jaccky
12-05-2020, 05:06 PM
A few years ago, I regularly saw a massage girl by the name of C. She was Taiwanese. She had a particularly seductive power, the origin of which is hard to describe. She had this slow, sultry way of moving, a depthless gaze from which emanated something capricious, and a slight over-bite that at times forced her mouth slightly ajar in the most erotic of contours and expressions; and her voice ... it was deep and honeyed. This combination was for me, cubist and pretty bewitching; and consequently, I would see her with strict regularity.
During one of our meetings she told me a story concerning her past. There was once a poor young lad who got caught in her net so to speak. But alas, his affections were entirely unreciprocated. As the dismal months drew on, his obsession with this beautiful and deadly creature reached such awesome peaks of futility and melancholy, he became completely overwhelmed and drowned himself in a river that snaked through their little town.
C. told me this story with complete indifference. But of course, I thought, how else could she relate to such a pathetic display of unrequited love? However, it wasn't her apparent and understandable indifference that gave me a slight twinge in my being, but a sly, almost devilish grin that played upon that lovely mouth of hers at the culmination of her story.
I'd like to back-track a bit, and mention that a few weeks prior to this disconcerting little display, she put that beautiful little impish face close to mine (I was prone on my back on the table, and she hovered behind and over me, so that our lips touched in duality) and promptly pushed her tongue into my mouth. In the words of the great Nordic modernist Knut Hamsun, it was like a jet of wine to the heart.
Well, friends, from that moment on I was hooked. Every week I was there like clockwork. She even gave me her personal mobile line. When she'd reply to my texts an awesome wave of well-being saturated my senses– and when she didn't, throes of despair and bitter emptiness, those inevitable and repulsive sentiments that characterise passionate Love overwhelmed me.
So every week I'd get my little fix. She'd hang over me in that yin and yang formation and we'd be blissfully tongue-tied. Well of course, I wanted to take things further. That's human nature. And when I intimated something of the sort, she replied: 'Go. Go and never come back here again'. Of course I returned, otherwise I wouldn't have been privy to what would eventually be the focal point of this story. Well in the end she moved away. Just as well. They could've been fishing me out of a river.
During one of our meetings she told me a story concerning her past. There was once a poor young lad who got caught in her net so to speak. But alas, his affections were entirely unreciprocated. As the dismal months drew on, his obsession with this beautiful and deadly creature reached such awesome peaks of futility and melancholy, he became completely overwhelmed and drowned himself in a river that snaked through their little town.
C. told me this story with complete indifference. But of course, I thought, how else could she relate to such a pathetic display of unrequited love? However, it wasn't her apparent and understandable indifference that gave me a slight twinge in my being, but a sly, almost devilish grin that played upon that lovely mouth of hers at the culmination of her story.
I'd like to back-track a bit, and mention that a few weeks prior to this disconcerting little display, she put that beautiful little impish face close to mine (I was prone on my back on the table, and she hovered behind and over me, so that our lips touched in duality) and promptly pushed her tongue into my mouth. In the words of the great Nordic modernist Knut Hamsun, it was like a jet of wine to the heart.
Well, friends, from that moment on I was hooked. Every week I was there like clockwork. She even gave me her personal mobile line. When she'd reply to my texts an awesome wave of well-being saturated my senses– and when she didn't, throes of despair and bitter emptiness, those inevitable and repulsive sentiments that characterise passionate Love overwhelmed me.
So every week I'd get my little fix. She'd hang over me in that yin and yang formation and we'd be blissfully tongue-tied. Well of course, I wanted to take things further. That's human nature. And when I intimated something of the sort, she replied: 'Go. Go and never come back here again'. Of course I returned, otherwise I wouldn't have been privy to what would eventually be the focal point of this story. Well in the end she moved away. Just as well. They could've been fishing me out of a river.