Erotica

Crazy Little Thing Called Lust

Or is it sex?

Isabel met Charles, and this is all she needed in her life. After 3 years of online talks, dreams, and sexual tension, she fiercely dreamt about meeting him in his town. So, only in this purpose lies the reason why she moved in, letting her homeland behind.

Obviously, she had other reasons to do so, studying and going to college being the main ones. But underneath, perhaps due to her lack of confidence and passing her teenage hood thinking that love or passion wasn’t meant for her, seeing him live and, who knows, touching his cheeks with a not so innocent kiss, was what made her heart beat faster, her mind work, and her sleep is filled with dreams of all kinds. She dreamt at night, but dangerously, even more, when awake.

She dreamt obviously about experiencing sex with him. And then, ironically enough, he moved away. Isabel couldn’t do anything to keep him from going anywhere, she barely knew him now in that real dimension, and she didn’t want to admit to him, that she dreamt about them being, what she ardently wanted, the couple thing, the “ I have a boyfriend, and he likes me”.

Wasn’t this deeply hidden desire just the most selfish feeling in the world? She wanted someone to cover her lack of self-esteem, just to show society she had someone, and to fit the social acceptances of what normally would be like in her age! Oh, but Isabel was young, not even twenty, and Charles was way closer to the “thirty” line than to the “twenty” one.

How could she have any experience with those feelings? Charles was older, and due to this in Isabel’s eyes, the whole experience was more exciting, in a strangely Electra complex.

To her surprise, Charles kept on talking to her, in the same old way, although chatting less and less, and being each of those rare words a reason to make her body tremble. Charles appeared to her, once every month, and there Isabel got what she wanted, a passionate romance happening only in her mind, and a round of several nightstands perhaps in Charles’. Making out in his car, driving through the night in his big town, kissing, and then sex, and then so many nights that followed that one.

Isabel was hooked, caught inside an emotional jail that she wasn’t expecting and hadn’t experienced at all until there. She was in a passion. Let’s call it like this because that story had no love whatsoever.

The reasons for the attraction were inexplicable for her, but perhaps she could see on him a pale reflection of herself. Isabel knew that Charles loved her kind of music, they even met in a rock and roll festival, searching for each other in the crowd, and not minding the people, they shared two looks of lust, immediately wanting to satiate their desires, savagely kissing each other.

Isabel used to feel desire even minutes or hours before seeing him. Only the thought of being with him and around his arms in a couple of hours made her overwrought, not being able to be quiet.

And the first summer arrived, and then the tragedy of him deliberate telling her that he had another woman, and how normal it was since they weren’t exclusive, advising her to do the same. She felt as being Alice in Wonderland falling on that black hole and smashed to pieces when facing the floor.

How could he tell it in such a cruel way, completely disregarding her feelings? And so they meet, again somewhere, arguing for the first time, and Isabel begging him to free her from his claws. But he said she was attractive and he could not just let her go away, and apparently, everything was forgotten.

What eyes don’t see the heart can’t feel, and not seeing any other woman in front of her, only knowing that she existed in her dreams, there she went again to his arms, as if it wasn’t really somewhere else. They couldn’t resist those attraction forces, and as a magnet pushed towards each other they kissed falling on the house floor, on the sofa, everywhere. Nothing was around them, they only existed, the two of them, and nobody or anything else.

With this act came suffering, humiliation on Isabel’s side, and the time passed, with supposed interruptions that were meant for life but only lasted a few weeks until they were on the same bed again. The story continued, Charles somewhere, in another land, with an unknown and mysterious life, and Isabel imagining what would he be doing every passing second.

On her mind, he was with her every day. On his mind, she was only there minutes before he meet her.

Eventually, she had other men. Charles advised her to try others, after all, they were not exclusives. So, she allowed herself to be with them, as he requested, only to see Charles’ face in every new body she touched.

Slowly, her life was being destroyed, and she saw it but didn’t want to stop it. Like an addict to any other drug who wants just one more shot. The tragedy arrived one day scouring his Facebook page like a madwoman, she saw a marriage proposal to another woman.

She fainted the next morning, rushing to the hospital, seeing everything as a big blur of distorted pictures in her mind, devastated by the shock and with the brutal realization that her love affair had just got to an end. Marriage was the bottom line, he would no longer be available, as if he just died for her, leading to early grief in her life.

Isabel went through the same process as someone who lost a loved one, suffering and dreaming about his cold body lying somewhere beneath the cold earth. So many times she dreamt of his funeral, that, eventually she put on her mind he was actually dead.

Dizziness and nausea were permanent while losing her appetite for life and crying over that new and cold absence. Her grief and the way to deal with that unexpectedly and sudden loss, wasn’t the healthiest one, trying to meet every man that she possibly could, as if somehow, someone, would vanish away Charles’ memory from her.

It obviously didn’t work, as in her mind, even if more in a smother way, he was always with her.

Love affairs and violent feelings had destroyed her youth since passion was misunderstood with love. And now Isabel felt that both couldn’t exist together. Where there’s passion there’s no love or a shared life, as this one only exists if lived in a platonic way; where there’s love and brotherhood and peace there’s no room for restless and violent feelings of lust and desire, as both can not hold hands.

All these thoughts made her mind whirl faster and faster. She would never find love, neither would she find passion, and her only love was dead. Insanity took Isabel’s mind for real, leading to depression states, angst towards others, and once again a lack of confidence in herself.

Was that passion, even if lived so intensively and with so much joy, really worth all the heavyweight that appeared afterward? Is balance the ideal in our lives, and can we really achieve it? Can we really live life to the fullest while loving, since this is a sign of a dead desire? Or is the passion that makes us feel this life is worth living, despite all the madness that might, or not, later appear?

Charles got divorced two years after the marriage, but he is still living his life somewhere, indifferent to others' suffering.

Time and time passed, and dead people cannot talk, but they appear in form of ghosts, from time to time, only to remember how ghosts are scary, and how our present, despite we believe it is bad, is after all, better than the past we so much romanticize.

I wrote this piece six years ago. I thought I could share it, hoping it brings a lesson to any young woman, and to any young man, or to anyone really.

Hello, I’m Araci, a female writer from Portugal navigating her thirties. If you have enjoyed this article, maybe you would like to buy me a coffee here https://ko-fi.com/joanaaraci

I write on Medium about politics, culture, pop culture, society, feminism, and womanhood. I hope you’ve enjoyed this article and mostly that it helped you out!

You can also find more about me here:

Are you considering joining Medium for only 5$ a month? If so, consider doing it through my referral link:

Your membership fee directly supports me, Araci Almeida, and other writers you read. This way you are helping me out while you’ll also get full access to every story on Medium.

Thank you for reading me.