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Mostrando entradas con la etiqueta france. Mostrar todas las entradas

domingo, 11 de marzo de 2018

CUANDO MI GUITARRA LLORÓ...




Llego hasta mi eterna compañera y agarrándola por la cintura empiezo a sacarle acordes que me hacen recordarte en lo más íntimo de mi ser.

Mi imaginación vuela sobre las cuerdas de mi guitarra y tu risa forma parte de mis recuerdos.

No entiendo el porqué de los acontecimientos. No sé si fui yo en mi eterna insensatez o fuiste tú en tu extremada paciencia para conmigo.

Hoy sabiéndote tan lejos quiero que sepas que entre nosotros no hay distancia y mucho menos olvido.

En cada trazo que le doy a mi sonora amiga, recuerdo la forma sencilla en que te entregaste a mí. En mi delirio puedo ver cómo dejas caer tu bata por el suelo y con esa forma gatuna que tenías de deslizarte descalza por todos los rincones de nuestra casa fue el frenesí más grande que había vivido. Eras un sueño hecho realidad

Doy otra nota más alta y es cuando te veo entrar a nuestra alcoba y mi mano enloquecida produce un arpegio rápido y delirante. En mi locura te vi recostar la cabeza sobre la almohada, mientras tus dedos se deslizaban por tus senos, provocándome hasta la locura.

Ya mi compañera retumba de ansias cuando me ve entrar a ese lecho para asaltar tu virginidad como un loco febril, que con los ojos empañados de alegría empieza a devorar cada parte de ese amado cuerpo.

Las notas pasan a ser más graves porque de lejos veo cómo me adentro a tu juventud inocente y disfruto de tus primaverales jugos.

Cada trazo que sale de mi guitarra es un gemido de placer que brota desde tu garganta cual trinar de aves. No puedo dejar de tocar, no quiero dejar de oírte porque es la vida misma la que estoy tomando de tu fuente.

Perdona pero los ojos se me han nublado y tengo que secarlos.

Sigo fustigando las cuerdas y logro oír un acompañamiento suave de violines, cuando en un momento abres paso dando, dándome así el permiso para penetrar ese territorio inexplorado. Llegué hasta la gloria. Fui objeto del mayor regalo que un hombre puede recibir. Temblaste entre mis brazos y tu respiración era tan agitada que pensé en darte tiempo o reposo pero no me lo permitiste. Sentías la fuerza de un hombre dentro de ti y eso te hizo briosa y audaz.

Un hilo rojo se dejó escurrir por entre tus muslos mientras me salía de tus comarcas, que ahora eran mías.

Ya cansado y con lágrimas rodando por mis mejillas, le di los últimos acordes a mi guitarra mientras recordaba que definitivamente había sido yo el culpable de que hoy no estés en mi lecho.

Si por casualidad llegase a tus oídos esta canción que ahora escribo estoy seguro que no tendrás dudas de saber el nombre del autor ya que en ella verás reflejada mi torpeza de perderte.

Esa fue la última canción con que la guitarra me acompañó porque al terminar, sus cuerdas explotaron de dolor. Ahora a ella tampoco la podré abrazar por su cintura para hacerla suspirar con mis canciones.


Carmen Pacheco
lasculpasylamuertedelamorii@hotmail.com
@Erotismo10



sábado, 17 de febrero de 2018

YOU STILL INSIDE ME...






In the distance I feel you
Like a celestial choir, who prays while singing.

In the distance I shelter you
Like that child who craves his mother's caress.

In the distance I feel you
Like the blind man waiting for the sunrise to feel the sun's rays.

In the distance I do not forget you
Even if you fight for it, you are still present as that breath of life.

Today your tongue navigated between my streams

Today your hands were in control of my candles

Today this boat continues its course, without forgetting your beloved soul that one who

knew how to flirt with mine...







Carmen Pacheco
lasculpasylamuertedelamorii@hotmail.com
@ Eroticism10
February 17, 2018

domingo, 8 de octubre de 2017

SEX ON A TRAIN...





He was an ordinary man. He passed through the crowd, without arousing any feeling. Every day he went from his house to work and vice versa. There was nothing that made him smile. His life had become a string of truncated dreams, monotony was his horizon.

Pablo had married Matilde twenty years ago. From that union were born three loves. They were Paul's eyes but they became Matilda's life. Everything in his house changed. The care was transferred, only and exclusively for the children. On those sleepless nights, Paul would turn and begin to caress his wife knowing that he was ready to make her feel the heat of a man but she would take his hand away and turn asleep. Pablo, many times it was necessary to resort to that old technique to relieve the desire that he had to feel it and thus leave all its source within his bowels. Only that night would not be.

The next morning Matilde said nothing and went into the chores of her house and her children. So the years went by and Paul had devised a way of self-satisfaction. He never stopped trying with Matilde, but there were other reasons why "No". One night they were the headaches, others the menstruation, the child requires my presence and stop counting. It had become an impossible mission. He was very much in love with his wife and for that, he also justified her.

So it was passing time and already Pablo and Matilde were not, like woman and man to make love. Both were aging, he with his yearning and her with the decision to be a housewife and nothing else.

For the world they were the perfect marriage. They were never heard to argue, they were always seen with the family and of course, for society, Paul had never betrayed Matilde. As I said the "Perfect Marriage" Only the procession went inside and without knowing it about to explode.

One afternoon, when Pablo was leaving work, the boss asked him to stay an hour longer to finish a sales analysis that they had to present the next day at the partners meeting. For Pablo it was a routine, there was no reason to run to go home, total would not find anything different from the everyday.

Already in his sixties, despite his age, life had been benevolent with him and kept in very good condition. He liked to run from time to time to de-stress and went every Saturday to the park and there he ran for three hours straight.

That day he left work at nine o'clock at night. He went to the train station and found it quite and alone. It was not unusual for him to be at that hour on the train. There were few people waiting on the train platform. He had brought some of the work that was to be completed by the next day. It was said, I go to read it on the train while I travel and when I get home I make the corrections that I will need.

In the distance the train whistled, announcing its arrival. He opened his doors and was alone. The other passengers embarked in different places of the tren so that he had alone. Better, he told himself, so they do not interrupt me and I work a little

The train came out of the station between metal squeaks and wobble of the wagon where he was traveling.

He looked for his glasses and read the document he was carrying. The distance between her work and her home was about two hour. Immersed in the papers, he did not notice that a young woman in her mid-twenties had slipped into the place where he was. Suddenly hears her voice, and when drops the paper she meets a beautiful young woman, white as snow, her hair in the color of a sunset. His dark eyes were on him as he played with a piece of hair, which made him nervous and not knowing where to look. He decided to go back to what he was doing. Suddenly he felt her hands touching his leg and releasing the leaves he saw and was and saw her kneeling between her knees.  What are you doing, he asks. She just moved her hands between her thighs. Pablo was not able to shout or say something higher than a "No" do not do it, No, do not continue but she did not stop seeing him in the eyes caught the belt and was slowly unbuttoning. Pablo felt that he was covered by an electric force and that his voice came out more and more, but he always repeated "No, do not do it" "Stop please" his voice was not heard. The woman was already lowering the closure. There was no one in that car, apart from them. No one saw what was happening. The train movement added more to the sense of pleasure that was growing in Paul. His eyes could not believe what was happening to him and even what he was feeling. He had always thought, since Matilde did not want to make love to him, in what they had married, he imagined that he was dead of sensations and at that moment his body was a bunch of them.

His hands were thin, with long, hot fingers. With all the skill that has made that move, he took his penis and brought it to his mouth. She wanted to scream but she could not, the sensations rising and falling on her body. Every sucking was an indescribable delight. Pablo squirmed in the seat, , each time his mouth went up and down. So they stayed for a few minutes and as a woman understood what she did she climbed to the hips of Pablo and penetrating herself she rode him like a mad rider. He at last gave himself up to the facts and took her by her buttocks and forced her to feel him deeper and deeper. It was already that man who had once been and responded as only he knew how to do it. They were minutes of delirium and desire. She took his hands and made him touch her beautiful breasts, they were not so big but very firm. Already the madness could not be stopped, he made it several times before reaching his destination.

There were no farewells or words, only each one took his way as if nothing had ever happened, but for Paul they had been the most exquisite hours he had ever felt. The Paul returning home was another man. When he arrived and greeted Matilde, she noticed something strange. He looked at it without knowing what was different, he turned around and said to himself, "These are things of mine," that old man is going to have, but more and more years of age.

Pablo did not eat that night, got into the bathroom and remained there smelling his clothes that still had the smell of that girl. Without understanding, just sniffing and remembering made the blood run faster and made him want to be, again, inside that beautiful woman. He bathed and lay down if he said words to his wife. That night he dreamed of that train car and with hands that caressed him making him to end again that morning and leaving the mark of his sin on the sheets.

Paul's life was no longer the same. She understood that despite her years she could make a woman happy. He tried again with Matilde and changed the routine of looking for it but it was useless, and Matilde, that woman he fell in love with had died, instead a dry and bitter woman reigned. The following week he began to leave work late, with the only hope of meeting, again, with that pretty woman. But it was useless she never saw her again. He became a ghost who wandered the train wagons at night with the only hope of finding the woman with the hot fingers.



Carmen Pacheco
lasculpasylamuertedelamorii@hotmail.com
@ Eroticism10

October 8, 2017