jurnalul unei amante

The fur coat JD Jaks


Un comentariu

He’d been talking about her for days, whispering in my ear, telling me how beautiful she was. If he was trying to make me jealous, he hadn’t succeeded. I instinctively knew she would be no competition in that department. He’d never found anyone as beautiful as me. But sometimes he likes to tease me, to torment me. He has a spiteful streak. We’re similar in that respect; we both have selfish, self centred dispositions. 

The major difference between us is that he’s very possessive; he likes to own things.  

I may be selfish but I wouldn’t want the responsibility that comes with possessions. I like being looked after. I like being spoilt and indulged. In return, I am expected to give a little, which I do, reluctantly, but then the rewards and the lifestyle I enjoy far outweigh any inconvenience to my general comfort. Most of the times he pampers me. Some of the times he needs to release a little excess sexual energy and that’s when I indulge him and go along with his fantasies, his ”little games” as he likes to refer to them. 

Today was such a day. He hadn’t forewarned me but I had an inkling something was up; I’d heard him making arrangements on the phone, although I am not sure at what point he’d decided to include me. 

He’d come out of the bedroom, his face impassive but his eyes flickering with excitement. ”Here, look what I’ve got you”. 

His hands appeared from behind his back and he held up a collar with a leash attached. It was black leather and studded with small glittering stones; it was beautiful. He reached out and put it, gently and reassuringly, around my neck. I love the smell of new leather. 

”Look at you”, he whispered, softly ad seductively in my ear, ”so beautiful”. 

He was always paying me compliments like this but I remained unimpressed. He found my aloofness attractive. He came from an affluent background, so possessions and friendships had been easy to attain. He was used to attention and took it for granted. Id others reacted with disinterest or indifference to his presence, it intrigued and attracted him. He was certainly attracted by my indifference. He wanted to win me over, gain my affections, but capturing my heart was never going to happen. I accommodated his needs, he served me. 

Having secure the collar, he turned and led me by the leash along the carpeted landing. I didn’t resist, I wasn’t going to spoil his fun. As we entered the bedroom his brogues clicked sharply on the polished floorboards, making an oddly disconcerting sound. 

He led me to the chaise longue by the large window opposite his four-poster bed. He looked at me sternly, as though I was a small girl, then commanded: ”Stay there and  don’t move, she’ll be here soon and then the show can begin”. 

Outwardly, he was confident, self assured, but I could sense an underlying tension, a faint anxiety. I knew he was concerned that she wouldn’t turn up. He’d feel foolish if she didn’t. He clipped the leash to a metal ring that had been set into the wall by the chaise longue. It was all part of the game, but I had no intention of going anywhere, I was interested in his little show. 

He went downstairs, leaving me in the calm silence of the room. I strained my ears. I could hear him moving about in the hallway. I knew what he was doing: checking his face and hair in the mirror, practising expressions of stern displeasure, disapproval, haughtiness; I’d seen it all before. The there was the sound of the doorbell, a heavy chime, a few excited exchanges, subdued squeals and then silence, only for a few seconds, before I heard a muffled sound, a sort of soft but heavy padding. The sound gradually became clearer and then I heard him gently but firmly giving directions, his voice calm  and reassuring. 

”That’s it, only a couple more steps, good girl.”

The shuffling sound was now quite distinct. He entered the bedroom, his shoes rapping authoritatively on the floor. 

His voice was sharper now, he was tugging on a leash. 

”Come on, my cock’s impatient.”

I heard her voice before I saw her. 

”Yes, sir, I’m coming.”

When she entered the room my heart began to thump. Like me, she had a collar around her neck. However, unlike me, she was blindfolded and crawling on her hands and knees. But it wasn’t her position that had caused my heart to jump with excitement, it was her clothing. She was wearing a beautiful, white, full length fur coat.

I love fur. Nothing compares to its softness, its warmth, its luxuriousness. He sensed my excitement and put his forefinger to his lips signalling for me to stay quiet. 

”Is your husband at work?”

”Yes, sir.” 

”And did you tell him?”

”Yes, sir. ”

”And what did he say?”

”He told me to be good.” 

He stopped by the bed, having led her onto a thick rug. ”Kneel before me.”

As she raised herself into a kneeling position I could clearly see the black velvet blindfold masking her eyes, the black leather chocker that contrasted with her milky complexion and the white fur of the coat. He bent down and detached the leash and at the same time he kissed her. She opened her mouth, breathing heavily, and their tongues melted into each other. He began caressing the fur coat, his hands running over her shoulders and arms, and then pulled it open. She wore nothing underneath and her full, luscious breasts trembled as the coat was forced apart. He pink nipples were pierced by small silver rings and from each ring a pearl droplet dangled from a delicate silver chain. He cupped her breasts and licked them and played with the pearls, gently tugging them, causing them to gasp. He kissed her neck and her ears and then moved back to her mouth. My eyes were transfixed by the bright luminescent pearls as they gently swung from her nipples. Then he broke the kiss ad stood up. 

”Take it out.” His voice was harsh. 

She pulled at his belt and then undid the button on his waistband and began to unzip him. She eased his trousers and shorts down over his tights, gradually revealing the length of his cock until it was released and sprang out, swaying in front of her face, before settling into a rigid salute. I’d rarely seen his cock in a state of flaccidity. It always seemed to be at least semi – erect. He was forever playing with it in front of me. It was large and thick, and when it was fully bloated, it was quite a sight. If he caught me in the right mood, it could have a soporific, almost hypnotic effect on me. He enjoyed me watching him play with himself and would often entertain me (and himself) for considerable periods of time, which I found amusing as well as absorbing. There’s something very tantalising about an erect cock; it has such a presence, there’s almost an edibility about it. If I ever tried to take it in my mouth, he would laugh and push me away. He does love teasing. 

He was teasing now. He took hold of the base of his cock, which was magnificently erect and drew the tip along the side of her cheek. Feeling the silky glans on her face, she turned her head towards it, and when it connected with her eager mouth, she began to suckle on the purple head. He let her enjoy herself and stood, with hands on his hips, while she took in as much of him as she could manage. She then placed her hands around the shaft and began to feast on it. Soon, the length of his cock was glistening with her saliva and she was panting like a dog. A dog with a bone. The comparison amused me. 

While she enjoyed herself, he gently stroked her hair and murmured encouragingly. ”That’s it, good girl, good girl.” He then placed a hand on each side of her head and moved his hips slowly back and forth. She removed her hands from his cock, to make her mouth more accessible and cupped the cheeks of his buttocks to steady herself against his rhythmic thrusts. As she did so, her fur sleeves brushed his tights, exciting them. His tempo increased. 

He looked across at me, eyes half closed, and gave me a lazy smile. After a while he withdrew and told her to finish undressing him, which she did. It took some time as she was still blindfolded and, without the benefit of sight, undoing the thin laces of his brogues provided a finicky task. 

Although crouched in a big bundle of white fur, the delicate movement of her fingers, as she attempted to undo his laces, lent her an elegance that I found enchanting. I watched, fascinated. She reminded me of a big white cat and I found the scene rather arousing. Eventually she stood up and, as she did so, she ran her hands from his thighs up to his chest, caressing his flesh. They began kissing again and his hands reached down and fondlet the fur covering her bottom. He raised a knee between her legs and she began to rub her vulva up and down the top of his thigh, causing her coat to drop back, revealing a shapely leg. She undid his shirt, carefully feeling her way along the path of the buttons and puller it back over his shoulders. She began to kiss and lick his chest, working her way down to his belly and back onto his cock while he completed the removal of his shirt. 

Then she moved behind him, sat on her haunches, stroked his buttocks and began to lick his bottom, her tongue gently gliding up and down the cleft of his buttocks and bhe grunted appreciatively. After a while she began to work her tongue back and forth along his spine from the small of his back towards his shoulders, gradually standing up and she did so until she was kissing the back of his neck. Her hands reached to his front where she gripped his cock with one hand and began to work the shaft while she caressed his belly with the other. I could see he was enjoying himself but he suddenly broke away and said harshly, ”Now, on the bed.”

He took her by the hand and brought her round in front of me so she was standing by the end of the bed. He then lay her down until she was spread, her body naked and glamorous, with her white fur coat, soft, rich and glossy fanned out beneath her. He caressed her flesh, running his hand over her breasts and belly, plucking her nipples and softly working his fingers on the outside of her pussy while her hips undulated beneath him. And then he put one arm beneath her shoulder, raised her head to his mouth and kissed her. She responded, tightening her arms around his neck, pressing herself to him as his free hand worked deftly between her legs. I watched, captivated, as he slowly buried his fingers in her pussy, and her hips and buttocks writhed on his hand and she softly moaned. He played with her like this  for some time. 

Eventually, he got off the bed, took her by the ankles and pulled her towards him until her bottom rested at the edge of the mattress. He then knelt on the floor between her legs, placed his hands underneath her tights and lifted and parted them. I watched the back of his head as it moved from side to side, up and down and back and forth between her legs, and listened to her moans getting louder.

After a while, he pushed her thighs right back and spread her legs wide and I could hear the sound of his mouth sucking and licking and then he stood up, took hold of her ankles and pushed them back over her head. I could clearly see his magnificent cock, hanging between his legs, positioned over her luscious vulva which was plump and glistening, the delicate lips open and inviting. He began working the tip of his cock along the crease of her pussy, back and forth, massaging and teasing the soft flesh. He did this repeatedly ad she begged him to fill her, but still he continued, until I could hear the moistened lips of her pussy slurping in anticipation as they clung to his cock.

And then he slowly squeezed into her until his balls rested snugly against her. He began to fuck her, slowly at first then his pace increased and my attention was drawn to the muscles of his buttocks as they tensed with each thrust. The moans and groans were now accompanied by juicy, succulent sounds as his hips moved vigorously back and forth.  

After a while he stopped. He was sweating now and breathing heavily. He pulled out of her, climbed onto bed and straddled her head. 

”Lick my balls until I tell you to stop.”

She did as she was told, gripping his thighs, tending to his balls as thought they were ripe grapes hanging from a wine. 

By the side of the chaise longue there was a large, oak – framed cheval mirror and he was now watching himself, enjoying the different perspective, seeing his actions from my point of view. he was quite unabashed; he cared about no on but himself. We really are very similar in many ways. 

He spoke again, his voice sounding bored and irritated; all part of his game. ”That’s enough. Now lie face down. I want your knees up by your head and your buttocks high up in the air.”

She positioned herself as directed. Her bottom was so high that the coat slipped down her back and gathered in a great ruffle of fur around her shoulders. Her exposed lower back and raised bottom looked like the unsheathed shaft and glans of an enormous, white, furry cock. I found the sight extremely erotic. He climbed onto the bed, mounted her ad then began to fuck her with slow deliberate thrusts, while he gently caressed her exposed bottom and thighs; and as his excitement mounted his fucking became more passionate, almost frenzied. He grabbed handfuls of fur around her shoulders and began to pummel his hips into her, and her soft moaning turned to violent shouts and entreaties. She raised herself on her hands and her breasts swung out from the open coat and the pearls hanging from her nipples shone like droplets of lustrous semen as they rocked violently, beguilingly, back and forth, in time with his thrusts. 

I could now feel the heat from their bodies, the warmth from their breath. The smell of sex filled the room. The noise, the heat, the movement, began to cloy my senses; I found it difficult to stay still. Their mouths were hanging open as they panted and grunted while he crushed into her from behind, ad then let out a strangled cry; the veins on his neck standing out, his face red and twisted, his hips pressed fully into her rear, his belly tight against her buttocks. He stayed like this for several seconds as though the suction of her cunt had sealed him to her and then he buckled, panting and exhausting, and fell back on the bed. She lay there, breathing heavily, her head resting on the sheets, her bottom still raised. 

”My God”, she said, ”that was wonderful.”

I didn’t think so. I thought they looked like two dogs; a bitch in the heat with an old mongrel. The image amused but then unsettled and alarmed me as similar images, quite unbidden, began to flood my mind. Two fucking dogs were joined by a myriad other canines; a dog with a bone, a mad dog, an old dog, dogs running, snarling, whelping, panting, barking; fucking mad dogs, barking. I felt anxious then panicky. I let out a high pitched cry as the images crowded my mind, overwhelming and maddening me. 

”What was that?” said the woman suddenly alert. 

He peeled off her blindfold and she looked across at me, directly into my eyes. And then she smiled. 

”Oh, you are beautiful!”

”I thought you’d like her.”

She came across and stroked my head. I bit her. 

”Ow, you spiteful animal!”

He laughed. ”She’s very possessive I’m afraid, but I love her to bits. I like to think she’s the reincarnation of an Egyptian princess.”

The woman settled back on the bed and the two lovers caressed each other and he kissed her bitten hand. 

The cat watched them, disdainfully, imperiously and with a little contempt. She lay back and stretched. She was bored with their antics. She didn’t like people; they were stupid, smelly and irritating. And they lacked style. The man who thought he owned her was a case in point.  

 

 

 

 

Happy Hour in Paradis


16 comentarii

Am plecat din Paradis nu de buna voie si nesilita de nimeni, ci data afara, asa cum sunt izgoniti oamenii sanatosi, prinsi cu minciuna, din sanatorii.

Sunt doar doua caracteristici ale conditiei umane: ori esti o fiinta adaptabila, ori sinucigasa.

M-am adaptat oarecum binisor la portile Edenului, in apartamentul meu mic din Bucuresti pentru cateva luni, pana cand panicile cu care imi insel Eu-ul, m-au impins inapoi, direct flight first class, in Paradis. Acum stau confuza, contempland la ce boala sa imi aleg, asa cum contemplez ce rochie sa imi cumpar; ce boala decid sa am ca sa imi platesc sederea aici in Paradis, unde suntem toti si normali si bolnavi, depinde din ce unghi privesti.

– Champagne?

– Sure.

Domnul zambeste.

Nu uiti niciodata tabieturile din Paradis.

Anna povesteste o intamplare amuzanta – cred – din ultima ei excursie la Monaco. Doamna ambasadorului isi aduce aminte ca acolo a fost dezvirginata de un mulatru african, in iahtul tatalui ei. Domnul cere detalii. Anna aplauda cu manutele ei gingase, muscandu-si buzele de rusoaica perversa, excitata la ideea unei conversatii mai palpitante.

In fata mea sta domnul, dar nu ma uit la el, ma uit la mine in oglinda din spatele dansului. Pierd si aceasta discutie, cum le-am pierdut pe toate in seara asta, si incruntata de ce vad in spatele domnului dau pe gat paharul de sampanie.

Sunt trezita din absenta mea de tacerea personajelor de la masa.

– More? intreaba domnul pe un ton rece, cum ar intreba un domn plictisit si fara timp, o prostituata timida.

Dau din cap in semn de aprobare cu privirea plecata spre lantisorul de la glezna mea, putin rusinata ca am fost prinsa neascultand povestile celor de la masa. In hi society, this is unacceptable.

Anna, fiinta cu bataie de inima, isi strange sprancenele mofturoasa, oarecum ingrijorata, imi cuprinde degetele in manuta ei si ma intreaba Everything ok, baby?

Eu la auzul acestui baby, sau poate doar din cauza alcoolului, rad salbatic si foarte nepotrivit pentru localul acesta scump, lounge in forma de palat pentru o societate nisata de degenerati.

Doamna ambasadorului, observator prea inteligent, vrea sa ii raspunda Annei in locul meu, dar suntem salvati intrerupti de JJ care apare la brat de sotia lui glamorous.

Ne ridicam cu totii in picioare sa o cunoastem pe dna JJ. Eu o stiu deja din poze, ea din ura. Domnul o cunoaste dintr-o pasiune adultera, Anna nu stie nimic iar dna ambasadorului stie tot. JJ rade fascinat amintindu-mi de Eliazar din Baletul Mecanic al lui Cezar Petrescu.

Dau pe gat jumatate de pahar, alt gest nepotrivit pentru standardele din Paradis, dar ce drac, sunt totusi romanca, si ma scuz intreband de ladies room.

Ies afara, amuzata de precizia cu care inca imi misc soldurile pe Christian Louboutin de 12 cm, cobor in gradina si ma asez pe trepte cu oboseala anilor si greutatea experientelor din viata mea. Imi privesc bratara incolacita pe mana stanga, in forma de sarpe cu ochi de diamant, colectie Tiffany, menita sa imi aminteasca de nopti senine nu tumultoase, si imi dau lacrimile.

Imi trece prin minte o imagine cu mine mai mica, inaltata pe un scaun de lemn in aparamentul saracacios de langa Cluj, in bucatarie langa mama care imi face clatite, privind avioanele si visand ca intr-o zi o sa zbor si eu spre o viata luxoasa cu peripetii extravagante si ma intreb ironic how the fuck did I get here ?

first class, imi raspund tot eu in monologul meu pe cat de tragic pe atat de comic.

G.

 

ce am invatat pana la 30 de ani, legat intr-un poem


6 comentarii

After a while
you learn the subtle difference between holding a hand and chaining a soul
and you learn love doesn’t mean leaning and company doesn’t always mean security.
And you begin to learn that kisses aren’t contracts and presents aren’t always promises
and you begin to accept your defeats with your head up and and your eyes ahead with the grace of a woman, not the grief of a child.
And you learn to build all your roads on today because tomorrow’s ground is too uncertain for plans and futures have a way of falling down in mid-flight.
After a while you learn that even sunshine burns if you get too much
So you plant your own garden and decorate your own soul instead of waiting for someone to bring you flowers
And you learn that you really can endure, that you really are strong and you really do have worth and you learn and you learn
with every good-bye you learn.

Author: Veronica A. Shoffstall


Un comentariu

leaving is not enough; you must
stay gone. train your heart
like a dog. change the locks
even on the house he’s never
visited. you lucky, lucky girl.
you have an apartment
just your size. a bathtub
full of tea. a heart the size
of Arizona, but not nearly
so arid. don’t wish away
your cracked past, your
crooked toes, your problems
are papier mache puppets
you made or bought because the vendor
at the market was so compelling you just
had to have them. you had to have him.
and you did. and now you pull down
the bridge between your houses,
you make him call before
he visits, you take a lover
for granted, you take
a lover who looks at you
like maybe you are magic. make
the first bottle you consume
in this place a relic. place it
on whatever altar you fashion
with a knife and five cranberries.
don’t lose too much weight.
stupid girls are always trying
to disappear as revenge. and you
are not stupid. you loved a man
with more hands than a parade
of beggars, and here you stand. heart
like a four-poster bed. heart like a canvas.
heart leaking something so strong
they can smell it in the street.

Frida Kahlo to Marty McConnell

daca ai asa multi bani si asa putin timp


28 comentarii

“That’s the thing about pain. It demands to be felt.”

—John Green, The Fault in Our Stars

Ma gandesc ca imi dezamgesc viitorul, dar nu am nici o alta idee mai buna. Toata viata mea a fost asa: cand nimic nu a mai avut sens, m-am intors in Romania.

Am mai fost aici, imi spun. Acum 5 ani, cand am plecat din Londra. I-am dat cheia apartamentului meu verisoarei mele. Am lasat totul acolo: haine, parfumuri, mobila, periuta de dinti si amintirile toate. M-am intors in Romania pentru ca pentru mine tara in care m – am nascut e asemanatoare cu starea de coma.  Si e nevoie de coma uneori ca sa te trezesti la viata.

Am mai fost aici, dar acum e diferit. Acum traiesc in marmura si diamante si soferul imi conduce Maserati – ul argintiu. Atunci eram doar amanta cuiva, acum scrie Director pe cartea de vizita. Atunci i-am lasat totul verisoarei mele. Acum ii las totul femeii care imi face curat in apartament. Atunci am fugit de tristete, acum ma duc sa ma razboiesc cu ea. Exact asa ma simt: ca tinerii trimisi la razboi. Sunt datoare cu lacrimi si ma duc sa le platesc.

Stiu ca totul pare o fabula. Rad si eu si plang si imi dau seama cat de fucked up e totul. Cat de fucked up sunt eu. Ai spune ca daca tot am plecat de atatea ori, ar trebui sa fie mai usor. Gen, experienta. Dar nu e asa. Am ajuns departe (vezi mama, am ajuns departe) si doare mai tare cand cazi de la inaltime.

Sunt cea mai buna varianta a mea. Mi-am depasit toate visele, am primit mai mult decat am cerut, mai mult decat am crezut. Acum zece ani am crezut ca am sperante si ambitii mari in viata, acum ma uit inapoi si le vad modeste. Stiu ca par un fel de propovaduitor new age, dar cine a zis ca totul e posibil in viata, atat timp cat stii foarte bine ce vrei, a avut mare dreptate.

Imi sparg singura bula asta de cristal in care traiesc si imi sugrum din proprie initiativa viata de printesa. Vin in Romania asa cum am plecat. Cu bagajul de mana. Nu vreau neaparat sa fac asta si sunt paralizata de frica ca iepurii, dar nu vad nici o alta optiune.

Cand m-am uitat dupa apartamente in Bucuresti, ma gandeam la o casa mare in Cotroceni asa cum am inchiriat cand am plecat din Londra. Dar motivele pentru care imi introduc singura coma acum nu sunt aceleasi ca acum 5 ani asa ca imi voi lua un apartament cu o camera de dimensiunea baii de un scriu acum. Chiria ma va costa cat platesc aici pe cina intr-o seara de marti. Dar daca ma incapatanez sa redefinesc durerea macar sa o fac fara anestezie si fara marmura si sofer.

Plec pentru ca nu stiu sa manageriez foarte bine depresia, asa ca incerc nebunia.

 

 

zile pline de absenta ei


10 comentarii

Fumez un trabuc si beau un Nespresso intr-o rochita neagra, mulata si moale ca pacatul, pe gresia alba din baie. Nopti similare m-au format si educat in acest eu care sunt azi.

Totul are o explicatie, si trabucul si gresia si viata.

Fumez trabucul primit ieri de la un oarecare pentru ca nu mai am nici tigari, nici energie ca sa cobor 17 etaje cu liftul pana la magazinul din fata complexului unde stau. Beau Nespresso ca nu am nimic in frigider in afara de doi morcovi si 4 sticle de sampanie Veuve Clicquot. Parca sunt o prostituata in Paradis.

Ma gandesc ca as vrea sa fie Ea aici, nu ca sa ii vorbesc ci sa o ascult.

Inlatur gandul cu un Nurofen Forte, achizitie din Romania. Nu mai am Xanax si in tara in care sunt acum, oameni rai imbracati in alb, ascunsi in cutii de farmacii, nu se inchina nici farmecelor mele nici banilor mei. Am nevoie de prescriptie autorizata de doctorii lor.

Aici in Paradis, viata decurge intr-un automatist etern. Inconjurata de marmura si aur si cladiri de sticla, inspir expir zilnic fara nici un scop. Ma trezesc la 7.30, fac dus in arome cu miros de lamai verzi, cafea, telefon, ziare care imi distrag atentia de la dezastrele proprii, soferul care ma asteapta cu o alta cafea si alte ziare, drumul pana la birou cand ma uit pe geam fara sa vad nimic, cladirea de pe insula cu numele firmei in argintiu, receptia cu crini inalti, lift, etajul 59, oameni mici si oameni mari, asistenta mea pe care nu o duce capul dar care arata bestial, masa de lucru cu Mac -ul prea mare si prea sofisticat, mailuri, intalniri, telefoane, alte contracte, alte meeting-uri fara sens, adoarme soarele si incep iesirile prin locatii zgomotoase, zambete false si propozitii lungi indulcite de cocktailuri complicate, soferul, alta cladire inalta, alt etaj, alta camera de nebuni pe care o numesc casa.

Nu vrei Doamne sa ma izbavesti de viitor?

gladiola

(eu)

cubul


19 comentarii

Intotdeauna am avut cu mine un cub negru cu un lant pe dinafara care imi leaga o glezna. Oamenii care ”m-au tratat” de-a lungul anilor i-au pus diferite nume: ADHD, bipolar disorder, childhood trauma – desi eu nu imi amintesc de nici o dramarisk addiction, narcisism, etc. Anna il numeste ”fitza” si doamna ambasadorului il numeste ”plictiseala”. Xanax, alcohol, sex, cocaine, yoga, etc am incercat diferite ”tratamente” nu neaparat pentru ca am crezut in vindecare ci mai mult de dragul de a incerca – asa cum fac cu toate in viata.

Deci mereu am dus cu mine un cub negru, un fel de safe box in care intru din cand in cand, nu neaparat de bunavoie si nesilita de nimeni, ci mai degraba ca am nevoie sa fiu acolo. Focus baby! Depresia a fost cel mai bun lucru care mi s-a intamplat vreodata, dintr-un milion de motive care nu are rost sa le insir aici. Nici macar nu vreau sa fiu crezuta.

Cubul negru in care intru cateodata e de obicei destul de comfortabil. Ma ajuta sa diferentiez realitatea de imaginatie. Dar cateodata se strang peretii cu mine inauntru si ma sufoc acolo. Prea multe ganduri care imi violeaza from behind toata fericirea. Oh well, I always liked it ruff.

Cine sunt totusi? The choices that I’ve made are my choices or somebody’s else? Ma sperie lumina? Asta e un ocean sau un munte? Imi fac cruce infasurata in burka. Crezi in inocenta mea? E reala doar ca e nascuta din pura perversiune. I want to be broken more than I want to be complete. Unghiile mele sunt prea lungi pentru o verigheta. Vreau copii? As avea curajul sa le spun tot ce stiu despre viata asta? Cred in intentii mai mult decat in fapte. Ai vrea sa ma legi de pat si sa i-o tragi ei deasupra mea? Hai strange-ma putin de gat. Ti-e mila de mine? Good, pentru ca viata pe care o traiesti tu scares the fuck out of me. Iubire? Care definitie a ei vrei sa o incercam? Vezi sutele de amprente tatuate pe trupul meu? Crede-ma, trupul asta e mai pur decat virgina la care visezi. Lasa draperiile. Vreau ca lumea sa vada. Ce culoare au visele tale? Bow down witches. Dispretul tau ma amuza teribil. Aspiratii de budoir. Vrei sa stii cine sunt cu adevarat? Let me open my legs. Stiu ca uneori ma imprumuti sa tin loc de idol. Keep the champagne coming, darling.  De ce crezi ca imi e frica de iad? Sunt lichida, ma acomodez oriunde. Is this the right career path for me? Atunci lasa-ma sa ingenunchez in biroul meu. La ce te gandesti cand imi musc buzele? Don’t be silly, your wife knows the secrets. Lacrimile mele pe care vrei sa le saruti sunt cu otrava. Eu plang doar pentru ca nu imi pare rau. Nu imi da nimic din ce iti cer.

Vrei sa vezi magie?

femeile se tradeaza in gesturi


10 comentarii

Nu mi-a fost niciodata atat de greu sa scriu. Parca am uitat toate limbile de pe pamant. Povestea  asta a fost atat de fizica incat cred ca numai limbajul trupului ar putea sa-i dezvaluie secretele.

Daca as face dragoste cu cineva azi, cu orcine altcineva decat cu iubitul meu, ar putea sa citeasca povestea din felul in care am orgasm. Chiar daca nu mi-a cunoscut nici un alt orgasm.

Nu am inteles niciodata mai bine de ce se spune ca iubirea orbeste, decat cand mi-am vazut iubitul refuzand sa desluseasca confesiuni evidente.

M-am fortat sa zambesc la tigara de dupa in timp ce el mi-a spus cu o sinceritate necrutatoare: ”Parca am facut dragoste cu o alta femeie.”

Dragul meu, daca ai sti …

Intr-o seara mi-a spus amuzat in timp ce ma privea cum imi aranjez parul si machiajul, inainte sa iesim la un restaurant din centrul Bucurestiului: ”Iubita mea, daca nu te-as cunoaste mai bine, as spune ca exista un alt barbat in viata ta.” Parca am fost lovita de un tren express, marca japoneza. Am inceput sa tremur suferind de o imaginara febra tifoida. Un barbat care nu ma iubea atat mai suspicios ar fi stiut chiar atunci tot adevarul.

– De ce spui asta? il intreb eu cu o siguranta in cuvinte care ma inspaimanta si pe mine. Nici nu stiam ca pot sa mint atat de calm.

– Te dai cu mai mult ruj. Asa faceai si cand te-ai indragostit de mine. Parca ai vrea sa fi sarutata mai mult.

– Da? Nu imi amintesc.

– Femeile se tradeaza in gesturi, continua el inca amuzat si inca glumind. Uite de exemplu am observat ca fumezi cu stanga. Tu nu fumezi niciodata cu stanga.

Fumez cu stanga pentru ca el era mereu in dreapta mea. Pentru ca mana mea dreapta era tinuta captiva in mana lui.  

– Hai sa mergem la masa, ii spun eu si ma ascund plangand cu lacrimi invizibile in bratele lui.

Te iubesc, i-am soptit si nu am mintit.

Dumnezeule, iti jur ca nu am mintit!

Karma isi plateste mereu datoriile. Viata nu mi-a refuzat nimic si pentru asta karma imi inapoiaza totul indoit de parca ar plati unui camatar nebun. Cine e de vina? Cel care cere sau cel care da? 

Credeam ca imi cunosc toti diavolii. Ii cunoasteam atat de bine incat au inceput sa ma plictiseasca. Apoi l-am cunoscut pe tatal lor. Ce faci cand descoperi parti din tine care te fac sa te blestemi? Cum inveti sa te iubesti?

In bratele acelea am trait cel mai intens high. Dar ca orice high, sentimentul e pe cat de puternic pe atat de scurt. Imediat ce ramaneam singura ma spalam in dus cu lacrimi dulci amarui, de parca am fost violata. Imi juram mincinos ca asta a fost ultimul fix, ultimul high. Dar ca orice addict, ma intorceam a doua zi cersind mai mult.

Am trait atat de mult incercand sa ma eliberez de lanturile iubirii. Acum traiesc luptand sa o pastrez.

P.S I’m pretty much fucked. Trust me.

un caiet nou


19 comentarii

Cand am deschis cufarul cu toate secretele mele, mai bine spus acest blog, am avut un mini atac de panica. De cand nu am mai fost aici? S-au schimbat toate settings-urile, imi e totul strain si nou. You’re using the new editor. Switch to classic mode.

Nimic nu imbatraneste mai tare decat incapatanarea proasta in favoarea  obisnuintei. Iubitul meu din Londra, (ce om important in viata mea si cat de putin am scris despre el) cu 16 ani mai in varsta decat mine pe buletin si cu 16 ani mai tanar in suflet, mi-a spus mereu sa ma inconjur de oameni tineri ca sa nu uit pulsul vietii. Sa imbratisez tot ce e nou, ca doar asa pot sfida timpul. Switch to classic mode? Nu.

Nu cred ca sunt cu nimeni mai intima decat sunt cu toti strainii care imi citesc blogul. Nu ma cunoaste nimeni mai bine decat cei care deschid adresa asta si imi intra in ganduri, poftiti de invitatia unui blog public. Unii din voi intrati aici cu delicatete altii cu bocancii murdari, unii imi spuneti multe, altii nu imi spuneti nimic, unii ma credeti desteapta, altii o curva proasta. Adevarul e undeva in toate.

Am visat azi noapte ca stau la masa cu toti oamenii care mi-au citit blogul. M-am trezit speriata. Iar acum confuza, ca nu recunosc nimic.

Blogul asta apare in viitor ca ceva lasat in trecut.

Sigur asta e jurnalul meu? 

Doar fericirea si dragostea ma impiedica sa scriu. Pentru ca nu sunt scriitoare si sunt limitata doar la viata mea, nu am nici o scapare cand cad intr-una din starile astea sau cand sunt intre ele. Vreau sa scriu azi pentru mine si numai pentru mine. Nu vreau sa scriu pentru oamenii cu care am cinat aseara in vis. Vreau sa rastorn adevarul in cuvinte ca sa nu ma mai sperie propriul meu jurnal.

Exista un motiv pentru care toate insemnarile mele din ultimii (doi? trei?) ani nu au nici inceput, nici sens, nici continuitate. Refuz sa scriu despre acest adevar absolut pe care il traiesc. Refuz sa il recunosc. Pentru ca sunt intima aici si goala, mi-e frica ca daca il scriu e adevarat.

Voi scrie de acum ca si cum incep un caiet nou. Asta faceam inainte cand scriam cu stiloul si nu cu tastele. Asta faceam inainte cand ii ascundeam jurnalului, confesiuni. Lasam caietul vechi, fara explicatii, si incepeam unul nou.

Viata mea nu trebuie sa aiba sens pentru nimeni, decat pentru mine.

G.

prezent


8 comentarii

Ma caut disperata prin ganduri ce dispar si apar ametitor. Caut muzica perfecta si starea potrivita si nu o gasesc niciodata.

Cine am fost si cine sunt?

Tanjesc dupa dureri ascutite si lacrimi care taie obrazul ca lamele noi.

Vand ieftin idei de suficienta, cumpar scump promisiuni mincinoase. Platesc in timp, singurul currency care merita.

Ma abandonez in zile lipsite de continut. 6 am, 11 pm, check in, check out, arrivals, departures, Caviar? Sure! Repeat.

Obisnuiam sa privesc cerul de pe pamant. Acum il privesc doar din aer intre zboruri fara destinatii reale.

Multe orase, multi oameni, liste lungi de responsabilitati stupide. Cafea indulcita cu stres in dimineti fara timp, nopti pierdute in pahare cu picior lung, zambete fortate pentru o semnatura noua pe contracte cu zerouri in coada. Un altfel de nebunie.

Dior here, Tom Ford there, alung sentimentul de inutilitate cu o noua achizitie Michael Kors bag.

Demonii mei s-au civilizat. Stau cuminti, all professional.

Citesc in Bloomberg ca traim in haos. Unde? How do you define chaos? 

Sunt atinsa in pozitia misionarului, sunt iubita in cantitati perfecte, sunt rasplatita in proportii matematice.

I have nothing worth losing. 

Cata absenta, Dumnezeule!

As vrea sa uit tot ce stiu.