4 - ADAM #2
Then we’re on our feet, all over each other. The cups hit the floor. I want to lay her down on the couch. She takes my hand and leads me to the bedroom. The most delicious hours since that night.
I wake up to Candy tracing patterns on my chest. So beautiful.
All disheveled against my shoulder. Blonde strands stuck to her forehead, trailing down her arm, others curving over her full breast. I feel her plump thigh draped over my hip, almost touching my cock, which is waking up too.
Her foot rests on my calf. Rays of morning sun slip through the cracks of the small window, hitting patches of wall.
We stay like this while I watch the sunlight creep across the paint, reaching the rumpled bed, warming the sheets even more.
“Lara.”
The whisper startles me.
“What?”
“My name.”
I sigh at the madness of it all.
“Can I keep calling you Candy?”
“If you prefer… Wait, keep?”
“I’ll be in the city until Friday. Can we see each other again?” I caress her forearm—so soft, so delicious. I want to bite it, the desire overwhelming me.
I flip us over, positioning myself on top of her, licking and nibbling that soft flesh. My tongue travels up to her sweet lips, which devour me in return.
Candy opens her legs, welcoming me, lifting her hips to meet mine. It's heaven on Earth.
On the third day, I barely leave her apartment. I meet Heathcliff, the hamster, and Bront?, the kitty.
Lying on the couch, I admire the kitty as she snuggles on top of me, nestling into my chest. Her body is like a delicate mosaic of colors, the kind you only see in a one-of-a-kind mixed-breed.
Candy says her markings would be impossible to replicate, surprised the little thing has already warmed up to me.
I almost say the same about the two of us.
Her fur is a mixture of warm brown tones, soft caramel, and darker patches bordering on graphite, without any rigid symmetry—the shapes blend organically. Between them, light patches add brightness.
I run my hand over her soft chest, and she looks at me with slight distrust. I observe her paws, creamy white, bringing contrast and lightness.
Her small pink nose stands out at the center, moist and sensitive to my fingertip's touch.
Long white whiskers fan out, reinforcing her curious, attentive expression as she watches me.
Her fur is velvety, clean and healthy, with enough volume to seem fluffy, especially around her chest and the sides of her head.
I ruffle it a bit and she lets out a little meow, almost a grunt, but doesn't move away.
There's a subtle, natural shine that reflects the warm light of the room, giving her coat a welcoming feel, like everything in this place.
Her eyes are large, rounded, expressive—a deep green with golden nuances that, I notice, shift with the light.
They're calm, seeming to observe more than react.
The pupils contrast sharply with the light iris, creating a look that's hypnotic and serene at once.
Yeah, I'm totally lost in this other kitty now.
Her triangular ears have soft tips with pink interiors.
They're attentive to the environment but relax when I start scratching them, caressing the contours underneath.
She lifts her little face toward me, tilting it in a semicircle before laying it on my chest with a calm, affectionate expression.
Yes, she has expressions. We stay like this until my fifth-grade self shows up.
Heathcliff is the hamster, whom I take from his little house and bring to the couch with us—us being me and Bront?. Candy gives me a peck and leaves for work, warning me that he can be treacherous. I chuckle. Come on! Really? He's so tiny...
I'll spare you a detailed description of Heathcliff, especially since I barely have time to hold him in my palm before Bront? extends her paw for an innocent caress and he jumps right onto the cat, scurrying across her little body and drawing a sharp meow from the kitty.
Before I know it, the two of them are tussling—can you even call it a sibling fight when it's between a cat and a hamster?
I have no idea. All I know is that when I try to separate them, Heathcliff disappears.
My heart leaps into my throat and I start begging him to appear. Imagine—what will I tell Candy? She must take such good care of these little animals. The hamster's house is fully decked out, decorated and... My God, he needs to show up!
I talk to Bront?. It might be my desperation, but I believe she understands me. We search for the gray one everywhere, until Bront? comes to my feet, wraps around them, and I follow her. I drag the nightstand away from the wall, and there he is—the handsome one, curled up in the corner.
“None of that, little one. This room is mine and Candy's.”
Bront?'s paw reaches Heathcliff's long, thin tail and, without hurting him, drags him toward me. Phew! I give him a piece of my mind. When I start laughing and nicknaming him, I hear a different meow—deeper. I look, and the cat is practically shooting daggers at me. Okay, no nicknames around here.
On the fourth day, I check out of my hotel and give Candy my phone number.
A new one—I buy it the same day without her knowing.
The other phone, I tell her, is for work.
Candy believes me. She has no reason to doubt.
At one of our dinners, she tells me languidly that we're like magnets—that's what explains how we found each other again in a megalopolis.
She's smiling, too beautiful. I smile, interlacing our fingers, which know the truth but help me keep omitting, keep lying.
On the fifth, I extend my stay in S?o Paulo even longer.
Now I'm lying to everyone, shamelessly. I tell my parents, everyone, that I decided to do a retreat so I won't fall into temptation with my fiancée, breaking my promise not to seek her out during these days.
Not only have I already fallen into temptation, but I'm wallowing in it every chance I get.
On the sixth, I have lunch and dinner waiting for her.
We share all our meals together—for body, soul, and spirit.
Until we're satisfied and fall asleep. You get it, right?
Besides dancing close together, of course.
I push the couch set aside, and we make space.
The slow songs we avoided at Cecil's pulse through us stronger than ever. Ah... how good it is!
On the seventh, I think how incredible it would be to wake up every morning with Candy in my arms. I want to strangle myself for that.
On the eighth day, I try not to think about her sleeping with other people when she's not with me.
On the ninth, we argue. Candy calls me a chauvinist because, according to her, women can have any profession they want. She's right. I shut my mouth before I spew more nonsense. And I shut it in the best way possible. Inside her.
On the tenth, we talk more. We talk every day, but I don't open up much—I don't want to lie more than I already do. Strange logic: lying to my family had become trivial, but to her, I don't want to lie. Not more than I have to.
I learn that her family was truly terrible.
She tells me briefly about the daily reality—how she'd have to carry some of them home, they were so drunk and high.
Bront?, curled up in her little bed at the foot of the couch, reacts to every shift in Candy's tone, even letting out soft, high-pitched meows.
I want to kill those people. But this does explain her choice of profession.
She lets slip that some of them may have had sex with each other without even realizing it.
I picture young Candy cleaning the pigsty that house must have been, collecting used condoms, syringes, bottles, locking herself in her perfumed room to escape that life, waiting for the moment she could leave for college.
I hold back the question: did they prostitute you?
On the eleventh day, I leave. While she's out working.
I stare at myself in my bathroom mirror.
My hands grip the marble edge of the sink.
My heart lurches. I imagine her coming home, finding the apartment empty.
Reading my note on the bed. I wrote so many.
Crumpled so many. Until I left one that—I hope—wasn't cruel.
I was a complete coward. How could I?! I hope my envelope made up for this cowardice, for not saying goodbye properly.
I did all of this intending to drown myself in what tormented me, hoping that once the temptation was satisfied, I could forget and move on with my life.
Total stupidity! I can't take a single step without thinking about that woman.
My days and nights are filled with memories, with an endless desire to have her with me.