Soulmates Never Die

In my dream, we were in the backseat of a bus.
We were side by side, so close together. 
The sun's rays illuminated your face. 
I could see your eyes as I had never seen them.

I realized that you had one small and fake eye.
(Now, I analyze why it happened and it makes me realize that a few nights earlier I saw The Big Short and that perhaps your small and fake eye was a subliminal residue of the character performed by Christian Bale. 
Isn't it funny?) 

Also, for the very first time, I realized the color of your eyes.
It surprised me and I couldn't stop thinking of your brownish eyes. 

You talked with a great enthusiasm, though your face reflected sadness. 
As you talked, I began to remember when we met.
I also began to remember how much I liked you and how many times did I dream of kiss you and get laid with you. It also made me think how many times did I try to avoid becoming a moron and hurt you. I was so afraid of being a dumbass and break your heart. 

We used to hang out between classes.
You were so pretty and fragile and you used to complain about men.
I heard every single word you said and I started to fall in love with you. 

At a moment, I began to write you letters and you began to respond them.
It was a really funny communication. It seemed that you wanted me to be more than a friend. I was really attracted to you. I couldn't stop thinking about your beauty. 
Your body was sexually attractive. It made me desire you. I wanted to touch you.

Once, as we spoke about Marcel Proust before a boring class, I couldn't ignore your breasts. It seemed that you were sort of cold, though we we're taking a sunbath on the grass of the backyard of the school. I accidentally saw your nipples and they drove me wild. 

For entire nights I closed my eyelids, just before I fall asleep, trying to recreate that beautiful image. It made me feel like a teenager discovering his own sexuality. I had innocent thoughts in which I could see them endlessly as I told you how pretty you were and how much I liked you and how much I desired you and how much I wanted to take care of you.

Once I told you –or wrote you on a letter, or both– how much I liked you and you blushed and you kept quiet. Then you said that you didn't want to suffer. 

You began to call me on the telephone.
Each day, it seemed so obvious that you were more and more interested on me. 
Though each day I liked you more than the previous day, I was so stupid and so afraid to hurt you that I just didn't dare to ask you if you wanted to be my girlfriend. 

I met another woman, I made her my girlfriend and we stopped talking. 
At the end, I hurt you and I felt so stupid. My girlfriend was so jealous about you. 
I'm not sure, but I guess she gave you a nickname related to your big breasts. 
She said, contemptuously, that you had huge breasts. 
It seemed that you didn't like her neither. When we had a few minutes to speak between classes, you referred to her as the monkey-girl. You said she seemed so mad and that she gave you violent and hostile looks, each time you crossed on the hallways of the school.

Years later, you called me on the telephone. 
By then, the monkey-girl was happily married (to another guy) and I felt sad, betrayed and lonely.
Somehow, I sensed thru your voice that you felt the same way I felt. 
I sensed that we were like soulmates. We met on a coffee shop. 

When we saw each other, after a long time, in the parking lot of that coffee shop, you gave me a very effusive hug. I felt your huge breasts upon on me and I felt so excited. Then you kissed me on the cheek. It was also so effusive. 
The entire scene was so intense that a moron passing by told us something like "Get a room!" and you, ironically, yelled him "Do you want me to kiss you, too?" 

Inside the coffee shop you sat in front of me.
At a time, as I told you how I felt and how happy I was of being with you and how beautiful you looked and how much did I miss you, you held my hand over the table. It felt so electrical. Then you smiled and you said: 

“If you keep acting like this, definitely I could fall in love with you”

We said Good bye in the same intense way we said Hello. 

Days later, we went to a movie theatre. 
You invited me to watch a movie and you even bought popcorns. 
I don't remember what was the movie about. 
I just remember the touch of your hands, when our hands accidentally coincided on the popcorn bucket. It was a pretty sexual moment. 
I just remember you by my side. We were so close together. 
You had your hair tied up and suddenly you let it go. You gave me a glimpse. The light of the screen illuminated your face. You said: 

“Maybe I will I give you a surprise” 

And it was silly –how in the hell could it be a surprise, if you were talking me about it!–, but it was also a pretty sexual moment. I still remember the way you sort of licked your lips for a second after you said that spell. 

I felt so dumbfounded and then I asked you for a photograph –photographs were not as common as they are now– and you smiled and asked me if I wanted you to give me a photograph with you wearing a thong. 

I felt so excited. What the hell did you just say? Did I hear it correctly?
We returned to your car in another parking lot and you began to talk about a party. You wanted me to go with you. You promised me to drink tequila and “get wild”. 

You challenged me: 

“You don't know what kind of woman I am when I am drunk!”

Then you began to talk about the guys you used to see in this kind of parties. 
Apparently, you hated them and you were fresh meat for them, or something like that. 

Though your signals were so obvious, though I was so excited, I declined your invitation. 

Now, I sporadically dream about you and I wonder what's have been up of your life. 

Sleeping With Ghosts

Burn The Witch, The Witch Is Dead

It was the first day of classes of the year.

The university was really alive. 

They were dozens of students walking through the hallways.

I was in my small office, working on the last details of the class I was going to teach. 

I was just about to leave the office when I remembered that I needed an Epson projector. 

Then I walked, with my entire heavy bag, to the office of the Department Chief to asked her for the projector as I had done previously.

To be certain that it would not be a waste of time, I looked thru the window of her office and I saw she was there.

I found you on my way to the office.

We said Hi and it seemed that we were pretty familiar, though it had elapsed almost five years since the last time we had spoken.

You looked just as I remember you. 

Dunno why I felt so attracted to you. 

It seemed that we had had some sort of close relationship and that we were really god friends. We had some sort of trust that made me feel so comfortable.

I looked right into your eyes.

You had a witch glimpse. 

You looked like a witch. 
I was so surprised. I barely remember that you looked like a witch. 

I began to think in the witch of The Wizard of Oz. 
Somehow, you looked like Eva Green. 

I looked down and I saw your breasts. 
I began to think about your huge breasts.
They looked so warm. 

Back then, when I was a postgraduate student and my advisor forced us to have with him the last dinner of the year, we got sort of drunk. 

At the end of the dinner, as everyone was saying Good bye, we coincided in the room where we cleaned up every single glass equipment we employed on the lab. 

You were drunker than myself. 
I found you pretty attractive, washing a couple of glass cups. 

I was about to clean up my own glass cup. 

You saw me and smiled. 

I found you particularly nice to me. 

At a moment, I even thought you were making me a proposal and I realized that I had always felt sexually attracted to you and that I always wanted to touch your breasts. 

For a moment, I wondered how would it be to kiss you. 

In my dream, I stopped thinking about this memory, when I heard your voice on our way to the office of the Department Chief.

You spoke about your last paper and I told you that I knew about it because I had spoken with one of your pupils.

You asked me if I knew the details of the paper and I said No.

I sensed a vague feeling of disappointment in your face and I abruptly changed the subject.

I asked you about your daughter.

I realized that just a seconds before, you had told me that she was so big and I felt so dumb. 
I just had repeated a subject and it seemed that I wasn't listening to you. 

I sensed the same vague disappointment in your face. 

I just wanted to say that it might be cool to collaborate together, in an academic way. 

I just wanted to tell you so many things. 

I just wanted to tell you how difficult it was to prepare a bunch of classes from zero and to teach them and to have academic meetings once or twice per week...

I just wanted to tell you how demanding it was to coordinate collaborations here and there and to travel to Mexico City and to Juriquilla once or twice per month and to pretend to have time to write my own manuscripts and to perform my own research... but I felt so irresponsable and guilty.

We finally arrived to the office. 

The Department Chief was surrounded by dozens of pupils. 
It seemed that they were having troubles at attempting to built some sort of robot. 
The office also seemed a kindergarden.

She immediately gave me the Epson projector. It seemed more a tool box than anything. The box was yellow and it had a big thing that I employed to lift it up on my shoulder.

You did not stop talking and I knew my class was running by. 
Each second I felt more and more secretly attracted to you. 
At the end you introduced me to your lover. 
She was also a researcher and you kissed in front of me. 
I felt so dumbfounded and I woke up.

Why did I have this dream?

I suppose it's the first time I dream about you. 

Softer, Softest

Can't Let You Roam Inside My Head

I met you almost fifteen years ago in a literary workshop.

You started to read a poem. 

It was about a woman and a man having an affair. 
She was on her knees and the scene described her in a position on which she was about to give him some sort of pleasure. The man was on his feet, looking at her breasts. 

For days I couldn't get rid of your poem.

The image persisted in my mind. 

It followed me day and night.

I thought it was a poem about you and me.
I could not stop thinking about you on your knees.
I could not stop thinking about you a seconds away from giving me pleasure.

I wondered, on my darker moments, when I was so exhausted of being lonely, about to close my eyes, what kind of pleasure would you give to me.

Once we went to a party. 

It was December. A few days before my birthday. It was cold. 

It was on a big house with fancy walls made of red bricks. 

We sort of slept in a couch. 

We were drunk. Another guy from the literary workshop was in the same couch with us.
He had a crush on you. 

As I closed my eyes and I sensed you by my side, trying to get some sleep in that awkward position on the couch, I remembered your poem. 

Instead of thinking about you on your knees, the first thing that came to my mind was your breast. 

So far, I hadn't thought of them.
Dunno why I thought your boobs were a couple of tiny pears.

In the morning, as we left the house and moved to our own places, we took a bus and the subway. 

You told me that you had noticed that I could not stop watching your breast since you had read that cursed poem. You were convinced of it.

I told you it wasn't true at all. 

Days later, on my birthday, I invited you to a party.
We slipped from people and you told me that you desired me. 
We had a strange thing. 

It was sad. I felt so abusive. 

No matter what, you insisted to repeat the experience.

The second time, it happened on January.
That day we had been drinking on nasty places. 

I just dreamed about you. 
I haven't seen you for almost fifteen years. 

In my dream, we were on an academic meeting, in a round table. 
You spoke about the possibilities of your career. 
You said that a person studying Literature could get a job as an economist and crazy non sense things. 

Then we took a bus. 

It seemed Ciudad Universitaria. 

I felt so sexually attracted to you. 

You wore a black and white turtle neck stripped sweater. 
It made your breasts looked so clear. They seemed a small pair of shy fruits.

You were by the exit door of the bus, about to walk out. I was by your side and we said good bye and we were about to do it kissing our cheeks. 

We accidentally kissed in the mouth. 

Your lips felted like velvetine. 

It excited me. 

I felt guity. 

In my dream, I had a girlfriend and she was on the bus, too. Obviously, I didn't want that she notice that we had just an accidental kiss. 

I felt guilty and excited at the same time.

You smiled and I couldn't stop thinking about your breast. 

Why did I dream of you?

Sometimes, dreams are so meaningless. 

Sometimes, they're not. 

La La Love You

I will always think of you be associated In my dream, we were about to have our bachelor's degree examination and so we were practicing in front of a class.

The classroom was one in which we actually did it, almost fifteen years ago.

It was located in the third floor of the main building of the school. 

Instead of having a visually impactating presentation, as we really did it, we got some sort of poster. 

Some pupils helped you out to hang the poster on a wall. As you did so, I felt nervous. It seemed none of you was aware of the importance of that poster and then it looked like you would break it anytime. 

Then the professor who was giving us time of his class, asked us to start rehearsing.

Before his petition, you really seemed so selfconfident and you even behave as if I were an invisible meaningless moron. 

I decided to ask you to go along by yourself and you started to hesitate.

I wonder if you saw the real video of our bachelor's degree examination and if you, finally, came up to the conclusion that I was the one who spoke the most complicated issues of the thesis. 

She Screams In Silence

I was having dinner with my wife.
We we're around a table in a quiet and dark room.
It was cozy and painted in red and green.
The table had a stripped tablecloth on it.

(In some ways, it looked like the previous apparment on which we lived for five years.)

Somehow I knew that we were expecting you.

Suddenly, someone put the key in the door lock, made it spin and then opened the doorway.
It was you. You dressed exactly as the last time I saw you.

Somehow, you looked lighter than that last time.

You looked at us and walked to the table.
You said Hi and smiled to us.

Somehow you looked shy and insecure.

For a moment, we saw each other, face to face.
I wanted to be nice, but I was unable to smile.

I continued talking to my wife, but feeling terribly guilt.

You sat beside me in the table and said something nice about a picture of a cat that was hanging on the wall.

You said something like Cats are awesome.

I sensed you weren't comfortable at all.
All you wanted to do was to be nice with us.

It seemed that you were about to live with us.

In a way, it really excited me.
The chances to get along with you were so exciting.
But it also scared me.

I was afraid to falling in love with you.

At the time I had these thoughts, I secretly saw you.

You looked so fragile and pretty. 

Yesterday, I was thinking all day long to give you a call and say Hi.
I didn't. I'm not sure if I will. 

All The Love In The World

Why do I still dream about you...?

Despite All My Rage I'm Still Just A Rat In A Cage

I'm ill. I've got the flu.
I've been sort of sick since Monday.
I hadn't slept well.
Yesterday, I came home earlier than usual.
I slept too many hours.

I'm about to get ready to travel to the city.
None of these issues is relevant. 

Last Thursday, a couple of colleagues invited me to give a talk in a Sleep Research Course.

Today, I'm going to talk about how the microbiome impacts on sleep and the development of some neurodegenerative diseasses and neuropsiquiatric disorders.

I had less than one week to prepare this talk.

Originally, I wasn't invited to this course.

The sad events of the last week, changed many things.

I'm sort of nervous.
The talk I prepared it's sort of incomplete... or I think so. 

I'm still ill.

I dreamed about my PhD advisor and his Associate Researcher.

I was in his lab, performing a stereotaxic surgery with one friend of High school.

The surgery was a disaster. I didn't have all the instrumental I needed.
The rat was suffering and my friend constantly told me that he had saved the rat from death, several times. I felt so guilty.

I hold the animal in my hands and I tried to give it comfort. It was really suffering. 

There were another guys in the lab, attending to a seminar.

As I was looking desperately for a heavy drug to give peace to the rat, the Associate Researcher walked close to us. She gave us a speech that, somehow, I had heard before, a few times. She was selling the idea that going to a Neuroscience Meeting was the best idea everyone could ever have. Deep inside, it seemed that this meeting was going to be the most boring thing in the world. She told us her speech so enthusiastically and smiling.

Also she said, in a pretty low voice, as if she didn't want us to hear it, that my advisor was going to be the star on this Neuroscience Meeting. So, in the end, it seemed that the point was that the lucky volunteers would be his slaves. 

She wore a dress with stamped flowers on a black background.
She seemed more honest than she seems in reality.
She didn't use heeled shoes –as she always does in reality– and she seemed shorter than she seems in reality. 

I was so desperately looking for ketamine.
I wanted to give a peaceful death to the rat, but I was so silly and proud of myself that I didn't want to ask her for ketamine.

Then my advisor walked beside me.
He seemed really angst. He had his stereotypical face of "Get out of my way, you useless dumb!" His gesture evoked on me some unpleasant feelings... but, somehow, they were not as intense as they used to be almost ten years ago. At the end of my postgraduate studies I really hated my life and I even developed some level of alcoholism, addiction to smoking and a couple of psychosomatic illnesses. 

These feelings left a pretty clear example on my dream. 
A rat was in agony and my advisor just didn't even know... or didn't care. 

Also, I had the impression that he was so tiny and that I could just beat him up and throw him a few miles away from me, with a pretty small effort.

My dream was an astonishing metaphor. 

Despite All My Rage, I'm Still Just A Rat In A Cage

While The Sun Hangs In The Sky

Last week was a nightmare. 

Around nine o'clock, as I was having a Skype meeting with a couple of colleagues from Mexico City and Juriquilla, Queretaro, in front of my laptop in Lerma de Villada, beginning the 4th week of classes, one of my closest colleagues arrived to his lab, located a few meters away from the University, in Mexico City –a space which he, his wife and my previous boss rented since two years ago, when September 19th's Earthquake damaged the building on which they worked... and on which I worked for the previous three years–, bought an orange juice, left it on a desk and said to his wife that he would go to the bank. 

It would be the last time she would see him.  

At 14: 00, her wife tried to call him on the cellphone –they used to eat together, at that time– and he didn't answer. All day long, she tried to do it, over and over again. 
On Monday's night, she reported him as a missing person.

I knew about the situation, from a friend of my wife, until Tuesday, as I was about to teach my class of Drug Addiction. It was so shocking. He's not the kind of person who disappears, leaving his entire family distraught. 

Immediately, my wife and myself started to share information about him and the situation on our social networks. We were close to them. My wife and myself shared a small office with them for the last two years. 
We saw them everyday... 
Sometimes we ate with them... 

I shared a bigger office with both of them on the previous three years. 
I worked with them for the last five years. 

We even have a publish paper and another one that I'm writing. 

I saw them when they told me that she was pregnant and I saw them when they took her baby daughter to the University when the baby started to walk and to go to the kindergarten... 

I saw their entire family when they took them to the University, when they were on holidays... 

Both of them invited me to teach a few classes and seminars for their undergraduate and postgraduate students... He, a researcher from Oregon and myself shared the advisory of a postgraduate student... 

At the end of each year, since we started to work together, my wife and myself went to their house for the last dinner of the year. My wife even cooked a few deserts they loved. 

They sometimes gave us a ride on their Van, if we accidentally saw them on an Avenue next to the University, on which they passed right after leaving their baby daughter in the kindergarten. They even asked us if we wanted the baby tub of their baby daughter, when we told them that we wanted to have a baby. 

I was beside him during the Earthquake... on the third floor of the soon-to-be-damaged building... and I saw them so preoccupied –his wife was in another building of the University and their daughters were at their schools, a few miles away– and I saw them helping a couple of women whom had lost their minds, as soon as the Earthquake finished...

On Wednesday's night, we knew via Whatsapp that he had been found in a small town in Oaxaca. The message was brief and sad: it said it weren't good news. 

On Thursday's morning it was official: he was dead. 

The circumstances of his death are suspicious.
The authorities seem to have an urge to close the case as soon as possible.

They say he commited suicide. It is unreal. 
A few of his colleagues –including me– have a Bachelor's Degree in Psychology. 
We don't think so.
He was the most positive person I have ever knew. 
He had five kids. The younger of them has four years old.  

His pupils say that on the previous days of his missing, he was so optimistic. 

Finally, after two years, the authorities of the University had told him that, at the end of October, he and her wife will have a new lab... inside the University... and so they will have an appropriate space to continue with their experimental research... and so they will not longer have to pay a rent, with their own money, for a space a few blocks away from the University... 

His pupils say that he and his wife were making plans to celebrate it with a big travel in boat across the ocean. 

No one around him, agrees with this suicidal hypothesis. 
Some journalists have spread the new that his family accepted that he was depressed. 
None of this is true. 

I still can't believe it. 
I can't believe I will not see him ever again.

The last time I saw him was on July.
It was the quarterly progress examination of a postgraduate student. 

As usual, he hugged me and he seemed pretty happy. 

At the end of the exam, we walked downstairs.

He gave me the cellphone number of one of his friends.
His friend was looking for a younger researcher. She was able to interview some candidates in order to contract one of them. He thought I could be interested. I was the third person he told about it. I got a new job on January. The other two persons are still postdocs. 

He started to smoke.
I wanted to ask him which were his thoughts about the last strike on the University.

On April, I saw him and I saw his wife at some protests against the three month strike.
(I even uploaded a couple of videos of these protests on my YouTube Channel.)
It was such a disturbing situation that we didn't talk at all. I had no money. I had to spend all my savings to survive. I had no patience to talk to anyone. 

Back then, on July, I wanted to ask him which were his thoughts about unionized professors... but we spoke very few. He had to see someone else. 

Then, I went to the office we shared for the last two years –since we lost our building–, to say Hi to her wife. She was really warm and she was really happy to see me. I knew things weren't cool at all, at the office. 
It seemed that she and his husband had been threatened by members of the new administration –those who had left them without a workspace since the Earthquake of 2017– and she wasn't happy at all. It was weird. She's one of the most passionate scientist I have ever met. 

These guys of the new administration seemed to have an urge to occupy the office, no matter if it wasn't their office and no matter if my colleagues saw it as a temporary asylum... because the new administration had not assigned them an appropriate space. 
It seemed more important to them to have the office rather than to give to my colleagues a decent space to continue with their experimental research. 

I tried to distract her and I asked her for her advice.
I' was about to become an Editor in a Neuroscience Topic in an Open Access Journal, and she was Editor of this Journal a few years ago. 

We said Goodbye. 

On this awful weekend I sent her a couple of messages. 
She didn't give an answer. I understand her. She said –no doubt about it– there were the worst days of her life.

Last Friday, it was the funeral of his husband.

At the main entrance of the room, it was a photograph of the seven members of the family.
Later, she said to her father in law that they took that photograph on December, a couple of years ago. 

It was so heartbreaking. His husband looked so happy and smiled, as we, who knew him, saw him daily. 

When I saw her widow, we hugged and I was unable to say something smart. 
She told me that she thought that she wouldn't find her husband's body... and that it gave her some peace of mind. 

I was unable to say something. I didn't find the appropriate words to give her comfort.

My wife and myself were in the funeral until the next day. 
We spoke with colleagues and pupils. 

I feel terrible. I'm still on shock. 
I would like to help her widow somehow, but I dunno what to do or to say. 

I met her when I was about to start my postgraduate studies, more than ten years ago. 
Then she was about to obtain her PhD degree. She's about my age. 
We were professors at the School of Psychology. 
Sometimes we saw each other and spoke a few words. 

I cannot stop thinking of them. 
We shared so many memories. It's awful and painful.
I remember both of them being the most pacifist and friendly persons I have ever met. 

Since I knew of his death, I've been thinking on this song. 

In one of our last conversations on Monday, almost a year ago, he confessed that he was a big fan of Queen. One day after,I just had seen the movie of Freddie Mercury and I told him so.

He asked me if the movie had sexual or violent or inappropriate scenes... so he can get his four old year-daughter to see it to the movie theatre... 

I never knew if he watched it.
I will remember him as the enthusiastic and smiling guy he was.  

Why do bad things happen to good people?

Innuendo

An Airbag Saved My Life

For almost ten years I hadn't had vacations. I decided to take my wife to Taxco de Alarcon. It's located at the southwest of Mexico City, miles away from Acapulco. 

The experience brought me some memories of my childhood. 

Eventually, it reminded me of three guys I met at the School of Psychology. A couple of them were friends from senior high school, or they told me so. The other was a woman and the three of them were also friends at the School of Psychology. I met them at a boring class of Theories of Personality, I guess. We worked together. I've been thinking of them.  

I wonder what's up with her. 

What It's Wrong With Me

7 46
26 Aug 19

Shitty Monday
Thinking about a week ago
Waking up from a shitty dream
Suffocated by the blankets
Navigating on the mattress
Procrastinating
Wasting time
All my life

Whispers At The Bus Stop

For a couple of years, we saw each other on almost a daily basis. 

It must have been a year since the last time I saw you.

I knew that back then you just had broken up with your boyfriend. 

I never liked him. He was so immature. He always behaved like if he really believed that he was the smartest guy on Earth. 

I heard that he even stole from you a secret diet formula –on which you worked several years– for his own experiments. He did't give you the credit. It seems that he's also a suspicious guy. 

Then, I saw you in the school yard. You looked so sad. 

You were crying and asking him for another opportunity, or so I thought. 

It was a weird image. 

I knew that you had a bad relationship with your family and that your mom had just kicked you out of her house but I had the impression that you were so indifferent to love...

Maybe, it always was the opposite. 

We never got along and so I don't know why I dreamed about you.

Though sometimes I found you attractive, I never wanted to get close to you.

There was something about your face that I never liked. 

Your big brown eyes didn't fix you enormous lips. 

Also, your eyebrows seemed so rude. Also, your hips seemed so gross. 

Also, I never liked your attitude. You seemed to be sort of hypocrite. 

You seemed to be diplomatic, the kind of girl who tolerated people only for a purpose.

You acted like if you were so fragile and dumb, but you were always thinking how to get what you wanted.

Especially I hated the way you always seemed to underrate me. 
You made me feel like a silly student who had just finished High School. 

I supposed it happened 'cause I was never useful to you.
It was so obvious that you always behaved like if I were some sort of miserable guy to you. How I hated it. 

Gosh, I wasn't a student like you!
You were the one who was studying her last months in College!

In my dream, you wanted us to be in a lonely place. 

Desire reflected in your evil eyes, as you spoke softly to me.
You held my hand and insisted me to leave to a lonely place. 
Your lips shone like a juicy fruit.  

We got in your car.
Streets were empty and immersed in a sordid atmosphere.
You drove across the empty streets. 
It seemed an apocalyptic city.  
It also seemed a Hollywood movie. 
The sun irradiated a yellowish light on the streets.

We got to an old building.
We walked downstairs and stopped on the first floor of the building. 
You started to kiss me so desperately. 
It seemed that your life was over.
You stopped kissing me. 
Your eyes were immersed in desire. 
Your image was so impressive that it looked like if you were ill. 

Then, as a man dressed in a fancy suit came along, you touched my crotch. 
As if his presence didn't mind, you opened your mouth and started to get on your knees...

I woke up wondering "What a hell...!" 

Found About You