Visit to Maria
Maria Helena Pascua.
You are a working girl, a Colombiana. 200 Bolivares a
visit, 500 Bolivares a night. You remind me of my lover
Cindy by how distant you keep yourself -- friendly and warm
to get the business, yet when it comes time for the real
giving, you keep yourself distant. It's a life you've lived
for several years. You say you're 21 now and first had sex
when you were 16. You've been in Venezuela working for 2
years, 6 months at the establishment where I met you, or
rather, where I waited and then you sat yourself at my
table. What a life lacking in riches, the riches that the
possibility of a relationship between man and woman could
be. Somehow you keep a lid on your passion, your desire,
your animalness and aliveness. It's amazing how much it can
dominate the space between us. It did not stop me from
enjoying you and being with you, yet I could not create
passion in turn. For the most part my penis, my once most
noble friend and ally, was limp and soft. I could not make
him last even though I pressed hard against your thighs and
buttocks until the sweat dropped from me onto your body,
making it wet as well. Already your body is losing its
shape from too much maturity and pressing into over-tight
clothes. I tell you that you are beautiful. You say no.
I tell you that the most important thing for a man to get
from a woman is to be wanted. You say that you don't want
a lover. Somehow I have the sense that I'm talking to a
wall, above your head, despite my intentions for you to be
well and successful and happy. Something is missing in the
space between you and I. Perhaps it is that I am not
understanding where you are at, not taking you as you are.
Perhaps the space gets dominated by what I see in you and
what I want you to be, and by your rejection of that. Why
human beings don't respond to what is possible in the mind,
what seems like a good idea, I don't know. Perhaps the
human heart is hungry to be loved just the way it is,
without improvement.
Venezuela
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