Kamila // Munich // 18 May 2013
“Rico! I didn’t think you’d come,” I exclaim in surprise as I actually see him standing in front of the door to my suite.
It’s already after 11 p.m. at night and he hadn’t responded to my message. Of course, I couldn’t leave the door open. But now he is suddenly here and my heart is beating much faster than when we make an appointment in advance. I may hate surprises, but this one’s okay. I could have more.
“Sorry, I slept after the game,” he says and smiles apologetically.
“Never mind, you’re here now.” I’m really not angry at all, but even if I were, it would fly away by now. His smile immediately gives me soft knees and this terrible tingling in my stomach and heart. Everywhere, actually.
“Did you see the game?” he asks as he walks in. I notice that he limps a little, and he looks tired and exhausted.
“Yeah, but I didn’t see you getting injured at all?”
“Oh, I’ve had a knee problem for quite some time,” he waves. “Those are just the downsides of a sports career. Long story.”
I approach him and put my hands on his neck. A very delicate note of his scent drifts over to me and I pass out internally, must seriously pull myself together not to sigh loudly because the scent is so unbearably wonderful. I can feel his hands at my waist and his legs and his pelvis as he pulls me slightly and kisses me on my smiling lips. It’s just a soft welcoming kiss, but even that makes me immediately forget everything around me. I can’t stop smiling, even when we separate from each other again.
“I’d say I’m sorry for you losing the game, but I don’t think you want to hear that right now,” I ask.
“No,” he shakes his head. “I’m glad that I don’t have to think about it anymore. Everybody’s in such a good mood at my place, it’s disgusting. I just had to get out of there.”
I look at him and everything inside me celebrates. I’ve never felt anything like it. That was the most beautiful and best and goose-pimple-making compliment he could have given me. I know for myself that I am pretty and thin and talented. For the rest, there are credit cards. But Rico leaving home at 11:00 at night to come to me, it’s un-fucking-believable.
I’ll kiss him again and again. Then I feel for his hand and my fingers slide automatically between his.
“Come, we’ll have a room service and then we’ll play a cool game,” I decide and lead him into the living room of the suite, that is already so familiar as if it were our own living room.
I hear Rico laughing quietly.
“Well, I didn’t mean a game like that,” I improve immediately and feel my cheeks getting hot and blushing.
“I mean a real game. Well, not Monopoly or anything. I hate Monopoly. You know what I hate most? When there’s someone playing with you who just buys every fucking street no matter where he goes. So completely useless. This is complete…” – I’m breaking up because I’m talking my brains out.
Oh, man, how embarrassing is this? I’m sober, but it’s still all spinning inside of me. Rico chuckles on, visibly possessed.
“I’m serious,” I indignantly play with my hair, slightly uncomfortably touched, but I also have to grin. “You’ll see what I mean in a moment. But first, I’ll order us a drink. You have the choice between… Alexander or Alexander.”
“I’ve never…”, I begin and expand the ‘never’, long and thoughtfully. “Oh, I know! Participated in a soccer world championship!”
“Neither did I,” assures Rico. “Well, at least not on a real one. Only under twenty-one, but that…”
“Point for me! Take it off!”
“Oh, man, that’s unfair,” he protests. “You got a lot more to undress than I do.”
“Your mother has more to take off than I do,” I laugh and take another sip from my third Alexander as I watch him blatantly put his T-shirt over his head.
I love this game. We take turns drinking and hitting things we’ve never done before. And every time the other is less innocent in one way or another, the other has to take off a piece of clothing. Their own clothing, of course. Altruism isn’t in my nature, is it?
Rico is just wearing his boxer shorts and I bathe in the sight of him. The only light in the room comes from a golden orange table lamp and it flatters his features so much that it hurts.
I, on the other hand, am still blazing high and happy with my bra, panties, and pantyhose dressed on my chaise lounge. I have simply said, stiffly and firmly, that the rules are that a ring on the finger equals a garment. By chance, I wore five of these.
I think the game is a good distraction. He told me earlier about his knee and that he was doped at the game. With the help of my snow. But he didn’t look happy, and my bad conscience naturally gave me a painful slap in the face. Right now, Rico seems to be okay though.
“Okay, okay, then it’s my turn again,” he says. “I’ve never cursed my mother before.”
I open my eyes and look at him in amazement. “Never?”
“Wow, Pfister. You’re boring…” I sigh with a rolling sigh. “And mother jokes are so good! They always stay. Just like videos of cats after general anesthesia.”
I grin and then slowly roll my pantyhose off my legs and let it sail into some corner.
My thoughts are with Rico all the time, and when I squint to the side for a moment, I see how his gaze follows me. He sits in his armchair like a demigod, decadent with the cocktail glass in his hand, but his looks are clear. Clearly ambiguous, like the whole gambling around should be. Everything, really everything we do or say, now serves only to push each other. It’s like a game in a game. And it makes the air between us crackle so much that it almost tingles on the skin.
“While we’re on the subject…” I continue. “Then here’s what I’ll say: I’ve never met my mother.”
“How?” Rico wonders.
“Well, just like that. She too…