- What will it be this time, Matt?
- Another red tea, Miss.


Matt is teaholic again. It is not seen socially as a drug but it can be a hard drug when you do it alone. It has the same effects on you. First you get high, you can conquer the world and then your eyes and your head ache. Both ache. These are the effects you may experience in the fatalic hangover.

So Matt's alone, drinking his third? fourth? hot tea. He has come to his favourite inn to be alone, to breath silence next to the sea. He smells the same sea he had smelt with that girl. Forbidden feelings.

He wants his beard grow and be seen by her as a big-cute boy, however he must wait. Feelings can be tricky, you know. You have your own sweet girl, you leave it. Then, you promise yourself you won't experience love til 'sapos bailen flamenco' but the you meet a girls who stares at you and says 'I won't feel anything, you get it?'. 'The minimum sign and I'll go away'. And then your eyes hurt and agree 'Ok Miss, no feeling allowed here. I'll just write about 'em'.


Matt realises he cannot leave emotions aside. He can leave feelings but not emotions. Emotions make him feel alive. Why does he feel attracted to forbidden feelings? Why always forbidden feelings? Is that something every human experiences? Why other humans can experience things right? They meet, the love, they are faithful, they break, they don't love. Just as simple as that. Matt learnt it at school. Between, why does he always mix that order and do things completely wrong? Maybe that's why he chases some individual who also do things upside down. During his emotional relationships, he has experience guilt more than physical pleasure and he doesn't want to anymore.

He asks to himself why is that hard to just achieve physical pleasure without causing harm on anyone, even on him. When testosterone comes, that won't be that hard.

Finally, he owned balance. He perfectly remembers that word in his brain. She told him three or four times. Now he is a zombie when it comes to feelings. Maybe they are asleep, maybe they are gone. He run away from his home to find peace but peace doesn't bring peace, it brings harm to his beloved. That's why everything sucks and he'd rather be in his car with a bitch, unknown bitch. Schlampe, that sweet german word.


He orders the fifth dark tea, though he always complains about his big headaches. Teaholic, that's what you are fag Matt! Stop submerging yourself into healthiness or you'll end up as a kroner. Matt loves that foreign word for a cronical drinker. She showed him in the car. He likes her eyes, when they dig into his eyes and they try to tell him something unknown. Do you also get that impression? Do you also think that she wants to share with him something in the international language of sight?

Matt's shy, though you would never guess at first sight when he chats with random drunk people in the pub. That's because he is also drunk and they share cultural things, jokes, puns and beer. That's one of the best things ever, but it gets better if it ends up with unhealthy sex.

The meeting.

Matt met her in his hood after a while they had shared the same bed in a very hot and lonely summer. Summers in his city can desperate him so bad without company. They met again, this time as friends meet in a pub. She encouraged him to get drunk. He obeyed and ordered the second litre of cold beer. Her eyes were shinning, her eyes were fucking shinning again. She was with her boyfriend, damn. However, she stared at him like if she were losing something when he is gone. They chatted a bit while her boyfriend was doing his own things. When they drink together, they remember that night.


That hot summer night she invited Matt to her house. They began drinking wine, which is not the usual drink Matt usually orders, but they wanted to share lips in the bottle. One guitar, the warmth of the night, right there in the centre of their city...he didn't want to wake up.

One song could be listened, then another one...a jam session was comming out. Loud. Cries. Wine. Two sweaty bodies fighting for a place in the mattress. Clothes off. Now their bodies, their instruments. Her pussy, his lips. Her hips, his hands. He drove her body into his mouth. Pain. Pleasure.

- Have you ever been ass fucked? - Matt stated.
- Err...mmm...no but I don't think that would be a good idea.

Straightaway, he held her body with his strong hands and brought the situation under control. Matt introduced one finger in her waiting for her reaction...she screamed gentle, sweet. Screams. She liked it. He licked her. He went crazy having that unspoilt part of her, he felt like a fugitive into her curves. That moment could had lasted forever. White skin. Softness. A beautiful creature next to him, breathing sweat, taking care of the summer. Fucking like animals do. Wildness covering their faces facing the morning.

- Will you stay?
- I would, but I can't.



Matt's stuff

While I listen to the song you post a couple of days before, I'll type what's on my notebook:

After having read a german phrasebook with slang things, a kind of sexual phrasebook, it is compulsory for me to write some random stuff about Matt's life or whatever. Today I feel like writing also but what's on my head I cannot truly share because I guess I don't want to be understood.


At this point of his life Matt is a mess. He broke up with his lesbian couple to find life in its many broad sense. Let's be honest. He needed sex. He wanted sex. He needed so bad to be fingered. Since he discovered he was a special guy, he enjoyed being fingered by a woman who could appreciate him. Disgusting. Honest. True. Truth hurts.

He doesn't explain things so often, he doesn't have the need to do so. Girls have noticed and they treat him kindly. Matt's finding his way in life and for that purpose he should not feel for anyone but for him. But he always finds obstacles. He fucking falls for charming but he is trying to control that. Charming is emptiness anhd he must stare straight and be faithful to himself. You know, when you find a woman everything's so fascinating but men should control that, men should control. Fuck testosterone.

Now he doesn't feel for anyone. Finally, he made it. So clear, so cold. Nothing inside to come up. He just wants to be fingered and smell women, to have women in his face. Right there.

Maybe expressing his feelings and thoughts to a german girl: 'Ich möchte mi dem Finger gefickt sein. Vielen dank kleine Schlampe'. And that's it. And that's all. No love allowed here, even maybe no hook up allowed here at all.

Matt needs body freedom. Is that selfish? Not at all if we take into account that Matt has been unable to release his nothing. His fucking nothing. But he can release him in every story, in every dream, in every drunken sex as if he had taken drugs and got high.

He enjoys himself so much reading stuff about different languages he finds interesting or he finds himself loving them. He finally left aside and gave up Scottish Gaelic grammar because that's fucking brain-exhausting and has no one to contrast information with. Poor Matt.

By the way, he met again with german which he enjoys the most. It's a pity he has no one, again, to share this geek-funny things he finds in a language.

He is trying hard to fit in. You know...to fit in his group again and be read as a complete and handsome guy. The hardest part is past. You know, past is always there. Past is a huge and thick rope around his neck but with  new people he is meeting, he feels he fits in his head and as I said before, he doesn't have the need to explain anything.

He had forgotten what was to scream loud because he felt pain and fucking pleasure at the same time and what awoke him and his body. And put body first and pleasure than other emotional stuff. He has promised himself not to feel guilty for being loved and fucked as Matt. Not anymore.

And that's what he found in his group also: freedom, drinks, drugs, cars, women and sex. And also paella. But specially the previous.

And like a religious pray, he must follow that lust and cover his face with a woman's pussy and die there til the hangover reminds him he should go to work like the rest of the slaves. Just like the rest of slaves who find their lives stuck into work and drunken cold sex. Stare straight. Stay focus. Stay strong. Stay a man if you dare.

Matt's just like the rest. He needs to be drunk to lose control over his life and let his body flow. You realise it when you find yourself in a spiral of drinks and drugs and you feel fucking free but that's an illusion. It never happens truly. You never release yourself truly. Matt met a girl. And to conect with her he has to be drunk. Well, both. It is like a rithual and then they laugh and then they fuck. It's not healthy sex but it is sex and have sober sex can be dangerous so, why have sober sex when you can have drunken sex and even forget you exist? They're not looking for anything in particular but they might be chasing their true and healthy love for their self-esteem.




Matt hates that people who can handle a tense sittuation just by saying: I like how I feel. I feel balanced. That's all I want to feel.

Where are those fucking passionate people when someone needs them? That people who would let the universe die just to have that very last kiss with you. Where the fuck?

I hate phrases such as: You met me in a stage of my life where I cannot meet anyone or know anyone because the universe tells so. Or whatever. I mean...where are these beers, these endless afternoons and all that stuff? Where the tender moments?

And thanks god...always, they always find me in a very hard mood like I'm drunk or about of being drunk or whatever, but whenever I lose my balance, someone finds hers. Thanks god I still can have a quite walk in the night punishing my brain with those fucking weird thoughts about who fag am I and how I should be either lifting weights or drinking whisky in a sofa full of tears.

By the way, things are gonna get better. I swear. I know it by heart I mean...I've been here many times before like fucked up because some tender lips but that's not gonna change the way things are going and I can see light out of the tunnel. Last time by your side? Damn

Fucked it up

She's trying to push me away. I feel it. That horoscope is more talkative than she pretends she is.

I've been in her apartment just twice. Enough times to get the fresh air that's comming through the window. I think she's brown, no...she's blond...no...she's...whatever. She types faster than me. With her hands she can handle a cigarrette with the art of a Godess. She doesn't eat meat or something that can turn his body into something toxic but she does drugs. I'm just the other way around. I only do proteins, that's my only drug and whiskey when I feel she's not next to me.

And I feel like that. Like she doesn't care anymore. Like she's not next to me so that would be the perfect excuse to leave proteins aside and start wasting me in whisky. You want to feel balance. I want to feel balance. But I just lose my balance everytime beauty knocks at my door and everytime I'm inspired by art or by some kind of beer. And then I saw your lips, remembering those lips of the summer, that fresh air comming through the window in a saturday morning after a hard party. And then it is your determination in doing something, the way you see the world. And the way you could see our world in a dummy afternoon.

I'm wasted here at home, looking foward to see you  again. How for? Nothing. There's just nothing we can get from anything. So I open another can, the sounds remains me you opening a can too. And then myself says: don't do it, don't call her again. You are disturbing, you stubborn!  But then you do it, and this is who it works.

Between, I hate your balance. I hate the way I feel when nothing gets better. You guessed it, sometimes too emotional is just my description. Passionate. No one wants to be around someone who's passionate.

I want to your apartment, just in my mind. We made love like love's not meant to be done. We shared things like we shouldn't be sharing those things. We slept alone. Just in my mind that there was a story you couldn't guess.

It hurts when a person who doesn't know you throws an arrow and then hits the core of the sittuation, like you wouldn't expect anyone to reach that fucking and heated core.

I just fucked it up. Fucked it up once again in my life.