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  • Writer's pictureCho Reb

Fool For Love

Dance Halls are noisy. Busy. Ecstatic activity. She loves it. Sometimes. With her long blond hair, dressed in her tightest leather pants, in a shirt that appears much more revealing than it actually is, she raves out and leaves excited impressions in every corner of the eye she walks past. But in the minute she walked in she already knew that she would just do exactly that: leave an impression. Of a woman to beg, steal and lie for. Of a woman who is the dream of everybody. Her victory in the midst of a roaring silence of dumb beats, in the absence of minds, is just a mockery.

The library. Something completely different. Silence is scheduled. Minds are of highest importance here. Her in a short school girl skirt in plaids, in a white shirt with one open button too many. Surrounded by surprised shyness, whenever a glance comes loose from a highly important book and falls upon her own figure, focused on books herself, books of a different importance. Intellectual interest in the eyes of men are of a little bit more substance than hollering lust in the eyes of Dance Hall studs. Who knows? Maybe, if words were allowed... but they aren't.

A debate in an assembly hall. Useless. Talking, talking, talking. All participants are very important. When their words aren't heard, they lose their interest. Those who talk very much, have a winning smile on their faces. But those who have their pockets full of money, their smile is deeper. They always are the true winners. They even might appear sexy. In the nights. "Been there, done that." she thinks. Nothing is sexy in a rich man. As soon as his balls are emptied, there's nothing left in him.

Bars and cafés. Boring. As soon as she enters one of them, all eyes turn towards her and those who have the least to say come to her and expose it to her.

Beds. Sex. It`s still the best place. The best thing. She loves to give them fast orgasms. Their real interest in sex, in her body, gets revealed after that. When they go to bed on Friday at 3 AM, when she made him come at 3.05 AM and he still feels excited by every inch of her body, when she still feels interested to explore his on Sunday evening, she's almost convinced that she can fall in love. Only the Monday morning hurdle can come between it.

She's a fool for love. Because love is the only thing which can not be found in abundance. It can't be controlled. Or estimated. It's full of clichés in the movies, but there is no cliché at all in real life. Love is pure. And purity... nobody believes in purity.

"Kissing in the rain." he said. "Unknown stranger meaning what?" she replied. She didn't even notice the raindrops falling down on her hair for minutes already. Silent raindrops, of a kind which can easily be ignored, of a kind that might fall unnoticed. The man instead... she decided not to ignore him. He had the word 'happenstance' written in big letters on his forehead. The only thing which is as uncontrollable, as unratable as love is. "Kissing in the rain." he said once again. "They say it's the greatest thing ever." he said. "And every time it rains, I walk alone." "That's bad luck." she answered. In her mind she added: "But not today." She made a step forward, drew him closer to her body and kissed him. One of those kisses which are clearly meant not to end very soon. He reeled backwards for just an inch and then the strength returned into him when he answered passionately to her kiss. Raindrops ran down their faces, their chins. Tickling their skin. Who cares? They were already lost deep inside a fantasy land, motivated by desire, driven by chance and destined to find a precious gift which seemed nowhere to be found.

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