Her hair jumps to your face, red like fire, they scintillate to the sun and encircle a face of a lifeless mask, underlined by black spots of make-ups unevenly applied on the lips and around the eyelids. Attractive, she advances, moving with all the drowsiness of a top-model, offering to the covetousness of the sited witnesses, the vision of her jagged and thorn-down clothing. The waiters are irritated to see her like that, disturbing the quiet serenity of the place. She fascinates me already. I perceive by the tears of her skirt, portions of her milky flesh, decorated with tiny tattoos of sibylline drawings. She is already close to us, I hold my breath and her mother looks at her, impassive. Here and there on her skin, white like milk, a ring that bores her tongue, scintillating jewels hanging negligently from her long neck, trinkets placed here and there, a pearl suspended from her nostril, a ring from her left eyelid, another suspended from her umbilic; and I imagine behind this indecent setup, the tits of her small childish bosoms, the lips of her vagina not yet deflowered, also furnished with these cumbersome but outrageously sensual implements, I feel itching between my legs; she resembles a moving Christmas tree. She stopped close by our table, showing an absent look. The complex dental apparatus that imprisons her teeth betrays her state of small middle-class girl and young teenager; her heavy Niki tennis shoes, are the only visible objects which still connect her to our world of consumption; small little woman hardly escaped from childhood, she seems to envision life by defying the whole humanity.
I suddenly remember my years of protest in the hippie movement, the too long distance that separates me from her today, and my surprise to have aged too early.
She comes and crushed carelessly on the seat in front of me, totally unaware of my presence and without any greetings for her mother. After a pause, her mother dares to make the presentations:
- "My daughter Emily, this is Mister...?"
- "Marco!"
- "Mister Marco, we just met and we talk while waiting for you."
- "I see, an other of your boyfriends" she answers with a voice of disgust.
I am uncomfortable. And yet, I cannot prevent myself to scrutinize her and to find her attractive in a certain way. This small savage animal fascinates me and yet, everything in her is foreign to me. Nothing brings me close to this human being, her manners, her youth, her excessive tastes; a civilization separates us and yet, she attracts me and I am suddenly invaded by an uncontrollable carnal desire. I endeavour to erase my spirit of these contradictory thoughts. All this is irrational, I feel shy and I redirect my glance on Juliet, her mother, so beautiful and so conventional; I convince myself, to concentrate my carnal desires on this more real and less compromising woman .
She wears a very formal tailor, those ones, one wears for work and which is not very practical to hunt for adventure; I hardly measure the scale of her bosoms through the fabric of her blouse, too prudish to my taste; her hip seems strong, of those that retain the signs of the difficult passage of delivery, perhaps that of this small anachronic human-being who dandles in front of me, in such an arrogant manner. Her face however, tells me all, of all that there is of secrecy behind her, and that it would be agreeable for me, to know and to discover and to love before setting out again, leaving only but memories.
- - "If you haven't find a place to stay, we invite you home, we'll have dinner together and you may sleep in the friend's bedroom" Juliet told me.
I jump at this enforceable proposition and I accept while pretending to express some reserves, but my senses are agitated by the prospect offered to me, to finalize at last, sooner than never, my erotic fables. I note a pout of rebellion on the face of Emily, who would have perceived, and I would not be surprised, my lubricious intentions.
We drive Southward to reach in less than an hour, a clean suburb, with a middle-class pace, and with identical bungalows.
The evening is pleasant. We eat both sitting opposite one another, Emily is there close by, but she is absent except for the spectacle she offers to us, of her bad manners. Juliet adorned a long evening gown and had remake her make-up, she is tempting and desirable. The exchanges are courteous and impressed with banality but yet pleasant. After the meal, we remain alone she and I, discussing over the large couch of the living-room, Emily disappeared discreetly, she is absent as she was also absent when she was there. Present but absent at the same time, as if she lived at the hotel; she benefits from the middle-class comfort of her maternal heaven while pretending to be free, have no heritage and live out of this world. We discuss much, until late in the night, Juliet leads me to the guests' room reserved for me and she discreetly said to me:
- "I will comme to see you later."
I am suddenly astound in my feelings. So, she answers without me having to ask her, all the secret desires I entertain since we met and that I retained for myself with such difficulty.
I cannot sleep. I wait for the arrival of Juliet. I am incredulous in my thoughts, seeing her appear soon, and I imagine with happiness the night that we will spend together. I see myself undressing her with a calculated slowness and I imagine her naked and sumptuous body. Without knowing her, I draw her shapes that I survey with my hands in the most complete license. And I engulf myself in her with ardor, with passion and my senses are agitated already, by imagining these moments of ecstasy, as if the desire to take her excited me as much as to possess her. I endeavor myself to contain my obsessions and to preserve my invaluable seeds to sow her belly and her mouth.
I am naked and stretching on the dismantled bed, I prepared myself to receive her. She would pass the door chastely rolled up in her dressing gown, surprised by seeing me stretching naked on the bed, she would have a movement of retreat and I would seek to cover myself in a rather awkward way, revealing, to excite her, the shapes of my naked body and the insolence of my sexual apparatus. I still imagine, after the end of this moment of surprise, she would slowly let her nightdress slip on to the wood parquet floor, thus denuding her beautiful body of grown-up and experimented woman. And my penis at this vision, would inflate like an impudent animal ready to jump on its prey, to rape her, to love her until both of us, loose consciousness.
She would approach slowly undulating her prominent hips, and quiver the silver plated forest that protects her vulva; provocative, she would project high her bosoms towards me, then she would slip slowly over my naked body as she undoubtedly knew how to do it, since a long time, with other males in heat, and we would plunge into one another, we would fornicate all night long making squeak, the steel pipes of the great king-size bed; I know that it will be like that or almost and my genital apparatus would increase in size and inflate with blood, she would engulf it with greediness in her large-opened mouth to the deepness of her esophagus, where he would flow himself out without any shame; or would he plunge into the deepness of her vulva, immense and full of over-excited ovaries, a whole night of pleasures and of frights, to forget the whole world and her bizarre young daughter who sleeps very close by from here, in a tiny room decorated with posters, illustrating young beautiful males, asexual, showing their stripped chest, or small sinister discs-pockets representing primitive rocker-singers, or miniature rubber monsters created by the infantile brain of Stephen Spielberg.
