I don’t feel like having sex lately. Or even kissing. Realizing that was sad, as if it was some kind of wretched signal of aging. I am well aware that everything  ages and that it often means fading and blotching, but I felt old. The lust I struggled to control and come to terms with was not a part of myself anymore, so who was I? I kissed good-looking men and felt no desire, nothing, zero desire. Was I getting too old for sex, or even, was my sex-drive broken? Don’t get me wrong, I have a healthy sex-life, I am not a nymphomaniac or somebody who has psychological issues. I just really enjoy sex and, from a young age, I knew I had this sexual side of mine that demanded attention and care. I’ll admit it took me years to discover that love was what I was looking for, that a deep emotional connection was what was missing from it to make it the fulfilling experience I intuitively knew it could be.

Now imagine two months of staleness and boredom, as if that little spark in the eye had gone, God knows where… How did this happen? Did my failed romantic experiences got the best of me after all? Did I subconsciously let those weak, little men I had the stupidity of getting involved with when I was needy smash my notion of my own sexuality?

 

 

Yesterday, as I was driving home, I saw a fire in a sugar cane field. The darkness was illuminated by the flames that rose high up to the sky and the smoke engulfed the opposite lane almost entirely. On the radio, a good rock ballad, not corny or cheesy, just romantic and slow. I could smell the smoke and admired the sad, red spectacle for kilometers. And then, out of the blue, I envisioned myself licking your chest, grabbing your hair while straddling you. You were wearing only a pair of jeans and your hands were going up, towards my hips, underneath my favorite dress. We were in a king size bed in a well-lit room with a balcony facing the city somewhere in Havana, where we met, and you smelled like cigars and aftershave. I can close my eyes and vividly recall that image as if I had actually lived it. Right there, I knew I was going to be just fine.

I wish I could write a poem about it, unfortunately I am not that good with words.  When I got home half an hour later, I was scrolling down some websites I enjoy, absent-minded, and found this image by accident. Maybe Lisa Adams had a coup de foudre similar to my own.

Maybe life will make this fantasy come true. And I damn hope it does.

 

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