Better for us to accompany into eccentric seclusion the big guy, who when observed carefully appeared to be feverish, for at the end of the day he was able to avoid the two-woman-strong dog pack that was surely spewing endless advice. Therefore, when he arrived, violence, door slamming … A room for him alone; yes: his wish, to think to his heart’s content, for a while.
So—trapped?
Let’s not even think about their reaction, and they didn’t dare knock on the door … well, there was all that merry to-do about the wedding …
But—trapped?
Demetrio’s ideas spun in an orbit, recalling all his girlfriends as if he were watching a parade of miniatures; miniature-girls; each one, without exception, he’d done nothing more than kiss on the mouth; charm in sepia tones, perhaps, nothing worth harvesting from the past; lost loves that never involved nudity, and upon uttering that word he remembered Mireya, an unbridled fever of carnal lust; soaring sex, so rarefied, just to imagine it; everything seen through the eye of a heron who could barely shake its wings. The woman who possibly bore his child and was wantonly lost on night x; the same woman who once in a while appeared in his dreams laughing at him, calling him “poor imbecile,” what you missed out on, love like this and like that: sex as well as understanding and infinite tenderness: what more do you want, you jerk. And if Demetrio had allowed himself to be trapped by Mireya? Let’s see—what did being trapped or feeling trapped consist of? The truth is that Mireya went from being a total whore to an awesome saint. Struggling saint. Mothering saint. Sexual saint, embossed upon the always-changing great beyond. Oh, most holy Mireya, gone who-knows-where.
Then he imagined the whore rocking her baby sadly, an unlikely cooing, because in unreality it lasted an entire night. A whole night of quite sensitive crying; the cries of a forsaken single mother seen in almost floating limbo; rocking, faithfully rocking, a baby who would probably view things in a dark light when he grew up; who would always have to put up with the vexing stigma of being the son of a single mother—ooh! she, such a whore to the core and such a saint to the discerning judge. She, who but for a magical mistake would have been his wife, but a church wedding—impossible! that was the problem. On the other hand, the green-eyed gal—what a difference! She was a different kind of whore, an emblematic one because legal. And he imagined everything he would do with her once they got married. He saw her upside down performing a difficult fellatio. He saw her doing a somersault in the air and landing precisely on top of him for penetration, no pain as the cowl slid over his erect member. He saw her in a swoon of pleasure, in the middle of an orgasm, her eyes upturned and her plaintive voice pleading for more. He saw her coiled then grow unfurling, that is, her ass and breasts got bigger, large, huge—man oh man! her mouth also swelling, the better to kiss with. Nevertheless, reality, in the end, was third-rate, so abruptly reductive. When Demetrio arrived punctually for his date, Renata immediately ushered him into the yellow room. They were alone, nobody was watching them. Her mother was busy in the stationery store. Moreover, they were already spouses … though only theoretically—right? and, naturally! Demetrio tried to give her a polite kiss. They wrestled. Just one on her pursed lips, or rather a responsible adult kiss, let’s say, on the cheek, but Renata threatened to scream, loudly. Hence an alarm and thus he spurted out:
“Why won’t you let me? You’re already my wife.”
“I will be when we stand before the altar in a year’s time.”
“I love you, Renata. Let me at least hug you.”
“No, not even that. Things have to be done properly.”
“But nobody’s watching us. Come on!”
“Remember, I was well brought up, and it makes no difference whether anybody is watching us … God is.”
“Do you promise you’ll kiss me a lot once we get married?”
“Then, yes, but not before … I want it all to be beautiful.”
“So, you promise me we’ll even do dirty things when we get married?”
“We’ll do whatever you want, but you’ll have to go along with me till then. Don’t ruin what we are trying to build.”
As for the rest of it: sacred hand-holding and finally staring