Confessions

What a fool I am. What a smack! From which part of my grey brain such idea so incredibly impossible can take form. I know if I leave it like this you will wonder of what. I need to confess and please let you judge me from the human too human side not on the light of legal details. I pledge my innocent soul to the jury. I was crazy to think that she will come out with me and the weird though I had was so crazy that I did not even ask her.

As male specimen of my race I have as all my elderly companions a basic classification for the male’s loving-sexual life.

In the beginning and it was written between a joke and a lost memory, female as male see their past lovers divided in two blur categories. Trust me in this one; it is simpler that to count until ten and without doubts it is true; follow me.

Firstly there are female whom male laid during the erotic life. They are the trophies; they are my trophies. They are school sweethearts finger during college parties, solitary kiss made heavyweight and grow by “I love you “ lies whisper to create a mood. The best mate girlfriend naked on the bonnet of dad’s car and some else in the neighbour. Teens and mature ones they were different in colour, language and religions if today you still have the need for one. I, for the past twenty year, distort myself to search and to never discover the absolute carnal nirvanas. I am damaged.

To soften all the above, I need to do it, I must approve the glorious time of passion from the unwanted protected excessive sex. All the miss opportunity and the regret without faces and names that I can not forget just because and now I understand they are unfilled The no entries, the no ways and the long wait outside underground stations under the rain, it is England, looking the turn of hours and seven calls without a answer asking to myself why conversation become lost.

I can accept negativity or even an easy explanation but it is the silence which slowly kills me. Let add the contradiction made by unveil the biggest nonsense or how century ago was still be call romanticism.

Moment like sharing a slice of chocolate cake on the cold November evening of the capital; like hugging to each other without any reason if not only the childish sparkling in each other eyes and smiles reading Mrs. Woolf short stories. I am perplexed.

That it is, I am a damaged, I am a perplexed and foolish; I still don’t think I got a chances with her; thank you all of you for the support for the duration of my defeat.

Uncle Albert once said that in the middle of difficulties there are opportunities and I may add simple hopes. In my maze those evangelic manhood speeches become sound for anybody hears and I in front to her I still remain mute. Allow me to give you a little of this my frustrating temptation: my Eve and a too common apple tree.

Over twenty short of twenty-five and five feet five inches tall up and down, we spend time and spaces around the same expensive floor. Her skin it is a perfect milky white with slim hot welcoming red lips and big emeralds instead of eyes. A deep green sharp as a knife. A murder just too perfect to be charge to her guiltiness. The long brown hair was dancing around the long swan neck to the beat and the hop of light quick wriggling steps. She has a fine and firm walk; a kind of girl who knows where and who she need to step on .She is a beauty , the sort of kind she attract men around to chat away the cover of her private diary read by few but understand by less.

Here I am steel steady. Damaged , perplexed and foolish; here I am completely lost for words of true meaning , rich in my deep banality and full of self-indulgent chat lines.
-How are you?-
-I am fine-
At least one of us it is. It is embarrassing

The brief account of the past events it is needed because explains the primordial approach to engage and it is a kaleidoscopic of sanity. The begin of our thoughts towards her are those of animals and despite of what creation must be we, males, are the less evolutes animals in the kingdoms.
Shame! God is dead no time for repairs.

Men are the peacocks of the species hoping to transform their self in lions or strong bulls on the right moments to impress when able to give it to her and to be able to give to her any time.

“Do you promise to love her in good time and bad time; to love her in health and illness until death part you” and please feel free to cheat if this help.

It is what she aims from a man It is not love; it is orgasm.
That it is, I am a damaged, I am a perplexed and foolish; I still don’t think I got a chances with her; thank you all of you for the support for the duration of my defeat. Now I can just love because I have all ready cheat. I am sorry to be late.

Cheating is not a sin but it is a virtue. I did it; it makes you feel. It is devilish but it was just for one time but shamefully I still call her my only love. In the corner my shadow is surprised to see angels sin; Lucifer was angel too but at least He show is real form and for his honesty He was banned from the table of proper sinners. Or maybe I was not animal enough.

It is forgive which give small chances to forget names
Every night I must confess.