love stories

The train of regrets

Travelling alone, the border is far away, by train.
A book for a friend, remember that I will emerge some time away from her, the sadness alive, while …. And the look she sees a horse rider in the steel that goes to the border, the look would not want to fix, but the mind does not deny that beauty without sensuality, red shoes, skirt and coat, his face hidden by sunglasses and a hat. Dreams came to my mind the light, perversion in the minds of casual encounters, in uncommon places, everything seems normal … except in my imagination.
Then the words come from her, I can not be indifferent, but I would like, the sense of guilt comes over me already, words that seem innocent, but in the end, intimacy in the dialogue, I see his body, round shapes and slim line, sublime thoughts in attacking me, the fire of desire that cancels the memories of dreams and the present.
A sign at the end, it seems that devas go, as a man who holds it, the gesture of a hand carried in a sign of friendship, a greeting.
That is not what it seems, she woman who lives and knows what she wants, takes his hand but not the string, the door to get to know if, in its most intimate hidden. I can not understand, I’m confused, but by then the fire comes over me, I can not go back now my mind is elsewhere, seconds, second only to understand what is happening, a train to the border.
Slight gloss seems to me, but not in stopping the urge to have her for me, then slow to do, between desire and shame, the bathroom becomes the place of pleasure, I do not see her face, only her hair, force in ‘act, I want to drive, silence is not for us to feel, an abstract scenario, only two acts of burning bodies, no names or words, only items that are combined with slow rocking of the train in motion, I do not see her face, but I feel its warmth in me, his body in my hands, moments of ecstasy, which lasts for a short time.

Everything wears out like a candle in the middle, a passion that burns in short but understood minutes of love and transgression, the time has now finished an embrace consumed, including fire and silence the train whistles is his station, and she goes,without even saying a word, a smile makes me a glimpse, that my mind will not forget.

The heart beat now back with her slow down, find clarity.
A moment of a dream I run, but emerges as a storm hours, remorse, the gesture that has been consumed, a man of flesh I say, stupid thoughts to hide my weakness, a moment of remorse, a passion for timeless tale that will hide waiting for her at home. I think for some time to a moment of passion, now and always will be a betrayal, one to whom I said I love you before you leave.

Letters never read

Chance encounter, accomplices already looks now, a few hours to meet, but never too well. Days of words, flattery and flowers, you are now its conquest, can not you see him, looking like marble, a look that shakes, full of vigor and warm words to tell.
Days spent in bed, rubbing the sheets, you do not see that he lost in your love that absorbs you taste every part of him, playing in the sincerity of the woman he loves. Give yourself in body and soul, explore and discover you do, so far no one had ever done.
Make love to him because of love for you is, is not raw sex, there is no mechanism for pleasure, where you find yourself, but love the real one, where everything you give to see his eyes shining.
He does what you want, your mind has not he, games endless love, extreme positions in storms of passion, everything is love, you think not of him, only love, the concessions of the body that do not the limit. You leave and you feel pleasure in the game that you’re living, love and do not see what is happening, he in his love, violence in places to be inside you, does not respect the game of giving and receiving. Fewer and fewer words, your heart did beat, even fewer care to prepare for the game of love, only relief of a man who makes you an object, where he unleashed the river, in the inlets of your life, take from everything you want and what you do is to be a servant.
Time has passed, but suddenly you have not heard from, you seek him, but he denies, that life has not told and that you will never know …
Thoughts of pain through your body, mind, always falls in moments of pleasure, where you enjoyed the game you love and did not see the truth, time passes slowly and come back to reality, those words of love to you, are now Only injuries, words in the letters he has read to you, you do not want to hear, closed in your pain, puts them in the drawer of your life.
Crumpled sheets of the memory is hard to fade, “mood” you are turned around in tears, now verses disappointed, you gave yourself no ifs and buts, did not you ask them questions, the truth was there, in front of you But you take a love too passionate did not give reason for your thinking.
Now only one remains, with tales of passion and love letters are nothing but illusions, never read the mind, but only from your heart.
Women who have sought love, without seeing you in the face of one who was deceiving, by letters in words where did you conquer, for his game that was not yours.


With a light hand playing an instrument, delicate hand that makes the tunes his violin, and gravely austere dogmas from conservatory of music that have made the love of his life and soul of serious people, but hidden inside your fantasies have never been shown.

All ready two hours of concert symphony, so good and the dressing room waiting … Come and see a bunch of roses, blush and read who is sent to an address and a lipstick mark. You do not know what to do, news of a young violinist, but you think you know who you are. Emotions of the body you’ve had few, if not in playing your violin. Night thoughts that stir the body, numbness in the dark, but the decision already taken to see who you are.

Afternoon it’s raining outside, you’re in the address that she left you, sounds and salts, flat, open door, with strangeness you come and see her .. It does not have custody of his violin, but nature to show, that was just for you, young man, only books or movies, you do not know much of love, too much time studying, delicacies to play your violin, harmony and passion that the life of a man who made love deprivation.

She has no shame woman, smiling and slowly approaches, I have seen many times caress your violin, playing with passion what instrument you love, you look at property in front of you and you already know that you will not say no, his claims, sees, perceives it from your forms, experienced woman who’s life has come. You do not have words, but thoughts and memories of what you have seen only in fiction, her serene touch you, slowly kneel down to see your masculinity in all its splendor, you feel your warmth and wants to turn off the heat, taste you, in your intimacy without force, gently, you’re left to his wishes and did not check in your explosion, that joyful caresses her lips.

Embarrassment of a young man who did not love, but do with her mother, comforts your embarrassment. Gently discovers your forms, you do not understand, you are now empty, but she knows that you still have passion, only to revive a flame, with warmth and discoveries to be made. In the bed you are now, as a teacher and she takes your neck, down to the slow, where you build the life you enjoy and violin strings are now as a score his violin sounds, sweet taste, new music is for you, his pleasure that turns into sound, until the last note, the sharpest you’ve ever heard. The game is now concluded pleasure in giving you receive and then tells you, you as a student plays.

A new tool you think you played today, in returning home, she is waiting for you tomorrow for a new game, to teach, your violin at home waiting for you, but the thought of the woman you are now in the heart, chance encounter, discovery of … sounds of emotions that you want to cultivate, tomorrow comes and you play again, the note of love.

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