One Life


If you don’t think of anything special, if you take everything that happens around you for granted, it suddenly happens. Unexpectedly I got this call and for a moment the ticking of the clock over my kitchen cabinet, the only remnant of my beloved grandmother, stopped. I felt somehow at the mercy of the words that paralyzed my body. Mike called to tell me that his brother had passed away last night. We haven’t seen each other for a while. Since the last time there were too many unspoken things in the air, nobody wanted to take the step of forgiving or forgetting. His voice sounded more vulnerable than ever, there was no doubt he needed me right now and I would go to him and be there like I always have.


One life came to an end and I was there with you at the cemetery, while your mother recited the poem »Death is big« by Rainer Maria Rilke while the mimic of the relatives could hardly withstand the heavy flood of sentimentality. I was there with you when the last remains of earth flew on the coffin like grains of dust and I remember your expression, sad and torn between me and the other woman who was always supposed to play a role. I thought of your brother, for whom you would have traded your own life without hesitation, and I remembered this ‘nothingness‘ that currently overshadowed everything in its entirety. You took my hand and I kissed your cheek. We left the cemetery arm in arm.

We haven’t seen each other for more than three years and yet a familiar smell floated in the air, it was my home, a place I never wanted to leave. We had to celebrate life, there was no time to think about what had happened, there was no time for false ambiguities. You overwhelmed me in the corridor of your apartment while kissing me on our dresser. The dresser we bought at the market back then. And my ghosts that were left behind woke up, right at this very moment. Then you ripped my dress as if you were just destroying the mourning color. I was surprised and ashamed at the sight of your venturous eyes. I forgot what it meant to love you, but you knew how to remind me. You were tender and rough, always oscillating between anger and confidence. You liked to dominate, you wanted to take care of your brothers and you possessed it, that paternal charisma. It pleased me to submit, it was my only confidence, while anger ebbed away. We looked at the circumstances, at all the memories, and we let them linger for a short time, like passing clouds. He would have wanted it that way. It was life we were celebrating and we felt it deep inside of us as you entered me.


Picture: Alberto Lucendo

I moaned loudly and you pulled my hair as my eyebrows stretched into a desperate triangle. That look was not unknown to you. Then you turned me around and bent me over the dresser. You pushed the remains of fabric from my dress over my bottom and watched as your cock penetrated me and plunged into me deeper and deeper. You have done it slowly and I begged for more. Then you fucked me hard, and when you were about to come, you turned me around again and spread my legs widely. You wanted to see my face, you wanted me to come first. You wanted me to look at you as you shoved your cock into me further and further. The shreds of my black dress were only hanging from my hip and I watched how you kept control, as always, without a doubt. I recognized a powerlessness in your facial expression, a hopelessness and the certainty that we will always be something. You missed me and I came at the sight of the heavily pulsating glans vibrating like a little heart, and then sinking into my cave of pleasure. The thought of my wet desire that absorbed life like a flowing river made me come. I came during the wild movements on our dresser, nostalgic reminiscence of a Love and the familiar smell of home. You couldn’t hold it any longer. I felt your cock getting heavier and stronger at the same time. You asked me if you could come inside me and I said yes.

It was called life that we celebrated and we didn’t care which demons the past still hatched. You fell into my arms exhausted and we kissed. I stroked your gray hair and you touched my belly in hope of some consistency.


»Death is big.
We are his laughing mouths.
When we think ourselves in the middle of life
he dares to cry
in the middle of us.«


                                            -Rainer Maria Rilke-