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Short intermezzo with a London escort


I don’t know him.

And I don’t think that I want to find out… I only saw him a few times, actually a

little more times. A strong and dark man which was bringing every time into my mind my favorite

stories… the ones with vampires…


From a while now, I get the feeling that something is changing, transforming into my mind… everything

that I can think or feel, is connected with him. Is enough to close my eyes to see his face, his rough

beautifulness, but with a smile as light as the one of an innocent child.


If I had the gift of drawing I would fill my world of sketches with him… of his body cached for a moment

in a position of sensual giving, in abandon which is almost indecent because of its hotness and because

of his eyes which I only know from far away, but I can feel them, big and black, wearing deep inside

them hell’s fire and the coldness of the sky.

I imagine his taste and the perfume of his amber colored skin, the way my hand would walk over it, how

my tongue would feel its salt and summer taste. I imagine its great and hard to see shapes getting tense

and trembling while we would make love for a long time, until the end of the world.

Chris is just a name, the world for me. I can barely see the image lightning through my closed eyes,

which were waiting for you, not being able to see you more often, for real, not being able to talk to him

because he already belong to someone else. Oh no, not another person, but by the life itself who threw

each other in another corner of existence which made us enemies before we had the chance to get to

know each other.


I’m watching him from my dark corner, hidden under the peaceful mask of unknown, I’m painting my

look on his body, I’m calling him with the voice of my mind, I want him and I hate him, while him, proud,

continues his existence marked by my starring eyes.

Sometimes it seems that he feels my crazy adoration because he turns around and he sees me for a

moment, before I get lost deeper in my obscure darkness.


What would he say if we would knew that in my dreams his lips caressed my breasts a thousand times,

that I screamed like he burned me with his bites, that I was melting when he was holding me, that I

received his body into mine countless times, that our blood is already mixed? What would he say if he

would knew that I wrote his name with fire and ice inside me, that he is destined to me with curses?



But, he can’t ever know this and I keep calling his name with every fiber of my body, that I dream him

exactly like he is, the god of the unknown.

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