The Kiss, So Alcoholic And Slow - "Fuck"

ROME
“Fuck”

My eye lids were heavy; could barely lift them open. Forced shut by the penetrating rays of the sun hammering me head on from the blind-less sliding glass doors leading onto the patio where Carmen was sunbathing butt ass the way she always did when we were in Miami, my eyes I could not open. I lay there taut on my back; arms, legs, fingers, and toes outstretched to the four corners of the California King trying to hone in on a thought – a clear thought to encapsulate what I was feeling. Fucking Patrón doing it to me every-gotdamn-time but I guess if I didn’t love, crave the sensation of nothingness I wouldn’t get so fucked up in the first place. I’m a man after all. We thrive in the Olympic race of evasion and just plain dipping and dodging. I deserved a gold medal, for sure, on that front. But aw fuck – my brain! Nothingness brutally dissolved into an aching fitted to the top of my head like a skull cap. Numbness always begets pain in the end.

I sat up, rolling my head about my shoulders in an attempt to loose the throbbing heaviness. I opened my eyes, looked out at Carmen, her toned and bronzed nudity arousing a brick hard erection. Maybe a good fuck would drive the pain away. But, maybe not. We’d fucked all night and I still couldn’t pit that feeling of drowning and failure lodged in the core of my soul. And that’s the clear thought; there it was all highlighted and italicized, dulled only slightly by an inordinate consumption of alcohol and sex. I left New York and LA a failure. Shunned by envious and gloating peers as an artist having run his course and ignored by the press that showered me in its extended 15 minutes of fame, I was backsliding one excruciating rung at a time down the ladder of accomplishment and success. I laughed. She prophesized this would happen. She was cruel. Pissed off and cold, broken by my inability to love her the way she felt she deserved to be loved she cut me with every ounce of distain her full heart could muster. And then she left. Ivy always got her way.

“You up?” Carmen stood at the door dewy from the heat of the sun with a perspiring water goblet in hand. She was uncomplicated. She rarely pressed for answers to questions I deemed insignificant. She never asked about the other women it was obvious she shared me with. Carmen was … cool.

I folded my arms at the back of my head, settling into the pillow. “Come here.” Carmen hesitated, her eyes narrowing in a way I hadn’t seen before. She eyed my dick and sipped from the glass as a droplet of water fell between her firm augmented breasts with erect nipples calling for me. In one swift movement – a movement I knew would soon have her riding me – Carmen set the goblet on the night table then disappeared into the bathroom and slammed the door behind her. I popped up. “Uh, what just happened?” Silence. “Carmen?” Silence. “You coming back out baby? My dick is hard.” More silence followed by the sound of the shower. It was a shower I clearly wasn’t invited to. “Fuck!” What had I done? What had I said? What hadn’t I done? What hadn’t I said? Whatever it was or was not it boiled down to knowing it was time to get back. A real man can run but for only so long. … “Fuck!”