Life for lust (Part 3)

It’s just sex

We were in film history class. German Expressionism. What I found an incredibly fascinating art period, did nothing for a while. It was as if Faust was sitting next to me and whispered, go now man, do it now, you’ll be rid of it.

It was Rusty sitting next to me who noticed that I was grumbling about something.

“What’s wrong?”
“Um, I thought I had contact, a girl from third year, but she was just teasing me a bit, she enjoyed the attention and that was it.”
“Well, the hell with that bitch then.”
“Yeah, but I just want to, you know, with a woman for once.”
“Seriously man, are you still a virgin?!”

I looked away, a little embarrassed.

“Go, If you can’t wait till miss perfect, go and visit some hookers, you’ll get rid of it and learn something, it’s near here!”

That was true, we walked past attractive and not so attractive characters displayed in lighted windows almost daily when we had to go to one of the college campuses in the station district. But I ignored it, I didn’t like it. Even though sometimes they seemed to look sweet and winked me, if I dared to look a little longer.

“It’s just sex.” He said.
And that stuck.

But Rusty’s a weirdo, has a room next to me in the hallway and watches videos with real life chickens he fancies. And like me, he likes black clothing, but he has long blond wavy hair, is two feet tall and looks a bit like Max Schreck from Nosferatu. He just has to look deeply into the eyes of another person, male or female, it doesn’t matter to him and the night that follows I can hear him imitating a rooster, kukeleku! No, no kukeleku for me.

Still, the hormones are raging through my body, and if I want to be able to focus on my studies, it’s time to know what it is like, with a woman, and finally, yes finally…

But how? It will happen late at night, or very early. And then I go in. A sensual half-naked full slender sex goddess with dark warm eyes floats up to me and tells me what I want to hear and then does to me what I want to feel.

She gently unbuttons what is attached, touching every bit of naked skin with her delicate fingers. We take a bath then. The bathroom is all white and has the appearance of a Roman temple, with columns all around and a large mirror in the middle, a beautiful reproduction of the Venus of Milo and in the middle of it my Goddess. In a short transparent robe, she slips into the foaming bath, she dips a sponge into the sacred weeping water and gently rubs it over my body. In a huge celestial bed, lined with mirrors framed in gold, she then opens her soft shell that shimmers and sucks me in with incredible force.

And I feel, and I slide, away into an oasis of lust as her deep dark hair floats like a veil before my eyes and she places her loins over what too often crosses me. She teases with minuscule twists and turns, gently, I bite, I caress, I reach into the sheets, needing a moment to get used to it, open to the pleasure. She clasps my whole being like this, hand in hand she grabs me, entangled in each other, freed from so many years of desire, I finally … come to rest.

Yes, it must be something like that.

But.
I didn’t go past it.
I didn’t.
Never so.
It.
Is.
Enough.
That fantasy.