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| | vendredi, mai 27, 2005

"You don't understand." she said. "It's not about beauty."
Beauty is one one small aspect of what is hidden and can be revealed.
"I need the imperfections. They function as gates to see something more than the flat reality of a moment."
"But an imperfection can also be beautiful..." I answer.
"Yes, exactly," She pauzed briefly, "but not necessarily. Beauty can make you experience things. Without the sense of beauty you wouldn't see, hear, feel or taste them. But beauty is not that strong. It's been abused, over-used, turned upside down, faked and forged. It's lost some of its power."
I sighed and thought of ancient greek art and how its beauty still touches me.

She continued, ignoring me.
"In Asia, people do not pull out the hairs growing from moles or birthmarks like we do. You can see people with a birthmark or mole on their face and a string of black or grey hairs sprouting out of it. I have seen mole hair that was more than 1 meter long.
That's what I mean when I talk about opening gates through imperfections. The hairy mole struck me as so unusual -it's an emphasized error- I had to reajust my definitions of beauty. After all, the hair is not really ugly, mainly odd.
So the hair became a gate that revealed. I could imagine how the mole haired people would look covered in hair completely. I wondered about how it must feel. The fine hair in the wind. On a bike. The mole haired people looked dignified. Maybe they felt different about themselves."
"But what is your point?" I interjected. "Something unusual makes you upset and thus triggers a train of thoughts?"
She looked at me. Rather sad. "I don't know. I just liked the mole people very much.
They made me think 3 or 4 thoughts at the same time. They made me feel I had a choice in life. You know what I mean, not just one flat, timed trajectory to death, while you are telling yourself: we are build of atoms, love is chemical, death is malfunction. I felt I could make loopholes, beat time. My pulse slowed down. The clocks stopped ticking. I was out of here. Really out."
She paused and looked at me.
"You don't believe me, do you? You don't believe it's possible. You are like them. Saying falling in love is only endorphins running though your veins and believing that hormones can explain every feeling or reaction." She was getting angry.
"No." I answered. "I'm not like them." I decided to remain calm and continued slowly.
"You know what happened when I was younger? Doctors found out that due to some unexplainable flaw in my brain, my body is not able to produce endorphins or certain hormones. But I have fallen in love. Several times. The clocks stopped ticking and my pulse slowed down. And then it happened."

| | vendredi, mai 20, 2005

* He

When I was little, people took me for a boy. They always did and I didn’t really mind.
I wore boys’ clothes and played football. And then I discovered I was into girls. No big deal. My coming out wasn’t that hard. I had my first girlfriend and my first broken heart. The man of the newspaper shop still called me "sir", although I was 16 already. I still didn’t mind. Regularly my best friend and I would have these hilarious dressing up sessions in our parents’ bedroom. It was awesome. We would end up parading around the house as two gentlemen in suit and tie and mimicked all the men we knew.
Then my friend got seriously involved with a girl who told her she was behaving too masculine and she stopped dressing up. We still talked about it often though and I think she really missed our sessions. I never stopped doing it. It gave me a kick to invent a character and adjust my features until I resembled the man I had in mind perfectly.
I got really good at it and learned how to make sideburns and beards from my own hair, so they would look natural and real.
I always did it at home. Except for my friend, nobody had ever seen me as a man.
But tonight it was Saturday again and I had been fantasizing about dressing up the whole day and going out in men’s clothes. My first public appearance. Did I dare? I could try it. I had nothing to lose.
After dinner I started working on my face. I made the nicest looking sideburns I could think of and glued a small Mexican moustache to my upper lip. Then I brushed my hair back with gel. It really changed me. A whole new person appeared: a cool looking guy with dark piercing eyes. This was my best creation so far.
When I clenched my teeth together a strong masculine jaw appeared.
Now what should I wear? The tight running bra first to hide my breasts, new shirt, jeans, belt, boots, jacket.
I inspected myself in the mirror. But something was missing. The bulge in the pants.
I felt pretty unsure. Usually I stuffed a pair of tennis sock down my pants, but now it was different: someone might actually stare at my crotch. I tried the socks, adjusted them, crouched down and looked at them from all angles. It exited me, but meanwhile I worried. If I was really going out like this, women would think I had one. How was I going to pull that off? I grinned. I was already thinking like a man. Thinking I could go out, seduce a woman and willfully take her home and fuck her. On second thought, I might just change the tennis socks for something different.

I went to a part of the city I rarely visited. Just in case somebody would recognize me.
I looked at the men walking past as I was waiting in the underground, hiding myself from too much light. Walking like a man. Heels digging into the pavement. Shifting balance and hips. I felt scared and exited at the same time. This was for real. I needed to pass as one of them now.

When I entered the venue was pulsing with energy and people were moving and dancing everywhere.
Men in shirt and tie ordered cocktails at the bar. Next to me, girls were dancing to the new remix of an old Astor Piazzola Tango.

I found a place at the bar in a darker corner next to the dance floor and ordered a drink.
Nobody noticed me. It gave me a huge adrenalin rush. I clenched my jaw, remembering not to smile and sipped my drink.


*She

I had lost track of how many hours I had been dancing. It amazed me. I just loved the crowd. Maybe it was because I had been away for such a long time. I needed a small pause and that was when I saw him. I couldn’t help but stare. I had never seen a man like that. Masculine and proud, yet so feminine in his gestures. He laughed at the bartender. Was he gay? I wondered. He must have noticed me staring at him because all of a sudden he looked at me, straight into my eyes. Then he grinned and lifted his drink, moving his lips saying cheers. He looked fabulous. I felt his stare spiral down in my stomach. The dancing had made me feel light-headed and hot. He kept looking at me until I became embarrassed and confused and turned around.
Two years ago after a nasty break up with my partner I had taken a job in another part of the world. It had kept me busy day and night. There was no time for men or romance in my life. Today for the first time since, I was caught off guard. I had to admit I really like this man, but I was way too shy to ever flirt with him.
Rhythm was pulsing again and I needed to move, so I forgot about it all and danced as if I had nothing to lose.
Once in a while my eyes where drawn to him. I just wondered if he would look at me dancing, but every time I looked, I just saw his shady contours and I didn’t know if he was watching the dance floor at all or just dreaming and staring into the void. It did excite me though and I was surprised of all the energy soaking out of my pores. Other men were eyeing me, strutting their stuff, moving near me, but it was as if I couldn’t be bothered. I just smiled back at them and declined their offers to have a drink.


Some time later, as I returned from the bathroom a waitress came up to me with a cocktail. “It’s from that man at the bar.” she said and she pointed to the dark corner.
Before I knew it she’d handed it over to me. “Oh, he’s gone now.” She said turning her head toward the counter. “The guy was sitting right there in the dark corner.”
I just stood there with the drink in my hand and while I drank it, I felt it go straight to my head. It was something strong. Wodka probably. I walked around the club, but I didn’t see him anywhere. Not until I gave up my search and leaned against a wall to rest. He was standing near the back entrance of the club, smoking and looking at a man and woman dancing together right in front of him.
"What the hell," I thought. "I’ll walk up to him. I’m tipsy now anyway and I might as well talk to him, see what he is like."
He must have seen me coming, because when I managed to get through the crowd, I could just see a glimpse of him walking out through the back door.
"Hey!" I called, but he didn’t seem to hear me, so went after him.
I saw him walk into the dark corridor, open a door and then vanish.
I don’t know why I followed him. I felt fear and excitement, but I never thought about what could happen.
I did hesitate though, but he didn’t leave me much time. When I passed the door he had entered, I felt his slender but firm fingers slide into mine, pulling me in gently. I couldn’t see anything but there was a faint smell of beer so I figured we must be in a stock room. He was behind me. I could hear him breathing in my ear. His hands moved over my buttocks and up my spine and shoulders. In the movements of his hands was a tenderness I hadn’t felt for a long time. I wasn’t even sure I had ever felt it. My body yearned, every sinew in my back was awake and enjoying his soft strokes.
The he touched my breasts, squeezing them just right, slowly, his fingers caressing my nipples. He was winding me up and I couldn’t resist it. It made me needy of what I had missed these past years. This strange man seemed to know how to release all the desire I had so carefully stashed away all this time, hoping it would just disappear in a black hole of my mind. I couldn’t make him stop and he knew it. He was still behind me, out of touch, but moved closer and pushed me gently against the wall. I could smell his scent, an unknown brand and I could feel his hips move into my buttocks. I could feel his hard-on in his pants, but as he saw me getting tense and worried about what was going to happen, he leaned back and started caressing my inner thighs, barely touching me with his body.
It felt as if a coil of hot coals was slithering over my lower abdomen into my stomach. Whatever he was doing, he was making me feel horny as hell. And the way he did it was so gentle and kind that I couldn’t make him stop. My feet were glued to the ground. I had to give in to this. It was a shock when he moved his left hand into my panties. His fingers were exploring me deeper and deeper, playing with my pubic hair, and slowly circling my clit. He was teasing me. I moaned and then he hit just the right spot and I felt I would faint. I could hardly draw enough breath. I sighed and moaned, but I didn’t care. For such a long time I hadn’t admitted anyone that close to me, so near the point of abandonment, of total control.

The more I reacted to his moves, the slower and the softer he caressed me. Who was he? He pushed me to the limit. When I wanted him to go on, he stopped. When I begged him to fuck me, he just entered one finger slowly and hardly moved. When I wanted to turn around and kiss him on the lips, he pushed me against the wall and drew away his hands, as if to punish me. He was making me need it, expecting it and I almost felt afraid he wasn’t going to satisfy me.
But then, just when he had almost made me come and I was aching for more, he withdrew his hands and I heard him open his pants and unwrap a rubber. I never thought I would want to be fucked standing up in a dark storage room by a strange man, but right then and there I didn’t want anything else.
He moved into me slowly from behind, not pushing too deep. His hand was still there, holding my breasts and moving down, pushing my clit against his dick, playing with it.
It felt hot and great and overpowering. I was going out of my mind, just moving, thrusting and feeling him.
And then I came. With every thrust I felt myself slide away into oblivion. He reacted to every contraction by pushing his dick deeper into me, pushing his hand onto my clit, so I kept coming and coming all over again.
After a while I felt exhausted. I was so sad I nearly cried, so he kissed my neck and pulled out. He zipped his fly and held me in his arms for a while. He didn’t say anything and neither did I. I felt it wasn’t appropriate. He helped fixing my skirt and bra and after a while he guided me out of the room. I could hardly walk. My legs were shaking. I was dead tired.
Slowly I walked back into the club, but when I turned around expecting him to be right behind me, he was gone. I didn’t understand. He must have gone off through the back door. But why?


* He

I couldn’t talk to her or she would notice. I had to go, although I regretted it.
But she was a straight woman, I said to myself. She wouldn’t be into me anyway. And I liked her, so I couldn’t pretend to be something I wasn’t.
But I went to the club again, a few weeks later, as a woman. I had felt so frustrated after my escapade in drag. I couldn’t do that again.
I was sitting at the bar when she came up to me.
“Hello” she said. When I turned around I saw her startled face. “Oh, I’m sorry”, she gasped. “I thought you were someone else. I just saw your back and I ...” She hesitated. “Do you happen to have a brother, who comes here too? I’m looking for him.”
She was blushing. I didn’t know what to say. I couldn’t explain. I couldn’t talk about it. She had to understand it. I looked at her and said. “No, I don’t have a brother, but would you mind if I ordered you a drink?” I didn’t wait for her answer, I turned to the bar keeper and ordered her a cocktail. “Please sit down”, I said, offering her a bar stool. She was unsure and didn’t know where to look. “So do you come here often?” I asked her, just to start a conversation. “Well not that much,” she answered, watching the bartender prepare her drink. “I’ve been abroad for a very long time,” she continued. She had the most beautiful eyes, dark almond, with long lashes. I just couldn’t keep from looking at her, remembering the way she smelled, the softness of her breasts. I knew I was staring at her. I had to stop thinking.
When her drink was ready I handed it to her. “Thanks,” she said. She looked at the drink, then back at me and for the first time she looked into my eyes. Long. “Oh,” she repeated a few times, after she took a big swig from her drink. “I think I understand now, about your brother.” Then she was silent for a while. I hardly dared to look at her, but then she slapped my arm. Playfully, not so much out of reproach and she laughed, pointing to her nearly empty glass. “I might need another of these though ...”

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