*throwback* cold coffee

I pushed the door open with my foot, startling you. Your eyes were filled with sleep; mine were full of mischief. I came to your room with the intention to wake you up with the smell of coffee, but seeing you like this; naked, hard, embarrassed; it did things to me.

You were a guest in my house — a friend. The polite thing would have been to apologise and leave. But I couldn’t. I was hungry. Starving. And not for food. You looked at your erection, then at me. I licked my lips and tried to find a safe place for that cup of coffee in my hand.

You sat up and reached for the sheets to cover yourself. I shook my head. “Don’t, ” I croaked. You rose an eyebrow, probably intensely aware of the situation too. I kept my eyes on you, avoiding to see myself ungracefully join you on the mattress through the mirror on the wall.

“Hi, ” you said as if you were seeing me for the first time. Your hand was already in my hair, pulling my head; my lips, to yours.

Outside, rain was joining the wind that had been up all night. Inside, we were joining too.

Everything fit. Profoundly. Almost overwhelmingly. The natural flow of things didn’t take us back. It didn’t leave room for doubts or vanities. Every touch meant something. Every time I felt your tongue on my heated skin, it felt as if I was becoming a part of you. Your hands explored my body as if they had never done anything else. The weight of you on my tongue was exactly right, and your taste made me swallow you as often as I could. I was drowning in our lust.

When you finally penetrated me, it only took a moment before the world exploded for me. Shivering, sweating, swearing, I encouraged you to keep moving. But you didn’t. You lay on top of me; your hands were caressing my hair, your eyes were searching my face for something that I couldn’t pretend wasn’t there. A smile appeared on your lips. Proud of yourself and how you had undone me, you kissed me. You were pulsating inside of me, but not moving. Heavenly torture. I begged for more, gyrated my hips underneath you, but you were stubborn. And too close to be consumed by our lust too.

Two micro moves later, you stopped breathing. Your sweat was dripping down on me from the tip of your nose; your eyes were closed. A strangled noise left your lips just before you started to breathe again.

I had seen you. I had felt you. And it left me breathless; and not only because your full weight was on my body now. The beauty and surprise of us in this situation was overwhelming. You kissed my temple and rolled off me with a loud groan and a chuckle. Your arm covered your eyes, and your hand was running up and down your stomach. The most handsome man who I had ever been with.

I put my head on your chest, your heartbeat sang a song for me, while I retraced the pattern of the tattoos on your skin. Your eyes were filled with sleep again. I covered us with the crumbled sheet, making sure that the wet spot we left was covering me and not you.

In a while, I would worry about the meaning of it all, but right then I decided to go with the flow and let it happen.

Only the coffee had grown cold.

The letter you will never read

Revisited post from November 2015

You asked what I see when I look at you. Well, I am not sure if you can handle it, but this is my truth.
I see a man who doesn’t love himself and who doesn’t acknowledge his achievements. At the same time, you like to brag about them, and you are proud of the things you create with your mind and your fingers. You love what you do. It’s your passion, and you need it like the breathing air. Yet you hate it because you are a hostage of it too. You are so soft-spoken and yet so vulgar too. You are yin, and you are yang. I love that mix. And I love our calls — hours of your voice in my head. And although you like to steer them to the lighter side, you can’t always hide the torment of your soul.
How can I make you understand how much you helped me get in touch with myself with your sheer presence in my life? How? And I still don’t understand what it is you see in me. You told me that I am different and that I understand. You said that I am beautiful, not only my body but my mind too. You said I could be perfect for the right man. But, why did you choose me? Out of all the women who want a piece of you, you picked me; and I didn’t even flirt with you, I was just grateful for your visibility. I can’t see anything of value in myself. Ha, maybe that’s a lie. I have many qualities too; I just don’t recognise them every day. Still… What do you see in me? What do I have to offer that you so desperately seek?
I will never understand any of this.

We are sharing fears and fantasies, and so many of them are similar. And I wonder why? I read your words before I ever met you. Did you make me into this woman with your art? You say you write from the heart and everything you write and say is true. It’s the same for me; bleeding emotions. But I don’t want to save you. I can’t; I am not strong enough. I can’t be the one to protect you from yourself. I can offer you other things, though. I will never give you my heart, it belongs to someone else, but I can give you a part of my soul. Isn’t that even more intimate? It’s the part that your words shaped. The part I am offering freely every time we talk. Just don’t forget that I am not a toy and not a whore; you can’t buy me with cheap words and front row tickets.

I don’t expect anything apart from honesty and respect. I said that before, right? We even talked about it. See; lately, I don’t always feel that respect anymore. You are too sure of yourself, or so it seems to me. And that’s what lets me keep my distances right now.

By now, we both know that I am more to you than you let on. We both know it. It’s in the way we talk and the words you chose. What we know too is that you punish yourself — living a fantasy that can never come true. It’s easier to reject people; me, when I set the limits myself.

One of your first concerns was that I would fall in love with you. You said that you could not fall in love with me and that it could never happen. You even asked if it hurt me when you said the words, but once again I said that I already have a man in my life who I love dearly. You said that every woman you ever loved left you. And you sounded so sad and resigned. I hope my words that day were a bit like a hug.

There is so much about you to love. More than you see. I am untouchable for you, though. Unreachable. And maybe that is exactly what you need, what you want? It lets you pretend that you will not be hurt like emotionally although we both know that you are already hurting. The truth is, you are scared. Scared that someone could love you for who you really are — scared that someone might see you and see all the craziness in your head and still love you. At the same time, you need that love. Crave it. I can hear the longing when you speak. It will never happen if you punish yourself with pushing everyone who tries to love you out.
A lost soul, that’s who you are. Afraid to be found. Afraid to be understood. But I do. I understand. And maybe that scares you even more.

I don’t need you in my life, but I let you in willingly. There’s a place in my heart for you. Just for you. You deserve love. And you are not alone. You are valuable. Your writing changes people, brings them inner peace and joy. And pretend all you want, talk about serenity, spirituality, and calm for hours on end, but regardless of what you say, you haven’t found them. Or maybe you once felt them inside, but they wandered off?

Could I ever dare to ask this question? Do you still have dreams? Are you too broken and lost to find hope?
You said you feel old. You aren’t old. Just tired. And it doesn’t help that you neglect yourself, your body; your emotional and physical health. You are better than that, and you deserve better than that.

I know that your perfect person is waiting for you. Somewhere. Maybe it is me. Who knows? I believe that this person is the piece that is missing for you to be complete.

I believe in this; we are fragments blown away, that can only find peace when we are put back together. Complete. I am not sure if I could complete you. No, I probably couldn’t.
But the fact remains that I see you — your pain and your misery too. I can’t end it or make it go away, but I can be there for you. I want to be there for you.

Am I still a stranger, that’s what I wonder. And if I am, why do you rely on me to cry and to talk freely? Is it because I am not there; not real? If you keep everyone at a distance, you don’t have to be you. You can hide behind your words and your talent. You can pretend to be someone you are not. But hiding your true self makes you unhappy and miserable.

We are the same, you and me. You just had more time to become the jaded person you are while I was lucky enough to have someone stop my downward spiral at the right time. You stopped it. Made me open my eyes and see. Made me happy, at least for a while.
Life is hard at times. Feeling rootless is too. You ask me to tell you that I love you. In my own way, I do. And yet, that one question is the opposite of what you said when we met. Why should I love you if you will not love me back? Why do you need to hear those words from me so often? Is it already too late? Perhaps you are already genuinely in love with me? We will both laugh about this, right? We are not the romantic kind of people, we’ve established that a long time ago when I asked you never to forget me.

I know that I had you after you read my first email. I had you after the first time you heard my voice. You were mine when opened up about your fantasies and I didn’t flinch or ran away. I had you after the second time you asked if I was there and I said yes. I will always say yes.

And that is what I see in you, and that is why you love me. And I love you too.

The one you will never have

*Repost* Come

I run, and I run. My legs are burning. They are heavy as lead. But I keep running. I run towards the dark alley that is calling my name. An alley I would avoid at all cost every other night. Not now. Not tonight. You are calling me. And I have to find you. I need you.

“Come, Cathy!” I hear it loud and clear. And I keep running and running. Because I want to catch you. You are my safe haven. I need to find you. Your presence will give me peace. And I keep running towards the dark. And the unknown. Edged on by the hope to find you, my love.

“Come, Cathy!” And I want to come to you. But I can’t reach you. No matter how fast I run, you are never there.

“Come, Cathy!” It is beginning to be frustrating. Devastating. Desperation sets in. How can I reach you? And I run and I run. Until I can’t run anymore and I stop. Everything is dark. There is no sound. Claustrophobic. Empty walls are closing in on me.

“Are you there?” I whisper. It sounds like the loudest scream in this absolute silence. I can hear my blood pounding in my ears. And I realise that I am afraid. Fucking scared, actually. Of this silence. Of this void. Of this emptiness. Of you not being there.

“Are you there?” I whisper again. There is something cold and wet on my cheeks. Tears? And I can’t fill my lungs with enough air to breathe properly.

“Are you there?” I turn around several times. Turning in never-ending circles. I don’t know where I am — lost and confused. And I am so alone. And so cold. Cold and alone. Inside, and outside too. Lost in the dark. In the unknown. Inside my dream.

“Come, Cathy!” But I can’t do what you want me to do. I am not there. I am not real. Nothing is.

I wake up drenched in sweat. I remember the voice loud and clear. I know the voice. Your voice. My heart is pounding against my ribs, and I can still hear my blood’s flow in my ears. It makes me deaf to every other sound surrounding me. Around me, the bedroom is bathed in a red hue from the sun touching the closed blinds. “Come Cathy!” resonates behind my eyes, and between my ears. I don’t know what it means. I can’t remember a thing. Nothing that matters. And in my agitated state, it feels as if someone is watching me. I am at peace. I am safe. Because this is real, and you are not there.

Letter to a stranger – happy new year

Dear stranger,

First of all, happy new year. I didn’t send an email or message for Christmas this year. I preferred not to get in touch. We both know how bad it is for our sanity when we are a part of the other.

Today I made a list of all the reasons why I never loved you. I wished everything I came up with were true, but you know well that it isn’t. I miss you so much. I miss the way we were and the way we never were. Maybe it is all just a huge pile of turds.

I loved your eyes

I loved your hands

I loved your voice

I loved your words

I loved your smile

I loved your c*ck (a lot)

I loved your humour

I loved the way you touched me

I loved your vulnerability

I loved your creativity

I loved your thoughts

I loved that you saw me in the dark

I loved me when you loved me.

I loved everything about you. Every moment we shared; every tear we cried; every heart-felt laughter. I even loved the sounds you made – all of them.

If I were a drama queen, I would tell you that I don’t want to live without you. I knew love; I tasted it in your arms and on your skin. I would beg you to come back to me.

But here is the truth: I know that you are happier without me. And I know that you love her. You deserve to be happy. I am glad that you are. And I don’t want you to be back. I couldn’t handle it. It would probably kill me.

If I were able to let you go, I would find my own happiness too.

You are probably wondering why I am still attached to you after all these months. I can only guess; I guess it is because you were the first person to love everything about me. You didn’t try to change me or my moods. The nagging voice inside my brain says it is because you didn’t care at all. Maybe it is true.

I still like the memories we made. I still like you even if you hurt me like no one before.

I miss your hugs. I miss the way you took care of me. I miss who I was with you. Wish you were here. I am a little obsessed with our past right now. I am looking back at the time when I was less alone and lonely. Must be the time of the year, I don’t know. Everyone is looking forward to the change of the new year. Everyone is making plans for the future. But the year cannot change us if we are not ready to change. I don’t make sense at all. I feel silly admitting all these things. Every healthy woman would drop you and move on. But you were my breath, and some days I think back to that time when you told me how to breathe… You left a void nobody can ever fill, no matter how hard they try. Could it be that I am addicted to the way I felt with you? Could it be that I miss how I felt, not who made me feel that way? Am I giving you too much credit? Will I ever be able to take back my life?

I hope you think of me with a fond smile once in a while. I wish I left a small trace inside of you. Something good.

Forever not yours,

Sweetie

Sweet taboo

Take off All your clothes, you ordered. There was not an ounce of doubt; not a flash of hesitation, I complied. You knew I was your puppet, and we both enjoyed it. I stripped, trying to be sensual, but being my clumsy self instead. Of course, I couldn’t get my skinny jeans off my feet. Of course, the hooks of my bra got caught in my hair. Of course, I blushed and wished I hadn’t started this at all. My confidence was hanging on a thinning threat; any moment now, the wrong word – or what I interpreted as the wrong word, would make me run.

Look at me! Another order. I wasn’t submissive, but your voice and the mood we had created in our sanctuary made me obey. I looked at you, and you were smiling. I could see that even though my performance had been underwhelming, your body was reacting to me as much as I was reacting to yours.

You got up from your chair. Large steps. Warm hands. Shivers. Kisses. Nibbles. Don’t move! I didn’t dare to move. I almost forgot how to breathe. I was your prey. You were the predator. You devoured me, and it was the most enjoyable torture I ever endured, entirely at your mercy — flames of lust licking at our souls until they were sticky and we were unable to break apart.

Sweetest taboo. Again and again. We were made of passionate desire; feeding off each other, until it became too much to bear and our hearts exploded; our souls imploded, and our remnants were scattered; blown in the wind — eternal stars on the night sky.

Upside Down 2

Josh sat against the far wall, hugging his knees and keeping an eye on the woman in his bed. It wasn’t her beauty that held him captive; it was the gun in her hand. He hadn’t been able to find any sleep, and in the end, he just gave up. Josh was counting the hours until it was time to get up and get ready for work. But then a thought occurred to him. Even if he had to get up, that didn’t mean she would leave. He groaned and stared at the stranger on his bed. The entire situation was unpredictable. He didn’t like that. He loved his routines and his structured life. A stranger entering his life in the middle of the night was not his idea of structure. It was a sure way to chaos. Josh rolled his eyes and got up. His glasses lay on his nightstand, and he fumbled for them in the near dark.

The rustling close to her head woke Milly up. Disoriented in the dark, she sat up and pointed the gun at the stranger ogling her. She saw his face pale, and his Adam’s apple move when gulped.

“What were you doing?” She asked making sure that her voice held enough venom to keep the man away.

“Glasses. I need them,” Josh stuttered.

“Lights!” She ordered, and he just nodded, doing as she said.

“Time?” Milly demanded.

“6:30. Please lady, I don’t want any trouble. Just, please leave so that I can go to work. Please?” The man was brave yet agitated. Milly smiled.

“Sorry, no work for you today, Stutter” Milly laughed. No way she could let him go now.

Josh sighed. “May I get dressed, please?”

“Very polite. Get dressed, and we will plan our next steps over breakfast. I hope you have coffee.” Milly got out of the bed. She wasn’t concerned about the man trying anything on her. She had good people skills and trusted her feeling that she was safe for now. As if she was in her own home, she searched through the man’s drawers to find a fresh t-shirt to wear. Josh felt his ears swallowed with heat as this strange woman rummaged through his personal belongings.

Waiting for his uninvited guest to follow him, Josh stood in the door. Milly switched shirts, retook hold of her gun and trotted behind the man who kept checking is she was still behind him. He got busy with breakfast, and Milly took a look around. There was a large shelf filled with books. She had read some of them too. His music collection was small, but here too, she saw similarities between the albums he owned and the music she had on her phone. The phone she had dropped when she ran from Giuseppe’s minions. Exploring the pictures of the young man, she stopped in her motions. Milly looked from the picture in front of her to the man handling a skillet in the kitchen. It couldn’t be. She had hit the jackpot. With a devious smile and a plan forming in her mind, she joined the man who was preparing her breakfast.

“I am Milly. Sorry for the inconvenience.” She put her gun next to an empty plate and grabbed the mug in front of her. “Milk?” she asked, and Josh pushed a small jug in her direction.

“Josh,” he offered.

“Don’t you mean Richard Joshua Weller Jr?” Milly smiled knowingly. “You are the only son of one of the most wealthy men in this city. Quite a dump you are living in.” She took a sip of her coffee and waited for a reaction. Josh was busted. He had hoped she wouldn’t know who he was. “You are my ticket out of my predicament,” Milly added, one hand on her gun again.

Josh admitted defeat. His heart went like mad. He had been waiting for a situation like this. That he would invite it in through his bedroom window came as a surprise. That it was a woman with legs for days and a smile to kill for was part of the irony that accompanied most of his existence.

“What do you want?” Josh stuttered.

“Money, Stutter. Easy as cake. And your daddy will give me what I need, or his sole heir will not survive this chance encounter,” Milly informed Josh and took a slice of buttered toast from a plate in front of her.

untitled flash fiction 20180701 or With you, I want to live

“Do you ever think about suicide? About ending it all? Just vanishing? Being gone? Not existing at all?” he asked, avoiding making eye-contact. He took a sip of his coffee and looked at the people on the other side of the street. She didn’t answer. She didn’t know how. “I do,” he continued. “I think about it. All the time. Not about death itself, but how to make it easier for those around. And I wonder what they will say and who will miss me.” Their eyes briefly met, before he averted his gaze and looked at the clouds in his coffee. “I would miss you,” she croaked, cleared her throat and repeated the same words in a steadier voice. “Why?” he whispered. “Why” was a question that often made his life unnecessarily hard. That three-letter word made him dread and anticipate answers, all at once. “Because the thought of not having you close to me breaks me inside. The void you would leave would swallow me.” Tears welled up in his eyes. He didn’t want to make a scene, but she had a thing with words; always finding the words that forced his emotions to explode. “If you were gone, I would probably follow you. There is nothing keeping me here. If it wasn’t for you, I would not be here,” she whispered sadly. He didn’t know how to react and how to respond. He just covered her hand with his trembling one. She looked at their hands, then she lifted her head to look into his face – into his eyes. “Please don’t leave me behind,” she begged. “Never,” he replied. “I love you too much.” She nodded, wiping the corner of her eye. A tear was threatening to ruin her makeup. Lately, she had thought about taking her own life a lot. She led a happy life, but something dark was clawing at her thoughts. Something devastating was fraying the edges of her fragile soul. Holding on was much more exhausting than she would have ever thought. Why was living and staying alive so easy for most people? Why was it so hard for her? And him too. “Let’s promise each other to stay alive together for as long as we can. There are reasons to stay alive, right? If I remind you of them, and you me, we will be okay.” On the other side of the street, a toddler was crying in his stroller. From her point of view, it looked as if he didn’t like being strapped tightly in the stroller without any means to break free. “Freedom is just an illusion. A creation of the mind. The emotional cage we are living in is a creation of the mind too. It either helps us to stay sane, or we will break and grow insane.” He tilted his head to the side and took a sip of his coffee. It was as if he was seeing her for the first time. He had been too busy with his own thoughts, missing that she was not alright either. “Depression is a selfish bastard,” he thought out loud, taking his hand back. “We should go,” she ignored his statement, got up from her chair and put her bag over her shoulder. He stood next to her, kissed her forehead and let his hand find hers. She looked up at him. The affection in her eyes made his heart race. “I love you,” he blurted out. He had never said the words before, but they had never been this true and important to share either. A genuine beaming smile appeared on her face. She didn’t reciprocate his words. She didn’t have to; he felt her love wafting off her skin. Being alive wasn’t so bad, if he was allowed to do it with her.

My best friend H

I sit on this horrendously smelling couch. Again. This place. 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. Worth a fortune and the owner’s bliss. My hand sweeps over the table, and I roam through the little foils and tiny bags to find what I am looking for. Most of them are empty. My hand is trembling. I need it. Soon. I feel like crawling out of my skin and tearing out my hair. I crave it! My legs start shaking, I can’t keep them still. It’s like they are dancing with my best friend but I am not invited. Not yet. My hands become more desperate and less precise. A prick on my finger. I don’t care where it came from. I need it!! I leave a little trail of blood 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 all just care about one thing.

We are 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, before holding the bent and used cutlery over a candle. Candles, the whole room is lit by 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. I want to be ready when my friend is ready. Again, I rummage around the table and soon I find what else I have been looking for. A syringe. For a moment, I wonder if it’s the same one that stung me earlier and if it is clean. But my urge to get my fix lets me forget those thoughts. My need is bigger than the thought about preserving my health. I don’t go to the doctors 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. Always looking for the same thing. Sharing the same best friend.

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

My arm is ready. The vein sticking out, ready too. The needle enters my skin. I always do this softly, gently. I like the feeling of the metal breaking my skin. A gentle penetration. At first, my skin resists, but then it gives in, losing the fight, and the cold needle quickly warms inside my vein. I push down, and the calming escape from reality enters my body. I feel it flowing through my veins. Spreading inside of me. It isn’t a stranger nor an unknown. It is my friend. I pull the syringe out and throw it on the table. Not caring anymore. I found bliss.

My friend makes me tired. Always so tired, and 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 of cotton. High and higher, I am rising up in the sky. I can see down and look at 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 of my own. One that always comes. Always. Except sometimes. Sometimes, my friend refuses to come to me to help me forget. Sometimes, 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. He is possessive, my friend. And I want him. Only him. Only me. Only us. Together, we can conquer the world.

Nobody else matters. Nothing else matters. When he lets me down, 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, where no candlelight 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 me! 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.

(Originally written and posted on this very blog in 2013 and edited quite subtly today. H obviously stands for Heroin)

Green

Green is the colour I associate with you

When I dream of you, you are bathed in a green hue

Green is the colour I feel when I think of you.

The first time I talked to you, you asked me to relax and listen to your voice. Three years later, and I can still remember it vividly. I was cuddled in my purple blanket, wearing nothing but a nightgown. I held the phone to my ear, and my eyes were closed. A sudden indescribable heat engulfed me and it was as if you were next to me, close to me in my room. I knew it couldn’t be, but you knew what I was wearing and you guessed my most intimate fantasies. I felt your presence, and your aura, it was green. It was soothing and so vibrant. I had never experienced anything quite like it. That heat. That colour. That moment. It was perfect bliss. But it didn’t last. And I was never able to recreate it. Until tonight. I was in that state between being awake and being asleep. It has been a while since you were in my dreams (and since you were on my mind like this). Tonight you were. You were standing in front of me, and I felt that familiar heat and I saw the familiar colour green. It was like a veil covering my dream. But the image of you slipped through my fingers. You faded. I tried to hold on, but I was too weak. I woke up (or came to) with a beating heart. And a longing to hear your voice calling me your Sweetie again. Overwhelmed, I couldn’t find sleep again. Did we connect tonight without either of us knowing about it?

Green is the colour of my dreams

Uninvited, you found your way under my sheets

Green is the colour that I see when your soul speaks to me