Read Online Star Woman in Love by Piera Sarasini - Free Book Online
Authors: Piera Sarasini
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had always maintained that longing is the stuff art is made of.
Why didn’t he make a move on her? Why didn’t he run after her and try to save her from whatever cloud was crossing her sky? His face darkened.
“Of course I shouldn’t get too close to her, or anyone for that matter, because of what happened in the past.”
He didn’t want to think about it. The wound he kept running from, the mark imprinted on his life forever. He couldn’t get close to her or it would burn her too. He was a hurt-generating machine that might never change. He couldn’t get involved in committed relationships for fear of reducing the other party to pieces. It had always ended like that. Whenever he had shared his heart with a woman. Whenever there was real intimacy. Truly, the only intimacy he’d ever experienced was with a bottle of vodka, a line of coke, and drunken strangers who disappeared from his memory and his life the day after.
Things had changed in Australia though. Healing had started there. He continued pouring his thoughts into the drawing of that angelic vision in the café, but the veil of defeat was descending upon him. No, that wasn’t the way! He slammed the palms of his hands on the table, took some change from his pocket to pay for the coffee, packed his sketchbook into his canvas sling bag and left. The other punters in the café turned their heads to watch. He didn’t care. He had to catch up with the beautiful girl. He wouldn’t give in to his shyness. Or his wound. His heart would guide him this time. We were glad of his decision and followed him in his roaming. He was the only one who could find Cassandra now, at a time when she was lost even to her own self.
* * * *
Outside the rain had stopped and the clouds had parted, letting gentle sun rays filter through. I don’t really know what had come upon me in the café. I felt humiliated. Perhaps I was scared. I was certainly angry now. I was experiencing stage fright at the new chapter in my life’s adventure. I didn’t want to embrace change: I resisted it with all of my soul’s might. I walked from Queen’s Street to the docklands in a complete daze. I sat on a bench and stared at the water. My inner dialogue was nonsensical and far from holy.
“Who wants to be the prisoner of some hypothetical higher plan that is starting to choke my freedom and kill my gut instinct? I didn’t like that guy. That sexy, attractive, mysterious-slash-familiar guy sitting in the café. There was something odd about him. Do the Masters think so little of me? Do they rate me this low? They must know that I think they sent him to take my heart off Gordon? Of course it’s not going to work. I still want my golf-player. They think I’m wrong and they’re right when it comes to matters of the heart. But it’s my heart, not theirs. And it’s my body, too. My body is Gordon’s. I want to feel his hands squeezing my buttocks, his fingers teasing my nipples, his manhood rubbing inside me, wanting me, releasing his essence. I so want to make love to him...
I want to fucking kill that ugly woman who has trapped him into fatherhood in the way only desperate old women do. Stupid hag. Equipped with a hag’s big, crooked nose. She doesn’t deserve to have that treasure-trove of a body for herself. That body. Muscles, nerves, tautness, sweat, a statue of perfection. An erection that can go on for hours. I want it. I own it. I know that body like the back of my hand. I know he’ll always want my body too. What man wouldn’t want it anyway? I even turn myself on when I catch a glimpse of my reflection in the mirror...”
My ego and my hormones had taken over my thinking process.
“I am a real flirt and I want men to desire me. I find the power I have on them inebriating. And all the Masters can do is tell me that this type of power is an illusion which I will outgrow one day. They insist I’m still in transition, in a chrysalis. They are adamant that my physical
Why didn’t he make a move on her? Why didn’t he run after her and try to save her from whatever cloud was crossing her sky? His face darkened.
“Of course I shouldn’t get too close to her, or anyone for that matter, because of what happened in the past.”
He didn’t want to think about it. The wound he kept running from, the mark imprinted on his life forever. He couldn’t get close to her or it would burn her too. He was a hurt-generating machine that might never change. He couldn’t get involved in committed relationships for fear of reducing the other party to pieces. It had always ended like that. Whenever he had shared his heart with a woman. Whenever there was real intimacy. Truly, the only intimacy he’d ever experienced was with a bottle of vodka, a line of coke, and drunken strangers who disappeared from his memory and his life the day after.
Things had changed in Australia though. Healing had started there. He continued pouring his thoughts into the drawing of that angelic vision in the café, but the veil of defeat was descending upon him. No, that wasn’t the way! He slammed the palms of his hands on the table, took some change from his pocket to pay for the coffee, packed his sketchbook into his canvas sling bag and left. The other punters in the café turned their heads to watch. He didn’t care. He had to catch up with the beautiful girl. He wouldn’t give in to his shyness. Or his wound. His heart would guide him this time. We were glad of his decision and followed him in his roaming. He was the only one who could find Cassandra now, at a time when she was lost even to her own self.
* * * *
Outside the rain had stopped and the clouds had parted, letting gentle sun rays filter through. I don’t really know what had come upon me in the café. I felt humiliated. Perhaps I was scared. I was certainly angry now. I was experiencing stage fright at the new chapter in my life’s adventure. I didn’t want to embrace change: I resisted it with all of my soul’s might. I walked from Queen’s Street to the docklands in a complete daze. I sat on a bench and stared at the water. My inner dialogue was nonsensical and far from holy.
“Who wants to be the prisoner of some hypothetical higher plan that is starting to choke my freedom and kill my gut instinct? I didn’t like that guy. That sexy, attractive, mysterious-slash-familiar guy sitting in the café. There was something odd about him. Do the Masters think so little of me? Do they rate me this low? They must know that I think they sent him to take my heart off Gordon? Of course it’s not going to work. I still want my golf-player. They think I’m wrong and they’re right when it comes to matters of the heart. But it’s my heart, not theirs. And it’s my body, too. My body is Gordon’s. I want to feel his hands squeezing my buttocks, his fingers teasing my nipples, his manhood rubbing inside me, wanting me, releasing his essence. I so want to make love to him...
I want to fucking kill that ugly woman who has trapped him into fatherhood in the way only desperate old women do. Stupid hag. Equipped with a hag’s big, crooked nose. She doesn’t deserve to have that treasure-trove of a body for herself. That body. Muscles, nerves, tautness, sweat, a statue of perfection. An erection that can go on for hours. I want it. I own it. I know that body like the back of my hand. I know he’ll always want my body too. What man wouldn’t want it anyway? I even turn myself on when I catch a glimpse of my reflection in the mirror...”
My ego and my hormones had taken over my thinking process.
“I am a real flirt and I want men to desire me. I find the power I have on them inebriating. And all the Masters can do is tell me that this type of power is an illusion which I will outgrow one day. They insist I’m still in transition, in a chrysalis. They are adamant that my physical
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