Hay que hacer un balance de lo acontecido estas últimas navidades para que el próximo sea mejor, al menos para mi. Hubo puntos muy buenos, pero también puntos malos que hay que tener en cuenta para un futuro. Lo que está claro es que preparé demasiado las cosas: barrí, fregué, aspiré, limpié y ordené todas las habitaciones (que íbamos a utilizar), saqué la mantelería de fiesta, la vajilla de fiesta, la cristalería de fiesta (y limpié todo ello); pinté las paredes y techos de la casa que requerían un repaso con extrema urgencia (por humedades), pinté la puerta de la entrada, pegué los trozos de papel de la pared que se estaban despegando, eché lejía mil veces en el váter, en el suelo del baño y en la bañera, podé todas las plantas del exterior, hice las camas de todas las habitaciones, hice la compra de una semana para 5 personas, llené el depósito de gasoil de la furgoneta, hice un montón de canelones, una barra de turrón enorme, bizcocho de ocho raciones, sobrasada y queso untable para ellos. Y seguramente, se me olvide apuntar alguna cosa más.
Hechos y acciones negativos:
Mi hermano no valoró que limpiase la moqueta del dormitorio.
Mi hermano no fregó en ningún momento los platos.
Mi hermano no cocinó en ningún momento.
Mi hermano no hizo muchos comentarios positivos de la comida.
Mi hermano la primera vez que salimos a comer fuera, no paraba de criticarlo todo. A lo que le indiqué que me incomodaba y no lo hiciera tan descaradamente.
Mi hermano desaparecía cuando menos me lo esperaba y me ‘encasquetaba’ a los niños.
Mi hermano se metió con mi estilo y filosofía de vida vegano cuando yo no había dicho nada al respecto.
Mi hermano utilizó la frase ‘a mamá le haría ilusión’ para intentar conseguir que celebrara con ellos año nuevo (no lo consiguió, no fui).
Mi madre y yo tuvimos que requisar algunos juguetes para que los niños no destrozaran la casa, o le pasase algo a la gata.
Al salir a comer fuera, los niños sólo se comportaron bien, la segunda vez.
Mi madre me exigió que estuviera con mi hermano y los niños cuando yo necesito también mi espacio.
De mi hermano no salió el regalarle algo al vecino ¡ya que le había lavado el coche!
Hechos y acciones positivas:
Mi hermano pagó su parte de combustible después de ponérselo yo en relieve.
Mi hermano pagó su parte una de las dos veces que salimos a comer fuera.
Imponerme ante los niños para que compartieran la televisión, sirvió.
Llevar a los niños al parque para cansarlos, sirvió.
Llevar a la familia fuera, también (así hablábamos menos).
A mi madre le gustó estar de nuevo en casa.
Mi madre me abrazó muchas veces.
Gisela me cogió la mano el primer día.
Alfonso, el vecino, le lavó el coche a mi hermano.
Mi madre y yo, vimos una película, comimos palomitas y bebimos cerveza (y Joel y Jordi miraban cada uno su propia pantalla)
La gata jugó mucho con los niños.
El hecho de que el dormitorio tenga moqueta, nos daba pie a dejar a los niños allí con la gata, y a veces también se sumaba Jordi.
Conclusión:
El año que viene NO me esclavizo y, antes de que vengan ellos de visita a casa, ¡VOY YO! Menos líos y así me puedo largar cuando me apetezca! O eso, o desaparezco del mapa…
Fandom: Twin Peaks
Pairing: You must find out for yourself!
Notes: Keep in mind that I'm a Spaniard, and I don't use English on daily basis so, it might have some grammar/vocabulary mistakes. Please, let me know if something sounds too odd/strange or out of place. I'm just trying to do my best.
Just constructive criticisim is welcome here. Other than that, ENJOY!!!
Cold and discomfort is what I feel at this very moment, even if it sounds ironic. Yes, ironic, because I’m in the middle of a room overlaid by amber solid wooden strips; the floor, the walls as well as the ceiling; with the same material but different kind of wood, are made the furniture, the doors and its frames. “Warm” and “cozy” are terms that could come to mind to anyone who went through the doorstep and they might fall short to be fitting it as the precision it deserves because the little details also take part, taking those terms to the next level: like the tree well-folded towels in the shelf by the main door; the (over the top) use of different kind of lighting such as wall lamps, recessed lights on the ceiling and the lamps on the nightstands, on the desk and on the dresser; the curtains have an unusual hexachromatic pattern of red, maroon, green, indigo, brown and grey besides its trimmings made of squares are forming triangles and its other trimmings made of triangles are forming vertical lines, and the rug with a geometric pattern standing at the end of the bed. Maybe, what breaks a little bit the pleasant atmosphere is the rifle displayed on the wall where the headboard of the bed rests. I may add the terms “clean” and “tidy”, even though the bed is unmade. Two nightstands are located on both sides of the double bed and I couldn’t help it, I used one of them as a seat even if that’s not its primary purpose or why it was designed for. I finished the drink I’ve served to myself for the third time and got up, meanwhile I was watching how the beam of sunlight were slipping through the windows, very characteristic at noon. In front of one of them I placed myself.
The sun was sparking and smashing; no, it didn’t match with my current mood, quite the contrary.
I wanted its beams burn me off and get rid of me.
Nothing happens; at best they only irritate my retinas and make difficult my vision.
And I take a swig.
And I hate the call I got just an hour ago.
And I do hate its resulting news.
And I drink once again to forget it.
To dismember it, to break it up, to disintegrate it.
And make disappear all the suffering with it.
My duty is to tell him although I don’t want to because it’s too hard to bear.
‘Cause it hurts more the lies than any loss.
‘Cause it hurts more the hypocrisy than any loss.
I cannot understand what’s going on in this town lately. It used to be a placid and calm place, with mild crime cases, simple loss of domestic animals or insignificant fights in local bars and clubs. Not about brainy puzzles where you have to use a large range of tools and skills, ordinary and extraordinary ones, so you’ll be able to fit all the pieces together perfectly; drawing conclusions and solutions just by intuition, deduction or magic, even! Eluding any logic. That teenager girl turned up murdered, wrapped in plastic, Laura Palmer; Ronette, she’s still alive but with severe psychological damages; later on, it followed a series of homicides such as Renault’s brothers, Blakie, Maddy or Thomas Eckhardt; an homicide attempt against Agent Cooper too; the failed suicide attempt of Nadine; or achieved suicides like Harold Smith’s and Leland Palmer’s cases; minor wounds to Shelly Johnson caused by a murder attempt against her; some unexpected missing people such as Leo Johnson or Windom Earle; and the strangest case about a sudden death, Josie’s death… It seems that the cause of such chaos was made by an entity, they call it BOB. Or the way to put a name to all the atrocities that a human being is capable of doing in order to shutting up the lowest instincts, I’d say.
And I finished my drink.
And I filled up once again.
And another casualty has been added up to the homicide cases, inevitably.
A metal and clatter noise was heard behind the bathroom door; one of my best friends and coworker was inside and he was locked the door. With a pretty good kicking I managed to bring the door down, breaking the lock so I could go into. Its slam was so hard that took the door apart from its hinges.
- How’s Annie?! How’s Annie!? –
And there he was naked from head to toe, apparently he just got out of the shower, he was in front of the mirror with the forehead bloodstained; he wore his regular hairstyle but he used water instead of hair gel, it gave him a more natural and genuine look. He was making a disconcerted gesture to his reflection, to his broken reflection, at the same time his reflection was giving it back at him.
Surprisingly, it didn’t fall any piece on the sink nor the floor, from the broken mirror. It was cracked, that’s for sure, however each and every fragment was kept in place forming a chopped scene, a divided scene.
For a while, I disappeared from there looking for his red robe, I found it in the last drawer of the dresser. When I came back to the bathroom, I covered his back up with it. Later on, I managed to put in his arms through the sleeves, first one of them, then the other one. Down to his waist, on both sides, there was hanging a cord; a cord I decided to tie up with a simple knot so we’d be able to preserve his dignity as well as mine and, at the same time to win back the modesty. When I looked over the bleeding wound of his forehead, I noticed it wasn’t deep, luckily. I cleaned and disinfected it, put a clean little towel on it and made him aware that he had to put pressure on the wound to stop the blood coming out.
- I lost my balance when I stepped out… - he excused himself.
- Cooper, come here and sit down –
It seemed that he already knew the answer to the question he’d asked so vehemently just few minutes ago. Also, it seemed that the unexpected accident that took place in the bathroom was not unexpected at all. Because, if any skill would be part of Agent Cooper’s identity, without a shadow of doubt, it was intuition. Even if he went to the Hell itself and came back, it’d be one of the lasts aspects of his to disappear before he lost his identity entirely.
Once he was sat on the right side of the bed, I was standing still for several minutes until I was able to clear my mind and gather my thoughts; then I knelt in front of him, meeting his glance, of which you couldn’t tell the difference between pupils and iris.
- Doctor Hayward called an hour ago, from the hospital… And it’s my duty to tell you this – A lump in my throat made my voice rough and dry – She couldn’t make it.
- Annie… - he stated softly then avoided eye contact.
- I’m sorry to give you such pretty bad news Cooper, I really am.
He was still immersed by a plain and growing apathy, now his face stayed stern and gloomy; his hollower and more lugubrious eyes were sparkling because they were watered, he was crying without tears. The sadness seized his heart and he was about to dive himself into it and never come out. I’ve never seen him like that; however I knew that feeling pretty well because I suffered it myself a few days ago. You start blaming yourself about everything, about all the facts, all the acts, the context, denying the harsh reality; after that you change that feeling into anger, into wrath, into impotence and ultimately you realize it’s sadness the only one that’s making this thundersquall of emotions; later on, it arises the fear of being all alone, of being empty, of being cursed. He lost two persons under the same circumstances; I lost just one. Anyway, now it was my turn to give him comfort. That’s something I’ve never been good at.
And I reached across and stroke him on the knee, it turned out to be uncovered from any clothing; and I caught his attention, and he went back making visual contact with me and, from my position, by instinct, I did shorten our distance, it occurred to me to give him a hug.
Gesture he corresponded leaving the towel to the side.
My arms were around him entirely.
His arms were around me totally.
- I’m sorry Coop.
- I didn’t learn my lesson, I should’ve seen it coming…
I wanted to protect him.
I wanted to give him shelter.
I wanted to mend his wounds and make them mine.
Soothe such horrid and heartbreaking suffering.
I still recall our first encounter, our first greeting, our first handshake; when he came to Twin Peaks with his spotless presence and wearing a black suit and a tie, and his cheerful and optimistic personality which was always dazzling to anyone that he was passing by; he was alternating the seriousness and professionalism with the spontaneity and the passion of a child; he was fascinated by all little discoveries he found hidden in nature; looking up his surroundings with sharp and fresh eyes, not missing any detail at all. I bet that positivity he radiates might be the cause of keeping childish, delicate and rounded his facial features; one could even misinterpret them as somehow naive.
At times, he looked as if he was feminine.
At times, his voice mesmerized me and disarranged my world.
At times, his spontaneous behavior shook up any social protocol.
Now he wasn’t himself. They burned out his electric enthusiasm, charred his grandiloquence, each and every one of his virtues; the evisceration was so huge even his body felt much lighter. His soul, his essence and his guts were ripped open, and they were stuffed by an endless and matte emptiness and neatly stitched up. Because, now, he was not being himself; now, there was another person in his place.
And then, something happens.
He was looking for consolation in my arms because in his thoughts there was only torment. So he buried his head in my shoulder, and heaved a heavy sigh, and the shivering was exchanged for soothing soon; and another heavy sigh; and the peace wrapped us up and made that very instant stop.
And his cheek brushes against my ear and the red burst out all over my face.
And his fresh citric herbal scent is enveloping me and blushes me.
And then, there’s no turning back.
I move away from him a little, just few inches away. And he gathers momentum and has the nerve once and for all to rush at me.
Now his lips and mine collide.
And I don’t step away.
Nor run away.
Nor standing unfazed.
Why am I not able to stop him?
Why aren’t my hands responding to me?
Why is he kissing me on my mouth?
Why am I delighting myself?
He made the first move pretty slowly, tasting every bite and taking delight on my mouth a bunch of good endless minutes, as long lasting gift; at the same time, he was holding my curly hair with both hands. I was simply imitating him, like a double facing his reflection in the mirror. I never imagined so much sweetness flowing out his lips, such softness and such a display of affection.
Until, our kiss broke up.
And we’re still standing face to face, not too far from each other.
- Forgive me, Harry… that wasn’t an appropriate behavior towards you – murmured, then furrowed his brow and shyly smiled – Well, in fact, I’m surprisingly pleased that…
And I shortened our distance.
And I wanted to taste his kisses once again, so I acted and I found them truly quivering and fragile. They’re like waves, one against the other on the sea, one superimposing over the other and sharing humidity, that’s how our mouths were acting out.
I didn’t want to hear any of his theories, didn’t want to rationalize that moment, nor wanted to label it under any invented excuse. I just wanted to enjoy it without any goal at all, after all the tragedies that were triggering in the town, I was anxious to build something good among such destruction and chaos; I craved after something good for him, something sublime and I craved it no matter what, at all costs, and I wanted it right now.
Button by button, he unbuttoned my shirt groping his way.
Button by button, he met my trousers, but the belts were getting on his way.
From both belts he let me out and my weapon fell down with them.
Shortly, the shirt landed on the floor.
The black t-shirt had the same destiny.
When we broke up the kiss in order to take it off, like waves that come and go, we met again gaining strength.
The sun was guarding my back.
The backlit was in my favor and against him.
The sun was giving me the different shades of his skin and was making stand a few freckles out.
Helping me with my hands in his jaw, I came away from him; I wanted to observe every one of his facial features. In the middle of his forehead, where he hit himself, there was a little cut but the bleeding stopped. His two precious stars immersed me in an autumnal landscape filled up with bur oaks exploding into sandy greenish tones; they were swinging in the breeze, dancing. His jet black but still wet hair, was making him look even more attractive, a messed up attractive look. His well delineated and thick brows intensified his glance, his thin lips and his pronounced chin made his looks to go beyond sensuality.
Far ahead of my thoughts, there were my hands, and they were occupying their touch all over his neck along his hairless chest. It didn’t take me too long to bring that milky skin he had under the reddish robe to the light, not even the sun dared to tan. His fine anatomy muscling and his barely existent body hair turned him into the most delicate being, almost porcelanic. Later, I undid the knot on his waist and placed myself in front of it, so I was close to fully laying down. I kept looking to him from a low-angle stare, he was half closing his eyes, half opening the mouth and looking forward to my next move.
I had to lift the red clothing on his legs to see the hidden secret; his spear of rosy rounded head was laying lax on one side; he wanted me to look at it so I could get the whole picture because he spread his legs to the limit. The distance got shorter and under my lips the peachy skin of his belly was vibrating and burning; at the same time, his thighs against my palms were shaking. Soon I noticed how he sank his claws into my hair and, on instinct, he was pushing me down.
I did not pay any attention to his indication, to his insistence, and to that sudden and growing desire that he was pooling clearly in his groin. When I placed my lips on his thigh, his skin began to suffer from casual spasms on and on, now the clipped and repressed breathing of his took its part on the matter; I moved along by the inside of his thigh and passed through that pretty jet black forest on his groin, brushing its foliage up and down.
Since she faded away, my passion didn’t come back so strongly for anybody; I knew her own forest but its shadows and where they led me it was a no-return place, a new identity of hers, utterly estrange and unknown for me. I felt degraded, betrayed and insignificant. After I found out her real self it seemed like all the time we spent together was reduced to pure ashes, everything turned into a simple stupid and unreal story.
However, the FBI Special Agent Dale Cooper had a forest without shadows at all, mixed foliage making a bright landscape, no nooks, no secret caves, no hiding places, no torrents, no cliffs; plain and open. It was really nice for going out for a walk, sharing experiences and having a good chat with no rush. There was just one lake in that picture, dry and consumed, waiting to be regenerated over time.
I wanted to bring on a rainstorm in it.
I wanted a stream of water to fall from the sky into that consumed lake.
I wanted to bring it back to life, to make it to spill over the water putting it in danger of flooding.
At that very moment I opened my eyes and spotted the scar nearby the pelvis, I framed it with my fingers. I got away a little and the scene froze, she came back to me again, to my mind, to my torment.
- Josie.
With the thumb I pressed it lengthwise, I was trying to recall the pain she caused him in the past. Present pain from the past. It was pain for him, horror for me. I wanted to travel back in time, to that very past, when she was still alive, when she was still in my arms. I wanted to change her destiny but if I couldn’t, destroy it all.
A sudden kick threw me up against the floor.
And my surroundings fade away in less than a second.
By a blinding light the bedroom is gobbled up, mixed with blurred edges and dispersed tones.
And the same light takes me back to another place, another time, another context.
An endless place, no horizon, no stimulus. Timeless.
What time is it?
What happened?
Where am I?
And Cooper…?
A quadruped, a mustang with a uniform toasted brown fur appeared in front of me.
The four paws joined together. The four paws tied up together.
Laying down on the floor. Standing still.
Half sleeping. Or daydreaming.
Half alive. Or nearly dead.
That strange place is bringing about more doubts than answers.
It collapses my mind, it confuses me.
And my surroundings transform and deform.
And a radiant light makes me close my eyes.
It makes me end up with that strange vision and its disorder.
Somebody was slapping in my face.
Over and over again. Being insistent.
- Wake up Harry! Harry!
To the amber solid wooden strips I came back. To the overlaid wooden room. To the room number 315 of the Great Northern Hotel. To its warm and comfy ambient. To my fellow lawman’s arms, I was losing myself in his affectionate voice while he was cheering me up. He was apologizing in my ear. The itching sensation he felt when I pressed his scar, made him do that kick against me. It wasn’t planned. It was a reflex act. A reflex act I was well aware that it might happen.
- I deserve it for being so selfish and for thinking that I’m the only one with a tragedy.
- You shouldn’t let the effects of such tragedy to take control over yourself, over your actions; I assure you Josie might wish the best for you.
Was that really happening? How could it be? Was he the one giving comfort to the other, which means, to me, when it should’ve been the other way around? The field of the human psychology was too much for me, that’s for sure. Yes, it’s a technical skill you can study and put into practice later on someday but, even if I’d make my biggest effort, I’ll never be good at it, I know my limitations and this is likely to be one of them.
He helped me out leaning forward, getting up. Then, he pulled the sheets and the bedspread aside so I lay down on the bed. The energy seemed to move out from one body to another, from mine to his, when I fell down against the floor. However, my cravings for him didn’t grow smaller quite the contrary, they’re getting magnified, running wild, out of any rational control. The more time was passing, the more I was eager to eat him up, eager to posses him, eager to dominate him… I was starting to feel a huge attraction, an overwhelming attraction.
His two sandy greenish stars were contemplating me; he was still standing on the right side of the bed, wearing the robe undone, even though he was standing against the sunlight, one could even get a glimpse of his trim figure, relaxed and at peace. He knelt, stroked my hair and I took advantage of it by taking his palm and kissing gently the inside of it. And he couldn’t wait any longer and had the nerve to smack me on the lips; it looked like it was decades we hadn’t seen each other. We fully opened our mouths, and closed them, acting like fishes undersea quite a while; having one’s lips into the other’s, trampling down each other’s, overlapping one’s into the other’s; at the same time we’re framing our faces with the hands; he grabbed my neck, I held his nearly dried hair; with no rush at all, his hand began to go down through my body, through my bare chest, through my tummy and stopped on the only piece of clothing I still had on, and rubbed its surface.
At the door, someone knocked three times.
- Room service.
My fellow lawman’s head turned around to the main door, as he was looking for that new someone to talk to. My exclamation and his surprised reply went together.
- Room service?
- Room service! – After two full seconds I scratched my head – Yeah, I ordered your breakfast, I thought you might be hungry.
I almost forgot that little detail that was why I didn’t mention it to him. Keeping in mind his metabolism and that he spend the whole night inside the Black Lodge, I came to the conclusion he might be starving to death. Of course, I asked for it before knowing the bad news. It might cause a knot in any stomach. It would make sense he hadn’t appetite anymore.
As quicker as I could I made myself decent, I got out of bed looking for my clothing: I put on the black t-shirt and the shirt even if it was unbuttoned. I sneaked a peek at my fellow lawman that was staying put, still knelt and his arms were resting on the bed. It took him few seconds to react, stand up and then cover up his body properly with the reddish robe and tie a pertinent knot. When I was sure that both of us were presentable, I went to the door and opened it.
- Hello, good morning Sheriff. – said a young lady with a wavy chestnut hair and honey eyes while she was holding a tray on her hands– I brought the breakfast as you requested, at twelve o’clock sharp.
Waiting no response, she came in and placed the tray on the desk, taking off the lid.
- Thank you very much… - replied Cooper while he was reading the badge that was hanging on her uniform by the left side of her chest - … Monica. It looks absolutely delicious; my congratulations to the chef; of course, to the service as well – he gave her a brief smile that she mimicked in return.
- Thank you! I’ll let her know it.
She handed him the bill so he could sign it and she left the room closing the door behind her. Our eyes met once again. He after all, gave me a hint of a smile; it seemed he was hungry anyhow. He leaned in to the tray and started to smell the steaming food. Then he rubbed his hands. The breakfast I ordered was the same he used to have: a cup of black coffee, a freshly squeezed grapefruit juice, two well-done fried eggs, crisp bacon almost cremated and two slices of bread. I included a large slice of cherry pie. I made a nod of invitation for him to eat, he took a seat and he was getting a thrill out of the coffee and its unique bitter scent.
During the next three minutes, he simply sipped his coffee not paying any attention at all to the rest of the three course meal that were there in front of him.
- It’s a reasonable assumption that you might ate absolutely nothing since last night – stated remarkably certain of himself.
- No, I didn’t.
- Harry, I’m not hungry whereas you are. This town won’t feel the necessity for a weakened Sheriff at their service, considering his lack of food consumption – he looked at me over the mug without adding anything else.
- O.K. then.
As I accepted the most part of his breakfast, he handed me over the chair and, at first I wasn’t very hungry, but I just began eating the main course and my stomach awakened to its lethargic state. It was a bit odd his behavior. Don’t get me wrong; his behavior was as odd as always, that’s for sure, but there was something about him that didn’t match with the whole picture. As I was thinking that, the gesture of his face changed: he looked away as he was about to brooding over the last fatal event, frowned his brow and clenched his jaw after taking the last sip of his coffee. His eyes were watered and barely blinking, his pupils got pretty inky, a cloud of doom were hanging over them.
The worst fate in life is to end up all alone against your wishes. You put a great effort into looking for and finding the right person, giving them the time that they deserve, looking after that intimate relationship that has grown out between you both since you found love. A deep and enduring love. At least, that’s what you thought it was, because one day they’ll hit you on the face with the one piece of news you never want to hear, blowing up everything and rocking the whole world, and why?
To turn it into a living nightmare.
To end up murdering the relationship.
I wanted to undo such nasty tragedy.
I wanted to pluck it all up.
So I could make him rise from his ashes.
So I could revitalize him, bring him back to life.
So I could have him and make him all mine.
- Hey Coop, this is delicious. And you were right, I was starving to death! – I wanted to break that absorption he was going deep into and falling on, so I offered him a bit of his favorite desert: cherry pie.
- Oh, thank you.
As I brought a small portion of pie closer to his mouth, we made eye contact again, then he savored it for a while. He was having another bite and at the same time, I gained half a smile that lightened my heart. His lips turned pearly sheen, because he just passed his tongue through them so he could get any trace of cherry or pie. I stopped him on time, just before he was going to wipe them away; I brushed them with my thumb and later on, exchanged it for my lips. We finished the palate of the sugary dessert both together, putting our lips together, smoothly fusing ourselves between bite and bite, tasting every bitter sugary bite, mixing the slight touch of coffee, the juicy trace of cherry and the faintest whiskey flavored bite.
Today, this is my present.
And I was part of it and my devotion.
And I didn’t plan it; I just did let it happen.
After the last bite of the pie we carried on kissing, my hand escaped among his clothing looking for a warm surface, fingering his knee, his thigh and I got up from the chair; with the other hand messed his hair up utterly; he won even more points in charm and beauty; there he was with his hair style now so anarchic, I wasn’t able to see him like that, I wasn’t able to find himself; he was looking so casual, so pretty and informal; his new portrait made him look even younger, he turned into a rather young man just on the threshold of the puberty. My fingertips were focused on his face, on such black, well defined bushy brows, on his jet black hairline, his temples, his ears and earlobes, his jaw and his slightly prominent chin; we still were tangled up in a nonstop series of kisses. He had to put the mug on the table right away so he could grab my cloth and somehow take it off. Clearly, he was at disadvantage.
I didn’t know where we’re going exactly, I was terrified just thinking about it, because everything was new for me in that particular field; I had no experience in sexual relationships such as this, with another man; even though I didn’t consider him in that particular way; the wrapping wasn’t the most important aspect to me, it was his inner self. That was why fear wasn’t acting in my place. The attraction I was feeling for him was much stronger, capable of avoiding any problem we might find in our way. For the first time, I was paying more attention to my instincts than any reasoning and it wasn’t so bad at all. In fact, it was terribly pleasant feeling, to sense such insecurity and mystery.
My shirt was thrown to the rifle wall, after he pulled off.
My black t-shirt was thrown halfway there, at the foot of the bed.
Before I could even realize, he already pulled down my pants and was fondling my crotch. To my surprise, the dagger under my boxers reacted to such provocation standing up and magnifying all of the sudden.
As good as I could, I slipped off my boots, my socks and my pants; my hand went back to his face and the other one undid the knot of his reddish clothing. At the same time, I was pushing him against the nearest wall, just in the middle of the two windows.
One in front of the other, we were, with no room between us.
No letting the other go for a second, continuing with the intimate touch of ours lips together.
Once and once again, we’re sharing humidity.
Once and once again, sharing warmth.
Once and many times, enjoying such infinite affection.
We bumped our bodies against each other as if we wanted to build a new one. We embraced ourselves so we’d be able to sense the surface of our bare flesh entirely. We’re sharing and giving out a roasting blast, and a fine sweaty friction. Our heartbeats synchronized considering his chest and mine were together, it was pure magnetism. That silky skin of his made me have a constant physical contact and even though it was squeezed in between us, my dagger was getting sharper, and as stiffened as it was, now was trying to make a hole in my colleague’s hip at any costs. While he was rubbing his spear against my pelvis.
The fire flared up by the pores of our skin, it looked like we were at the Hell itself. It was the very pit of Hell but on earth. It was the Hell itself just right there. At that point, I didn’t care about the future or if I’d ended up going straight to Heaven or to Hell. I was living on inertia, by impulses and instincts; expecting nothing in return; it didn’t matter anymore if that was right or pretty wrong; I didn’t need any ethical nor moral approval; It didn’t matter to me if it was possible or impossible, if it was just a dream or pure reality.
I was hunger for something magnificent and he was giving it to me willingly with no doubts.
To die for someone in life on your deathbed, could that bring you back to life?
Maybe it could.
With no rush, I broke our kiss link and his eyes looked at me very startled, they showed me their autumnal landscape in detail filled up with bur oaks. Later on, he cupped my head, started getting focused on the curls of my hair of the back of my neck. Now he was wearing the robe undone, I caught a glimpse of his perfect torso and how his nipples made an appearance shyly on his porcelanic canvas.
Inch by inch, I was running across his neck and nape with the tip of my fingers.
Purring and asking for affection, he was.
Exchanging my fingertips for kisses across the field.
Passing and fingering his chest, abdomen and pelvis.
Huffing and puffing, he was.
Twirling and going back to his areolas, to his pointy centers, they arose just by the brief contact.
Sobbing and patting, he was.
Touching up and groping my way across his dark forest looking for his spear.
Breathing in deeply, he was; and holding it like he was about to dive in the open sea.
I reached it, grabbed and handled it for a good long while, its remarkable velvety texture was screaming out for a merciless wearing away time. Three times and three more times were enough to straighten it out. Three and three more unhurried jolty motions were more than enough. Doubled its size, was standing upright with a new majestic robust shape, ready to be thrown to its prey.
But first, I wanted to sharpen it with my teeth.
But first, I wanted to have it entirely in my mouth.
So I went on.
I almost choked on when I placed it inside, while I was getting it into the bottom of my throat several times.
Such swaying occurred in unison with his suppressed moans.
Such path was savory, self-hypnotic.
Such rhythm sped up by the second.
And the temperature turned up by half a second.
The flames were spreading all over our bodies; it was a mirror of the Hell itself. It was The Hell itself but on earth; The Hell itself on there; The Hell itself between his legs.
I did savor all the length of his burning spear, all its magnitude.
One time and once again, running through it being all greedy.
Once and once again, huffing and puffing, he was.
Once and once again, my humidity were covering his fiery spear and covering all over again.
And then, his claws sank into my skull.
And once and once again, his hips were thrusting against me.
And then, I took captive his glutes with both hands under the reddish clothing.
And then, he leaned back and hit the wall with his head, his jaw dropped two inches and he was panting even more aggressively.
And one of his legs enfolded me, took me captive.
And then, my touch was focused on his roundly and a bit jutting glutes, they were like sinuous dunes.
And then, I slipped two fingers in between them.
And then, I wanted to go deeper into his narrowed well.
And I was just introducing the index and the middle finger when a series of long dying yeses came out from the deepest guts of my colleague’s. Fingers I introduced thoroughly into that narrow well then he started to grasp in a sharp manner. And at last, I made him to get rid of the reddish clothing so I could appreciate every bit of his bare skin, every tensed tendon, every angle, every spot, every muscle. All his body was shuddering at that physical check-up, at every new entering, at every new thrusting, at every new deeper exploration. When I finished with my fingers, just after my lips came away from his spear, I got up, took the boxers down a little just enough to pull my rigid dagger out and stick it inside him. I made him scream out half a lament half a tortured cry, then held his right leg up, the one that was enfolding me before.
And then he writhed in pleasure while his vocal cords were tearing my name apart at every jamming, at every jostling; begging for kisses, imploring them, demanding them.
He reached out his arms to get a hold of my face; with his lips he was hunting for mine’s.
So we kissed in such muddled way, once and once again.
Our tongues met, said good bye and met a great bunch of times over and over again.
And then he put his hands around my waist tightly giving a boost to the thrusting.
And we were getting beyond rhythm, beyond urgency, beyond fervor.
And the melody from our sobs was beginning to deaf us both; sounded more like a groan in pain than a groan for excitement, sounded more like a cry in pain than a cry of enjoyment.
And one of my hands got a hold of his magnificent spear.
And every time I moved back, rubbed his spear over full of energy.
And every time I pushed against, applied more pressure to his spear.
And then, placed both of his hands on my butt, grasping firmer and firmer to it.
And I was about to reach the climax.
About to reach the top of the ecstasy.
And he whispered in my ear that he was at the same point.
About to explode.
About to bursting.
Carried on swaying; harsher every next time, quicker every next time.
Carried on burning in flames.
Carried on smacking on the lips and making half noisy howls.
Carried on giving high-pitched notes, time after time.
Until I couldn’t hold it back much longer and ended up shooting all my ammo into his well; still standing chained to him, trembling and sinking myself into his whole body.
Even though I’ve finished, I kept on with him and the grasp.
Now three fingers were visiting his well.
And as how he was huffing and puffing, I already knew he was very close to reach the top of the peak.
And I planted a great bunch of passionate kisses on his neck, at the same time I sunk my fingers right deeper and deeper into his well.
And it made a shiver run through his skin.
And I jolted his spear even furrier and narrower.
And I noticed how his well got tighten, got smaller.
And now he reached the top, at last.
And he spattered us both as a result.
And I embraced him in his last breath. He locked to me in an affectionate embrace, resting his lips on my shoulders. We stayed like that quite a while. Until we were able to recover the energy, to slow down the pulse, to put out our fire. Just when we moved away a little, I realized he was crying and smiling at the same time. Did I go way too far? Did I hurt him somehow? Did I upset him? There were so many doubts stuck in my throat that I couldn’t put together properly any of them. So I decided to dry his tears, to kiss his forehead and held him tightly again and he placed his head on my chest quivering, so fragile. He might be wearing in black for mourning his deceased partner all over again, might be mourning her loss. Earlier we were just friends so he might’ve been keeping up appearances, despite that he might’ve been deadly ruined inside. Now, he couldn’t care less to show me his most helpless side.
I allowed him to spew his grief out, to rain in his heart and soul. He needed that moment, he needed to fix every bit of his broken self, needed time to get all the pieces back together and heal every fracture.
In a extremely gentle manner, I headed him for the bed, made him to lie down and I kept company next to him so he could cuddle up in my chest comfortably. He didn’t let me go, not a bit, not for an instant. The storm took its time to calm down but it didn’t bother to me to wait as much as needed. He gave me support when Josie was taken away from me, he was the most helping hand and the best adviser I ever had by far. And now, he needed me more than ever, and so did I, even if I found it difficult to admit it openly.
I fondled his jet black hair, thanks to that I managed to quiet his sobs down.
I planted another kiss on his forehead and didn’t move away from it.
His eyelashes were raking dimly my skin.
I got the impression his eyes were open yet watered.
The storm ceased already after a quite long lapse of time.
- What was it, Coop? – I was able to put into words at last.
- What did just happen was the utmost representation of affection between two human beings – met his two autumnal shiny eyes - and you, my dear Harry, also took part in it.
The curious double meaning of his reply captivated me, because he was very right: affection for her and affection for me. One thing wouldn’t have happened without the other, not a good thing would’ve happened if the tragedy hadn’t started in the first place. We had to pass though that tender brute event of our lives, we were mistimed and on time, at the best and the worst of times; in that pretty and revolting precise place. That murder, that terrible criminal act committed to your nearest and dearest someone, kills a part of yourself too, a part of your identity; or it’s simply the great imprint she left on you. Later, you look around, yet everything’s wrecked you realize what remained among the wreckage; those were the ones who survived, the ones who stay on your side, who stand any emotional, spiritual or terrestrial disaster. That gives you hope again. And the gratitude I was feeling at that very instant I knew he was sensing it because a widely smile played over his face even though was wet. He was feeling the same thing and I couldn’t wait much longer so I kissed him so mildly we barely touch; as if it was my first young love, my first time going to bed with someone, and I was worried about ruining it all by acting in a rush.
Before we could even be aware of it all, we were getting very sleepy. We’ve covered ourselves with the sheet and the bedspread and then he snuggled up on my chest while I was holding him tight. I secretly dreamed to be just like that, catching a whiff of shampoo from his jet black hair; simultaneously my fingertips were brushing up and down his spine.
The sun was going down changing its color into a brighter orange. I never wanted that very moment to end, I wanted to be by his side, up to the last day of my existence.
Fandom: Twin Peaks
Pareja: ¡con lo que mola descubrirlo mientras lees!
Notas: Este es mi primer fic de la serie, está situado justo después de la segunda temporada, algunos destripes de la serie si no la habéis visto. Fue a la par difícil y divertido escribirlo. Quién sabe, si me veo con más ganas y me animo puede que haya continuación ;P
A destiempo y a tiempo
Frío e incomodidad es lo que siento en estos momentos por irónico que parezca. Irónico sí, porque me encuentro en medio de una habitación de hotel cubierta enteramente por listones de madera maciza ambarina; tanto el suelo como las paredes y el techo; del mismo material aunque de distinto tipo de madera, están hechos los muebles, las puertas y sus marcos. “Cálida” y “acogedora” son términos que a cualquier persona le vendrían a la cabeza nada más cruzar el umbral de la puerta y que, seguramente, se quedarían cortos para describirla con la precisión que se merece, porque también intervienen los pequeños detalles que llevan al siguiente nivel esos términos: como las tres toallas bien dobladas en una repisa cerca de la puerta de la entrada, el (casi excesivo) uso de diferentes tipos de iluminación entre apliques en la pared, ojos de buey en el techo y las lámparas sobre las mesitas de noche, el escritorio y la cómoda, las cortinas compuestas con una combinación inusual hexacromática de rojo, granate, verde, añil, marrón y gris con cenefas de cuadros formando triángulos y cenefas de triángulos formando líneas verticales y la alfombra con motivos geométricos a los pies de la cama. Quizás lo que rompe un poco el agradable ambiente sea el rifle que se exhibe en la pared donde descansa el cabezal de la cama. Añadiría también, los términos “limpia” y “ordenada”, pese a que la cama está deshecha. Dos mesitas de noche custodian el lecho matrimonial a lado y lado, y yo no pude evitar usar una de ellas a modo de asiento aunque esa no fuera la función principal por la que fue diseñada. Me acabé la copa que me había servido por tercera vez y me levanté, mientras observaba cómo los rayos del sol, propio del medio día, se colaban por las dos ventanas. Frente a la más cercana me situé.
El sol estaba centellante y estupendo; y no, tampoco concordaba con mi estado anímico actual, más bien todo lo contrario.
Desearía que sus haces de luz me calcinaran y acabaran conmigo.
Nada, como mucho irritan mis retinas y me dificultan la visión.
Y tomo un largo trago.
Y detesto la llamada recibida hace apenas una hora.
Y detesto la consiguiente noticia.
Y bebo de nuevo para olvidarme de ella.
Para desmembrarla, para desarticularla, para desintegrarla.
Y hacer desaparecer con ella, todo sufrimiento.
Mi deber es decírselo aunque no quiera, por muy duro que sea.
Porque duelen más las mentiras que cualquier pérdida.
Porque duele más la hipocresía que cualquier pérdida.
No alcanzo a entender qué está pasando en este pueblo últimamente. Solía ser un lugar apacible y tranquilo, con casos leves de delincuencia, de simples extravíos de animales domésticos o de disputas insignificantes en bares y antros. No de sesudos puzles en los que tienes que usar un gran surtido de herramientas y habilidades ordinarias y extraordinarias para hacer encajar sus piezas a la perfección entre sí; sacando conclusiones y soluciones meramente por intuición, deducción o incluso ¡magia! Escapándose a toda lógica. Aquella muchacha apareció asesinada envuelta en plástico, Laura Palmer; Ronette, aunque está viva tiene secuelas psicológicas; luego se concatenaron una serie de homicidios como pasó con los hermanos Renault, Blakie, Maddy o Thomas Eckhardt; también se dió el intento de homicidio hacia el Agente Cooper; el intento de suicidio fracasado por parte de Nadine; o directamente suicidios, como los de Harold Smith y Leland Palmer; heridas menores infringidas a Shelly Johnson por intento de asesinato; alguna desaparición inesperada como la de Leo Johnson o Windom Earle; y el caso más inexplicable de muerte súbita como le sucedió a Josie… Al perecer, la causante de tal revuelo fue una única entidad a la que llaman BOB. O la manera de poner nombre a las atrocidades que puede llegar a hacer el ser humano para acallar sus más bajos instintos, yo diría.
Y termino la copa.
Y la relleno de nuevo.
Y otra baja más se había sumado al grupo de homicidios, irremediablemente.
Un golpe estrepitoso y metálico se oyó tras la puerta del cuarto de baño; uno de mis mejores amigos y compañero de profesión se encontraba dentro y había cerrado con pestillo la puerta. A patadas tuve que echarla abajo para lograr entrar, para conseguir cargarme el cierre. El portazo fue tan fuerte que sacó la hoja de las bisagras.
-¿¡Cómo está Annie?! Cómo está Annie?!
Y allí estaba él, desnudo de pies a cabeza recién salido de la ducha, delante del espejo del lavabo y con la frente ensangrentada; lucía su peinado habitual solo que usó agua en lugar de gomina, dándole un aspecto más natural y genuino. Un gesto de desconcierto le hacía a su reflejo, a su roto reflejo, y éste se lo devolvía a su vez.
Sorprendentemente, ni sobre el lavabo ni en el suelo había caído ningún trozo del roto espejo. Estaba rajado, sí; sin embargo, cada fragmento se mantenía en su sitio formando una escena troceada, una escena cuarteada.
Durante un rato me ausenté de allí en busca de su batín rojo, lo encontré en el último cajón de la cómoda. Al volver al baño, le cubrí la espalda con él. Después, conseguí meterle los brazos por las mangas, primero uno, luego el otro. A la altura de la cintura, a lado y lado, colgaba un cordel; cordel que decidí atarle con una simple lazada para preservar tanto su dignidad como la mía y, al mismo tiempo, recuperar el decoro. Al inspeccionar la herida sangrante de su frente, observé que no era profunda, por fortuna. Se la aseé y desinfecté, le puse una toalla pequeña limpia sobre ella y le indiqué que la presionara contra la herida para parar la hemorragia.
- Perdí el equilibrio al salir… - se excusó.
- Cooper, vamos, siéntate –
Dio la impresión de que él ya sabía la respuesta a la pregunta que había formulado con tanta vehemencia hacía escasos minutos. También dio la impresión de que aquel inoportuno accidente en el baño, no fue inoportuno en absoluto. Porque, si alguna destreza caracterizaba al agente Cooper, esa era sin lugar a dudas, la intuición. Y aunque hubiera ido al mismísimo infierno y vuelto, es uno de los últimos rasgos que desaparecerían de él antes de perder su identidad por completo.
Una vez sentado en el lado derecho de la cama, yo me mantuve en pie largos minutos hasta alcanzar a aclarar la mente y ordenar mis ideas; luego me arrodillé delante de él, quedándome a la altura de su mirada, de la cual no se distinguía pupila de iris.
- El Doctor Hayward llamó hace una hora, desde el hospital… Y es mi obligación comunicártelo – Un nudo en mi garganta provocó que la voz se me tornase ronca y seca – Ella no sobrevivió.
- Annie… - articuló con suavidad y rehuyó mi mirada.
- Siento darte tan malas noticias Cooper, lo siento.
Él seguía inmerso en una apatía palpable y creciente, su rostro ahora descansaba serio y mohíno; sus focos más ahuecados y lúgubres, brillaban por la humedad que los cubrían, pese a que lloraba sin lágrimas. La tristeza se había apoderado de su corazón, estaba a punto de zambullirse en ella y no salir nunca más a la superficie. Nunca le había visto así, sin embargo, yo conocía de sobras ese sentimiento porque lo había vivido hacía pocos días. Empiezas culpándote de todo, de los hechos, de las acciones, del entorno, negando la cruda realidad; después cambias ese sentimiento por rabia, por ira, por impotencia y te acabas dando cuenta de que quien genera ese torbellino de sensaciones es la tristeza, en verdad; y luego surge el miedo a estar solo, a estar hueco, a estar maldito. Él ha perdido a dos personas en las mismas circunstancias; yo sólo a una. Igualmente, ahora es mi turno, debo ofrecerle un hombro en el que llorar. Tarea que nunca se me dio bien.
Y alcancé a tocar su rodilla, resultó estar desprovista de ropa alguna; y capté su atención, y retomó el contacto visual conmigo y, desde mi posición, instintivamente acorté distancias, me salió darle un abrazo.
Gesto que él correspondió dejando la toalla a un lado.
Le rodeé con ambos brazos, enteramente.
Me rodeó con ambos brazos, totalmente.
- Lo siento Coop.
- No aprendí la lección, debía haberlo visto venir…
Quise protegerle.
Quise darle cobijo.
Quise remendar sus heridas y hacerlas mías.
Aliviar ese sufrimiento tan atroz, tan desgarrador.
Todavía recuerdo nuestro primer encuentro, nuestro primer saludo, nuestro primer estrechón de manos; cuando llegó a Twin Peaks con su impoluta presencia vestida de traje negro y corbata, y su carácter jovial y optimista deslumbrando a cualquier persona que se cruzara en su camino; alternando la seriedad y profesionalidad con la espontaneidad y pasión de un niño; desviviéndose por los pequeños hallazgos que esconde la naturaleza; contemplando su entorno con ojos nuevos y agudos, sin dejar pasar detalle alguno. Apuesto a que aquella positividad que irradiaba, sería la causante de mantener sus rasgos faciales aniñados, delicados y redondeados que, incluso se podían malinterpretar como ingenuos.
A veces se me atojaba femenino.
A veces, su voz me atrapaba y descolocaba.
A veces, su espontaneidad sacudía todo protocolo social.
Ahora él no era él. Se había fundido su entusiasmo eléctrico, calcinaron su grandilocuencia y todas y cada una de sus virtudes; el destripe fue tan mayúsculo que hasta su cuerpo se hizo más liviano. Le habían extirpado sus entrañas, su alma y su ser y habían rellenado todo ello con un vacío infinito y opaco y lo habían cosido hábilmente. Porque, ahora él no era él. Ahora había otra persona en su lugar.
Y entonces, sucede.
Él busca consuelo entre mis brazos porque entre sus pensamientos sólo hay tormento. Y hunde su cabeza en mi hombro, y emite un gran suspiro, y el estremecimiento se intercambia por sosiego en breve; y otro gran suspiro, y la paz nos abrigó y detuvo aquel preciso instante.
Y su mejilla roza mi oreja y el rojo estalla en mi cara.
Y su fresco aroma cítrico y herbal me arropa y me ruboriza.
Y entonces, no hay vuelta atrás.
Me separo ligeramente de él, a penas a un palmo de distancia. Y él toma impulso y se lanza de una vez contra mi.
Ahora sus labios chocan contra los míos.
Y no me retiro.
Tampoco huyo.
Ni me quedo impávido.
¿Por qué no logro detenerle?
¿Por qué no me responden mis manos?
¿Por qué me está besando en la boca?
¿Por qué me estoy deleitando?
Actuó lentamente, saboreando cada bocado y recreándose largos e interminables minutos en mi boca, prolongando ese regalo; agarrando al mismo tiempo, mi rizada cabellera con ambas manos. Yo simplemente le imitaba, cuan doble y su reflejo ante el espejo. Nunca imaginé tanta dulzura manando de sus labios, tanta suavidad y afecto.
Hasta que se rompió el beso.
Y nos quedamos frente a frente, sin alejarnos demasiado.
- Discúlpame Harry… Esto no es un comportamiento apropiado – Murmulló. Luego frunció el ceño y sonrió tímidamente – No, de hecho, paradójicamente, me alegro de que…
Y reduje nuestra distancia.
Y me apeteció saborear sus besos una vez más, y así actué y los encontré sumamente vibrantes y frágiles. Y como las olas, una contra otra en el mar, una superponiéndose a otra y compartiendo humedad, así se comportaban nuestras bocas.
No quise oír ninguna de sus teorías, no quise racionalizar aquel momento, ni etiquetarlo bajo ningún pretexto inventado. Tan sólo quería disfrutarlo sin más pretensiones, después de todas las calamidades que estaban desatándose en el pueblo, ansiaba construir algo bueno entre tanta destrucción y caos; ansiaba algo bueno para él, algo realmente sublime y lo deseaba a toda costa, y a cualquier precio, y lo deseaba ya.
Botón a botón, desabrochó mi camisa a tientas.
Botón a botón, llegó al pantalón, entorpecido por los cinturones.
De los dos cinturones me liberó y mi arma cayó con ellos.
En breve, la camisa aterrizó en el suelo.
La camiseta negra interior, tuvo el mismo destino.
Y cuando rompimos el beso para quitármela, como las olas que vienen y van, nos reencontramos con más fuerza.
El sol me guardaba las espaldas.
El contraluz jugaba a mi favor y en su contra.
El sol me regalaba los matices de su piel y resaltaba sus contadas pecas.
Con la ayuda de mis manos en su mandíbula, me separé de él; quise captar todas sus facciones. En medio de su frente, donde se había golpeado, había una pequeño corte y ya no sangraba. Sus preciosos focos me sumergían en un paisaje otoñal atestado de robles blancos, estallando en tonalidades terroso verdosas, balanceándose al compás del viento, bailando. El ennegrecido y aún mojado pelo le propinaba un atractivo extra, un atractivo desenfadado; las cejas bien delimitadas y pobladas, intensificaban su mirada y sus finos labios y barbilla prominente, acentuaban aún más su sensualidad.
Por delante de mis pensamientos, iban mis manos y ya recreaban su tacto por todo su cuello y a lo largo de su pecho lampiño. No tardé en sacar a la luz aquella tez tan lechosa que guardaba bajo el batín bermellón que ni el sol se atrevió a broncear. Su musculación sutil y su escaso vello le convertían en un ser de delicadeza suprema, casi porcelánica. Más tarde, deshice la lazada de su cintura y me situé frente a ella, casi tumbándome por completo en el suelo. Le mantuve la mirada contrapicada, él entrecerró los ojos, entreabrió la boca y se quedó expectante.
Tuve que levantar la tela roja de sus piernas para ver el secreto que escondían; su lanza de punta redondeada y rosada reposaba laxa hacia un lado; quiso que la viera con total detalle porque separó las rodillas al máximo. Las distancias se acortaron y bajo mis labios la piel de melocotón de su vientre palpitaba y ardía; al mismo tiempo, sus muslos bajo mis palmas se estremecían. Y pronto noté cómo sus garras se hundían en mi pelo e instintivamente me empujaban hacia abajo.
Hice caso omiso a la insinuación de mi compañero, a su insistencia, y al repentino y creciente deseo que claramente se acumulaba en su entrepierna. Al aterrizar mis labios en sus muslos, su piel entró en un estado espasmódico involuntario y constante, y su respiración despuntada y refrenada tomó también parte en el asunto; continué por el interior de sus muslos y me adentré en el precioso bosque azabachado de su ingle, peinando su follaje arriba y abajo.
Desde que ella se desvaneció, mi pasión no había rebrotado tan fuerte por nadie; de ella, conocía los bosques pero no sus sombras y a donde me llevaron fue un lugar sin retorno, a una nueva identidad suya, totalmente extraña y desconocida para mí. Me sentí humillado, traicionado y empequeñecido. Como si hubiera reducido todo el tiempo que estuvimos juntos a un mero suspiro, al dar con su verdadero yo, y su significado se hubiera convertido en una simple anécdota estúpida e irreal.
En cambio, el Agente Especial del FBI Dale Cooper, poseía un bosque sin sombras, variado follaje formando un nítido paisaje, sin recovecos, sin grutas secretas, sin escondites, sin torrentes ni acantilados; llano y abierto. Agradable para pasear, para compartir experiencias y para charlar sin prisa alguna. Y el único lago que intervenía en aquel paisaje, ahora yacía seco y consumido, esperando a ser revitalizado a través del paso del tiempo.
Quería desatar la tempestad en él.
Quería hacer estallar un chorro desde el cielo a aquel consumido lago.
Quería devolverlo a la vida, hacerlo rebosar de agua, hacerlo peligrar por inundación.
En aquel instante abrí los ojos y reparé en la cicatriz cerca de la pelvis, la enmarqué con mis dedos. Me alejé un poco y se congeló la escena, ella vino nuevamente a mí, a mis pensamientos, a mi tormento.
- Josie.
La presioné longitudinalmente con el pulgar llamando al dolor del pasado que ella le infringió. Dolor del pasado presente. Dolor para él, horror para mí. Quise viajar a aquel pasado cuando aún vivía ella, cuando aún la tenía entre mis brazos. Quise poder cambiar su destino o en su defecto, destruirlo.
Una coz inesperada me lanzó contra el suelo.
Y mi entorno se desvanece en menos de un segundo.
Por una luz cegadora el dormitorio es engullido, entre contornos borrosos y tonalidades dispersas.
Y esa misma luz me devuelve a otro lugar, a otro tiempo, a otro contexto.
Un lugar sin límites, sin horizonte, sin estímulos. Atemporal.
¿Qué hora es?
¿Qué pasó?
¿Dónde estoy?
¿Y Cooper…?
Un cuadrúpedo, un mustang de pelaje uniforme y tostado se manifiesta ante mí.
Las cuatro patas unidas entre sí. Las cuatro patas, atadas entre sí.
Tumbado en el suelo. Inmóvil.
Semidormido. O meditabundo.
Medio vivo. O casi muerto.
Aquel extraño lugar genera más dudas que respuestas.
Satura mi mente, me desconcierta.
Y mi entorno se transforma y se deforma.
Y una luz brillante me obliga a cerrar los ojos.
A finalizar aquella extraña visión y aturdimiento.
Alguien me azotaba las mejillas.
Repetidamente. Insistentemente.
- ¡Despierta Harry! ¡Harry!
Al suelo macizo ambarino, regresé. Al habitáculo forrado de madera. A la habitación 315 del Gran Hotel del Norte. A su ambiente cálido y acogedor. A los brazos de mi compañero de profesión con su voz arropándome y animándome. Se disculpaba a mi oído. El quemazón que sintió al presionar yo su cicatriz, le había hecho ejecutar aquella coz contra mí. No fue intencionada. Fue un acto reflejo. Acto reflejo que yo había provocado a conciencia.
- Me lo merezco por ser tan egoísta y pensar que soy el único desgraciado.
- No permitas que los efectos de tal tragedia se apoderen de ti, de tus acciones; te aseguro que Josie querría lo mejor para ti.
¿En serio esto estaba sucediendo? ¿Cómo podía ser? ¿Me estaba consolando él a mí, cuando debería ser al revés? Está claro, el campo de la psicología humana se escapa de mis conocimientos; sí, es una destreza que se puede estudiar y desarrollar. Igualmente, por mucho empeño que le pusiera nunca se me daría bien, sé mis limitaciones y sé que esta, es una de ellas.
Me ayudó a incorporarme, a ponerme en pie. Luego, echó las sábanas y la colcha a un lado y me tumbé en la cama. La energía parecía haber mudado de un cuerpo a otro, del mío al suyo, cuando me precipité contra el suelo. En cambio, mis deseos para con él no habían menguado, al contrario, se habían multiplicado, se habían desatado, escapando de todo control racional. A cada nuevo instante, más me apetecía devorarle, poseerle, dominarle… Sentía una atracción mayúscula, desmesurada.
Sus focos otoñales me observaban, yacía de pie en el lado derecho de la cama con el batín sin atar y pese al contraluz, se apreciaba su esbelta silueta, su tranquilidad y calma. Se arrodilló y me acarició el pelo y yo aproveché para hacerme con su mano y besar suavemente el interior de su palma. Y ya no pudo esperar más y se decidió a besarme en los labios, como si hiciera décadas que no nos habíamos visto; abrimos enteramente la boca, y la cerramos, imitando a los peces un buen rato, conteniendo unos labios dentro de los otros, pisándonos entre sí, solapándonos; enmarcando al mismo tiempo, nuestras caras con las manos; él me sujetó del cuello, yo, su casi seco pelo; sin prisa alguna, su mano empezó a descender por mi cuerpo, por mi desnudo pecho, por mi vientre y se detuvo sobre la prenda que aún vestía y acarició su superficie.
A la puerta alguien llamó, tres veces.
- Servicio de habitaciones.
La cabeza de mi compañero se dirigió a la puerta de la entrada, como buscando la nueva interlocutora. Y mi exclamación se solapó con su extrañeza.
- ¿Servicio de habitaciones?
- ¡Servicio de habitaciones! – Al cabo de dos segundos me rasqué la cabeza - Sí, pedí que te trajeran el desayuno por si tenías hambre.
Había olvidado por completo ese pequeño detalle, por eso ni se lo había comentado. Teniendo en cuenta su metabolismo y que se había pasado toda la noche en la Logia Negra, deduje que tendría un hambre atroz. Por supuesto, lo había solicitado antes de recibir las malas noticias. Lo cual puede provocar el cierre inmediato de cualquier estómago. Sería lógico que hubiese perdido el apetito.
Lo más rápido que pude, me adecenté; me levanté de la cama en busca de mis prendas: me puse la camiseta negra y la camisa aunque fuese por encima, desabrochada. Miré de soslayo a mi compañero que aún yacía de rodillas clavado en el suelo y apoyando los brazos en la cama. Tardó varios segundos en reaccionar y erguirse sobre sus pies para taparse adecuadamente con el batín bermellón y hacerle su correspondiente lazada. Cuando me cercioré de que ambos estábamos presentables, me dirigí a la puerta y la abrí.
- Hola, buenos días Sheriff. – dijo una muchacha joven, de pelo ondulado y castaño con ojos color miel, mientras sostenía la bandeja con sus manos - Le traigo el desayuno como solicitó, a las 12 en punto –
Sin esperar a que yo respondiese, entró y colocó la bandeja en el escritorio, retirando la tapa.
- Muchas gracias… – contestó Cooper mientras leía la placa que colgaba del pecho del uniforme de la muchacha - … Monica. Tiene una pinta exquisita; mis felicitaciones a la cocinera y al servicio, por supuesto – esbozó una sonrisa que ella correspondió.
- ¡Gracias! Se las daré –
Le acercó la factura para que la firmase y salió de allí cerrando la puerta tras de sí. Nuestras miradas se cruzaron una vez más. Él, pese a todo, me dibujó una media sonrisa; sí que parecía tener hambre al fin y al cabo. Se inclinó sobre la bandeja y comenzó a olfatear la humeante comida. Después se frotó las manos. El desayuno que había pedido es el que solía tomar él a menudo: un café solo, un zumo de pomelo recién exprimido, huevos fritos bien fritos, bacon crujiente casi quemado y un par de rebanadas de pan. E incluí una ración generosa de tarta de cerezas. Yo le hice una señal invitándole a comer, él tomó asiento y se deleitó con el café y su característico y amargo aroma.
Durante los tres minutos siguientes, él se dedicó simplemente a beber el café a pequeños sorbos sin hacer ningún caso al resto de platos que delante de él habían.
- Es razonable asumir que no comiste absolutamente nada desde anoche – dijo con una seguridad aplastante.
- Pues no, no comí nada.
- Harry, yo no estoy hambriento; en cambio sé que tú lo estás. Este pueblo no siente la necesidad de tener a un Sheriff debilitado por la falta de ingesta de alimentos a su servicio - Me miró por encima de la taza sin añadir nada más.
- Está bien –
Al aceptar la mayor parte de su desayuno, me cedió la silla y, aunque no tenía demasiada hambre, fue empezar a consumir el primer plato y mi estómago despertarse de su letargo. Se me hacía un tanto raro su comportamiento. No me malinterpretéis. Su comportamiento era igual de raro que siempre, sí, sin embargo había algo en él que no cuadraba con el conjunto. Y tan pronto pensé eso, tan pronto le cambió el gesto de la cara: no me aguantó la mirada, frunció el entrecejo y apretó los dientes después de tomar el último sorbo de café. Sus ojos se humedecieron y no parpadeaban casi, y sus pupilas e iris se mancharon de penumbras, creándole una mirada vacía y dura.
La mayor condena de este mundo es acabar solo en contra de tu voluntad. Pones todo tu empeño en dar con la persona adecuada, en dedicarle el tiempo que se merece, en conservar y cuidar la relación íntima que se formó entre vosotros desde que nació el amor. Un amor profundo y duradero. O eso pensabas, porque un buen día te golpean en la cara justo con la única noticia que nunca desearías escuchar, dinamitando tu mundo y sacudiendo todo el entorno ¿Y para qué?
Para que acabe siendo una pesadilla en vida.
Para que acaben asesinando la relación.
Quería deshacer aquella asquerosa tragedia.
Quería arrancarla de cuajo.
Y hacerle surgir entre sus cenizas.
Y revivirle, y resucitarle.
Y hacerle enteramente mío, sólo mío.
- Oye Coop, esto está delicioso. Y tenías razón, ¡tenía un hambre de mil demonios! – quise romper el ensimismamiento en el que estaba adentrándose y precipitándose, de modo que le ofrecí un trozo de su dulce favorito: tarta de cerezas.
- Oh, gracias.
Al aproximarle el trozo a la boca, retomamos el contacto visual y la paladeó un buen rato. Al compás de su masticación, me gané una media sonrisa y noté cómo se volcaba mi corazón. Sus labios tomaron un acabado perlado, justo había pasado su lengua por ellos para recoger cualquier resto de tarta o cerezas que por allí pudieran quedar. Paré el gesto de limpiárselos con la servilleta a tiempo, los rocé con el pulgar que más tarde, cambié por mis labios. Terminamos de catar el dulce postre conjuntamente, arrimando nuestros labios, fusionándonos grácilmente entre bocado y bocado, paladeando cada dulce amargo bocado; combinando y diluyendo el ligero toque a café, el jugoso rastro a cerezas y el sutil regusto lejano a whisky.
Es mi regalo de hoy.
Y yo formaba parte del mismo y mi entrega.
Y no lo planeé, tan sólo dejé que sucediera.
Y tras el último de los bocados a la tarta continuó el besuqueo, mi mano escapó entre sus ropas buscando su calor, palpando su rodilla, su muslo y me alcé de la silla; con mi otra mano le despeiné por completo; en carisma y belleza ganó aún más puntos; así como estaba, con el pelo alborotado, no sabía verle, no sabía encontrarle; se hacía tan desenfadado, tan bonito y tan informal que le restaba todavía más años, convirtiéndole en un muchacho a las puertas de la pubertad. Mis yemas se dedicaron a recorrer su rostro, sus tan perfiladas y pobladas cejas negras, los límites de su azabachado cuero cabelludo, sus sienes, sus orejas y lóbulos, su mandíbula y su ligeramente prominente barbilla; continuábamos fundidos en una secuencia interminable de besos. Él tuvo que dejar la taza sobre la mesa con urgencia para poder agarrarme la ropa y deshacerse de ella. Claramente, él estaba en desventaja.
Desconocía a dónde íbamos exactamente, me horrorizaba sólo de pensarlo, porque soy todo un inexperto en relaciones sexuales de este estilo, con otro hombre; a él no le consideraba como tal, es decir, no valoraba únicamente su carcasa, sino también su esencia. De ahí que el miedo no actuase en mi lugar. Mi atracción por él era más poderosa, capaz de sortear cualquier obstáculo que se interpusiera entre nosotros. Por primera vez, gobernaban mis instintos sobre la razón y tampoco resultaba ser tan desagradable. De hecho, resultaba asquerosamente agradable esa sensación de incertidumbre, de misterio.
Mi camisa se estrelló contra la pared del rifle, al sacármela.
Mi camiseta negra, se quedó a medio camino, en los pies de la cama.
Y antes de darme cuenta, ya me había bajado los pantalones y me manipulaba la entrepierna. Para mi sorpresa, la daga contenida bajo mis calzoncillos respondió enseguida al estímulo, alzándose y magnificándose.
Como buenamente pude, me descalcé, me quité los calcetines y los pantalones; mi mano volvió a su rostro y la otra deshizo la lazada de su ropaje bermellón. Al mismo tiempo, le iba empujando contra la pared más cercana, justo en medio de las dos ventanas.
Uno frente al otro, estábamos, sin espacio entre nosotros.
Sin soltarnos ni un segundo, prolongamos el contacto íntimo de nuestros labios.
Una y otra vez, compartiendo humedad.
Una y otra vez, compartiendo ardor.
Una y más veces, disfrutando de su ternura infinita.
Chocamos nuestros cuerpos como si quisiéramos formar uno solo. Nos abrazamos para sentir la extensión de nuestra piel desnuda en contacto con la del otro. Compartimos el fuego abrasador y el sudor que irradiábamos. Nuestros latidos se sincronizaron al solapar su pecho contra el mío, era puro magnetismo. Aquella sedosa piel se hacía irresistible al roce de la mía y aunque comprimida se encontraba entre nosotros, mi afilada daga, con su tiesura intentaba perforar la cadera de mi compañero a toda costa. Mientras él frotaba su lanza contra mi pelvis.
El fuego brotaba por los poros de nuestra piel igualándose al del mismísimo infierno. Infierno en la tierra. Aunque poco me importaba ya acabar en el cielo o en el infierno, ya vivía por inercia, impulsos y sensaciones; sin esperar nada a cambio; sin importar lo más mínimo si está bien o mal; si es ético y moral; si es posible o imposible; sueño o realidad.
Ansiaba algo sublime y él me lo ofrecía sin perjuicio alguno.
Desvivirse por alguien en vida en tu lecho de muerte ¿te resucita?
Es posible.
Sumamente despacio rompí la unión de nuestros labios; sus focos se sobresaltaron, se extrañaron, se abrieron mostrándome con todo detalle su paisaje otoñal de robles blancos; luego me rodeó la cabeza con sus manos, anclándose en mis rizos, jugando con ellos. Al llevar ahora el batín desatado, alcancé a ver su perfecto torso y cómo hacían acto de presencia tímidamente sus pezones dentro de su lienzo porcelánico.
Milímetro a milímetro recorro su cuello y nuca.
Ronroneando y solicitando mis caricias, él.
Solapando mis yemas con besos, campo a través.
Pisando y pasando por sus pectorales, abdomen y pelvis.
Soplando y resoplando, él.
Volteando y volviendo a sus aureolas y sus puntiagudos centros, alzándose al contacto con las yemas.
Sollozando y resollando, él.
Manoseando y magreando su oscuro bosque en busca de su lanza.
Aspirando y conteniendo la respiración, él, como si fuera a zambullirse en plena mar.
La alcancé, la agarré y la acaricié largos minutos, su sedosidad se hacía tan exquisita que pedía a gritos ser desgastada sin piedad. Tres y tres veces más, bastaron para enderezarla, tres y tres dilatadas sacudidas. Dobló su tamaño, se irguió bien hermosa y robusta, preparada para ser lanzada contra su presa.
Antes quise afilarla con el roce de mis dientes.
Antes quise contenerla enteramente en mi boca.
Y así actué.
Casi ahogándome con ella, clavándomela en el fondo de la garganta una y otra vez.
Aquel vaivén se sincronizó con sus contenidos gemidos.
Aquel recorrido era delicioso, era hipnótico.
Aquel ritmo incrementó por momentos.
Y también la temperatura.
Las llamas se propagaron por la superficie de nuestros cuerpos, aquello se asemejaba al mismísimo infierno. Infierno en la tierra. Infierno allí mismo, infierno entre sus piernas.
Saboreé toda la extensión de su ardiente lanza, toda su magnitud.
Una y otra vez, la recorría incansable.
Una y otra vez, soplaba y resoplaba él.
Una y otra vez, mi humedad cubría y recubría su lanza en llamas.
Y ahora sus garras se clavaron en mi cráneo.
Y una y otra vez, embestían sus caderas contra mí.
Y ahora me apoderé de sus nalgas con ambas manos bajo la roja tela.
Y ahora golpeó la pared con la cabeza, inclinándola hacia atrás, provocando que su mandíbula cayera ligeramente y que su resuello ganase potencia.
Y una de sus piernas me abrazó, me apresó.
Y ahora recreé mi tacto en sus nalgas, redondeadas y algo voluminosas, como dunas sinuosas.
Y ahora deslicé un par de dedos entre ellas.
Y ahora, quise adentrarme en su estrecho pozo.
Y nada más presentarle el dedo índice y corazón, una colección de síes moribundos y dilatados emergieron de la garganta de mi compañero. Dedos que introduje por completo en aquella estrechez de pozo y su respiración se tornó notablemente entrecortada; Y por fin, se despojó de su ropaje bermellón; Así pude apreciar cada recoveco de su piel desnuda, cada tendón tensado, cada ángulo, cada fracción, cada músculo; todo su cuerpo vibraba al compás de la exploración, con cada nueva entrada, con cada nueva arremetida, con cada nueva exhaustiva inspección. Cuando terminé con mis dedos, acto seguido, mis labios abandonaron su lanza, me puse en pie, me bajé la goma del calzoncillo lo justo para sacarme la rígida daga y ensartarle con ella. Le provoqué un medio lamento, medio llanto, y le alcé la pierna derecha con la que me estaba apresando.
Y ahora él se retorcía de placer y sus cuerdas vocales desgarraban mi nombre con cada sacudida, con cada embestida; solicitando mis besos, demandándolos y exigiéndolos.
Y extendió los brazos para agarrar mi cara, buscando con sus labios, los míos.
Y nos besamos desordenadamente, una y otra vez.
Nuestras lenguas se saludaron, se despidieron y se reencontraron múltiples veces.
Y sus manos ahora tomaron presa mi cintura, dando impulso a las embestidas.
Y ganamos en ritmo, en velocidad, en intensidad.
Y la melodía de nuestros sollozos empezó a ser ensordecedora, sonando a queja más que a excitación, sonando a lloriqueo más que a gozo.
Y una de mis manos se hizo con su hermosa lanza.
Y cada vez que retrocedía, se la recorría enérgicamente.
Y cada vez que embestía, se la sujetaba con más fuerza.
Y sus manos ahora se situaron en mi trasero, asiéndolo más y más.
Y yo estaba a punto de alcanzar el clímax.
De llegar a la cima del éxtasis.
Y él me susurraba al oído que se encontraba en el mismo punto.
A punto de explotar.
A punto de estallar.
Seguíamos con el vaivén, cada vez más brusco, más veloz.
Seguíamos ardiendo en llamas.
Seguíamos besándonos y articulando gemidos a medias.
Seguíamos agudizando las notas, una vez y otra.
Hasta que no aguanté más y solté toda mi munición en el interior de su pozo, quedándome anclado, temblando y hundiéndome contra toda la extensión de su cuerpo.
Aunque yo había terminado, seguí con él, con el agarrón.
Ahora tres dedos visitaban su pozo.
Y por sus soplidos y resoplidos, sabía que se encontraba muy cerca de la cima.
Y le besé el cuello con pasión, la nuca, al mismo tiempo, hincando mis dedos en su pozo.
Y se le erizó la piel.
Y se la sacudí más enérgicamente y la mantuve aún más prieta.
Y noté cómo su pozo se contraía, se empequeñecía.
Y ahora sí que alcanzó la cumbre, por fín.
Y nos manchó a los dos como resultado.
Y le abracé en su último aliento. Él me abrazó, posando sus labios sobre mis hombros. Y nos quedamos así un buen rato. Hasta recobrar la energía, hasta sosegar el pulso, hasta acallar nuestro fuego. Y cuando nos distanciamos un poco, me percaté de que estaba llorando y sonriendo al mismo tiempo ¿Me sobrepasé? ¿le lastimé? ¿le disgusté? Se aglutinaron tantas dudas en mi garganta que no logré articular ninguna de ellas. De modo que le sequé las lágrimas, besé su frente y volví a abrazarle y él se apoyó en mi pecho, tembloroso y frágil. Quizás volvió a vestirse de luto por su difunta pareja y a lamentar su pérdida. Antes era su amigo y tenía que guardar ciertas apariencias, pese a que por dentro podría estar destrozado. Ahora, no parecía importarle mostrarme su lado más vulnerable.
Permití que expulsara toda aquella pesadumbre, que lloviera en su corazón y en su alma; necesitaba ese momento, necesitaba recomponer cada pieza de su roto ser, necesitaba tiempo para unir las piezas fragmentadas y curar sus grietas.
Con suma delicadeza, le dirigí a la cama, tumbándole en ella y yo acompañándole, a su lado y dejando que se acurrucase sobre mi pecho cómodamente. No me soltó ni un instante. Sus tormentas tardaron en apaciguarse, pero no me importó esperar. Él fue mi apoyo cuando Josie faltó; fue mi mayor apoyo y mejor consejero. Ahora me necesitaba más que nunca a su lado, y yo a él, aunque me costase admitirlo abiertamente.
Le acaricié su azabachado pelo, con ello logré calmar sus sollozos.
Le besé de nuevo la frente y no me despegué de ella.
Sus pestañas surcaban muy superficialmente mi piel.
Supe que sus ojos estaban aunque húmedos, abiertos.
La tormenta ya cesó después de un prolongado lapso de tiempo.
- ¿Qué pasó Coop? - conseguí articular al fin.
- Lo que pasó fue la manifestación máxima de afecto entre dos personas – me reencontré con sus focos otoñales y brillantes – y tú, querido Harry, formaste parte de ello.
Su respuesta guardaba un curioso doble sentido que me cautivó, porque tenía toda la razón del mundo: de afecto para con ella y de afecto para conmigo. No hubiera sucedido una cosa sin la otra, no hubiera pasado nada bueno si la tragedia no se hubiera originado. Estábamos obligados a pasar por aquel bárbaro y tierno pasaje de nuestras vidas; a destiempo y a tiempo, en el mejor y peor de los momentos; en aquel inmundo, precioso y preciso lugar. Ese asesinato, ese crimen atroz a una persona tan cercana y querida, también aniquila una parte de tu ser, una parte de tu identidad; o es simplemente la gran huella que deja en ti al marchar. Más tarde, miras a tu alrededor, ya convertido en ruinas, te percatas de todo aquello cuanto sobrevive entre los escombros; de aquellos que permanecen a tu lado, de aquellos que aguantan cualquier catástrofe emocional, espiritual o terrenal. Es ahí donde rebrota la esperanza, es ahí donde se pone en relieve la importancia de preservar cuantos te rodean y siguen contigo el camino y, a su vez, cuando tienes que tomar impulso para seguir adelante. Y la gratitud que sentí en aquel preciso instante supe que estaba siendo percibida por él, porque me sonrió ampliamente pese a tener el rostro mojado; él sentía lo mismo y no pude resistirme más y le besé en los labios, tan tiernamente que apenas nos rozamos; como si del primer amor de juventud se tratase, y fuera la primera vez que me acostaba con alguien, como si temiera trastabillarme o estropearlo todo al actuar con extrema urgencia.
Cuando vinimos a darnos cuenta nos venció el sueño; nos habíamos cubierto con la sábana y la colcha, y después, le había estrechado entre mis brazos, él se había ovillado de nuevo sobre mi pecho. A mí me agradaba contener su cabeza debajo de la mía, captando el aroma a champú de su ennegrecido pelo, al mismo tiempo, recorría su columna, arriba y abajo, con mis yemas.
Y el sol fue descendiendo y cambiando de color, tornándose anaranjado. Y aquel momento no quise que terminara jamás, quise permanecer así a su lado hasta el último día de mi existencia.
5x01
Is it a mere coincidence that Orson is singing a song of The Doors (‘Break On Through’ actually) when Kyle, the actor who’s playing Orson, is in the film of the very band? I don’t think so!
5x02
This is just hilarious: Orson says ‘Hodge’, comparing surnames with Bree, then the next cut we see a cutie cat purring!
5x03
If that risotto is 100% vegan, then it must be yummy!! Could I have some please?
5x04
It’s very sad when no one is hiring Orson after he’s been five years in prison…
5x05
Too much fight, too much self pity which I’m not very fond of.
5x06
Orson made a friend in prison, Peter, who’s been there for organ traffic, nothing much.
5x07
The employee Bree has fired for stealing, stole the surveillance tape and it turns up it is also a sex tape, so he is trying to buy her off otherwise he’s going to post it on youtube… well, that sex tape is… not… about Orson and Bree… and it’s never been posted on youtube…. what a shame!
5x08
This middle-aged band is on fire! Literally!
5x09
Snoring so much?
5x10
Bree’s son, Andrew, has a partner in his love life, he’s a man and they are getting married. Congratulations! 8D
5x11
The eternal fighting between mother in laws is so boring it hurts.
5x12
Bree does emasculate Orson so many times I lost counting...
5x15
A younger worker getting a rise salary hurts another mild-aged man’s ego, this is a very stereotyped situation.
5x16
Diane, I’ve just got a déjà vu.
5x17
From now on, the Orson character’s getting worse by the minute…
5x18
He is getting smaller and smaller.
5x19
A very touching flashback.
5x20
‘I went for a walk and just bumped my head’
5x22
’We’ve been robbed!!’
He could have been smarter and not tell her he found out it wasn’t a robbery at all. Then, try to get her back.
5x23
Do not discuss delicate issues when he has a knife in his hands.
5x24
I’m sorry but he looks pretty hot even when he’s been assaulted...
4x07
I never thought Orson will be talking about circumcision and male sexual pleasure, indeed he makes a point, and Bree doesn’t seem to understand anything about the whole issue (as usual).
4x08
This is the only scene where Bree gets creative about her sex life with Orson once they ‘had’ a baby. It’s a scene too short and just the only ONE about it.
4x10
Was it just me who thought that it would have been worth it to see Orson flirting with the roofer?
4x12
Orson and his sleep-walking naked scenes are just FINE and HOT gems! Damn you triple chocolate cake you ruined the whole view!
4x14
- This wasn’t an ordinary mistake. This was something terrible.
- Was it something gay?
I wish it was!!! 8D
I started watching 'Desperate Housewives' mainly because of Kyle MacLachlan is in it. Enjoying his character and his scenes, specialty the 'you raped my husband!' part. And I still think he's innocent in all this Monique's case (why don't you just called her Monica, it sounds much more melodic -ok, who am I kidding? let just say, it would be closer to my real name!).
He empezado a ver 'Mujeres desesperadas' principalmente porque Kyle MacLachlan sale. Estoy disfrutando con su personaje y sus escenas, especialmente la parte '¡violaste a mi marido!'. Y aún creo que es inocente con respecto al caso de Monique ( ¿por qué no le llamaron Monica?, suena mucho más melódico - vale, ¿a quién quiero engañar? digamos que se parecería más a mi nombre real!).
A friend of mine talked me about the show, it was a very long time ago but I only watched a few episodes back then. Five months ago, I started to watch them all dubbed into Spanish, and now, I'm watching all eight seasons over again in English.
Day #2: Favorite case? And why?
'Mr. Monk and the panic room'. For the first time he has to defend an animal, a chimpancee, even so Sharona is the one who ask him to do it.
'Mr. Monk and the dog' as well.
Day #3: Favorite character (besides Mr. Monk)?
I have more than one besides Adrian Monk; Sharona Fleming, Ambrose Monk and the last Adrian's partner cop he had, Joe Christie.
Day #4: Favorite Guest Star?
Again, I've got more than just one favorite guest star. Tony Shalhoub's real brother, Michael Shalhoub (Season 2, episode 14th: Mr. Monk and the missing granny) and John Turturro who plays Adrian's Brother, Ambrose (season 2 episode 12th: Mr. Monk and the three pies).
Day #5: Baggies or Wipes? Why?
Baggies. Because baggies have more than one use (if you're not Monkish), wipes only have one use. I'm always thinking about the enviroment.
Day #6: Would you be Monk’s assistant if you could be? Why or why not?
I'd like to but I think I haven't got much patience to treat him propertly besides I haven't got any nursing/psychological training which he might need.
Day #7: Favorite “villain?”
In 'Mr. Monk and the Red Headed Stranger', the blind lady.
Day #8: What is the first episode of Monk you saw?
Second Season, third episode: Mr. Monk goes to the Ballgame.
Day #9: Has the show touched your life? How so?
Yes, in many ways. I'm a very sensitive person, but I became even more sensitive with other people with disabilities.
Day #10: Favorite TrudyxMonk flashback?
When Monk's buried alive. We are able to see him smiling and it's wonderful and sad at the same time.
Day #11: Funniest episode?
'Mr. Monk takes a vacation' and 'Mr. Monk goes to Mexico'.
Day #12: What’s your Monk OTP?
Sharona Fleming/ Adrian Monk.
Leland stottlemeyer/ Adrian Monk.
If we are talking about fanfiction, any slash fic where Adrian is in.
Day #13: Natalie vs. Sharona? Why?
They are completely different characters but, for me, along the series Sharona's is better written than Natalie's; she is powerful, loyal and very three-dimensional character. Her relationship with Monk has some similarities with Shelock and Waltson in a way (I wonder why she coundn't be a doctor instead of a nurse), and in some cases, she is the key to solve them, or even she solves them before Monk does.
I'd rather enjoy the similarities of both characters. But if I have to choose, I'd take Monk because it's easier for me to get used to his inexistence social skills and quirks.
Day #18: Favorite Monk quirk?
The shoulder-chin movement he does every time he's craving to rearrange something or straighten something out or make few things even or even them out. Sometimes, he does that movement when he solves the case in front of the murderer too.
Day #19: What show would you have Monk crossover with? Why?
Episodes used:
Monk 1x01 - Mr. Monk and the candidate
Monk 1x02 - Mr. Monk and the psychic
Monk 1x04 - Mr. Monk goes to the carnival
Monk 1x08 - Mr. Monk and the marathon man
Monk 1x09 - Mr. Monk takes a vacation
Monk 1x10 - Mr. Monk and the earthquake
Monk 1x12 - Mr. Monk and the airplane
Monk 2x02 - Mr. Monk goes to Mexico
Monk 2x03 - Mr. Monk goes to the ballgame
Monk 2x04 - Mr. Monk goes to the circus
Monk 2x05 - Mr. Monk and the very very old man
Monk 2x06 - Mr. Monk goes to the theatre
Monk 2x07 - Mr. Monk and the sleeping suspect
Monk 2x08 - Mr. Monk meets the Playboy
Monk 2x10 - Mr. Monk and the paperboy
Monk 2x11 - Mr. Monk and.the captain's wife
Monk 2x12 - Mr. Monk and the three pies
Monk 2x15 - Mr. Monk gets married
Monk 3x02 - Mr. Monk and the panic room
Monk 3x04 - Mr. Monk gets fired
Monk 3x09 - Mr. Monk takes his medicine
Monk 6x04 - Mr. Monk and the bad girlfriend
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