Making love with a blind I handed thumb like any Hitchhiker on a road in the world. I do not know yet possible libidinous connection between a trained finger and the desire of a woman sitting behind the wheel. Maybe it either, but I do not know the background. What is certain, she discovered that she remain anonymous whatever she does with a blind. This discovery arranged it so that she dared to live their hidden desires, protected by my lack of sight. I was alone on the edge of a little traffic. It was past noon, everyone had to eat rather than driving. Not a sound was talking place, nothing measurable could properly describe to me the environment. Nothing. I was nowhere, but I was there. I conclude by lack of auditory and olfactory information, that I was in open country. I gave a cry to probe the topography, an echo condescended to reveal to me a valley opened before me. The last driver to mute trend was told to come down to this place because it was going to take a different route than mine. I remember the first gust of wind made me lift the thumb confusing the air with the roar of an engine. Now I self-stoppai the wind! When a real car stopped I opened the door that appeared in my hands and a womans voice was astonished: - But you do not step in front of Sir? I had to clarify somewhat hastily that I was blind, I had not voluntarily chosen to open the rear door. A warmed smell of leather and violets greeted me. What a contrast to the great outdoors open! The first scent down because heavy evoked me warm belly of an animal rolling in humus to be even more united with the earth. The second, bottom, volatile, his blue sparkled in April throughout the car shaking olfactory bells. The woman lowered the volume of the music. A cotton scarf in shades of beige, pale pink to salmon wrapped up his violins around my throat. Then the living water of an oboe wrapped my half torso engaged in the carriage of a waterfall melting glacier. The cold oboe stimulated my breath. Violet, leather, probably Mozart, I became intimate. I sat, tied the belt and a little stupidly repeated the name of my destination. I had to find myself sitting in a nice car, very pretty indeed. All said, the sound of the engine, a cat purring in the fireplace, the inviting comfort of my leather seat, a woody fragrance escaped from the dashboard. The lady with a voice somewhat haughty and round as I foresaw her shoulders bare: - But youre really blind? - Yes blind eye. I felt that my answer interloquait. But I did not want to lift the veil too fast. I wanted to see the impact of my answer, see how she broke into the spirit of this unknown woman. His questioning look watching me. There was doubt and misunderstanding in this directed attention on me, but not afraid, not yet. And before it does creeps into it, dictates their behavior, I decided to risk an explanation: - There Ms another way of seeing, perceiving, because the view can only be quantitative if it is not accompanied by the qualitative attention than any called clairvoyance. You could also say that lucidity, lighting happens eyes, brings light into the night. - Are you traveling alone without seeing those who take you in their car? This is dangerous, anyone could make you do anything. And in that anyone could make you do anything I felt that his body was waking emotion and his voice moistened. A smile is had to draw on my lips. I heard my friend Rudy, the Bucharest philosopher beggar walking chanting: - Jean-Pierre women love men atypical, adventurers, battered life, rogue finally all coming out of the norm reassuring but they do not see too much in this transitional and reassuring object called the husband. - Yes life is dangerous, even one dies all the time! I stammered a bit hastily and mechanically. She had a brief and polite laugh for worn cliché then insisted: - But, if I may say so, are you totally blind or have you remaining vision? - No, I only have a memory of what its like to see, and nothing else. - But can t we be happy being blind? His question was steep as a cliff. I loved it. - It can be, yes, but to try to speak the same language, see what it means for me the word happiness. Happiness could it be anything other than anticipate where its needed and when it is necessary, that is to say, be around at the right time? How many meetings with the happiness they are missed because we are not in agreement with the correct time, the only one that exists, that of the present moment? And that missed appointment with the present moment is called rightly misfortune because one has to believe that one is at the wrong time: evil hour! - You speak the language of birds? - I say what comes to me without thinking. Listening to others, I cut and glue together the syllables constituting their sentences so entirely subjective and sometimes, sometimes I hear hidden and other unspoken sense in an exchange of small talk in appearance. In short I play, sometimes with e and sometimes with i! Either she did not understand my allusion or she found it vulgar. Speaking of the way I thought of a hypothetical parent language, the universal language of Leibniz, but the music of Mozart held its windows, sun sets and moon light, elegance of no cat, and I think that composer then had access to universal language, perhaps the only one that existed. And then we talked a little disjointed before she would return to what was bothering her. Cultural generalities allowed us to breathe together on bassoons and clarinets Mozartiennes that flowed into colorful quadriphonies the four gates of this racy car. eroticism-route.jpg - You see what gives me almost giddy is to think that even if we had - she hesitated on the choice of word - say intimacy, I would dwell for you anonymous. - You may say more? do you even lift She wanted to say but a fear, modesty, what do I know, tied it to the edge of the confession. I felt much more she looked at me, his visual attention was asked the other, on the road and probably on his slight embarrassment. I felt that something was in the air chemistry, space, it was as if there were releases of body odor bubbles. She finally dare to say. The tone was impersonal. A technique to mute the emotions, I tell myself. - What is exciting with a blind is that of course you do not see me and I can do anything, caress me, for example, be naked, you make faces ... Bantering, I replied: - Take the risk madam, you may be surprised. Hesitantly, she continued: - You mean you see a little? - Rest assured I have more eyes, two ocular prostheses to replace the aesthetics, but he has another function very sadly ignored in our culture of images, representations, that of felt. Then came me the pun: - Beware of bait-rancid, they catch us and lead us nowhere except on the periphery of things and beings, we now clinging to appearances. - Ah! If she only said, and I did not know if she had caught the pun. But she relaxed, her eyes again became gracious to me. She was obviously delighted to have received confirmation of my total blindness. Anonymity would integrate whatever happened. She told me: - We arrive at my house, I offer you a small snack - she was going to say something else but did not dare - and then I make you cross the border as you pursue your journey. There is a fuel pump, you can chat with the drivers and negotiate your place. Emboldened, I risked it all out: - So we stop Anne-Sophie and we make love? - But I do not call me Anne-Sophie but ... And I shout: - You want to remain anonymous because you do not want me to recognize you if our paths crossed again, so I give you the first name that comes to me. You are Anne-Sophie the time of our meeting! She asked me, now the column of his warm voice had expanded and rose from his belly, marrying deliciously with the bassoon in the orchestra. - And you make me love? Making love by vouvoyant the prospect attracted me, what challenge! I had never done that. I love new experiences. - No. I will not love you my dear lady, but well make love, because you see love is two! There is not one who makes love and one that receives or suffers. And we made love in us vouvoyant home. Yes, we vouvoyant. I sent for Gonzaga, not to be named, but to give food to the hungry mouth of fantasy. When she put a record on the turntable Bob Dylan, I made me believe that I had a feeling at the thought of this singer when I self stoppais gusts of wind. We tell the stories that suit us, it compensates for the loss of Santa and broken wings ideals! On her couch animal fur greeted us. But I learned nothing that I discovered or gather myself of this piece which was to make room office. It was clear from the beginning of this short relationship Anne-Sophie wanted to protect his anonymity. It would have been unseemly to subtract it a description which would have compromised this extreme discretion. Ordinarily Im rather curious, I ask, I want to know and feel around me, but beautiful lady gave to a man who would have neither memory nor the place itself. I remember that I tore it a real laugh by repeating the phrase Woody Allen while she undressed: - And yet no one has ever seen a blind man in a nudist camp! I do not know what this phrase met her, but she was seized with a violent laughter that twice ejected me from his body. She laughed and laughed and laughed at all his muscles, out of control, so I end up feeling a little uncomfortable, as if I were an unwanted viewer. The first time I pulled away from her and sat down. But very playful she should return to get me to wrap myself in his ocean scented hair, the doors of all the great desires open. Scene-erotique.jpg We love refîmes immoderately and laughter of the spasms returned to his lower abdomen twitched again and I found myself once more outside it. This time a spontaneous laugh caught me. If love is blind as preting the popular saying, the blind is not always in love, I was thinking about two hours after the meeting, while in great reinforcement of white caning I was going to one car to another to solicit drivers who filled their fuel vehicles. For Emile, road who accepted me on board I was again Hans adventurer, but when I hear Bob Dylan today Gonzaga is not quite dead!
Posted on: Mon, 15 Dec 2014 23:00:05 +0000
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