Story half written by Lucy and Charon.the book You slide

Story half written by Lucy and Charon. the book You slide towards the living room with a smile. You close the door behind you and make sure you are alone. You smile, you are. You advance towards the table and take it book that presides over it alone. You look at the cover and continue smiling while you caress the name of the author, embroidered in gold thread on the crimson covers. Suddenly, some noises are heard behind the door and your senses become alert, fearing being discovered in your furtive raid. But no... the steps continue their way and do not venture into the room. You open the book and, Sitting in the chair with your back to the door, you begin to read. You have always I liked how he wrote. Perhaps he abused overly poetic figures, perhaps he He messed around with things that were irrelevant, perhaps he even lacked a lot to be a good writer... it doesn't matter... you simply liked it. You read. The first pages take you into the story. Try to recreate an urban landscape, sad and routine. It is not difficult for you to get into it because it is the one that so much you have lived There's a reason you live in the same city. You even look like protagonist. Slowly, but without stopping reading, you mentally close your eyes and see yourself transported to the history... "The city had woke up gray and sad, suffering the cold of a winter that did not decide to release its wet streets. At the door of some cinemas, she endured the cold thinking about him. Him and so many words written on the screen of the computer, under the protection of nights of passion via the Internet. Now, finally, I was going to have it in front of you without bytes and icons intervening between them. He saw him approaching. Just like in the photos, with that mischievous look. Their eyes crossed distance and the crowd became too small to separate them. They advanced to They met each one on their own, and they met right in the middle of the road. He grabbed her by the waist while staring into his eyes. She, copying his smile, He took the cheeks. The mouths came closer..." You hear the door open and you quickly put the book back in its place. Your heart beats scared. You don't get up. You wait for him to come towards you and put his mouth so close from your ear that you can hear even the words that I keep silent. - Did you like it? - asked. - A lot... How "Can you write like that?" you murmur, getting up and turning around slowly. - Because I have you you...- The faces have already faced each other and little by little they begin to get closer. The lips cry out for a skin-to-skin equivalent of what they have not read. They get closer, they They rub, they play, they separate and they come back together following the dance of so many generations learned. The skin becomes electrified and attracts the companion lips. The first of the barriers falls and, while your hand brushes my hair and mine your body is learned, the tongues come into contact, they get tangled, they moan one by one another, and, above all... They kiss. Yes, they kiss. Like two characters from novel. The birthday Birthdays seem boring to me. No I know no one except my best friend who took me there. She is college friend of the birthday boy. You are his best friend. I see you laugh his side and I think that, perhaps, the birthday will not be so tedious. It is the first birthday-party of this type that I go to and I had not planned to have fun. He celebrated has prepared tests of all kinds, like a kind of ginkkhana in the who matches people as he pleases. He sees me look at you and smiles to himself with a little point of mischievous evil. He puts us together for the next test. I sell you the eyes sitting in a chair, ties my hands and puts a pen in my mouth. - You have to write on his forehead the next word - he says, at the top of his lungs. People laugh, you twist your lips in a pout of sympathetic displeasure. He leans close to my ear and whispers, okay short:- The word is Potato. He walks away laughing, and I lean in on your forehead to fulfill the test. The pen is not going well, drag your forehead, leaves small pale traces on it alternating minimal traces of ink blue. It doesn't matter, you can't read it to guess the test. I'm nervous, my Breathing in your nose makes you uncomfortable, you don't even know my name. The people He keeps laughing at our expense, even though it doesn't seem like you care. For my part, I continue writing, even if it only makes you stain and scratch you the forehead A, T, A. I finish the word and drop the pen, which bounces on your thigh before crashing to the ground. - Pafua papua Fatua? - you murmur, and the laughter becomes general. Your friend takes off your blindfold and you see me in front of you, my face confirms what the laughter of the assistants. You haven't got it right. - Oh, what a shame! - laughs, sarcastic, you friend.- Since you didn't get it right, now she will have to wipe your forehead.- I You look with a distrustful face. "How?" you ask, fearing the answer. - With the tongue. People break out again You laugh, I blush and you shake your head and roll your eyes. It You know it very well and you were expecting one of those. It has completely caught me by surprise. But you haven't guessed and I have to pay. Dead of shame, I stick out my tongue and start licking your forehead, trying to erase the traces of remaining ink. Sweat and ink taste sour to me the mouth, and you laugh nervously. In the end, a little to remove your saliva, and a little To clean the last stubborn spot, I finish the cleaning with a tender kiss on the forehead - That's it! - your friend claps his hands, and I untie your hands. The party continues and, a while later, we find ourselves next to the drinks. -Hey, about the kiss on the forehead- You say, and my face turns embarrassingly red again. - Yes? - I try to avoid looking at you. eyes. - That you have made me prefer that you you would have written on your lips. I look at you intrigued. you return me look and smile. I approach you, you lean over me and, as the music, we kiss. The dream It's night. Evening closed for further details. You lie down on the bed, and soon you fall asleep. When you open your eyes, you have flown. You have flown away from the world, out of time, to another reality. You are in a small pond, its tranquility hurt by the waterfall that rushes towards him. The place sunsets lost in the immensity of a thick jungle where the only animals that seem to be there are the happy ones little birds that chirp in the trees. Smiling, you You sit on a rock and look at the crystal clear water of the pond. everything is at peace until a sound alerts you. You don't know if it's some wild animal, something that would separate the dream from the nightmare, and you stand up ready to go out in a hurry. But not. A young man crosses the thicket of trees and stands at the edge of the pond: -Hello.- Greetings. -Hello.- he smiles at you. him, raising his hand. He approaches you with Be careful, avoiding slipping on wet twigs and stones on the ground. - Rapier What are you doing here? - you ask, surprised. - Well... I think I'm dreaming...- the boy laughs.- Although normally my dreams are not so pretty The young man looks at you directly into your eyes and the scene disturbs you. Embarrassed, you look away smiling sweetly. Are you dreaming it? How can you dream of a boy like that if You don't even know anyone who looks like him? - And you? What are you doing here? - Well, I think that I I'm also dreaming just like you.- You turn back to him and realize that has come much closer to you, you have it just a few centimeters away, perched on the Same rock as you. - Wow... What bunch of dreamers! - he says, jokingly, and you laugh with his laugh. They seize you sensations, so what if it's a dream? So what if it isn't? It seems that now only you two exist. You approach now without shame, on the rock above the pond. Your mouths are reducing, in silence, the short distance that separates them. suddenly when are about to kiss, a dragonfly passes quickly and buzzing between your foreheads. He jumps in surprise and jumps back, slipping. on the wet stone and falling into the water with a big "Chof". You laugh out loud clean when he emerges from the surface of the pond, confused and wet, wet overcoat. - Oh! Very nice!- despite everything, the smile does not leave his lips.- Do you have much time left? to laugh or are you going to help me out? - Okay, okay... now I help you... You kneel at edge of the rock and you extend your hand. He grabs it... and pushes you into the water with he. -Hey!- you complain, when you take your head out of the water, just as wet as he is. - It feels...- he says, with a naughty child's smile. You both laugh but, Little by little, the smiles disappear in the tension that unites your looks. On the water, you get closer until you can hug each other. - How long do we have? - you ask. - Until we "Leave the watches," he answers, slowly leaning over you, bringing his lips closer to yours that wait impatiently for them. The second before The kiss is the longest in history. It doesn't last a second. Lasts centuries, eternities, hours in which clocks change their numbers, roll their arrows and your hearts enjoy the paralyzed act of total surrender. You open your mouths and you join your tongues. You almost seem to feel the taste of fresh water entering through your lips, and his skin burning under your arms hugged to his body, copying the position of theirs. You kiss each other with passion, wanting to believe that your lives, with luck, will be the dream of that dream and tomorrow, when you return to sleep, you will find yourself again in the same pond... wakes you up irritating beeping. You sit up in bed, sweating, smiling, wet. you touch the lips with the tips of your fingers and they feel very warm. still on your tongue you have the taste of sweet water. See you tonight, you think, with a grimace. sad, while you stop the alarm clock. The story of always The story of always. Girl and boy, she and him, face to face in a cafeteria. First appointment. They look for each other and, at the same time, they avoid each other. A few minutes pass in that game that they are both too shy to break. It is not known very well how but, finally, their eyes meet. There is silence. An angel passes by. They approach each other. He holds her by the chin, looking at her with a special tenderness. His heart beats a mile an hour. Accumulating value of no one knows knows where, he dares to put his head forward and give her a tender peck on the lips. They separate instantly, colors bursting into their cheeks. But without time think nothing more, the gazes return to rest on the eyes of those who have opposite and, quickly, they join their lips again in another. And another little bit further. The mouths open, searching for air and also searching for each other. other; the tongues, wise, play catch as children in an adult body; the Her hands dance through his hair. She disengages with a shared sigh of the experimental kiss, and with his lips he catches playfully the young man's lower lip, licks it with his tongue, nibbles it gently with mischief, he opens his eyes slowly and takes one last bite something stronger. Hearts have raced, mouths have separated again and their bearers look blushing again. A smile. It is what only one they need. Their faces retrace the path and three kiss again, four, five more peckers until they melt into an eternal kiss. Eternal kiss to the one The two hook up greedily. Eternal kiss that is not interrupted until They are surprised by the shadow of the bartender projected over them. They laugh. They pay and laugh. They pay, laugh, and leave. They pay, laugh, kiss and leave, holding hands, doing his every portal with kisses. Cyberkiss Evening. The stars would shine if those disobedient clouds did not block the sky. It doesn't matter. You don't look at the sky tonight, there are better things to look at. you are sitting in front of your computer, chatting with a boy you met in the realm of chaos what is internet You like his words, you are flattered by what he writes to you and does to you Wear a smile throughout the entire talk. Suddenly, he says to start a conversation by voice. - Don't have microphone.- You write. - It doesn't matter so I you listen.- It appears as a response on your screen. Your hand trembles, it is one more border to cross, one step further, and you don't know whether to take it. Clicks on Accept and you sigh in relief. - Hello. His voice, in shy Greetings, it comes to you clearly. He starts talking to you while your fingers stumble on the keyboard trying to respond as best you can. - You don't need to you answer. "Just listen," he whispers, with a soft and deep voice that the headphones they carry to your ears. Start telling you something, you don't really know what. You (like him) know that that is not the most important thing. It important is his voice, every variation of his words, his aspirated jots, almost non-existent, his esses disappeared, his enes extremely nasal, his yeism, even defects are virtues in the softness of that soft voice. Little by little, you have I have been closing my eyes, carried away by those words that enter inside, deep inside, breaking barriers you didn't know were there and making you float, fly through a heaven through which a soft-spoken angel takes you. It's all like in a dream. That's why, when he whispers to you, very quietly, "Open your eyes," and you obey. Automatically, it doesn't scare you, it just surprises you, seeing a face emerging from the screen of your computer, as if it were imprisoned in a rubber prison elastic. There from the monitor, painted in the colors of the Messenger window that you have open, A human face emerges from the mess of delicate materials on your computer. He follows you speaking, and when he speaks, the lips (thin, masculine) of the head of your screen move. You know it's him. You don't need to see his lips. You don't stop look at her There is silence. The voices, the sounds, have ended up being banished to some dark corner of the room so as not to disturb you. Maybe the pointer of the mouse has moved them to the recycle bin to free up the desktop to the face that fills it. You approach the face and, caressing it gently, you press your lips to his. The crystal of That which has arisen and from which it has been formed soon takes heat. The heat of some lips that kiss you, the humidity of a tongue that, dressed in the last letter what you have written, goes into your mouth to roll with your own tongue, the passion of a lover that merges with you in a kiss that you will remember forever never. You don't know if it's a dream, but you don't care. It's a kiss. A kiss with him. A kiss made of bits and passion. A kiss. His Kiss. The beach The beach receives tide of people as it receives the tide of waves. Holding it as best he can. We are with different groups of friends on the sand. You play paddles with your friend, the future pilot, I make a castle in the sand, distracted while I hear the groaning of a friend. for the good aim that your friend boasts of, it is your turn all the time to go for the little ball, and this time it has come right to the top of my castle. The battlements of sand lie on the ground, unable to withstand the cannon shot of the ball. You bend down, you apologize embarrassed, I laugh and tell you that nothing is happening. You smile and You return to the game, to continue winning. Your friend is beginning to realize that it is not his day and pretends to do it wrong on purpose. The ball returns to my side, as if I would have learned the way and it remains next to one of my thighs. You come running go for it, but I'm already catching it. You skid and fall on one of my legs, on top of the castle, completely overflowing you. The laughter is total at these heights. You apologize for again for the damage inflicted on the castle and you worry about the leg of the princess. I notice the hesitant, funny tone. I throw the ball to your friend and I tell you that there is no serious wound to heal, at the moment. You're leaving again, and I am amazed watching your back as you walk away. My friend gives me a poke. We get up and We stand aside, in your midst. We ask your names rest of the group, who play half-heartedly with a Spanish deck. we start you to encourage This time it's you who hits the ball badly, I run to pick it up and I return it. You wink at me. I love that wink, I'm willing to pick it up every time you miss it. The next time goes into the sea. I get up and run, passing between you to go to for her. This time I'm the clumsy one, I trip in the water, I fall and you come to the rescue ball and princess. You extend your hand to help me get up from the water, but I stretch out your arm so that you fall with me (or at least next to me). A little accidentally, and a lot on purpose, you fall on top of me. In the water, you look at me amused and surprised, even more so after making a mess of which You emerge laughing and grabbing me. We look at each other, and I seal your lips with a kiss salty. The longest kiss in history.   rainy day It's six in the afternoon. It could be see the sun hide if it were not hidden by the clouds that discharge a fine incessant drizzle over the city. The sidewalks get wet, under your umbrella You walk hiding from the cold in your coat. You arrive at the bus stop (one one of those without a canopy, a simple plastic cylinder that sprouts from the sidewalk) and You see in it a boy who is huddled in his jacket, enduring the downpour. with nothing to protect them from the rain. You approach him and cover him with your umbrella. He turns around and you smile. "Thank you," I say, smiling. also. We stare into each other's eyes silence, as if we could speak with our glances and there was no need words. I open my mouth to say something but just then comes the bus that we wait in silence (around us many people walk, talks and cars roar their engines, but nothing exists outside of us). The bus door hisses and opens. "You first," I say, letting you pass. - Thank you.- for the only answer, I wink an eye. I step behind you and buy the ticket. The bus is almost empty, only a grandmother in her green seat and a couple of colored men chatting animatedly in one of the seats rears. You sit in the middle of the bus, and you look at me absent-mindedly. Tea I look back, then I lower it to the ground, I look out the window, I get confused with the fog, I take a breath and move forward. I sit next to you, you look at me and You look away embarrassed. - Thanks for the umbrella.- I repeat, to break the tense silence. "It was nothing," you reply. We smile. The ice is broken. We start chatting as the bus continues its journey through the city. Me You learn your name, you learn mine. I try to say thank you but my voice It shakes and I almost never finish them. We both laugh. From time to time, we stay looking into his eyes, completely silent, and not wanting to look away. The bus continues moving. You look at the Street through the glass, you look at me. "It's my stop," you say sadly. Tea You get up and walk past me to stand in front of the door and press the request stop button. The bus stops and opens its doors. Jump of the I sit as you pass through them. As soon as I get off, I grab your arm and you turn around. towards me. Our eyes meet, Drops of water sparkle on the asphalt, we slowly approach and kiss. We kiss as the bus closes the doors and continues on its way. Us We kiss while the world spins. Life goes on and we kiss. Bad to the bones Night night The house is empty, except for the two of us. We watch TV and, from time to time, we We exchange mischievous glances that last no more than a breath. arrived a moment, you just stare at me and smile. You start to make me tickling without warning. - Oh! "Bad!" he laughed, avoiding the tickle. -Bad to the bones, baby!- You also respond, laughing. - And so much Bad! - It's not that I'm bad, it's that you "You're too good," you tell me, stopping the tickling. - Good me? - Good. Too good. A little angel without any evil. I wake up looking at you with hatred pretended. - Come. You follow me throughout the house, until We get to my room, once there, I close the door and throw myself at you, kissing you with passion, taking off the belt that crowns your jeans without any looking. Once in my hands, I push you to the bed, to which you fall face down above. I get on top of you, with my knees on either side of your body, with I tie one end of the strap to your hands and the other end to the headrest. of the bed. - Angelita, did you say? - I ask you, seeing you immobilized. You nod your head and I open the drawer on the table. I search and extract some sewing scissors at your surprise. I get up and I open.- I hope you don't like your shirt too much, because since you have the tied hands I have to cut it. You open your mouth and look at me surprised while I cut your shirt, following the fine line of hair that grows in your crotch and reaches your chest passing through your navel. - Damn I loved that shirt. -I knew it.- I answer smiling. while I cut the sleeves to take it off completely. I make you turn around and I feel in your ass, before your naked back. - Do you remember when I wrote something with a pen on your forehead and you had to guess it? This is similar.- I passed one nail through my tongue and I start writing letters on your back. The strait A trace of saliva gives you chills. -Aren't I so good anymore?- I ask, as I continue writing. “You are,” you say, turning your head. towards me. I just wrote and I reach out to you gently from the hair back. I think you understand that you should turn around. You obey and remain face up, trapped under me, while I look at you smiling. - Am I good? Or am I bad? - I ask, looking you directly in the eyes. - Bad to the bone, baby! I lean over you and kiss you with enjoyment, biting your lips, playing with your tongue, losing my hands in your reverse A kiss from imps. Circuit Sunday noon, the asphalt is very hot, out there the mountains blur the horizon. In there, the The smell of gasoline is almost a kind of drug that rubs into the environment. You are in the Ricardo Tormo circuit, and the 125 race is about to start. The cameras gather on the first runners on the grid, who are shot for cameras and interviews. But your gaze leaves the top positions and dives into the back rows. You observe one of the runners leaving the last positions. does not have flashes that want to capture your face, nor microphones that want to record your words. He doesn't even have a stewardess to protect him with the parasol from the inclement weather. Sanlorenzo that hits at noon on Sunday. With the helmet in your hands, you can see his face He is handsome, his almost child-like features give him a fragile beauty. that dazzles you. Suddenly, he catches you looking at him and smiles. You look away embarrassed and a blush forms a nest in your cheeks. A minute later, a small kid approaches you, climbing over the fence of the stands. - Hey, girl that biker you say that if you want to hold your parasol until the race starts, that way you can talk to someone The smile floods your face. Without Hesitating, you accept and the boy gestures to the pilot. It takes you to the track and gives you a parasol. With your legs shaking, you approach the handsome man. biker He is handsome, slim, the team uniform and the motorcycle make him look like a modern gentleman. Your Amadís de Gaula, your Tirant Lo Blanc. You smile foolishly as you reach his motorcycle. You spread the parasol over him, the nerves they make you tremble. - Thank you very much- he tells you, smiling. -No, thanks to you.- you answer.- "I've never been here," you stammer, pointing to the asphalt of the circuit. He smiles. You start talking. It tells you who plans to win the race. - You have it difficult you leave from back but I will encourage you when you are on top of the podium.- you say, smiling. Of soon, it seemed possible to you that I would come first. - If I win the race, I'll put you on the podium with me. You laugh happily, you know he has it very difficult, it comes out of the last positions, but the illusion cannot be taken away from you nobody. They warn that the race is going to start, you have to leave the track. "Wait for me in the pits," he tells you, putting on your helmet, and you run to obey him. The race begins. The first straight It's amazing. One, two, three, and even four motorcycles are overtaken by your motorcycle. corridor. Your heart rebels. It rattles excitedly in your chest. The turns follow one another, and the overtaking too. You watch the race on television in the pits, and you curse the realization because they do not focus on your knight. They focus on the first while the biker with the promised kiss overtakes his friends one after another adversaries and companions. "Incredible," shouts a technician with a accent that you can't identify.- that boy is already in the top ten. Your eyes light up. What if he wins? After advancing more than 10 places, the Overtaking becomes more difficult. Still, at last, even to the TV filmmakers marvel at how this motorist with modest equipment can compete with the most powerful motorcycles in the championship. But the turns are ending and you motorist is unable to overtake the sixth, which covers the curves very well, despite that goes slower. Finally, on the penultimate lap he manages to trick him and sneak in. inside while you clap your hands excitedly. Pass one more runner before let the race end. He is fifth and can't even get on the podium. Of all ways, the comeback has been surprising. Nobody counted on him among the fifteen first even. Receive congratulations from the champion, of the second, of the third, of all the runners who have seen his spectacular career. He politely shakes hands and returns crestfallen to the box. there you are you. You don't care about his face of failure, As you see him arrive, you run towards him. You have seen his career, his epic comeback. He sees you go towards him and a smile escapes that lasts very little. While the race champion sends a shower of champagne into nowhere and the aroma of gasoline surrounds you, you merge in a kiss that, in all televisions in the world, it is nothing more than the award for the best driver of the race, that has received no more glory or laurels than your lips. Perhaps the best award in history of motorcycling. The swing I leave the house, full of worries, little headaches. They sent me to get the bread. Is Holy Thursday, everything is closed! I make a face of annoyance and change address. I have to go to another neighborhood to get it bread and when passing by a park I was overcome with nostalgia. It's where I played when I was little, but it has changed, it is no longer the same. You can't scratch your hands anymore knees on those soft floors. Call me stupid, but it was more fun before. How I would like to recover those carefree days! remembering old times, I sit on a swing, empty of children, most of them have succumbed to charm of playstations and nintendos to the detriment of the old parks that they cry alone. I start to swing, first gently Almost without realizing it, I see that I am picking up and stretching my hands. legs while I think Higher!. Suddenly, I open my eyes and there in front of me, the dilapidated bench, writing something in a notebook, there you are. I don't know you, you have a sweet face, deep, thoughtful. I know you've seen me swing but I don't care. Me I rock gently again as I look at you. Moments later, you look up. from your notebook, you look at me, you smile, and you continue writing things down. Minutes pass in that game of glances, the fourth time, we laughed at the same time. I make up my mind and open my mouth to tell you something. “Think something smart, fast,” I tell myself. I can't think of anything. - Can I help you? - I ask. - Shall I help you? - You say, at the same time. We both laugh again. - How were you going to help me? - I don't know, what do you write? I have a lot imagination. And how were you planning to help me? You smile, you look at me serenely and You answer half seriously: - For me, what you want is to go louder.- You tell me, with a smile that I don't take long to imitate. Without further ado, you get up, walk towards me and you stand behind my back. I'm afraid to move, to leave, to stay, no I know you but I don't know why, with you I feel like I'm safe. You push me lightly and I sway forward and then back again. - Don't worry about anything, things They will improve, forget about your worries and go higher- you whisper in my ear before pushing me again a little harder. You push me again, I like the tone of your voice, you keep pushing me… - I'm not going any higher! - I reply, for a while. later, in the middle of the swing. - I don't know Can I try something else? - questions. - Sure- he sighed. You stop pushing me and stand in front of me. When the sway is minimal, you lift me up and draw me to you firmly, I almost fell on you My lips are very close to your smile I you kiss with tenderness and passion. - Thank you very much.- I tell you, when We took off. - Now I have really reached the top. Angels It's a day like so many others in the darling. Bored. All you have to do is hover above the clouds, like the rest of little angels bored with a heaven in which, less and less, they go believing. If it's that boring, normal, you think. This is how you spend the morning, giving I use your beautiful white wings. Until suddenly, you hear something. -Tsch. Tsch. You, yes you, pretty girl. You brake hard and look from one to the other side, looking for the author of the words, but you are alone. - Tsch, tsch, down here. Amused, you dive towards down, until you break through the layer of clouds that makes you ground, and the voice it rings again. - I thought you wouldn't find me. - laughs, jocular, the voice. You look back at the clouds and find another angel like you, with a smile from ear to ear and lying on said clouds On the part of below! - What are you doing there? - you ask, frowning in a feigned gesture. "Come on," I answer, extending yourself. the hand You don't know whether to take it, you still don't trust me.- Come on, dare I'm a Little angel, I'm not going to do anything bad to you.- I smile. My childish smile convinces you. Me You shake your hand and I pull you until you are close to my body. you give a scream surprised as he let us fall towards Earth. I hug you so you can't open your wings and fly but also to feel your angel skin glued to the mine. We fall at an insane speed while I laugh in amusement. - You're crazy! - you shout at me, you too laughing. You know I'm not going to hurt you, but the ground is getting closer to us and I won't let you go. A few meters from the surface of the sea where we were about to After we crash, I open my wings and begin a rapid flight over the water, while the fish peek at the surface wondering who is causing so much fuss in their domains and the birds look at us confused I fly carrying you in my arms. I raise the flight over towns and cities and mountains and seas, we go so fast that no one He realizes that we pass over his houses. I stop at a kind of tower in the old part of a big city. -Why did you bring me here?- questions. -Tsch. Shut up and look. From the top of the old tower, above the adjacent cathedral, on a square where a fountain of a god Roman rests its cold and dead water, we can see how night falls in the city. -How beautiful!- you say, while the Shadows cover ancient and modern buildings without distinction. -Wait- I answer, pointing to you. the sea line. Little by little, the city lights they light up, each one of them will be reflected in your eyes, and your smile will makes it, if possible, even more beautiful under that shine. "It's beautiful," you tell me, excited. for the beauty of the place. - Not as much as you. Going towards you, I hug you back, and you turn slowly until our heads, facing each other, front, they are no more than a few millimeters away that little by little we are reducing to the nothing. We feel the heavy breathing, the heart beating at a thousand per hour, the city and our own face reflected in the pupils of the angel companion while the night envelops the city and another very different feeling gives us envelops us. There is silence and light That night, the Valencia police took a Japanese man who went to the police station for being drunk because he said that he had seen two angels kissing at the top of Micalet. A very beautiful kiss. Simulation motorcycle Like every day, the young teenager He comes to the arcade with his friends. They have their pockets full of coins and, in the mind, the number of zombies they are going to kill in that game new shooting. He, instead, goes straight to the simulation game there. in a corner. He rides on top of a motorcycle, which is painted red and which It shines before the barrage of lights that come from all the machines, and begins to think about one of the three coins that can be spent that afternoon. "Hey, Chicho, are you playing?" he tells a friend who observes his colleagues' undead massacre. This Chicho accepts and gets on the motorbike. The kid puts his coin in the machine and the race begins. At the end of the first lap he has already placed himself first, several tenths ahead of his competitors while their colleague fights to get into the top ten. Its driving is perfect, worthy of a professional, it really seems like he is on the motorcycle, cutting through the wind, in a United States circuit. The race ends and as always, he wins. like everyone the days. When Chicho marches back to the shooting game, cheering on the virtual biker to join, he rejects the invitation and remains on his motorbike, dreaming, while his friends make fun of how boring he is, always on the motorcycle, traveling kilometers of clear asphalt in front of fellow and rival pilots. I've been looking at it all, all the days, and it is always like this, unbeatable champion in the motorcycle game, bland and Boring to his friends. To the umpteenth mockery, which he endures Stoically, I get up from my place and approach him. Every time it separates me less space, it gives me the feeling that the whole place is hearing the beats from my heart. I reach the motorist and, without mediation word, I grab him by the head and give him a tender peck on the lips. "For my champion," I whisper, Still completely embarrassed, and without further ado, I turn back the way I came. While his friends, open-mouthed, They look at the biker with surprise, the zombies take advantage and crush them in the game and he, putting the tip of his finger on his lips, so surprised Like them, he remembers the hot kiss he had. A kiss of a champion.   Not exactly kisses. They're not exactly kisses. No completely. I caress your face with my lips half-closed I start with your left cheek, I detour to your chin, I go back up to your right cheek, enjoying myself in feeling your hot skin. on the sensitive surface of my lips. I then escape to the lobe of the ear but, playfully, I return to your face, towards your nose and, below it, until it touches your lips. I feel a trail of fire following the path you have opened, when you reach my lips I try to kiss them but I only kiss the air, you have already retired, to lie on my chest, while I hug you and abandon myself to the sweet sensation of your skin and mine becoming one, without words, without moving, simply by symbiosis of the bodies stuck together to the other. I continue lying on your chest, I take his hand and bring it closer to my face. I caress myself with it, your skin is very soft, almost feminine, but it pulses when its back meets my cheek. As if was mine, as if it no longer belonged to you, I extend it as I please and kiss. First on the back, soft and brown, then on the palm, paler skin than the previous one, but it still trembles under my lips. Finally, kiss each finger gently, as if trying to heal a small wound that is no longer there. over there. I take the opportunity to caress your cheek with the other hand, behind your head. I lean down and bury my nose in your hair. I kiss your head and inhale your perfume of jasmine flowers. I grab you with all the softness I can of the chin, with just the index finger, and I make you look me in the eyes. I kiss you tenderly on the forehead and return you to your position. above, so you can hear how my heart skips a beat. They're not exactly kisses. No completely. But they are ours. Our.    Half-written story with a whole angel. MY angel. Made by, with and for Ella, my Lucy. A kiss, my angel. This is ours. Our.