Is there sex without teeth and claws? As I saw him lying on the bed, the fading light of sunset casting so many different shades and colours over his body, he was a canvas where I painted the bodies of many others. I playfully licked the sweat off his chest, and it tasted great! A man´s sweat, smelling of sex, of physical exertion, traces of my perfume, salt, a tad sweet.
Thrusts long and slow, or firm and strong as if piercing my insides. Who is he? Do I care?
My hands go for his head and miss the mop of dark brown hair, thick and lush, short and yet long enough so I can bury my hand and pull to my breasts. Salt and pepper, fine and short and well groomed. Pulled to my neck all the same. Who was he? I remember! I know his name! For now.
He wears no fragrance and I am comfortable with it, reminiscing about the first man whose natural scent I loved, I who love perfumes to the point of obsession, understood how a man could smell good, his soul on the sweat gathered on the fabric of his shirt, on his neck, his pubis, his chest. Who was he? He wasn´t the one whose scent so bewitched me.
He did not sink his teeth on me, or left the marks of his hands on my thighs. Oh, but I did it! And I felt his muscles tense in my jaws, him moaning softly, eyes clouded and voice one tone deeper than normal. He kissed me longer and deeper, slower and then bent to my shameless suckling, biting and licking, until he dove into my nipples, my navel and nested his head between my legs, where I kept him for so long that his tongue got cramps.
Different cocks were embodied in that one cock, except for the one whose unique fitting made me addicted to a routine where every position had a perfect coupling. I missed that one and only. I missed him too when my casual lover, spent, let his weight over me, smiling and cuddling. His body, lean and muscular, felt light compared to the one I once loved. I wonder if I will ever forget his weight, his voice and his nose. Oh, man of the beautiful nose!
There was this boy whose smile melted my heart and who lifted me on his arms and let me wrap my legs around his waist. His skin had a golden tan and his butts the White mark of his swimsuit, he moved gracefully and sent shivers down my spine when he went serious and looked deep into my eyes. I remember that other man, who loved being adored, and had a way to reign over me that made angry but also made me laugh. His eyes of a Caribbean blue, with hues of green, glassy under the dim light of the bedside lamp. Do I still remember his face? He must have changed with age…
Time is as constant as the ocean. It never ceases to hit the beach and the rocks, eating sand lines to sculpt new beaches somewhere else, the sea does not leave anything still or unchanged. Time works the same, it may pass slowly and quietly or boast tidal waves that turn our lives upside down, time takes away what we love the most, just like the sea drowns even the best swimmer, and yet it might also bring hope, like the sea feeds us with its bounty of fish.
I´ve cried oceans of tears over the ones I lost, the ones I never had the chance to have, and although time seems to have healed most of the wounds, their memory still haunt me as shadows over someone else´s body. There is one, however, whom I just can´t forget, and his is the name I Always remember, the body I never cease to long for, as unrequited love as it was. Love has teeth and claws, and it ripped off the best part of my heart, and left only sea and salt on its instead.