Hotel gregory.zurich. room 401. E-Book

Francesca Mazzucato

• Herausgeber: Francesca Mazzucato
• Kategorie: Sachliteratur, Reportagen, Biografien
• Sprache: Englisch

Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2012

Beschreibung

It is night, in the room 401. Again, you and me: our bodies our tastes, my passionate smiles reflected in your beautiful eyes. Two solitudes together, or the great love of flesh and spirit in which I believed? In the bedroom, one small hotel room, again, we are naked, real, pulsed with desire. Hotel Gregory, Zurich, "red area". You came. I didn't expect that. You have watched me from the doorway, when I opened, I kissed you with despair and need. Your body is my home. It will always be, My mouth was orphans of your tongue, my mouth was an orphan of your taste. Again, you and me. Do you remember? It began in november. An intense caress and, after, only very deep kisses. What a beautiful memory! From the beginning, hotel rooms have been our altar. From the beginning, hotel rooms have given us a secret shelter for our love, a clandestine, wrong, necessary love: this abyss of pleasure and pain. Hotel rooms, the place of our private celebration. I am a well known erotic writer in Italy, you know, you liked that. I didn't want to write about us.It was not my idea. There is my tru life inside this ebook. A great part in one quick frame. The last one. A story of total surrender, that had to be told. The story of an absolute desire lived afternoons and nights closed in some hotel rooms, in Zurich: the story of my fear of losing you. The events told here are the last act of a relationship based on beauty, submission, domination, fever, madness, extreme sex, need, pain, true love. A depressing malaise, without hope? A miracle, a wound, a party, a cut, a necessary caress. Our story, in any case. We have really lived all of this. It is a luck or a damnation to be still alive? A passion without escape, without remedy. Zurich, Room 401: The room of farewell .

Leseprobe

Francesca Mazzucato

HOTEL GREGORY. ZURICH. ROOM 401.

©2012 Errant Editions revised version

It is always by way of pain one arrives at pleasure.

De Sade

We write to taste life twice, in the moment and in retrospect.

Anais Nin

Life shrinks or expands in proportion to one’s courage .

Anais Nin

I had a sense of preparation for love to come.

Anais Nin

Indice

I

II

III

IV

References

Notes

Quinta di copertina

I

Love never dies a natural death. It dies because we don’t know how to replenish its source.

It dies of blindness and errors and betrayals. It dies of illness and wounds.

Anais Nin

Nothing remains. Only your small avatar in one social network where I usually go. I look at it. I remember when your photo where only for me. Now your mobile number is changed. So many things change so fast. My sadness is like holding one’s breath. The breathing is slow, sometimes almost absent. Things seem transparent. Nothing makes me happier, nothing catches my attention. Only the memory of you. In the past I lived sensual seasons of pleasure without consequences of any kind. This time is different. My love was overwhelming, wrong, exaggerated, incorrect, powerful, indecent but true. I am orphan of your smile, of your hands, of your sex, of your mouth, Andrea. I miss you, and all happened only yesterday. I miss you and the pain is like a wound that reopens and bleeds I miss you more than everything else. I will miss you tomorrow in the same way. Loneliness and loss, pain between the shoulder and the heart. Alone, I feel cold inside my bones, and pain on my skin. You were my skin, Andrea. My skin is dead when you went out of the room. 401, Hotel Gregory, “red zone”. My skin followed you down the stairs. I imagined you frightened running away, going back to be the good Swiss husband you pretend to be. In any case, the rest of the night passed. There is a very thin layer of skin left now, it is unable to defend me. I will never feel warm or safe. But what is warmth without your sex inside me? Near my lips and my mouth? Nothing. This gray day which suffocates every breath.

(I didn’t find the mistake-there should be one- months ago, may be, the error was in having loved you so much, without hesitations and fears, or it was in having forced the kindness and mercy of time or may be inside me. in my not-restraint: in this case you should have helped me in following you. In being appropriate for your needs. Did it necessarily have to end ?)

Fragile, destroyed, in pieces, spread in small shreds, I wanted all of this, it was only a matter of time, you couldn’t leave your wife-mother-severe guardian. And there was the town. I wanted to have it back, and you have been Zurich for me, for a long time, too much time, you and Zurich were the same image superimposed. My beloved town. I couldn’t lose Zurich. I had to kill the love affair to end it, to bring our fool, crazy, wonderful, devastating, infiltrating need to possess, mixing saliva, sperm, fluids, blood and tears to an end.

(This is a good excuse, so literary and not carnal, so “clean”, it’s not truth, it was going to end, I look for any possible reasons, I try to survive, I still love you, I will love you all my life.)

There are things that do not end. Don’t forget.

It was hard, I know, I remember my fear such a so strong feeling I didn’t imagine, and for your need of me, of my body, of our sexual explorations. I was scared, I could afford, it was so important, it seemed important for you in the same way. You told me your love. You showed me your desire. That incredible explosion of sensations! Such a celebration of carnal splendor. It was strong, overwhelming exaggerated, sweeping. Nothing of what happened has left me undamaged, and I am sure that what happened has not left undamaged either you, I know. I know more about your life and feelings than you can think. You will never forget.

It’s a strange kind of knowledge, primitive and carnal knowledge, it comes from the skin, from the smell of your hair, I had all the part of your body inside my mouth, and, during the passing of the months, I have learned your beautiful body in details: the softer parts, (your back) the harder ones, the intensity of orgasm when leaves traces in your face, the expression I like, without defenses, as amended by pleasure, without filters, without pretenses. I know these things, I know your sad mo [...]