At this rate…that is…(what a f***ing title is this actually!)

I cannot stop thinking about you. I know this is the line of an highschool girl, and not the love letter of a man, but that’s how I feel about you.

After so much time since we last met, the image of you begins to fade, but I still remember your taste, the touch of your hands, the depth of your eyes.

I am not writing you to give you compliments. I am writing you to set myself free from this obsession. I am not in love, that’s what I like to think, I am just charmed from the memories of pleasure and from the little gap of unknown that comes from the fact we have always remained strangers to each other.

You think I am an old maniac and I think you are a wild young man, and I have had proof we match, in bed at least.

You finally answered to my message, just to tell me you’ll let me know when you are free, eventually. a little “x” and the fact you answered at night to make me hope that even if we are not meant to be together in life, we’ll burn together again.

I would like to know what you are thinking. The fact I am old, and the fact I am a man, as you are, doesn’t mean that I cannot be interested in having a piece of your mind. Let me know what you think, I beg you. I am nothing but amusement for you…good, let it be, but then I’ll know where I am standing.

I need to know if you feel something, that won’t change my behaviour towards you, but it will set up myself towards myself.

There are two parts of me fighting each other, a dreamer which is consuming in his own memories of happiness,  an old ass-hole who knows that love is just a big bag where we throw all the feeling we cannot give a label too and that pheromones are often worse than poison.

Do you think I am a bitch? I am. I am a bitch sold to passion, because I cannot bear the thought that relationships are made to fall into giving each other for granted and to share a cold bed, just to end up old, unable to move, full of shit, hoping to be the first one to fall not to need to take care of the other.

I know too many people who stay together because it’s convenient or not to hurt their family, or because they have children they can’t stand to leave behind. In the name of love we kill our personalities, we accept goddamned compromises and we live a life we do not own.

I have run away from this, hurting the ones I thought I loved, hurting myself to the edge of endurance. And still I look for love. That love which is the only thing I’ve been hurt by in my entire life.

This is not a trick to pull you into my bed.  Do I want to have sex with you? You got to be kidding me. God only knows how much I want you, but the point of this is do I want to be moaning in the arms of someone considering me shallow? Am I ready to be the sperm receiving ass for a person judging me not worthy? I don’t know.

I cannot know the answer until I don’t know what you think. I cannot know my feeling until I don’t hear you say  “Boris, you are a bitch I just want to fuck you and if you would be any other asshole in the world it would not make any difference for me”. When I have to confront with this, I’ll understand.

I just need you to kill me and raise from my ashes, eventually.

My mobile phone is on. I keep it on my night table, just in case.

x

Boris.

PS: at this rate…that is…

It’s hard to admit that…

…life is a bitch, who is always too expensive for me.
another sleepless night…I wonder what a crap will get out of it…
do you actually mind?

Side Stories #1: Glance (when a true story seems fiction…)

First thing I did coming back home from work was starting my computer and checking my mail. I thought he liked me because when I gave him my e-mail address on a pice of paper from my packet of cigarettes he smiled.
It’s better I don’t think about it…it’s becoming an obsession I said to myself
I met him a few days ago, he works for a company installing fire alarm systems and he is working in our company on a time contract since a few weeks. I called him “the flying Dutchman” because he worked constantly near to the ceiling.  One day I entered the container in the smokers zone and he was there sitting on the ground, dirty and sweaty a  red Coke cap covering his face, the cigarette hanging on the corner of his mouth.
Nobody was there. I normally don’t stare at people, surely not at guys, but with him I couldn’t help.
He took away his cap showing his mohawk and his blue eyes. I couldn’t tell if he was handsome, but his eyes were of a blue I had never seen.
He looked at me without changing expression and when I realized I was staring I felt my cheeks getting warmer.
“Sorry I was staring…I actually thought you were sleeping…or sort of” I said. No answer from his part. Probably he thought I was an idiot, or he understood immediately that I liked him, probably he was used to it.
He stood up, towering on me (I am 165 cm you know…that happens all the time!) and he said: “Can I have a Cig from you to smoke later? I finished mines”  I nodded and took out my packet “Menthol?” he commented “well, I…” I tried to say something but he turned away and he went out without adding a word.
The day after I didn’t see him in the smoker’s room. After smoking my cigarette, I took the stair back to my office and I found him there, with a packet of Marlboro in his hand.
“Here” he said “learn to smoke like a man” then he turned to go down the stairs.
I had to do something! I had to see him again!  ”Wait…”  I said; I took out the pen from my pocket, I pulled off a piece of paper from my packet of cigarettes and I wrote quickly my e-mail address. I gave him the paper and he looked at it shortly, then he casted me a glance smiling.
 ”thanks” he said, and he disappeared down the stairs.
Fuck you Bo! why your e-mail address you nerd! you had to give him your phone number…it was too late in any case, now I just had to wait and see.
Since than almost a week had passed and I still didn’t get any message but everyday I checked it out, I am a die-hard…
That evening I decided to start MSN, maybe some of my friends would have been connected…at least I could chat and think about something else.
As I logged in a request for connection popped out “the Flying Dutchman”…NO WAY!
I accept immediately and he was online…
Flying Dutchman says: It took you so long, Menthol guy!
BorisDemon says: yeah, I have been busy
I lied without mercy! luckily you don’t see that in a chat.
Flying Dutchman says: well, now u’re here anything 2 say? you seemed so in a hurry to give me you e-mail address…if you would have given you tel n. instead it would have been quicker…
BorisDemon says: don’t mention it…
I confessed
Flying Dutchman says: do you like me?
BorisDemon says: u direct one uh?
Flying Dutchman says: So? Do you?
what do I say now? what do I say? what if I say yes and he laughs at me? shit, shit, shit!
BorisDemon says: what if I say yes?
Flying Dutchman says: I would say let’s meet…
Oh my fucking god!  it can’t be true…
BorisDemon says: where?
Flying Dutchman says: in 10 min. at the carpool parking? I don’t live far from you so you know which one I mean?
BorisDemon says: yeah, but 10 min I don’t even have time to change…
Flying Dutchman says: you don’t need to be primping and don’t bring that cigarettes of yours…
BorisDemon says: jerk
Flying Dutchman says: :p
BorisDemon says: hey…
Flying Dutchman says: what?
BorisDemon says: what’s your name?
Flying Dutchman says: I’ll tell you later <3

Flying Dutchman is disconnected…
No way. I am going to meet him…now…will he like me too? of course, he wouldn’t have asked me to meet…but what if he only wants sex? Well, I want sex too..or not?
The time was passing so it was better to be getting going.
The road to the parking was not so long, about ten minutes, I put on my leather jacket and jumped into my car.
When I arrived he is already there waiting with his feet on the steering wheel. I parked my car front to front with his car. We looked at each other for a second then I decided to get out and go to him. His window was open and I bowed to look at him. His mouth reached mine and we kissed, as if it would be normal. He tasted of menthol (the jerk)
“Glenn” he said, “my name is Glenn”
He kissed me again “Close your car and come here” he whispered.
I pushed the lock button and my car clicked. I turned around and I went to seat at the passenger side.
“Surprised?” he said for the first time embarrassed
“I have to admit I am” I said “I never thought you could be…” “Gay?” he finished my phrase. I nodded.
“What do you feel like doing?”  why leave this to me? I thought. My head was trying to look for alternatives.
“I want to have sex with you.” he stated. I tried to reply but he kissed me silent “I want to have sex with you, but I also want to get to know you better…I don’t know what you think…”
This time I pulled him towards me and I kissed him caressing his chest “I think the same.” he smiled again and he looked at me his eyes right into mine.
We kissed and caressed each other for a long time, and when we realized what time it was all around it was dark.
“I want you to come to my place…” he said “I want to come to your place..” I replied “but I am going to smoke menthol”
he laughed out loud than he pulled me towards him and he licked my lips with the point of his tongue “mh…It’s not so bad…”
I woke up in his bed the day after and he was looking at me while I was sleeping. I thought it was so difficult to find love, but Glenn made me change my mind.
I also had an impact though: I made him change his cigarettes…he smokes menthol now…:D

to point this out

I Like little old Boris, with his big nose, his chubby profile, the glasses and the little brown eyes.
I like him because he is simple and quiet, even if sometimes he is washed away from the storm he has inside.
I love his being a maniac, a freak, a dangerous individual.
I love the way he talks, his warm voice and his recurrent phrases.
I love him when he tries to be different from himself, when he is gloomy when he cannot stop talking about death or when he gets the burst of laughter (every time he has a good smoke for instance)
I love him when he is drunk and he becomes romantic or sad.
I love him when he feels like sex and he would fuck whatever passes by…I love him when he really thinks he has fallen in love.
Boris is my companion since more than 30 years, he sleeps with me, eats with me and he even jacks off with me.
Being Boris is not always easy, and the nights I spend at my computer trying to finish my book sometimes fall into shit, into porn or into alcohol…but that’s not such a deal. We survive.
Maybe I should begin being serious about things, but I feel that doing it I would feel the pressure of the world too hard on myself, I am not so strong after all. So I prefer to piss around.
Why do I write? Because I like it.
Why do I share? Because it feels like shouting my rage against the universe and it makes me a little bit happy.
I am warming up here, I am checking myself digging the grave hoping to get out the other side.
You are not obliged to read. But I am happy you are doing it.
You are allowed to judge, disagree, insult and criticize, I’d love to hear all of that, but you can stay in silence and I won’t claim.
I am going to give you a piece of my mind and really get out of the hole from now on…but what has been written remains (with the opportune modification…of course)
I am just a joker, closed in a room with no windows, suffocating in my own breath, hallucinated from my own visions. That’s where my dreams become my ideals, because clowns can have ideals too, and they are worthy like any others.
Well, I am done here. Thanks for listening