want him to answer. I don’t want him to crush my heart even more.

“I don’t know. I wish I would know.” he sounds like he is crying now and I long to hold him. I don’t want to make him miserable. I don’t want to make him sad. But I am not ready to let go. Not yet. I let go of too many things lately.

 

“Can I come home?” his question pierces through my thoughts and I don’t know what to say. I smile – no grin – I want to say so many things, but there is a big lump in my throat and it prevents the words to roll off my tongue. Not even a sound comes out. I panic. What if he takes my silence as a ‘no’? He clears his throat, while I still struggle to make a sound. Tears wet my cheeks. Happy tears, because he is coming back. Soon. It won’t be like it used to be and I know that. Everything will change between us and yet, I crave his touch and his kiss. I need him to take me into his arms and pet my hair gently. I like it, when I lean my head against his shoulder and his hand racks trough the lengths of my hair. I soothes me.

“Yes” I finally croak.

Before anything else can be said, he is gone. There’s only the familiar beep audible. I look at the phone, as if it could answer all those unasked questions. The beep sounds mocking and I put the phone face down my the nightstand.

I rub my face with my hands. So much drama for nothing. But how am I supposed to make his creativity come back? There is nothing I can do.

 

Not even five minutes later, I hear his key in the lock of the front door. I run my hands through my hair, to flatten it a bit. It’s a silly move, but it makes me believe, that I look much better now, than before. I wait. Patiently. Nervously. The bedroom door opens and he is back.

 

He sits on the bed, wringing his hands, looking down at his feet. They’re naked now. I come closer to you. Putting a kiss on your shoulder, resting my head on it.

 

“I am sorry.”

“Don’t give up on me. Not yet.” I whisper and he turns in my arms. Together, we curl up in a ball under the sheets. He is still dressed. It doesn’t matter. He’s back. He puts his head on my chest and listens to my heartbeat. I kiss his head. Our fingers entwine and we stay silent. Eventually falling asleep like this. Nothing is like it was before. It will never be the same, but which direction it all will go – I don’t know.

 

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words

I read the words. Feel them rolling off my tongue. Filling my mind and making a movie behind my eyelids. They hit close to the core of my inner self and I have to swallow.

I am not alone with these thoughts. I am not alone. The words reach inside of me and grab my heart and soul. They understand. They never judge. Few people can touch me so deep inside and so completely too.

You are one of them. You are real. Not only words, but human too. I can feel the tiny hair on your arm, when I caress it. I can feel your breath, when I touch my forehead to yours. I can feel the moisture of your lips, when I kiss you. You are real. Not a writer.

Your words are inside me. Teach me. Guide me. I live by your words. Not without questioning them, not without doubting them from time to time. But they make me strong. Stronger than I was. They make me think. They make me want to change.

Words.

Words are a powerful tool. No matter if they are written or spoken. They can lift you high up in the sky. Make you happy, but they can also make you cry. Happy tears, sad tears. Words can tear you down as well.

Nothing can be as hurtful as words. Physical wounds can heal, wounds made with vicious words stay with you a life time. Trust me, I know.

I have many words floating in my mind. Some are lyrics to songs. Some are odd thoughts, serious thoughts, silly thoughts. But there are also the painful memories. The ones that wake me up at night and let me speak that one questioning word: Why? I will never get an answer. But do I really want and need an answer? No. Instead, I concentrate on the happy memories. Good words. Words, that make me proud about myself and who I am.

Words.

I am good with words. At least writing them comes easy for me.

Scary honesty.

That’s what my writing has been labeled just last week. It comes naturally. They flow out of my fingers. I am not even really thinking about the words I use. Not when I write like this. Not when I write from the soul. From the heart.

Words.

They never come easy, when I stand face to face with new people. Face to face… I can’t look you in the face when we first meet. I can’t. I am afraid to see something judgmental there. I know, that it’s an unrealistic fear and yet, it is there. It freezes me. And my words. I become a stuttering mess. The right words are in my head. They simply refuse to be spoken. I can rarely come up with the right words, when I meet someone knew. But give me time. I need time, to sort through my words.

Words.

So powerful. Damaging. Healing.

I wouldn’t know anyone of you without my words. My powerful, smutty, sad, happy words. I am good with words. Written words. They touch people. Make them laugh. Make them cry. Make them shake their heads and makes them wonder: Was this a lie?

Words.

My words are rarely lies. I know, that is not true for everyone. But if I can’t be honest with my words? How else can I be honest.

Scary honesty. Maybe it is true.

What certainly is, is that all my words… they are for you.

 

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slip through the cracks in my walls…

 

And suddenly, it’s there, that feeling close to my belly button. Inside of me. At first, it is only a tickling, but it spreads and is engulfed with heat. With a certainty, I know, that this bubble of emotions, that is pent up inside of me, is about to burst.

It’s a well-known feeling. At least it used to be. It was well-known, when I was able to feel. The tickling behind my navel and the burning sensation behind my eyes. The heat reaches my face and I know, that only the impending tears are able to cool it off. My hands tremble, my breath is ragged. I squeeze my eyes shut. I am not here. I open my eyes again and the tears start to flow. For the first time in a long while, I cry and I grieve. I am not sure, if it is the loss of a loved one, or the loss of my family, that keeps distancing itself from me, as if I weren’t a part of it anymore.

How many times did I cry lately for a song or a movie? It never feels like this. This is real. Close to my heart. Something that hits home and hurts with every new blow. Something that reminds me vaguely of times, when it was easier to cry and feel.

 

Vulnerable and emotional. These are two words, two different people used to describe me. I felt offended. I admit it. I never saw myself like that. I am strong. Unfazed. A people-pleaser. I was starving for affection and love. Still am, if I am perfectly honest. But emotional and vulnerable, that is a side of me only very few people get to know. Close friends. Real friends. People I trust.

These two people, who used the words to describe me, are people, who didn’t tear down my walls. I didn’t ask them in and yet, they found their way through small cracks in those walls and slipped through. Suddenly, they are there. With me. Behind my protective wall. They see through me easily. Uncover me easily. Accept me easily, without me needing to pretend or keep masks in place.

 

Amazing. That is another word that was used to describe me recently. Saying it myself, makes me sound conceited. It’s a strong word. One that makes me blush. One that makes me proud.

 

There are so many words to describe me. So many views. So many layers. So many facets I can show or hide. But only a handful of people, who can find the cracks in the walls and take my hand. Only a handful of people I turn to, when I feel the emotional bubble inside of me about to burst. Only a handful of people, who know about nightmares and situations, that make me cry.

 

A handful of friends who understand.

 

And all that I need to be, is being me.

 

 

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the sunrise

And as she sat on her porch, enveloped in a nice warm cardigan, watching the sunrise, a sudden blissful feeling entered her. She pulled the cardigan tighter around herself and exhaled deeply. Her breath froze in the cold morning air. The blissful feeling intensified and slowly lowered itself onto her, like the morning dew lowers on the leaves of grass. Like a thin veil, it heated her heart from within. Her stomach fluttered and a small smile tugged at her lips. It was a rare occurrence. To smile and be alone. She had no idea what was happening, as she continued to see the golden orb shower the sky in different beautiful shades of orange and rose. She pulled her knees up on her chair on rested her chin on them. Her brown hair fell over her shoulders and into her face, almost like a curtain and she brushed it behind her ear, just like she had done so many times in her life. She soaked up the quiet and beautiful scenery. A moment of calm. A moment of happiness, in a life that was hectic and dappled with sadness. She could feel the energy that was setting free in her body and straightened her spine. Her fingers absentmindedly played with a loose threat at the hem of her cardigan, while she continued watching the sun rise. It was rising higher with every passing moment. The orange and the rose slowly faded and the beautiful spectacle mother nature played out every morning, became the ordinary everyday sky.

She exhaled again deeply, putting her feet back on the ground. Her smile was fading too. Her thoughts were already starting to take over again, making shopping lists, remembering different schedules and appointments. Her phone buzzed close to her and a new smile broke out on her face. She had been waiting for that message.

“Good morning, dear. Are you watching the sunrise too?”

A simple question, but it helped chasing the remains of a bad mood and preserve the fragile bliss and energy, she had just soaked in. She didn’t answer right away. Instead, she walked inside and went straight to the kitchen. She poured herself a mug of her favorite tea, that she had brewed before and blew the steam from the mug. She took a long sip, suddenly sure, that this would be a great day. She put down the mug and took out her phone.

“Yes love, I’ve seen it too.” she smiled and put the phone away again, diving in her daily chores and routines, thinking that it is true, that we share the same sun and the same sky.

 

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My last mistake, my last goodbye (short story)

Ronny felt it. This time he had succeeded. This time, no one would come and save him. This time, he wouldn’t have to endure the walk of shame down his high school’s corridors the next Monday. Fingers pointing at him. People talking about him as if he wouldn’t hear it. Pitying looks from the teachers and the fussing of his own mother over him. As if she was not to blame. She and her homophobic slurs and the degrading way she spoke about the girls from school, as if they were all sluts who jumped the boys to get pregnant and ruined their lives. She, who looked away every night, when the beast showed up in his room and laid hand on an innocent boy.

He would never need to hear any of them again. Never see any of them again. They didn’t know a single thing about him and yet, they thought they had him all figured out. They had not. Far from it.

At school, they said, he was gay. Nobody said it right to his face but he heard the whispers when he walked down the halls. He wasn’t gay. No, he even liked girls. But most of them only seemed to see him as a freak.

So his hair was dyed jet black with blue streaks. So he wore only black tight clothes and liked accessories like his belt with the silver skulls. So he wore make-up and nail polish. All that didn’t make him gay. Lusting after Jared Leto… well, who wasn’t lusting after that man, it didn’t make him gay either. Jared Leto was cool and a very good singer and actor. With huge blue eyes and such a beautiful lean and trim body, it almost hurt to look at him. And sometimes, Ronny jerked off, looking at the giant poster on his wall, but that didn’t make him gay. Or so Ronny wanted to make himself believe. Because deep down inside, he knew the truth. Getting a hard on in the showers at the gym, while watching Ivan Romanov lathering himself up, was perfectly normal too. Ogling that perfect bubbly ass, when he bend over and storing these images away for the nights, when his father would show up uninvited and unannounced, that didn’t make him gay. It made him a surviver. But deep down inside, Ronny knew that it was a lie. A beautiful lie.

But all that didn’t matter anyway. It didn’t matter anymore.

Tears made their way out of his eyes. He brushed them away angrily. Another evidence to show how weak he really was. But he was not weak. He had the courage to end his own life. Who could say that about himself? No one… because no one lived to tell about it and those who survived simply hadn’t tried hard enough or they hadn’t wanted it hard enough. Ronny wanted it. He wanted to vanish and leave this world behind. He wasn’t afraid of death anymore.

But he had regrets. All those letters he had written to Ivan anonymously. He would never get an answer to them and Ivan would never know who sent them. It didn’t matter anymore anyway. Ronny would never learn what it meant to be loved and love in return. He would never learn how it felt to be in love. All he knew was unrequited love.

At least he didn’t die a virgin. Ronny wasn’t thinking about the virginity he had lost to his father when he was a young boy. This had not been his choice. He had been thinking about the ways he had lost his virginity willingly and maybe a bit manipulative too. A smile crept on his face. He would never be forgotten, of that he was sure.

Mister Ross, his gymnastic teacher had been a bit rough at first, but it wasn’t too bad. It had hurt, but shoving such a huge tube up his tight ass was not supposed to feel good. Ronny got used to it though and yes, he loved it. But he would never admit it. Mister Ross was seriously hung and when he wanted to speak to Ronny in private, Ronny knew that it was time for him to seize the moment. Carpe Diem. Ronny had fantasized about this situation more than once. It was a fantasy come true and it had been a scene that could have belonged into a porn movie. Mister Ross had been very receptive to his advances, it had almost been to easy for it all to happen. Of course Ronny now had leverage against his gym teacher and so he had coaxed him into fucking him more than once more.

But Ronny had also fucked a girl Chelsea Rosenthal. It had merely been to prove himself, that he was not gay, but that had not been fun. It was hard work to keep his dick up and hard, very different from when he fantasized about Jared Leto or was fucked by Coach Ross. It had helped, when he had slipped his finger inside his ass though. Chelsea had not noticed it. She had been under him anyway and had her eyes closed the whole time. It didn’t matter to Ronny either way and as soon as he had finished, he got dressed and got out, not caring if it had been good for her too. After that, he avoided her at school and didn’t answer his phone. A clingy girl was not what he needed. Having sex with men and women was only another box checked on his “to do before I die” list.

Ronny felt his eyes getting heavier and he became unbearably tired. The sleeping pills finally kicked in. His parents where far away in Palms Springs, visiting his sick aunt Rita and he had the whole weekend to himself. Two bottles of whiskey where gone. It was hardly feasible to drink the amber liquid without gagging. How could grown ups drink so much of it without even wincing? He knew his father drank a lot of that stuff.  His breath always raked from it. The pills, they where from his mother’s stash. A legal drug. It made Ronny smile. This time, he wouldn’t leave a mess and it wouldn’t leave any scars. No bloodstains for his mother to scrub. He would appear to be asleep, when they got home, but he would never wake up again.

He wouldn’t be touched again at night. Waking up with that big hairy hand on his dick. If he was gay, it was only because of his father. And even if he had let Coach Ross fuck him, it didn’t make him gay. He couldn’t be. He didn’t want to be.

The note in his hand slipped to the floor. He was unable to close his hand and grab it to keep it from falling. Soundless, it hit the floor.

It was hard to breathe all of a sudden and Ronny started to panic. He held Jared Leto’s gaze. It was like an anchor. The last person he would see in life. There was so much he wanted to do in his life. So much to achieve. So much that still needed to be done and why he deserved to be alive. Becoming a lawyer. Seeing Thirty Seconds to Mars live in concert. Seeing Dallas Buyers Club at the movies. Going to the gym and putting on some muscles. Making love. Falling in love and being loved in return. Having children. A dog. A big one. Kissing. Being kissed with real passion.

Ronny fell asleep. Dreamless sleep. Seamlessly going from sleeping to dying. One last unconscious breath. The light of sixteen year old Ronald Burns gone out. Death at his own hand.

“Dear Mom and Dad,

I waited for you to leave. I’ve got a lot that’s on my mind and I can not breathe anymore. I don’t want to be here anymore. You deserve a better son. Tell Coach Ross that it’s not his fault and Chelsea Rosenthal’s either. Tell Ivan (Romanov) that the anonymous letters are from me. At last, I need to admit it. I love him.

Mom… I hate you for always looking the other way. You could have saved me from the beast. But I don’t blame you. I love you too. You gave me the life that I am taking away myself again.

Dad… I hate you. You touched me like no father should touch his son. The smell of alcohol from your breath will always disgust me. But I also love you. You are my daddy. From the seed that you planted in my ass daily, I sprung. Is that the circle of life?

I am sorry that I am not the son you wanted me to be, but take solace in these words… I will never fuck up again. This is my last mistake and my last goodbye.

Ronald James Burns (Ronny)”  

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you are different

 

I wake up feeling warm and cozy and safe. I shift a little away from you, to get more comfortable and to watch you. Carefully I disentangle myself from you and hope that I won’t wake you up. I like to watch you when you sleep. I like to watch you when you are awake too, but I have never seen you like this before and I want to memorize these moments. I want to store the peaceful look on your face away for later use. I want to remember the way the sun illuminates your skin.

The birds are singing outside the window and the blinds, that were closed in a hast the night before, now let in the first rays of the sun that bathes you in a golden light. Your chest raises rhythmically and the air leaving your slightly parted lips caresses my bare skin over and over again. I never liked the feeling of someone breathing on me, but with you it’s different. A lot of things are different with you. My fingers itch to touch the tattoos on your skin, but I am afraid that I would wake you up. It’s not time yet.

Your arm is stretched out over your head and half hidden by the pillow that supports your head, while your hands are curled into loose fists. I look at your peaceful face again. You look serene and happy, a small smile is on your lips and I wonder what you are dreaming about. Are you dreaming about me? Whatever it is, it seems to be something good. My gaze travels from your hair and eyes further down, your stubble is slowly growing into a light ginger beard. I love it and I’d like too touch it, but I don’t want to wake you, not yet, you deserve your sleep. I never had a thing for beards or ginger men, but with you, it’s different. A lot of things are different with you.

You start shifting and move to your back. Your eyes are still closed and your breathing is still even, but not as deep anymore. For a moment you frown and I can see your eyes move hastily under the closed lids. I know you are fighting against the inevitable moment you’ll wake up and a groan rumbles through your body. The breathing has changed and your muscles aren’t as relaxed anymore. Any moment now, you’ll open your light blue eyes and look at me.

Your eyes are still closed, but you start stretching your limbs. The sheet moves down, revealing your strong legs. Both your arms are lifted above your head and it reminds me of something you did to me the night before. I have to grin at the memory. A memory of complete loss of control, ecstasy, satisfaction and exhaustion. You turn to your side again and you entwine your legs with mine. I never liked the feeling of hairy man legs against mine, but with you it’s different. A lot of things are different with you.

With your eyes still closed, you move even closer to me. Touching as much of my body with your’s as you possibly can and finally those pale blue eyes are opened. You are awake and looking at me. The first moment, you look confused, but confusion changes to a bright smile that enlightens your entire face. You pull me closer into your arms, so that our bodies are pressed firmly together. You gently smooth back my long hair from my face and simultaneously, our lips meet for the first time today. There is no urge and no pressure to take this further. We simply lie in bed, touch each other and kiss lazily.

 

A perfect morning after a date. We live in our bubble, kissing our morning breaths away. Not talking too much. Simply being caught up in that perfect moment, enjoying the close presence of each other. I want it to be the first of a long row of mornings like this. The thought scares me for a moment. I never thought about being with a man for the long run, but with you, it’s different. A lot of things are different with you.

 

–^–^–

It’s still a short story, merely 700 words long and it could be read as sequel to “Destination Unkown” and as a prequel to “Rare Bird“

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destination unknown

 

I was nervous. It wasn’t only the flight, but it was the knowledge, that in a few hours, I would be able to look into his eyes, to hear his real voice, to feel his arms around myself and to smell his scent.

This was not my typical self. I was never the adventurous type, I preferred to live my life as straight and predictably as possible.

But then I met him. A lot of things are different with him. We met on the web. It was never really my world and meeting a man and falling in love? That was for fools only. He made the first step, chatting me up and at first it was only meant to be fun and distracting for me. Banter and flirting, where’s the harm in that? Slowly though, his mails and the photos he send me day after day, became the highlight of my mornings.

 

****

 

The plane started to move and took me out of my memories. Instantly, my hands became clammy. Trees were only a blur anymore and then I got pushed into my seat. Take off. Silent tears streamed down my face. I wasn’t able to stop them and I was too panicked to make a noise. I looked out of the window and I could only see the clear blue sky. I looked past the other passengers in the same row and looked out of the opposite window. I could only see green fields. My hands gripped the armrest, that separated me from the empty seat next to me, until my knuckles were white and my fingers hurt, but I wasn’t ready letting go. And suddenly, the plane seemed to have reached it’s travel height. The tension slowly faded away and I breathed relieved. I was not really afraid to fly, I was panicked for the take off and with no one by my side, to soothe or distract me, the panic was almost overwhelming. Once the plane was up in the air, everything was okay, I had to sit by the window though, I needed to see everything around me.

 

****

 

I gave up my old life for him. I sold everything I couldn’t fit into a few bags, I gave up my job and my flat, only to fly into the unknown. A new continent, a different language, no job, no apartment and I had never met the man in person, who was supposed to take me in and help me get my feet on the ground. What, if he doesn’t like me? What if we don’t get along? And what if he is just some creep?Before I could rile myself up too badly, I felt my eyelids becoming heavy and I slowly drifted off into a dreamless sleep.

 

Next thing I knew, was that a nice flight attended woke me up and asked me to fasten my seat belt. “We are going to land soon.” Had I really slept almost six hours? In a plane? Alone?

 

The plane landed effortlessly and I breathed again. The landing was never as hard for me, as the take off, because of the simple knowledge, that soon there would be solid ground under my feet again. People scrambled together their belongings and made their ways to the exit, where a flight attendant waited and said good-bye to every passenger.

 

As soon as I entered the terminal, my heart began pounding in my chest. The inevitable moment was close. My bags came and I heaved them onto my luggage cart and pushed it to the exit. Ropes separated the newly arrived from the ones being there to pick them up. My heart beat so fast, it threatened to burst my ribcage. I saw people falling into each others arms, crying happy tears and clinging onto each other. Families, mothers, fathers, daughters, sons….

The crowd slowly dissipated and I was still looking for the one who was set to pick me up. Through a group as laughing teenagers, I saw a man holding up a poster. It simply read SHELLY. That was my nickname. It was him. It took me a moment to get my legs to move. At first sight, he was even more gorgeous than he was on his pictures. I saw him stretching and scanning the crowd and then he saw me too and he recognized me too. A bright smile erupted on his face and I knew it was mirroring my own. Step by tiny step, we got closer to each other, until we both stopped in our tracks. Only three steps separated us and I saw his face becoming serious, the smile faded. I was unsure what to do, my instinct told me to run away, but my body wouldn’t obey. And I didn’t know where to hide anyway. Dreadful moments passed and I waited. Frozen. Unable to act or react.

“Shelly.” he whispered almost inaudible, because of the busy people hurrying to get to their planes and the ones hurrying to get home. I nodded, not knowing what else to do.

The poster glided from his hands and slid to the floor, while he took another step towards me. The suspense and anticipation was killing me. I couldn’t wait any longer and almost jumped into his arms. He was shorter than I had imagined him to be, but he was still a few inches taller than me. My body fit his perfectly. I buried my nose against his neck and smiled, when I noticed his scent. It was an aphrodisiac for me. His arms came up and circled my waist almost lifting me off the floor and I laughed happily.

My hands cupped his cheeks and I looked him in the eyes – beautiful light blue eyes, while taking a step back to look at him. His cheeks were stubbly, just how I loved it and his ginger hair was cut close to the head, but not too close. He was gorgeous. His lush lower lip begged to be kissed and again, it was me, who took the first step and I kissed him hesitantly. He kissed me back and pulled me even closer against him. Reluctantly, he let go of me and now, he looked me up and down, making me slightly uncomfortable.

“Let’s go home” he said smiling and got behind my luggage cart to push it towards to parking lot.

Time and time again, we looked at each other, only to shyly look away again. We loaded my bags into his truck and he came around to open my door.

Before I could climb in, he held me by the wrist and spun me around and into his arms. He kissed me passionately. I’ve been kissed before – a lot, but I’ve never been kissed like this before, it took my breath away. My heart skipped a beat and it was as though an electrical shock rushed through my entire body.

“I am glad you are here. Finally.” His voice was gentle, but deep and a little hoarse. I liked it very much and I wondered what it would sound like in the morning, when he woke up.

“You must be starving. Would you like to go out on a dinner date with me?” he asked formally. Finally, I found my voice too and I accepted his invitation. We sealed the agreement to our first date with a long kiss and we drove off. Destination unknown.

 

–^–^–

This can be read as the first part of three, but it can also be read on its own.

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Rare bird (… or a little something I wrote)

Here we are. You and me. I have dreamed about you, before I even met you and now, I am lying in your arms. Discovering your skin. Learning everything about your body. Memorizing moles, cutie marks, scars. Tasting as much of you as I can. Keep you on my tongue. Your scent is like an aphrodisiac and I feel like I am slowly becoming addicted to you. You are like a drug without a description and without warnings.

Your breath mingles with mine, as we become one. Our eyes, yours blue, mine brown, meet. Lustfully gazes. I am mesmerized by you and your presence. I feel like I have known you all my life and I ignore that we have just met for the first time. Pleasure takes over in my body. Your hands brush my hair out of my face. Sweat. I moan. You smile. And we find our rhythm. A rhythm so old, but new to us. Our bodies are slick with sweat, but we move slow. Excruciating slow. Every move prolonging our pleasure. A kiss. So sweet and tender, yet so demanding. An intimate dance, that will stay in my mind forever. Burned into my brain. It’s you I’ve been waiting for my whole life. My heart races as I see you crystal clear and I become yours. I fall. But you are there. Stars explode before my inner eye and I am left breathless. Heat. Wonderful heat engulfs me. The sweetest sounds escape your mouth and I kiss you. In this moment, we have it all. The world belongs to us and the future is ours to explore. It’s waiting for us. My senses cloud and I close my eyes. My hands touch the skin on your back. I kiss your forearms. My hands wander lower. I squeeze. You smile and bite my lip playfully.

You leave a tattoo on my skin. A permanent mark that no one will ever erase or overwrite. I feel you tumbling over the edge too, but just like you caught me, I catch you too. You tremble. There is the smile again. It’s more of a chuckle this time. Sparkling eyes. Your pale milky skin has a red sheen. You look like the most handsome man I have ever seen and you are mine. At least for now. Your hands never cease to touch me. Leaving fingerprints on my skin, that can never be washed off and I wouldn’t want it any other way. For this night, I am yours and you are mine. We don’t need words. I can’t speak your language right now anyway. Our bodies part. A regretful moan slips from my mouth. It makes me smile. I am not the insatiable type and yet, you woke up so many emotions in my sleeping heart.

When it all started, I never thought that we would meet. And yet, you are here. You know my deepest darkest secrets and still – you want me.

Our forever is over too soon. Life is catching up on us and reality too, as our love-bubble bursts. Passion and long lost feelings overwhelmed us. Made us act with our hearts and forget our brains. I have no regrets. I turn in your arms, my head on your chest. I hear your heartbeat. It’s in tune with mine. I am in heaven and you are my light. I always lived in the dark, loving the night. You guided me into the light. I don’t want this moment to end.

No one has ever put me under a spell like you and I know, that I want more. One more caress. One more kiss. One more night with you. It’s not a dream.

I am one in a million, but you picked me to stay with you. I see you, even when you think no one is watching. It makes us different and we won’t walk away from what we have. It makes me different from the rest of them. We both feel it, I can tell.

 

You are a rare bird. Abide with me and I’ll abide with you.

****

Author’s notice: The title, as well as the last sentence are inspired by a song called “rare bird” by Glen Hansard. The people in this short one-shot are a woman and a man. I think that’s all I need to explain.

 

Cathy

 

Posted on

My best friend H

I sit on this horrendously smelling couch. Again. That smell. No matter how often I sit here, it never escapes me. It smells like piss and vomit and still, I return here. Every day. Sometimes more than once. Because my friend calls me. In front of me is a low table. The legs have been sawed off, to make it this low. It’s full of crap. Mostly crap. Some things on the table are important. Very important. My hand sweeps across the table and I roam through the little foils and tiny bags. Most of them are empty. My hand shakes. I need it. Soon. I feel like crawling out of my skin and tearing out my hair. I need it. My legs start shaking, I can’t keep them still. It’s like they are dancing with my best friend. My hands become more desperate and less precise. A prick on my finger. But I don’t care. I need it. I leave a little trail of red drops on the table, decorating everything in a morbid manner. But I don’t care and I know that nobody else will either.

We are all in this together and we are looking for the same thing. And I found it. A precious little package. I empty it over a spoon and add a little sugar, before holding the used spoon over a candle. Candles, the whole room is lit in candles. Candles everywhere. The only light in the otherwise dark room. The stuff takes too long to melt on the spoon and I start fumbling with my free hand, to roll up my sleeve. Again, I rummage around the table and soon I find what I am looking for. A syringe. For a moment, I wonder if it’s the same, that stung me earlier and if it is clean. But my urge lets me forget those thoughts. My need is bigger than the thought about preserving my health. I don’t go to the doctor’s anyway. I have no idea, if I am infected or not. I don’t care. The others don’t care either. We share everything. We are in this together anyway. Always looking for the same thing. Sharing the same best friend.

With shaky fingers, I fill the syringe. I need it. I need it now. No more time to waste.

The needle enters my skin. I always do this softly, gently. I like the feeling of the metal breaking my skin. At first it resists, but then, it gives in and the cold needle quickly warms inside my body. I push down and the calming escape of reality enters my body. I feel it flowing through my veins. Spreading inside of me. It isn’t a stranger, an unknown. It is my friend. I pull the syringe out and throw it on the table. Not caring anymore.

My friend makes me tired. Always so tired, but he takes me to a dreamland. He helps me escape the grotesque face of reality. I inhale deeply and let myself float on a cloud that feels like cotton. High and higher up in the sky. I can see down on all those people that want to hurt me. They can’t reach me, here on my cotton cloud high in the sky. No evil can reach me. My friend is there to protect me. He engulfs me with his warmth and I feel safe as long as he is with me. Better than sex. Much better than sex. They don’t satisfy me anyway. They – the johns. They get off and I get the money to buy an orgasm on my own. One that always comes. Always. Except sometimes. Sometimes, my friend refuses to come to me and help me forget. Some times, instead of flying higher and higher up in the sky, he lets me fall, shoves me down the stairs hard. And it hurts. The deception always hurts. But it’s because he loves me and he wants me to be with him longer and more often. Only him. Only me. Only us. Together, we can conquer the world.

Nobody else matters. Nothing else matters. When he lets me fall, I fall deep. I am afraid without him. Scared to death without his warmth. It makes me cower in the corner of the dark unfurnished room. Far away, were no candle light can reach me. I make myself as small as possible. Invisible. I cover my ears. I don’t want to hear the screams. Make them go away. I close my eyes. I don’t want to see those faces. Make them go away. I wish for someone to just hold me. Save me.

Leave me alone. I don’t need to be saved. Don’t touch. I can’t have anyone touch me. I’ll break into tiny little pieces, like a glass that has fallen down and broke. And the shards will hurt and cut me deep.

Today, my friend didn’t let me fall. I open my eyes. I feel free. I feel good. I feel excited. I own the world. I see the zombies passed out around me. I am not one of them. My friend makes me invincible. I am not one of them. Not until the next time my friends calls me. Not until the next time I need him. My best friend. H.

****

Author’s note: This is all an imaginary writing. Nothing based on actual personal experiences!