everything must come naturally

I’m curious about the way she kisses. Is it unique? Is there or has it ever been anyone else who kisses just like she does? Can any man out there explain in disturbing details the way she locks lips with another human being? Does she know just how natural, necessary and deeply emotional experience kissing is? Perhaps she knew, but forgot at some point..

I remember us kissing casually few brief moments after we met. It was awkward and we were nervous, but pressing my lips against hers felt natural. I don’t think I’ve ever done this before I met her – casually lock lips with someone you’ve been friends with until that point. All of this seems so far away in the past. Her kisses disappeared. Or maybe they never existed; it was always me who initiated them at least. We concentrated on the intensity. The count and depth of penetration. All of these characteristics are closer to the nature of the agreement. Still, I find happiness in being with her..in kissing her.

Present-day literature and cinema show an unhealthy infatuation with a person’s ‘first love’. You see, we’re all led to believe that a woman never gets over her ‘first’ and that a man becomes one solely with his ‘first’ sexual partner. What a crock of steaming shit! I realize with striking calamity that it wasn’t until I was in my late 20s that I met the woman who showed me what sex..good sex and a real woman were supposed to be like. Too bad it turned out she could go without those kisses I so desperately crave and need. One time she kissed me on my back, right between the shoulder blades and now – in moments when I’m particularly aware of her absence – I can feel the spot burning. It seems that after all – it’s not the depth, count or intensity of penetration that show the level of emotional infatuation since all of them can be recreated perfectly with another partner. The kisses can’t, however, and remain the only true barometer for love, attachment and intimacy. Every person kisses differently and you can never erase that from your memory. When all else fades with time, the recollections of former lovers’ kisses remain just as vivid and palpable. Yes, I’m intrigued by the way she kisses. Some may even say it’s vital to my existence.

Another thing I’m curious about is her smile. Not her laughter or her reaction to a joke or a funny story, but her reaction of pure joy. Naturally, she smiles when she’s amused, but she never smiles when she’s content or happy. (actually, is she ever truly contented or happy?) She squints her eyes and lightly purses her lips as she looks away – it’s impossible to tell whether she actually enjoys or is fond of something. You can guess and try to recreate it to see if the reaction will be different – more emotional and sincere – but it won’t work. Everything is under control in her. Her emotions, her feelings, her reactions, her actions, her words and, I figure, even her thoughts. This often leads to the [almost] complete eradication of any emotion whatsoever. Negative and positive ones. Especially if you abuse this self-control for a long time. And there’s nothing more peculiar than the sight of an indifferent woman, believe me.

I’m curious about her emotions. Although I’m afraid to dig as I don’t think I’m able to face what I’m bound to find. Sometimes I dread that I may not find any emotion whatsoever. I don’t know which scares me more. Either way I have a feeling that the later I find out the truth – the better for me. I just can’t chase away the feeling of pity that she hasn’t made the most of the man that I came to be.

Where is her pleasure center? I imagine her inner world quite desolate and lonely – nothing but a serene fountain, surrounded neatly by an impenetrable wall of stones fitted so closely that there isn’t a single crack. Al access to this fountain is restricted with an iron gate, barbed wire and a numeric sequence. There isn’t even an escape route. And there are so many joys out there, waiting in the big bright world. Does she see them? Can she feel them? Does she take? Use? Receive? Consume? It would be such a pity if she didn’t..

I’m also curious about her deeds. It’s because she’s very careful to avoid any as well as anything else that she considers ‘too final’; ‘too engaging’ or ‘too formal’. She subtly passes from one state to the next, from one situation to another, gradually shifting her attitude and body language. Acting as if though ‘things just happen and we have to make due’; as if very little [if anything at all] is within our control. Such a chameleon – she just blends to the point, where you can safely assume this has always been her natural state as far as you know. Everything is seamless; everything falls perfectly into place. Except for you as you’ve never felt more uneasy in your entire life. She doesn’t..she can’t understand your predicament – “why make a fuss? things just happen” and there’s no pulling her out of this state of existence. Is there anything that can jolt her out of it? What would invoke a human, heart-felt reaction in her – these are the types of things I’m curious about.

Somewhere, deep below the calm surface lie the answers to all these questions. Reasons and justifications lie in an erratic pile she clearly doesn’t want to dig through. Or she doesn’t feel like it. It’s hard to say, but I have a feeling that in these depths there isn’t a single crack, vent or any outlet whatsoever – everything is sealed with stones and concrete – smooth, orderly and neat. There’s probably some quiet harmonic music in the background. And there’s nothing you can do about it.

This type of person who always blends with the surrounding reality is impossible to please. ‘Things just happen’ and she accepts them whether they cause her pain or happiness, because she’s given up on being in control of her life long ago. How can you convince such a person that the two of you can make one hell of a life together? … And I ache to see her smile; to taste her kisses; to feel her hand running through my hair; or to put my hand inside hers. I crave to sense an emotion in her voice, in her actions, in her movements.. ANYTHING. Either way she will give me exquisite pleasure because she’s mastered the technical side of things. But it’s not enough to make me happy. It’s so unfair that I can’t do the same for her. And I can’t chase away the fear that, sooner or later,  she’ll meet someone who’s perfectly capable. This will come naturally to him. Like everything else in her life.




the right approach

Everyone at our high school were obsessed with her. All the boys drooled over her and all the girls fantasized about being her. It’s not that she was a flawless masterpiece, wasn’t even damn near perfection if you ask me, but there was a certain je ne sais quoi quality that gave her an intoxicating allure. You know the type – ephemeral, barely out-of-this-world and always just a fleeting step away from your fingers when you most wanted to touch her delicate skin. A moment later and she was gone, her summer-y scent lingering on long after recess was over and the corridors were empty.

There was an unspoken game of winning her over going on between all the seniors. There wasn’t a surviving male friendship in sight because of her; all the hormone-crazy teenagers were frenemies and secretly raiding their parents’ wallets every chance they got to try and impress her the old-fashioned way – by showering her with the type of silly obsolete stuff adolescent girls liked. It didn’t work. Then someone had the brilliant idea to join the football team and get to the gal’s heart the American way or at least the way all mediocre rom coms teach us is a safe bet, so for a few months there was a streaming line in coach’s office every day. The poor guy had to finally start turning away love-crazed adolescent boys who had nothing better to do with their time, but try and impress some chick. It was every teenager for himself; more cunning means had to be developed and pursued in order to engage her fleeting attention.

Luckily, all the time this was happening, as her best friend’s brother I was able to hang out on the inside, thus acquiring direct access to her inner emotional unrest (if there was ever such). I wasn’t attracted to her and it struck me as weird when all my classmates, friends and random acquaintances found any excuse to bring up her name in virtually every conversation we had. Come to think of it, it was the first time I learned that having everyone want something instantly made me want to run away from it as far as possible. I’m like this even till this day..Anyway, so I sat and observed how her homework was always written; her assignments handed in on time; she was picked up from school and her house in the hippest, coolest cars there were; her cute pink Swarowski-encrusted phone got a matching dangling pink thingy to go along with it and so on and so forth, but there was never one King of The Kill crowned, if you know what I mean.

Well, at least not until Mike Foryshewski came along. He was tall, well-built and had sharp features that gave a somewhat menacing look. His cold grey eyes were always nervously scouting around and his movements were brisk and concise to a point of machine-like accuracy. He noticed her immediately, although she remained as aloof towards him as she had always been with everyone else. One day after classes he pulled over and invited her in his convertible with a gesture. They had barely exchanged a word until then, but she was used to being driven around by every guy in sight and had started to think of it as somewhat of a birth right accompanying the fact of being born a pretty woman.

The rest I know by overhearing her many, many, many exhilarated conversations with my sister in the following days, but apparently instead of driving her straight to her house he took a little detour down to the creek and after pulling off, wasted no time in coming on to her. He had been passionate, eager and firm in handling her or so she described it. Couple of thrusts and the girl no one had ever made it to First or Second Base with had lost her virginity in the back seat of a shabby convertible.

News of this sort of thing is not bound by the meager laws of physics applicable to everything else on Earth and that same night the entire school was on their phones outrageous about the turn of events. The next day as Mike was making his way down the corridors you could feel the hate emanating from every single guy he walked past. What made things even more awkward was the sight of her skipping alongside him, carrying his books for class. This continued for the rest of that day as well as the following ones. Mike was acting as if though it was the most natural and logical thing in the world. While the rest of the guys were busy glaring at him and brainstorming what could he have possible said to get ahead so quickly, the female population was blowing the story out of proportion with gossip about the mythological size of his private parts (which seemed the only logical explanation as tho why he got her attention in the first place) and were desperately trying to seduce him to prove their thesis. Neither succeeded and rumors lingered on till prom when we all parted ways.

With a more scientific rather than personal interest in the whole thing, I decided to tactfully approach the subject one warm evening few months after things had began to settle down. My sister had conveniently sneaked out the back to make out with her then boyfriend and I jumped at the opportunity to ask the question on everyone’s minds:

– “Tell me how did he do it? It’s not like you were short on attention; you had guys lining in front of you, ready to jump hoops just for a look of approval.”

– “I know.”

– “So why him?”

– “He found..the right approach to me.”

So there you have it. May we all find the right approach to the women of our hearts..

the circle of hurt

Sometimes she enters your life with a loud bang in a haze of dazzling scents and sensations. She’s overwhelming and intrusive and it leaves you feeling violated in a way. There was never any space for her in your life, but she rudely pushes people around, rearranges your priorities and before you know it – you’re left longing for her presence in the early hours of the mornings when her scent is still lingering on your pillow. You kid yourself that you’d be perfectly fine if she went away as unexpectedly as she wandered into your life, but when it actually happens there’s a huge feeling of abandonment left to fill her space.

Other times she slips into your life in the most unfortunate of times when your guard is down and you’re still mourning the departure of an out of place love affair. You turn to her in search of solace and comfort and, little by little, you come to yearn for her convenience, warmth and bleak attractiveness. Realizing you care surprises you more than it surprises her. Unable to chase away the feeling that you were never meant to be and this is, at best, something temporary, you move towards the logical conclusion of parting ways. But it is when the last sign of her comforting presence disappears from your life that you realize how much you’ve grown attached, dependent and fond of her. Years of posing as a self-sufficient adult give way to a scared, clingy and emotionally unstable child who’s desperately trying to find someone to take care of them.

But worst of all is the frightened girl with the look of timid hope in her eyes. Naive, sincere and honest to a point of insanity. You welcome her into your life reluctantly because you know you will destroy her. Just like one of them destroyed you a long time ago. You have to teach her everything from scratch – how to walk, to talk, to be in the world of responsible, self-sufficient adults. She will reward you with pure joy in return and she will never hold anything back from you. Everything is serious with her; everything is final. You feel compelled to yell at her: ‘You shouldn’t be up this late; it’s long past your bedtime. Just go home.’ She will look up at you confused and press her warm cheek against her palm asking with her eyes ‘Let me stay a little longer, please. Don’t send me away.’ She will leave you only after she grows up and both of you realize there is nothing more you can teach her. When she understands you’re too old or too tired to hold her hand; to run your fingers through her hair; to tell her stories before bedtime; to push her on the swings..



interest of conflict

‘I am literally going out of my mind’ a friend of mine complained the other day ‘She hasn’t cheated on me; she’s not inconsiderate, distant or absent-minded. In fact she’s as warm and loving as always and THAT’s pissing me off even more! Everything I used to love in her is now mind-numbingly irritating. The way she crosses her legs; her choice of TV shows; her browsing history. Is this the end?’

I pause and ponder. Clearly he’s interested in an answer that will bring him the much-needed peace of mind. ‘No’ I slowly admit. It just slipped. ‘When there’s a feeling..any feeling left it’s far from being the end.’

Even if this feeling is to hurt her, to cause her pain both physically and emotionally this is a desire in itself and as such it is a desire connected to her. A desire that still connects both of you. People often say it’s just a step from love to hate, but they seem to forget it’s just two to go back.

Human indecisiveness is at the core of the unnecessary amounts of heartache we inflict on ourselves and others. It can single-handedly send you back from a long and painful decision to end a complicated relationship (in the days BF – Before Facebook when updating your status just wouldn’t do) into uncertainty and doubt whether you’ll be better off alone. You realize a [possible] break-up will drive you insane with guilt and regret. And all those things that pissed you off only until a few days ago suddenly reveal themselves as endearing and sweet – testament to the strength and sincerity of the bond between the two of you.

Then you understand why in the heat of the moment when you’re yelling at each other and you’re pulling her away from the front door, your hand unconsciously slips down her body and after initially pulling away, she gives in unusually submissive and willing. You start rolling around, knocking stuff to the ground oblivious to your surrounding.This is still a struggle, albeit a different kind. It’s just as passionate and filled with eagerness to possess, subdue and submit the other one. This time out of love.

Out of that struggle a new ‘we’ is born: ‘why don’t we..we can try..let’s..’ If there’s an impulse it’s far from being the end, don’t you agree?


lost souls alliance

People have sex without being in a relationship. Or have a relationship without sex. It’s not uncommon, believe me; simple statistics of messed up relationships.  Sometimes I wish things were simpler like they used to be in the far-away past: when people met, got engaged, got married, had kids, raised them, grew old and died together.  At no point were they setting conditions such as ‘we’ll just have sex and not get involved emotionally’, ‘sleeping with other people is OK if your partner doesn’t find out about it’ or ‘hitting up your ex for old times’ sake isn’t considered cheating.’

I have a dream (..) – I dream of a time when you had to be exclusive to be with someone, when just starting a relationship meant it was special and meaningful, and strong, and real. You’re not in that dream – if I have to put you somewhere, it’ll be on the opposite side – where people fill their cavities with everything and anything, where people ARE walking cavities, secretions and mourns. Doesn’t sound too special, does it? I hate to imagine how twisted you have to be to consider such relationships special.

No, I know you’re not fucked up, you and the rest of them. You’re just confused with all the endless possibilities the world has to offer (this is irony by the way); it’s difficult to spot the truly valuable things, worth keeping. Maybe someday you’ll understand. I am afraid it will be too late though. How would you be able to forgive yourself for letting go of the woman of your life (don’t worry – I am not talking about myself, I am not that deluded. You and I are a factual mistake. We were never meant to meet, let alone cross eyes or..) out of fear not to lose your chance of being with 1, 2, 3, 5, 8, 13, 21 equally uninteresting ones? Chasing after women whose mark in your life only lasts as long as their marks on your sheets (yes, a single wash, a single one) and you – hoarding sex buddies and drinking yourself to death day after day after night. Is this the life you want for yourself?

Don’t answer that – I know you better than you know yourself. Unlike you I am not hurt or offended by the truth.  In the end it’s no one’s fault – we just got a bit mixed up. You picked up a girl who wanted, held important and cherished different things than you and me.. well, I just made the same mistake with a different person. I think it’s clear who the moron is.

More often than never you meet certain people only to realize what you don’t want in the person you’re with. Except in your case – you meet certain people only to chase away what you delude yourself you want. Seems a bit pointless, don’t you think?

I used to find it kind of sad. Now I see the really sad thing is trying to make room in your life for people who never wanted you in theirs.

men want what women don’t need

“Perception, my dear. It’s all about perception.”

“I’m not sure I understand.”

“Let me give you an example. When we fuck, I wrap my arms around his shoulders and hold him tightly, burying my nose in his neck. He thinks it’s a sign of passion and uncontrollable desire. I do it, so I don’t have to look at him [..]”

A Poker Game of Love


I don’t mind giving you my body – it’s the least I can do. It [hardly] means anything. It would cost me far more to make you fried eggs in the morning. Is this confusing you? Think of it this way – giving you my body is the same as your telling me that I’m special. Both cost less to the person giving them; are only meant as means to an end and end up costing more to the person receiving them. Kind of sick, isn’t it? Go ahead and stroke your ego – having my body is as far as you went (although I know it’s more than enough for you). The guy is happy – he gets to perpetuate the self-deceit of being a capable and experienced lover and so is his partner- she’s heard the absurdly shallow and blatantly untrue confirmation of being a fleeting desire in the eyes of a man. Both achieved at the expense of the naivety (or so they would like to think) of another human being. What we don’t know is that instead of outsmarting the other person, both are screwed over – he will say anything to sleep with her and she will do anything to hear what she wants. Both following the logic that the goal justifies the means, especially when the same will get you what you’re aiming for at absurdly low-cost maintenance fees. He can proudly parade his conquest, unaware and not caring that he never had but a blow-up doll in his hands and she can blissfully think she’s worth more than any other woman in his life, oblivious that the words she just heard are always the same, only the girl is different. Then they can both go and buy books with sugar-coated puff that explain how she’s from Venus and he’s from Mars to bring the worn-out bodies and drained souls [some] comfort. However, what they should really be paying for [if anything] are books telling them they can never meet at the point of being together.

If our need for companionship becomes so dire, we’ll stop just long enough to fool each other into believing we have anything in common. And we do. Lies. Stay with me and I will keep lying that you’re ‘the only guy I’ve done [insert random sexual act here] with’ or ‘the best I’ve ever had’, sustaining your ginormous unjustified ego of a conqueror and you’ll keep lying that I’ve ‘meant to you more than any other woman in your life’ and ‘you’ve never loved another the way you love me’ to encourage me to keep my feet off the ground and my head high in the clouds (where it usually is most of the time anyway). We’ll call that love and build ruin our lives around it, complaining that everything falls apart, but forever denying the obvious fact that anything built on a lie is fleeting and ends bitterly. For it’s always lies that bring people together and it’s the truth that drives them apart – that’s simply the way things are and always have been.

Life will pass and we will fill it with promises of love and closeness; we’ll listen to songs, read books and watch movies about it and that will have to suffice. In this lifetime at least. In the mean time I have to remember to keep on lying to you that you’ve conquered more of me than anyone before you and you’ll have to keep on fooling me into believing I’ve meant more to you than anyone else in your life. Seems like a fair deal to pass time.

if it starts, it has to end

In the beginning they are all so respectful, polite and witty and we are all so charming, mysterious and soft-spoken it’s [almost] surreal. It’s inhumane to keep it together 24/7, but we all manage to pull it off somehow – in the beginning of every relationship that is. Fully aware we’re setting ourselves to fail, since it’s only a matter of time to screw up.

It’s a widely known secret that we only get one chance in love..and completely off topic – it’s also a widely known fact we always, always, always manage to blow it fairly quickly.

Women stop loving when they’ve been hurt badly. No amount of excuses, tenderness, belated loyalty and sweet gestures can change that. We can (and often do because we rarely leave a sunken relationship for reasons completely eluding to the logical mind) and  pretend we’ve forgiven, forgotten and moved passed the loss of trust and love for our partner, oblivious to the fact that the only thing we’re getting out of the relationship from now on, is an Oscar for a Best Supporting Role in a self-directed sham. Men might perceive this as cold-heartedness and being bitchy, but the sad truth is women save their most bitter resentment, disappointment and unkindness only for ourselves. He might even think that I am mean and unfair, which is fine, because I know that for everything he’s suffered – I’ve suffered for the both of us and for all the times I’ve been unkind to him – I’ve punished and will continue punishing myself long after we’re through and he’s moved on. It may take him one or two remedial relationships to mend his bruised heart, but I will pursue his image for years to come in every guy I throw myself at just to fool myself that what we shared was real.

Men don’t get or care about any of that. He’ll see a bitch out of hell – confident and self sufficient, provocative and seductive, which  will only hurt and convince him more that she didn’t care that much in the first place since she’s moved on so fast. He’ll never know that everything she’s become is because of him.. for him. To remind him what he rejected; to show him what he’s missing out on; to teach him that every woman is an illusion for she takes the form(s) of every guys’ dreams of her and to make him see and realize that. Men prefer to venture out to unconquered territories, unaware that what they think is familiar and well-known is as wild as the geese they want to chase. While chasing they’ll talk about the comfort of settling down and while settling down (not ‘once settled down’ because you never are, it’s a process) they’ll do everything to get away.

And it’s shattered. Beyond repair. It’s so predictable it’s not even worth crying over (but we do).

Then he starts apologizing, rationalizing, defending, reasoning, asking, hoping and more often than never it’s better to choose to be alone with somebody than alone with yourself. Men call it forgiveness and consider it a sign of true love. Women view it for what it really is – good old rational thinking.