Thursday 22 December 2011 photo 1/1
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Amazon
She was a beautiful woman, but I did not remember her name. I had caught her eyes as she gazed over the heads of the dancing crowd, taller than the rest. The music was pumping with boosted bass, making my body vibrate, blood run hot and my head throb. I didn’t let go of her eyes as I made my way through the pulsating mass of sweaty bodies rubbing against each other, my target was fixated. I was like a predator. Yes, she was beautiful; her laugh was sweet although not genuine. I had heard it before, the short and bubbly fake laugh, the subtle but effective touch on the lap, “I want you". I was eager to take her home.
She didn’t care to take a look around my apartment. She simply made herself comfortable on the sofa and fired off one brilliant smile after another, didn’t say much. I, I was charming as usual; I poured us wine and put on music, tried to make conversation, each attempt destined to fail. "Not a big talker, eh?" I asked her. She smiled and told me she didn't follow me home so that we could talk. And I, taken and by her forwardness, leaned over and kissed her softly on the lips.
I took her on the sofa, on the floor and in the bed. I knew what I wanted from her, but she wouldn't give it to me. She was like an Amazon, ripping and grabbing and having her way and I touched her ever so anonymously as I was used to, my hands trembled impersonally over her body to make her feel special, to make her want to give herself to me for the night, but she would not satisfy me. She was a one night hook up, like the rest of them, but she had begun to rip herself out of that role and instead it was given to me. She was so far away. Why did I want her to be closer, to hold her? Because I couldn't? Was I in the middle of the oh-so-cliché wanting what you cannot have?
She came, I did not, and she soon fell asleep. Not in my arms, but with her body curled up in the corner of the bed. I felt denied. After all I didn't want her, but I wanted her to want me to.
She woke up silently. I had made coffee for two, but she was dressed and out of the apartment by 9 am.
In my attempt to quench my thirst, this never-ending lust for human contact stripped down to merely sexual one-nighters, I found myself victimizing my partners. I win them over, take them, use them. The clingy ones I liked, they were the easiest. They made you feel needed to the point where it almost became annoying, you use them up and make them leave in the morning, because you’re late for work, and by noon she has already faded into the contourless blob of previous partners. No names. Never any names.
But she, she was cold. She did not care who had been her before. I had forgotten her name, she had never asked for mine, and as I watched her leave she had left in me a hole bigger than the one she was meant to fill.
Annons