The night was warm, graving of summer promises, heating my soul. A cigar lightened at the stairs of the block of flats, to fill the time that poured in awaitingness. I was resting with obvious nonchalance on the wall next to the interphone, but only to avoid the angle from which he could have seen me few seconds while he was exiting. I didn’t know how to run faster to clench on his neck, to show him this way how enthusiastic I am to see him again. I was creating scenarios in my mind in which the polite, awkward distance of meeting again would have been direclty left out of account.
I posed with a bright smile on my face when the block’s door opened and he appeared in its threshold, with messy hair and a white T-shirt letting uncovered his slender arms, his slim hands, wrinkled by crimson, prominent veins, with thin, boney fingers, with fragile wrists. He had, I once told him caressing them charmed, the hands of an artist.
He was smiling too, but with a cautious shine in his eyes, he asked me what’s up, i had begun to stutter an answer, but then I remembered of my previous plan, and it was my urge joy to accomplish it anyway, so I swallowed my words and I also silenced him through a kiss.
-Yeah, round here not much happened, I went… he interrupted himself to answer, again and again, to my lips crushing his.
-Don’t you mind, I will interrupt you more this way, I spoke looking at him fascinated.
-Mm, but I won’t mind if you interrupt me this way.
-Did you say you were making some tea?
-I was, but you haven’t answered my text.
-That one about how much sugat do I want? Well, I mocked him, so if I didn’t answer you, you wouldn’t know what to do and gave up?
-No, he laughed, but I didn’t expect you’d arrive so fast.
-Take care, because you annoy me and I feel like torturing you!
At last he tortured me, sweetly, watching me tender how I struggle behind his touch.
Noaptea era calda mustind a promisiuni de vara si incalzindu-mi si mie sufletul. O tigara aprinsa in scara blocului, sa umplu timpul ce se scurgea in asteptare. Ma rezemam cu vadita nonsalanta de peretele de langa interfon, dar ca sa ma feresc de unghiul din care m-ar fi putut privi cateva secunde pana iesea. Nu stiam cum sa fac mai repede sa ma inclestez direct la gatul lui cand il vad, sa ii arat asa cat de entuziasmata sunt sa il revad. Imi faceam in gand scenarii in care distanta politicoasa si jenanta de revedere ar fi putut fi scoasa din calcul.
Mi-am afisat un zambet luminos pe chip cand s-a deschis usa si a aparut in pragul ei, cu parul valvoi si un tricou alb lasand la iveala bratele slabanoage, albe, si mainile subtiri, brazdate de vene purpurii, proeminente, cu degete lungi, osoase, cu incheieturi fragile. Avea, ii zisesem odata, dezmiedandu-i-le captivata, maini de artist.
Zambea cu o licarire rezervata in ochi, m-a intrebat ce mai fac, am dat sa bajbai un raspuns, dar mi-am amintit de planul meu de dinainte, si oricum era bucuria mea cea mai urgent de indeplinit, asa ca mi-am inghitit cuvintele si l-am amutit si pe el in sarut.
-Da, pe-aici nu s-au intamplat prea multe, am fost la… s-a intrerupt ca sa imi raspunda, iar si iar, la buzele mele mototolindu-le pe ale lui.
-Nu te supara, o sa te mai intrerup asa, dar dupa poti sa continui, ii zic privindu-l zurlie si fascinata.
-Mm, dar nu ma supar daca ma intrerupi asa.
-Ziceai ca ai facut ceai?
-Ziceam, dar nu mi-ai mai raspuns la mesaj.
-Ala cu cat zahar vreau? Aaa, il blagoslovesc eu, pai si daca nu ti-am mai raspuns, n-ai mai stiut ce sa faci si pana la urma te-ai dat batut?
-Nu, rade el, e apa pe foc, dar nu ma asteptam sa fii asa rapida.
-Vezi ca ma enervezi si imi vine sa te chinui!
Pana la urma el m-a chinuit, dulce, privindu-ma tandru cum ma zbat sub atingerile lui…