Cruel Young Lover

I look at myself, my body naked and reflected in the mirror, a sheen
still on my skin from the shower. The light from the lamp is low and
golden. I run the palms of my hands over chest, my stomach. Here, in
this quietness, I am myself. Unclothes in my room, touching only
myself. The feeling is good.

I have an hour to get ready so I take my time. I move slowly, choose
some music. Something with a soft Latin rhythm. A samba, perhaps. I
open the a drawer in my dressing table and choose some underwear.
Brief, black and expensive. A gift. Sliding them on I already feel
myself changing. A new game begins.

My shirt is fresh, the fine cotton glimmering in the darkness of the
wardrobe. It's nice against my skin. Cool. A summer wedding feeling. I
opt for a black suit second hand but elegant. The trousers hug my
thighs, make me look Spanish. I do up the buttons and turn again to the
mirror, pass a hand through my dark hair. The music curls around my
head like smoke from a Cuban cigar. Then I turn back my cuffs and
fasten them. The cufflinks are bright against the creamy whiteness. I
wear no tie.

I can hear the rain against the window. Heavy summer showers that make
the pavements shine. I spray my neck with Cologne that feels like water
on the back of my neck and I light a cigarette, waiting for your
discreet knock at the front door. I wait.............

..............................Opening a bottle, I smile at you, pleased
that you've finally come. The wine glimmers in the glass I give you.
Your eyes are tired, watchful, but you smile too and we take our first
drink, talking in quiet voices, anticipating the moment when we put
down out glasses and begin to kiss.....

Kiss. When I kiss you it's a dance beginning. Your lips are soft. I
take pleasure in them, taste the wine in your mouth, a trace of garlic.
Your movements intensify and I feel your hand on me, moving over my
clothes. A slow heat rising inside like waves in tropical water. I open
my eyes and look at your face as you kiss me....the little lines around
your eyes, the scar on your cheek. Then I slip off my jacket and reach
for the bottle.

The wine is cold. We drink more and come close to me
again....undressing, skin flushed. The kisses are harder. Your breath
is ragged and I know I'm winning. Your fingers pull at the buttons of
my shirt, unzip me....loosen my trousers. Yes. The room shifts, tilts.
Yes. I can feel your hand moving over my stomach, under the waistband
of my briefs. Yes. There's rain on the window. The darkness presses
closer around the house. You skin smells like caramel. You pull down my
briefs and I feel the hot wetness of your mouth on me. Yes. .....

Your hands moving over my skin make me breathe harder. I knead your
body like a famished thing and cry out, make a hoarse sound. Yes.
There's a cold light in you that scares me but we go. Yes. Go on in the
exhaltation of nakedness, your body heavy against mine and the good
thing rising inside me. Yes. You're tree bark and sandalwood. Your hand
on me pumps the blood, makes the skin sheen bloom and I rum my hands
over your hard back and buttocks, the rhythm wild in my head.

Afterwards we don't talk and I watch you pick up your clothes. The
tattoo at the base of you spine is emerald green against the brown
skin. You clear your throat and look down at me, half-smiling. Then you
go and I listen to your footsteps in the hall, the door closing with a
soft but decisive click. I listen for a few minutes to the samba still
drifting through the room, wipe my body with the corner of the sheet.
Then get up and turn off the music. You've taken the money I left for
you.