I am alone. Not alone like Matt Damon on Mars, but alone with my mother in a crazy city. Swapping taxis and clinics. Hearing doctors making it official. Comforting mom as much as possible. Trying not to collapse when my sister freaks out at the obvious.
Some thirty years ago, in a students’ summer camp, at the seaside, I took her with me. She was still in gymnasium (three years younger). A guy in a slip hooked her up. Hypnotized, she followed his words and his steps. Like Cerberus (I’m pretty sure that she looks at me the same way, even today) I’ve liberated her from the paws of that guy, an engineer with a sick taste for barely legal. She was still underage at that time.
My personal erotic fantasies, from when I was young and fresh, revolved around actors, on the big screen. Especially Alain Delon. I’ve consumed all the trivia about him. His love drama with Romy Schneider, her retreat, her tragedy, remain like a milestone in my memory. A beacon of alertness.
Any boy that had Alain’s eyes went up on my target list. There were just two, not much. I knew when to cut the flirt, because I always knew what I want. Even when not knowing exactly. Believing is knowing. And knowing is believing. At least until you’ll connect the dots again. Like Ada Lovelace expressed it: “Understand well as I may, my comprehension can only be an infinitesimal fraction of all I want to understand.” Or this one: “I am in a charming state of confusion.” Which frankly happens to me more than I wish to consider.
Simply said, I raised a fence between fantasy and reality. A see through one. When alone with my mind, when the mind freezes in non-communication, when my heart aches, fears, hides, then I push my palms on this fence. And I cry.
To me, sex is a means of communication. Not an end. You can’t have sex and be alone at the same time. Having sex with my third target, following his words and his steps, brought me out of solitude and into a calculated universe of busyness. With a great deal to do, with dependents around you, there’s no time, and no motivation, to push the fence.
However, moving too much, back and forth, I’ve hit the fence on the other side. Let me see. Heading one way, with the fence always to my left, I arrived back to the starting point. Uh-huh. A perimeter! So my life, so serious and so active, is enclosed in a transparent bubble. Immersed in some kind of ocean that my intellect had dubbed ‘fantasy.’ Isn’t this fantastical?
But please allow me to bake my own bread. In my own bread machine!
And because tomorrow is Thanksgiving in America, let me tell you all (Europeans, Americans, Asians, Russians, (South) Africans, Australians and fellow Brits!) that I am very grateful to you for reading my ramblings, for downloading my pics, for peeping into my intimate moments, and for enjoying it.
Thank you for your curiosity!
You are free to look wherever you wish, to do whatever you want. This Freedom is much more than a slogan. So let’s cherish it by giving thanks.
Thank You all! Have a Happy Thanksgiving!
Many hugs and kisses,
PS – Eat as there’s no tomorrow, then sleep and browse back to my blog to see what I’ll be slashing for the Black Friday! (Those commercials tainting a good ole traditional spirit… Oh my… Oh my…)