© Copyright 2003 by Djurica Radmila
For all men who think that women don’t know how men think
You are in your comfortable living room, or in the bathtub, or on sardine-packed
subway car, going to work. You are
ready for the story; looking for entertainment, something to transport, clutching the soft newsprint between your
fingers. You have been here before, in this moment when your shoulders relax and the world around you dissolves as
a new one emerges. Something has changed. Incredibly different in content and style from what you expect. You are
Just when you thought you had nothing more to look forward to this summer,
than a Barbie in the backyard, now’s your
chance to go your way. You can just step on and step off when ever the mood takes you. And, as if that isn’t good
enough for you, you don’t need such an advance planing, you need to come slightly prepared. Spare sock and a
toothbrush aren’t supplied on the train. To take an exciting, sexy trip, get away is just few steps away. Travelers need
to travel. Men are comfortable enough subscribing sentimental value to an article, a watch, a book, and have invested
with nothing saving money with something. Sentimental value sounds so much more dignified than fetish. And
travelers on the train or on flights have it all worked out. Fetish belongs to something umconfortable, darker, a passion
for rubber, high heels and whalebone corset of unknown woman travelling on the train next to him…
Passion is the enraptured fusion of emotion and physical intimacy, floating
in a slowly writhing aura and warmth so
substantial you can almost reach out and touch it. Passion is feeling beyond feeling, sacrifice and trust, love and
yearning, wonder and discovery, joy and craving, tears and explosion, desire and fulfillment .
Have You ever mistaken blind, mystifying love, for perfect sex? It is
almost cruel, that just as you were approaching
"sexual nirvana" of the first glance – and your bodies communicating in a kind of physical telepathy where every touch
and every kiss seemed to be guided by a sublime knowledge of each other's erotic needs - the same emotions
allowed you to get so intimate in the first place would gush in and pull you away from it.
So much thought just for the first sight. She is there, with You, at
first; she is fetish for You. A man traveler with
unknown woman thinking about tradition and sex in the same time. According to the tradition, women give books to
men and men give roses to women. Not very politically correct, but who cares?
Crummy motel beside the train station seemed to be perfect for You two.
Now she slid back under the sheets and over
your outstretched arm, not missing a beat of her rave. Logic? Fairly sound, You guess. You suppose she was thinking
of good sex and some insight into one of your little secrets could help her worm her way inside. For every trick men
have to worm inside physically, women seem to have an even more insidious one to worm psychologically. And talk in
bed after sex when You don’t want talk about anything she says things that You don’t want hear and spoiled the magic.
"…It's clear that a person who becomes to be in love, is infected
by another. A strange feature of the illness
is that a person, whose love- is only as mild as a cold, can infect someone with an accurate case…"
She said to you, casting a glance, gearing herself up to voice something
that You would like. And You want coffee,
lilting the cigarette slowly sucking up the smoke into Your lungs.
"…some may argue that love- is a sexually transmitted like
syphilis or herpes, but often a person's love is
caused by not having sex with the person who infects them. Indeed, love- is sometimes cured by sex… "
You are remembering the night when You made love to Sylvie with the
curtains undraw, and the sound You had heard
from the terrace, a memory that until last night You had pushed from Your mind. Trying to give the sound substance
now, it seemed to you that it was garden chair being accidentally bumped across stone.
"…and sometimes, even while the infectious person doesn't display
any symptoms of his own, the afflicted
one will point an insistent finger at waiting for evidence that he is sick too. Great sex doesn't makes you cry
it makes you laugh…"
She felt away to the bathroom and turning on a light, peered blindly
at your watch. Not yet seven. Pulling on a sheet
she went down the narrow cottage alike hotel stares to the boiler to see if You could entice it into action…
"…great sex and sulky, cynical comments about how cold the world
is. Well, to be fair, that trick worked quite
well. But every one that ever got close seemed to have that basic formula. ."
She is still talking and You wander about the male stripper that said
on the telly couple nights ago about having sex
with 169 women. You definitely never gonna beat that number.
"…some revision of the sexual relationship, be it wild,
dirty, sweet or too long withheld, mixed with an
attempt to be impressive intellectually. So here was another version… "
Though she had point. I did seem to be hiding from what was wanted in
what was doable. Does she ever stops, You
"…do You know what male stripper said on the telly couple night ago, he said
that he have got bit of the ego, but than again that he had shagged 169 women…"
Wanted to stop thinking about this, and certainly stop talking about it.
You ran the back of your fingers through her bangs and behind her ear,
all the way down until she was gently pinching
the lobe between the thumb and index.
"Just as we have endless lists of the possible causes of cancer -
faulty genes, perhaps, or radiation from our
microwaves or hormones in the meat supply - we all have our own beliefs about what causes love."
She looked down on You searchingly, while she was talking, teetering
between continuing to try to probe this issue, to
see if she could actually make any headway with You, and giving in to getting the full pleasure she missed an hour ago
because You were too anxious.
"One is that it is caused by hormones in the meat supply. There
are many others - almost as many as we see
cases of love."
You are remembering Julia catching You on the way into the meeting introducing
her than just before everything
started between You two. Julia waited while she gasped it with clawed hands and brought the rim unsteadily to her lips.
You leaned forward to fondle the same spot on the lobe with lips. She exhaled ever so slightly, things moved on quickly
from there, through gentle seduction and into pretty physical humping, this time on her belly.
As she drunk from the glass beside the sink in brightlithed hotel bathroom,
water spilled down her chin and felt on her
skin, you took the glass from her and placed it back on one side, making the attempt to mop up the split water from her
"…yet, it is unbelievable for one man to have that much one
night stands as that stripper on the telly. Did
You see it....It was on the telly couple nights ago..."
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