Jan A.
Sometimes, men who have touched my heart and I theirs never touched me more than what was considered appropriate. Never went beyond a kiss or a hug or a conversation, and sometimes this I remember far more than a plain fuck: Jan was one of those men.
I met Jan through a common friend in the north of Germany.
Backstory: I was there just for a day and a half, to visit my friend B. while I was in Berlin. We went to the fair and ate and drank and then went on a ride that nearly killed me with fright because I don't like rollercoasters and then we had MORE to eat. And I didn't throw up, which is something I felt more proud of because everything else was a mess: I looked like a rat, my hair was up everywhere and I was wearing a big sweater. And I had my period.
We were eating and I was in the middle of scarfing down a piece of bread when Jan showed up. He was very very handsome (even if he was actually short for a German dude) and I must have gone through all the colors of the sun, but after a couple of minutes I decided I was too hungry to actually care and just kept eating and talking. At one point I wanted to actually ask him why was he staring at my face so much Fuck, I had white sauce on my nose and look like a fool. My cheeks are too big. I think I look like a crazy person.
There would be a dinner that night because Nina from Munich was also in town and we had to celebrate. We were in my friends' house, talking and eating and drinking beer and smoking in a tiny kitchen while it was cold and dark outside, and I sat next to Jan, who never stopped looking at me while I tried to understand what had he lost in my face that was so important that he needed to go over it the entire night. He asked me for my Facebook and added me right there and started to look at my pictures, complementing some and looking at others with more interest than necessary: he asked me about lovers and band mates and things I liked in bed and I didn't even blush.
At one point, the smoke began to bother me and I decided to open a window in the living room and asked Jan to help me because I didn't understand the system of German windows, to which he was eager to do so. We went there and he saw my overnight bag in B.'s couch, asking me if I was going to spend the night to which I said yes. Then all I remember was him saying time for a kiss then and seeing sparks fly the next. It was brief and sweet and he said wow softly.
Then I realized I was hungry for more and responded by leaving him breathless, grabbing onto my waist and sighing: I don't remember what he tasted like, but I remember the heat that radiated from both of us, the want that I had to shut up because I was in another man's house and nature was gently reminding me to screw myself and not someone else. I left for Berlin the next day and we started to talk every day through the phone, chats and emails.
Paris was next on my list and we had a night in each others' arms, him in Germany and me in my tiny hotel room in the 11th District, all thanks to technology. Then I was back in Spain, finally seeing La Alhambra after years and years of waiting: there we had a couple of nights longing for each other looking through computer and phone screens, desperate to stop feeling Sehnsucht, añoranza, of him telling me that I looked like a model and that he loved my fucking face. Of me saying that I wanted to be close to him in his bed or wherever the night took us, of making plans to keep a fire going with whatever we had. He wouldn't come to Madrid before I left Europe, he said, because he had no time: our love was like that of a movie, where the main characters meet up after years of a first kiss, marry and then drift apart from each other after a life not so well lived.
I sent him a card telling him that I wanted to have him in my life as a friend, that I would always remember our time together and that we should try and meet at a middle point such as NYC. The last call I made in Europe was to him, and I broke down crying in someone's arms because I was leaving him behind. She said If he wants you, he will find you. He did want me, but want doesn't survive oceans and airplane rides: I could have wished for so much with him, but wishes are made on stars, and those die too fast.
We talked almost every day when I came back, about what we did, how was his daughter doing and how were my German lessons going. I taught him words in Spanish and he asked me questions in German I sometimes understood. We dreamed of a possible future together and how I would go back to Germany. Then my card came. He said that he was trying hard not to fall in love with me, and I said that we were friends no matter what. He said I was so cool and that we would surely stay in touch yeah, fucking right yeah.
One day I got a message, after I asked him why hadn't we spoken in a couple of weeks: he had a new girlfriend and she might get angry if she heard her man talking to someone else on the other side of the planet who meant no danger to their relationship. I told him to grow a pair and tried to get a life for myself again. Years later I went back to Germany and told him that I wanted to see him as friends.
He said that his girlfriend would get angry: I told him about my accident and said that he wasn't worth it, that my friends and mother were right about blasting him as a useless prick and that I was glad to have him out of my life. Anyway I called him and he was shocked to hear about me, rebuffing my call because he was at work. He called me back later but I was too busy jerking off to answer and when I left, I messaged him and told him to go fuck himself in the nicest way possible. About an hour ago I messaged him because I'm going back.
I don't know if he wants to see me or not, but I did need to get that out of myself: I can't live with so much anger anymore inside me. B was right in any case: poor guy thinks with his dick. Proof? He wasn't able to see past what he had in front of the screen.
I met Jan through a common friend in the north of Germany.
Backstory: I was there just for a day and a half, to visit my friend B. while I was in Berlin. We went to the fair and ate and drank and then went on a ride that nearly killed me with fright because I don't like rollercoasters and then we had MORE to eat. And I didn't throw up, which is something I felt more proud of because everything else was a mess: I looked like a rat, my hair was up everywhere and I was wearing a big sweater. And I had my period.
We were eating and I was in the middle of scarfing down a piece of bread when Jan showed up. He was very very handsome (even if he was actually short for a German dude) and I must have gone through all the colors of the sun, but after a couple of minutes I decided I was too hungry to actually care and just kept eating and talking. At one point I wanted to actually ask him why was he staring at my face so much Fuck, I had white sauce on my nose and look like a fool. My cheeks are too big. I think I look like a crazy person.
There would be a dinner that night because Nina from Munich was also in town and we had to celebrate. We were in my friends' house, talking and eating and drinking beer and smoking in a tiny kitchen while it was cold and dark outside, and I sat next to Jan, who never stopped looking at me while I tried to understand what had he lost in my face that was so important that he needed to go over it the entire night. He asked me for my Facebook and added me right there and started to look at my pictures, complementing some and looking at others with more interest than necessary: he asked me about lovers and band mates and things I liked in bed and I didn't even blush.
At one point, the smoke began to bother me and I decided to open a window in the living room and asked Jan to help me because I didn't understand the system of German windows, to which he was eager to do so. We went there and he saw my overnight bag in B.'s couch, asking me if I was going to spend the night to which I said yes. Then all I remember was him saying time for a kiss then and seeing sparks fly the next. It was brief and sweet and he said wow softly.
Then I realized I was hungry for more and responded by leaving him breathless, grabbing onto my waist and sighing: I don't remember what he tasted like, but I remember the heat that radiated from both of us, the want that I had to shut up because I was in another man's house and nature was gently reminding me to screw myself and not someone else. I left for Berlin the next day and we started to talk every day through the phone, chats and emails.
Paris was next on my list and we had a night in each others' arms, him in Germany and me in my tiny hotel room in the 11th District, all thanks to technology. Then I was back in Spain, finally seeing La Alhambra after years and years of waiting: there we had a couple of nights longing for each other looking through computer and phone screens, desperate to stop feeling Sehnsucht, añoranza, of him telling me that I looked like a model and that he loved my fucking face. Of me saying that I wanted to be close to him in his bed or wherever the night took us, of making plans to keep a fire going with whatever we had. He wouldn't come to Madrid before I left Europe, he said, because he had no time: our love was like that of a movie, where the main characters meet up after years of a first kiss, marry and then drift apart from each other after a life not so well lived.
I sent him a card telling him that I wanted to have him in my life as a friend, that I would always remember our time together and that we should try and meet at a middle point such as NYC. The last call I made in Europe was to him, and I broke down crying in someone's arms because I was leaving him behind. She said If he wants you, he will find you. He did want me, but want doesn't survive oceans and airplane rides: I could have wished for so much with him, but wishes are made on stars, and those die too fast.
We talked almost every day when I came back, about what we did, how was his daughter doing and how were my German lessons going. I taught him words in Spanish and he asked me questions in German I sometimes understood. We dreamed of a possible future together and how I would go back to Germany. Then my card came. He said that he was trying hard not to fall in love with me, and I said that we were friends no matter what. He said I was so cool and that we would surely stay in touch yeah, fucking right yeah.
One day I got a message, after I asked him why hadn't we spoken in a couple of weeks: he had a new girlfriend and she might get angry if she heard her man talking to someone else on the other side of the planet who meant no danger to their relationship. I told him to grow a pair and tried to get a life for myself again. Years later I went back to Germany and told him that I wanted to see him as friends.
He said that his girlfriend would get angry: I told him about my accident and said that he wasn't worth it, that my friends and mother were right about blasting him as a useless prick and that I was glad to have him out of my life. Anyway I called him and he was shocked to hear about me, rebuffing my call because he was at work. He called me back later but I was too busy jerking off to answer and when I left, I messaged him and told him to go fuck himself in the nicest way possible. About an hour ago I messaged him because I'm going back.
I don't know if he wants to see me or not, but I did need to get that out of myself: I can't live with so much anger anymore inside me. B was right in any case: poor guy thinks with his dick. Proof? He wasn't able to see past what he had in front of the screen.
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