Life is too short for boring stories


“It was probably the best sex in my life,” I thought as I lay back with you, my head was resting on your chest.
“You say that every time,” you replied smiling, even though I could only hear the smile from your voice, since I could not see you while your hand was touching my belly.
“Did I actually say that?”, It shot through my head, “I had thought that I was thinking.”

In short, I stopped thinking, which, by the way, is not an easy exercise, because if I can do nothing else, I think. This is why it happens automatically, even in situations where thinking would have lost nothing at all. It sparks me in the most unfavorable moments again and again. And when I think of nothing to think about, I immediately think of a sentence “Suddenly last summer, I started going out of my head” from the song “August & September” by The The, and I’m in the middle of it, thinking, but completely out at the moment when I wanted to stay. As with sex. Thinking here stands in the way of the feeling and thus the fulfillment. So much is going through a woman’s head. What she looks like and what to do now, as if sex was something to play on screenplay. Much is brought to the little girls. There is so much that alienates herself and her body. It is an imprint and remains. Except the big girl, the adult woman is lucky enough to find a patient, empathetic teacher who succeeds in learning to herself and her body as something that belongs to her. There seems nothing to happen of its own volition. Or she just does not get it. It would be so simple.

I heard no reply from you. This could only mean that I had just thought what I thought I would think and not expressed it. This reassured me, a little, especially as it seemed possible to keep my tongue a little bit, at least as far as talking was concerned. On other occasions, where the tongue also plays a great part, I did not hold back. And that was good.


“And of course you’re right every time,” you explained, right in the middle of my reflections, with this satisfied, humming undertone. I just had to turn to you. You were lying, with closed eyes and a satisfied smile on your lips – I had actually heard it properly- on your back, as if you had a great work done. What an irony really, and yet something that should be self-evident. Satisfied as a baby with full stomach and dry nappy. Perhaps there is something to it, if one and also man asserts that one conquers the heart of such a one, by woman comes naked and which brings to eat. The comparison is at least one that lags a little.
“You are obviously very happy with yourself and the world,” I replied smiling.
“The world does not really matter to me right now,” you said laconically, “But I am very satisfied with myself. Like not if I can make you so happy. ”

As if you could do something for it. Of course, you were involved in it, not even immaterial, but the fundamentals of freedom completely drown me, which is absolutely necessary, if you really want to enjoy, which was already given before. If I now let my attentive gaze wander from your lips on your shoulders, chest, belly, thighs, and your sex, which, like a little bird, had crawled into its nest, I do it because I can . It is not always so difficult to look at it. In the old days, I would have looked away shamefully, because this openness is not an issue. Not that someone had come, who told the little girl, eyes away, but at least it is mediated. The same applies to one’s own body. In addition to this, the nest rests for the little bird among the women in secret, over which woman shamefully closes her legs, beat over each other and best to wrap two more times. No, it is not said, but it is expected. How much woman can be restricted without questioning it. But I had done it and dropped the shackles. As I kept my eyes wide, my hand followed, because I liked what I saw, because it felt well, what I felt, you lay, and let me grant. Just because. So easy. Then the desire to lose myself in you rose up in me again. Maybe I should try to kiss the little bird astute in his nest, encourage it to grow and unfold. No, do not try, make it. Just because. So easy.


It sounds simple. It is simple. And yet it was not always so. Only after I had made a successive decision that turned my life upside down. One should think that it is something that concerns only the eating habits, but it turned out that it is far more than just that. But I must tell this from the beginning.

(If you want to know the story of the I-narrator, you can read it in the book with the same title, that will be published on the 01. May)

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