"Do you ever go into a fight thinking 'There's no point giving my best, I'll get another chance later?' We only ever get one shot, Marlin. Life is one shot! Making it count is all that matters!" - Skold Greypelt, Lone Wolves - Graphic Novel, Dan Abnett & Karl Richardson

jueves, 12 de junio de 2014

[ENG] Prisoner of your skin

A short story about some feelings that imprison us. For all forgotten or lost loves, hope you like it.

Prisoner of your skin

My mind always travels to the time whenever we enjoyed ourselves while feeling the wind through my being each time that I’m here.

But now, the days are so bitter. My time has become tasteless, my skin has become unfeeling and my heart has turned bloodless. Everything has lost the flavor; the essence has been forgotten a long time ago and all my feelings are down locked in our old closet. Only the memories of our old days wake up my feelings and pump hot blood to all my body.

The first thing that I remember about you is the softness of your breasts. We were young and you sat in my legs. You take out your blouse and my pants break up in an eruption. You were lacking of bra and I became frozen by the beauty sight of your breasts.

You enjoyed my face. I smiled to you.

My hands were on the curves of your hips and you slowly guided them across the highways of your body. My thumbs merely touched your belly button and started ascending through you.

I was really nervous and now, remembering that special moment of my life I break up in a knowing smile with myself. You were to me as virgin coasts were to a mariner, my new land, the promised reward. The recent discovered feelings of the new voyage we were sailing to, give me the courage to continue the travel across the immense and unknown sea that your body was.

I felt your nervousness across your hands so I gather all my courage and broke the last waves of our doubts. I placed my hands softly in your breast and then as if a cage was broken you closed your eyes and released my arms, raising your own to the sky as a surrendering to me.

My hands still remember the tact. The softness of your breasts was a contrast of the 
hardness of your nipples. They were like the final pillars of your body that helped you to maintain the control of your body. I merely touched them very softly. And then I press.

You took my head and kiss my lips with so hot passion and without a single moment of doubt that I passed my right hand to your hips. I pulled you to me and in that moment you give me the order to taste your skin, your neck, your shoulders, your breasts.

Vivid memories and only that. 

If I could only change one thing in my life, I would change that day. I would swap places with you because, certainly, you could live without me. You wouldn’t be here at my grave, standing with only the memories of our best times in the past. Your hands wouldn’t be remembering the tact of my skin, your nose my essence, your mouth my lips, you heart my heart. And not because you didn’t love me, just because you were too free for being trapped in a cage of lost memories and remembered cages. You were too free and I’m not.

I will always live within the strong cage of your softness skin, prisoner of the sensations that only you awoke on me; dam of eternal locked chains for which the key I voluntary throw away too many years ago, the day you go to a place where ever I couldn’t follow you. 

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