I've fallen in love with Luis Miguel. Like a woman who doesn't value herself, I've collapsed into that bonfire of rough sex and a passive-aggressive romance.
It was a workday in the Zócalo of Mexico City. I'd arrived a few minutes early. He told me he had waited before approaching, because he wanted to know what I looked like at a distance. He needed to see me, and then he'd decide. He probably didn't want to take any risks, since he'd never seen me in real life. But I'm not sure what risks he was avoiding. We stood there for a few seconds, paralyzed, obviously because we wanted to kiss. We didn't.
We walked around until we found a cantina. LuisMi ordered a beer with tomato juice, and I ordered one straight. I remember him interrupting me as I chatted, LOOK! He grabbed me by the cheeks and it almost made me forget the fact that, when we met, after exchanging photos, he'd mentioned at some point something about getting involved with a political party as part of a piece of performance art. I wasn’t really paying attention.
We got to his house. The sun was setting and it was getting dark. He brought me to his room, began to forcefully kiss my neck, it happened fast and I didn't care.
At some point I felt a sharp pain that then turned into the beginning of an orgasm and that orgasm made me hear his breathing like a drill about to shatter my vagina. My lips were throbbing and all around me were fluids. My legs trembled and I couldn't keep myself from falling to my knees while his hands encircled my head and pushed again and again as he dirtied himself into my face. I didn't care, I don't mix ideology and bedroom games, though the scenario certainly encouraged such thoughts, and only after the fact did I see the situation's potential to transform into a strange paradise.
Days later—Sunday—we met up at my apartment, listened to music, and took MDMA. The day was gray and perfect.
It wasn't long before his body was pressing mine against one end of the wall. That body struck mine forcefully and its skull pushed into mine while my right cheek printed itself on the wall and my left received rapid licks and hard carresses from his facial hair, his lips, and the edges of his teeth. What I needed was for him to rip off my clothes but then I saw that he was busy drawing a some little figure on my dress and I did nothing at all to stop him.
I didn't know why but the bond I was developing with Luismi was a new kind of bond, as though he were the brother I never had. And so began the whirlwind of incestuous idolatry.