I often feel in that state where I abstract myself from the rest of the people and I observe them like I had never lived in this planet before, like this was the first time I see those behaviours. I do this quite regularly as I always feel I don’t belong here, I don’t fit here. I don’t act right, I don’t look right, I am not right. So then I observe them and I mentally annotate how I should be, as if I was trying to understand and copy what to be a normal person is like. This time I abstracted myself a bit too much, to the point I thought I was on my own in the bus, and when scrutining people I surprised myself founding two persons sitting in there who I know and who I would not expect to encounter in this country. Two people from who I don’t want to copy anything from. Two persons who I feel something for, and who I feel the need of protect, who I love. Outside of my own problems, outside of my own feelings, I was finally putting them first, not me. I was surprisingly doing the right thing.

I blinked my eyes and the fairy tale had finished. George drove me home in his van. It felt really good to sit again in that type of car. We stopped by the big Sainsburys on our way home as he bought some viagra. He wanted to fuck me properly, but that was not really necessary for me, I was simply enjoying his company. He got a bit scared when the chemist mentioned the heart attack risks that could cause, «no, fuck it!» he said to the chemist. He was so lovely. We got home in just 20 minutes. He got us some prosecco and some Papa Johns pizza. We talked and laughed and stroke our hands for hours. He said he loved my accent and wanted me to keep talking for him to listen. He stroked my face with his thumb and i felt like a cute kitten. He said my skin was very soft, my hair so thick and curly, and that he never saw from so close and touched a hair like that before. He had never been before with a foraigner, only with british girls. We fell asleep cuddling each other, but being close to him was the real dream. I slept in heavenly peace next to him. His pale skin, blue eyes, blond hair and lovely south east accent. He knows what he wants and he goes for it, he is generous and don’t waste time doubting about things or overthinking them. I felt like a princess in a fairytale and this is what I really deserve, because that’s exactly what I am.

When I opened my eyes back again, he needed to leave. Give me the exact amount of this syrup that does not possibly bore me, leave me satisfied, and wanting more.

Lugares favoritos para llorar en Alicante

Hoy he visitado uno de mis lugares favoritos para llorar en Alicante. A menudo me he encontrado en el pasado en desasosiego, y buscado un lugar alejado de las miradas de la gente. Me siento, en efecto, muy observada, y es un hecho que los hombres me miran todo el tiempo. He visitado, decía, uno de mis lugares favoritos: en el primer banco de cara al puerto, donde termina el doble refuerzo al mar en una rampita, entre la segunda y tercera palmera. Aquí es donde he reflexionado, soñado, llorado, y respirado este mar. Aquí es donde también conocí a Robert y Steven, y soñé despierta con ellos en un dulce paraíso. Yo y mis dos novios daneses paseando por Alicante.

Siento un poco una crisis de identidad, donde ya no distingo entre el bien y el mal, lo real y lo inventado, y me siento extranjera en mi propio país. Alicante siempre fue agridulce, esto no es nuevo. Y soy, inevitablemente, parte de ello.

I noticed him in the queue. Wavy blonde hair, british, with a holiday tan and tattoos. He is traveling with his mom so she can enjoy of a bit of son-time. Very sweet. A gentleman. When he sits in the seat in front of me at the aircraft I realise how lucky I am: I will have the chance now of looking at him closer. This is a cheap flight and the seat space between rows is so tight it’s ridiculous. When he rests his arm on the armchair by the window, I observe closer his tanned tattoed skin. It looks so soft and has very blonde thin hair. I feel I want to stroke it softly, caress it. After one hour his mum is deeply asleep, and so are most of the other passengers. It’s January 13th and the plane is half empty. He remains sitted, just listening to music. The seats are so close to each other I can really touch his skin, so I dare to do it. I gently slide my hand towards his window and let it rest there for a few seconds for him to see it. I then move it towards his arm and begin to gently stroke it. He doesn’t move it back, he doesn’t move at all, I just can see his head more receptive now. From his arm I continue my stroking to his shoulder and chest, over his red-toro t-shirt. He is so fit, I can feel his hard muscles under my hand, so masculine. I move my hand down to his tummy, the t-shirt is really bothering me, and I just want to feel his skin. I find the edge of it and slide my hand inside. His skin is so warm, the sun is been heating his t-shirt. I wanna melt with it. I can feel now a very defined torso, and the pumped segments of his six-pack. He is so tonned and his skin is so soft this is just feeling like heaven. I slowly continue touching his body inside the t-shirt and I reach the begining of his tracky bottom, I slide the edge of my finger horizontal across the straight elastic. I glance at him from the back seat and notice a big protuberance on his trackie bottom. I push the limits and slowly place my hand under his sweatpants. His dick is so big and hard is making me so horny. I grab it from behind firmly with my hand over his underwear and begin to masturbate it. He lets out a deep breath. I then take it out of his pants, leaving the big monster exposed. It is wet, and I use this wetness to make him even hornier, stroking the edge of his dick with my fingers. I suddenly move my hand back and caress his toned torso again. His dick bounces back in the air, firm like a trunk, exposed. I grab it again and continue touching it. He is so horny he won’t be able to handle it longer. I begin to do it faster, and really trying to hug his dick’s edge with my hand as I go up so he can feel me good. I wish I could suck it. His throbbing dick is not able to handle it anymore and cums irredeemably all over his t-shirt. He is full of pleassure, his dick beating like a heart. Suddenly, he realises the big mess it has been made all over his clothes. He quickly put his dick back inside his sweatpants and turn around to look at me with very surprised but blessed blue eyes. He doesn’t say a word. I lick the cum on my hand and look into his sky eyes. He turns around back and takes his t-shirt off to quickly wear his sweatshirt instead. My pussy is so wet now is me who has a problem.

I miss my days alone with Ewan, I just loved to know the only presence in the house was him. How he brushes his teeth in the kitchen and leaves his toothpaste in random places. His wok bowls, his cereals. I used to imagine him doing this things when I saw this objects. I loved watching him doing all of these things. But now Felix is here, and I don’t enjoy at all seeing his stuff in the middle. Styleless, brainless, artless, rough. he broke the intimacy we had by just living both of us alone: boy and girl. The perfect complementation.

Ewan moves like a cat and is as silent as one. He confessed he does it for not waking me up. I love him taking care of me. I love taking care of him.

Yesterday I finally got him out and went for a pint. I think we are a bit closer since. In a couple of days we will watch a film. IN HIS BED. I can’t wait. Nothing will happen obviously, but I just wanna be closer to his world, in his territory. I wish I could find the perfect pijama were he can see my body but just enoughly inocently. I just don’t have that.

I imagine myself in his bed falling asleep after the film. So confortable with the cats and him, all together. And he, confortable as well just slides down by my side and sleeps too.

I don’t wanna be obvious at all. I just want to spend time with him and make him secretly desire me. I don’t want to speak about boys with him. I want him to imagine that he could be the one and only, but at the same time not because nothing will ever happen between us. And I am totally okay with it. So is he. As i said i just want to be close to him and feel him from the distance. Consuming this, would break the magic and is something neither of us want to do. But we can desire each other secretly.

I would love he would touch himself thinking of my sutile pijama of friday night. If it would exist.

And when I got home late and saw his Rose Bowl Wisconsin jumper on my bed, that awoke my tenderness. He had fed wet food to my cats in two separate bowls and then played with them in my room, maybe even lied on my bed for a bit. I picked it up and smelled it, hoping to find a masculine scent. I couldn’t. But who knows anymore in Covid times. I hugged it full of bless. Someone great.

When I woke up this morning and I saw the big jumper at the end of my bed I felt the same sensation again. I knew it was wrong but I wore it to touch myself. I revived the image of the previous morning, when I accidentally entered in the bathroom and he was shirtless brushing his teeth. Pale young lean naked torso. Just felt the comfort and the turn on of his masculinity entering in my world, in my room, in my body.

Down the rabbit hole.

When the train stopped at Euston Station I felt relief. I had an amazing weekend away but feels great to be back home too. I love this crazy city.

I was getting off the train when I first noticed him. Tall, blonde and with a pair of Reebok hanging out of his bag. Darn british. That turned me on. I looked at his shoes and smiled.

I decide to overtake him. I am used to men noticing me, so I expect him to be looking at me with curiosity. I glance back. Indeed he is. I continue confident my way, I know where I am going because I live here, and I want him to know that. He also knows where he is going, and that’s sexy too – the fierce (London) dominated -.

I continue my way to the tube, looking sometimes back to check if he is still there, he is. At the mechanical stairs he overtakes me, and I hurry my steps to catch him back. I totally expect him to take Victoria Line and go Brixton, he’s got the vibe.

I follow him down the underground tunnels – like Alice in Wonderland follows her white rabbit into the unknown and the dream world – and I suddenly realise I am going the wrong way. He is apparently going somewhere north and this is not my route. The shock stops me and I can do nothing but stand there, paralised, watching him leave into Wonderland.

30/04/2020

The birds continue singing until the total darkness, stating that the world is not made from conventionalisms or rules, while the helicopters or planes rip the sky and my peace. What would they be searching for? We are all slaves at this point and I don’t believe anything. My mind must have gone crazy from being inside the house too much but I believe something else is going on. SOmethinng that horrible and that secret and unpronounceable that nobody can know is happening. 

Still raining outside, the sound of the drops on the ground makes my soul rest.

Hoy la vi. En su ciudad. Sus ojos profundos miraban a los mios y luego se apartaban.. solo para volver a mirarme. Porque hay algo en mí. Hay algo en mí que le despierta curiosidad y quiere volver a mirar. Y yo miro también, porque se parece a ella. Y muy dentro, desearía que fuera ella. Sencilla, en su playa, consigo misma, disfrutando de la Vida. Mi hermana dice que «a veces las chicas miran a otras chicas.» Reflejos dorados en su pelo. También la vi ayer, en la heladería, sus ojos miraban profundo y sinceros otra vez, y luego se apartaban, y volvían a mirar. Me pregunto si todos los putos vigueses hacen lo mismo. O si me estoy volviendo loca.