Принц Папа Жан

before the computer

Rumi was lying before the computer with closed eyes and her entire expression betrayed intense pleasure. Irina was caressing her body with the mouse, whispering to her in my voice:
“It’s good, isn’t it?”
“Yes,” Rumi groaned. “It’s delicious, my dear boy!”
The monitor showed an infinitely spreading fine meadow, the wind was frolicking on it and the grass resembled waves… When my face met with that of the demonic one she raised a threateneing hand with enormous nails above the heart of the girl I was with at the moment… She went on playing with the mouse. She passed it over Rumi’s breasts and peaks appeared on the monitor. The height was enormous. Dizzying. Causing icy trembling in the groins. Terrible icy shivers for the one who does not like heights and passionate for the one who is accustomed to them… The mouse travelled down onto the belly and sunny meadows appeared. Still further down – a thin copse in which Rumi and I, still children, met in secret in order to embrace each other and frighten each other with demons. Still further down a pull came into view. We bathed under the water-fall. We laughed. Ferocious teeth showed on Irina’s face and her nails grew bigger. Automatically, I grasped her hand. I struggled in silence. She was pressing her hand in the direction of Rumi’s heart and I was trying to deflect it. She was demonically strong but I used to be angelically in love. I pushed back the hand and Irina melted.
I went on playing with the mouse on Rumi’s body. Suns were spreading light and illuminating her hair. A moon covered the sun but the sun won. We made love in her room but it was illumined by our countless moods and was different each time. We travelled round the world in her bedroom and then, when the mouse was upon her lips, we gently kissed. Rumi opened her eyes and turned off the computer.
“And now, let’s do it in real life.”
We embraced, completely forgetting the lurking demon who was jealously sharpening her nails and teeth. The monitor showed scores of blinking eyes, peering at our naked bodies. We made love on the parquet floor, before the “Picture with the Jokers” and when I looked away I saw the still demonic woman.She lived in her blue world. She was watching us but was not jealous because she felt quite satiated with her own self and the sun, not showing in the picture, shone upon her. I involuntarily recalled the two rings of Thracian chieftains as well as the other ornaments, two-and-a-half thousand years old.I found them with the rest and glued them onto the picture. Then I removed them. One became Irina’s possession, the other, mine. Things between us went badly from the moment they were stolen in Balchik. She perhaps still has hers but the rings have to be two. And the bodies have to be two.
“There have to be two bodies!” I said to Rumi.
“Sometimes I’m alone but do make love to me now! Make love to me Papa Jan, make love to me and let’s merge into one.”
Her body opened with delight.Her lips like tender plasma poured down my skin. They sank under it in order to become an oasis in the desert of my soul… I lifted her. I made her sit on the tripod. I leaned it against the wall to steady it and went on at greater pace. The tripod was about to break at any moment. The sounds coming out of Rumi’s mouth bumped against the paintings and altered the hues. The colours brightened and came to life. Now I was sharing their beauty with someone else and they became still more beautiful because another pair of eyes were experiencing happiness under them. Rumi gave a piercing scream and her body on the tripod went limp. I took up the brush and began painting on her stomach. I was painting the “Picture with the Jokers”. Reduced in size, with pale hues, with goddesses collapsing in the waves, with a woman of the Pacific islands, her face hidden in fog and complete with untorn jokers.The five blossoms on the original picture were now thirteen… When I painted the face of the moon upon her left breast she was already laughing. Merrily, like a child. On her right-hand breast I painted a window out of which peered eyes full of tears and yearning.
“Sometimes I am what you see on my right breast…”
“And am I the left?”
“Sometimes.”
I cleared my working table of the brushes and palettes. I lifted Rumi from the tripod and placed her upon the table. The picture from Sinemorets was becoming a palette on which I mixed the paints. I wanted to paint Rumi’s virtual emotions although I was still hearing Irina’s demonic laughter.



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