Sunday, March 7, 2010
My Night with the Prostitute from Marseilles
“I want you to take me, I want you to feel me, I want you to do everything you ever wanted to me,” she said as she craned to look at me from behind. I was lost in the moment, it was seductive, it was powerful, it was passionate.
“I want to feel you… Never stop, never let go.”
It began like this… it was one of those times in life where anything seemed possible. Here I was hand in hand with an angel, whom I had known for only a few short minutes, but had she asked I would’ve done anything for her. There was a sense of adventure that was so foreign to me, a true feeling of wild inhibitions. I wanted everything that she could give me, I wanted a taste of the freedom that she lived in, and she didn’t seem to forget that luxury.
We raced down the street as if playing catch with each other, fighting through the crowds, the neon lights highlighting every color in her face… she was beautiful, she was extraordinary. I felt out of my league, as if I was some lucky bastard that was living in a moment that would permanently leave a mark in my conscious, that single second in history that was mine—she seemed as if this was any other night to her, and that’s what I loved. She would grab for my hand and pull me in, grabbing my arms to wrap them around her waist, to hold her tight, she would feign as if to go for a kiss, and then quickly turn and run. The entire thing was a hunt to her, something she took great amusement in doing.
I followed her throughout the night, she letting me sneak a peek of her life; it was odd, sort of glamorous: one that seemed like what rock stars sang out about, but have now moved on from, or that you would see some hoity toity party may be played in a random independent film, where everyone was beautiful, intelligent and worthwhile—yeah it was that world, but real, it felt tangible. She would look at me throughout the evening and whisper in my ear, “this could all be yours.” Obviously she didn’t know me, I would never fit in a world like this, it was beyond me. But every time she would say it, I began to believe her a little more.
We found ourselves watching the sun come up on a park bench, slowly it would break over the rooftops of the buildings which had seemed to initially hold it up on the strength of their iron beams alone. She leaned in again, as she had done so many times throughout the night, I prepared myself for her to turn back once more but—she hesitated. She kissed me with an intensity I had never known. It felt like a tear was rolling down her cheek as she grabbed the back of my head, and pulled my ear closer to her lips, “this could all be yours.”
And now outside I saw her eyes meet the sky, and I believed her then.