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

Suicide Blonde Was The Color Of Her Hair

We lived for years in an apartment. 

When we moved to our own house, somedays, after classes, mom used to go to therapy with one of my brothers. My brother had some troubles with his cruel classmates, as he had a severe dermatitis and everyone was joking about his appearance. 

He's younger than me and he's always been a strong boy, but then he needed to understand kids were stupid. Girls were his only friends and boys thought he was a fragile kid and were jealous about him.  

The therapist's office was at the other extreme of the city, and mom and he spent all the afternoon away from home. 

Dad was at his job –he's a chemist and then he worked at a company located at the boundaries of the city– and later he picked them up at the therapist's office and the three of them arrived home late at night.

In that occasions, my smaller brother and I stayed at home.
Even when this visit to the therapist's office occurred twice per month and it lasted just a few hours, it was an important issue to me. I felt I was an adult taking care of his smaller brother. 

Although I was in Junior high school –I was a teenager– and I just thought about women and music, I considered my parents trusted me and I didn't want to deceive them. 

My smaller brother was at kindergarden. 
As the kids of his age, he was a playful boy. I was a typical eleven-year old-teenager and I hadn't enough patience to play with him. I no longer liked toys neither jumping and running nor play 'seek and hide'. 

To deal with my smaller brother's energy and playfulness I had to turn on the TV, give him a bunch of candys, and leave him there watching cartoons, but he got bored so soon. 

All I wanted was to be alone –dunno remember what exactly I used to do to enjoy myself, but, maybe, I used to listen music or something like that–, so, when he got bored, I started to ask him what he would liked to do. 

He had a strange bound to a Goofy's movie. Didn't understand why he enjoyed to watch the same movie once and again –psychologists argue that it reinforces knowledge at early stages of life–, but I pleased him. 

We had a couple of TVs, one in the kitchen and another in the living room, but just one Betamax. I put the movie in the VCR and I left him there, in the living room, watching the adventures of Goofy.   

Eventually, in one of those days of therapy, I discovered that my dad had some Playboy magazines. From that day, each time mom brought my brother to his therapy and then my smaller brother and I were left alone at home, all I wanted to do was take a look at those magazines. 

As soon as mom left the house, I asked to my smaller brother if he wanted to watch the Goofy's movie again. Fortunately, he agreed always and then I put the movie in the VCR.

At some point of those therapy days, while I was looking for the Goofy's movie, I found a movie I hadn't ever seen amongst the personal collection of my dad.

Immediately, I got excited and freezed. It was called Basic Instinct. Still don't know how he got it. We were in the autumn of 1992 and I guess the movie was still on cinemas, but he had a personal copy. I'd heard about Basic Instinct. It was difficult to ignored all the fuzz around it. Supposedly it was an intense thriller with explicit sex. Supposedly it had been censored in some countries. 

News said it was an acclaimed Paul Verhoeven's movie, entirely filmed in 1991, with Sharon Stone and Michael Douglas as the leading roles. 

De Georges Biard, CC BY-SA 3.0, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=9055138

I thought it was, essentially, as a sex movie. Eventually, I knew I was so wrong.

Catherine Tramell was a stone-cold writer and she was dating Johnny Boz, a retired rockstar. The movie begins when the police finds Boz dead. 

Nick Curran was a detective and he had to find out who had murdered the retired rockstar. He and one of his colleagues found that all the beloved ones and the recent lovers of Catherine Tramell had died in mysterious ways.

As the investigation moves on, Nick Curran gets attracted to Catherine Trammell.
She was a successful, smart, enigmatic and beautiful blonde. 
He suspected that she was involved in the death of Boz, but started to having sex with her.
He became a sex-addict and he lost the objectivity of the criminal case.  

When I found out Basic Instinct in the movies' collection of my dad, I convinced my smaller brother that Goofy's movie was boring and predictable, and made up a false story about the relationship between cartoons and intelligence so that he would be interested in cartoons and I could use the only VCR we had in the living room.

He believed me. I guess he trusted his older brother and that he never thought that I was a jerk-off. 

I turned on the TV in the kitchen and left him there watching silly cartoons. Then I ran to the living room and put Paul Verhoeven's movie in the VCR. 

I was very excited and shaky, feeling that my heart was about to explode. I sat in the floor of the living room, a few millimeters away from the television and the VCR, to remain hidden from my brother's eyesight in case he walked away from the kitchen and then I could turn off the television immediately.

It was the excitement of the movie and the excitement of the situation. 
It was an extreme situation. I didn't want to be discovered by my brother watching an adult film and I also couldn't miss the opportunity to see an adult film. 

The first scene was violent and impressive. 
It was a blurry image in movement, reflected in a mirror.
There were soft and  murmuring sounds, which made me think of a couple having sex. 
It was so cryptic and poetic, attractive and ambiguous. 

When, apparently, both of them were about to have an orgasm, the blonde woman on top of her lover took out an ice pick and stabbed him, nailing him fiercely everywhere. 

The retired rockstar had his hands tied to a bar on the bed, so he just yelled desperately, bled profusely and died. 

There was something about Sharon Stone that I couldn't get rid of for weeks. 

I got obsessed about his beauty and ferocity.

Each time I had the opportunity to watch the film, when my smaller brother and I were left alone at home, I just watched one or two scenes. 
It would have been awkward to watch the entire movie, from the beginning to the end, and it would also have increased the risk of being discovered by my brother. Didn't want to deceive my parents, nor wanted to be responsible of exerting a deleterious influence on an innocent mind. 

In fact, I just watched the entire movie a few years ago.
I would sell out my soul for a month to experience Sharon Stone's world.   

Suicide Blonde - INXS