1. The Cookie Man and the Sad Girl


    Date: 10/10/2015, Categories: Love Stories, Author: Cyberwalker, Rating: 1, Source: LushStories

    take me to a sudden large rock with a jagged top. Instead of sitting on it, you make me sit with you on the large wet grass, our backs leaning against the smooth side surface of the rock. We are facing the hills beyond which the sun will set in some time. By now you are weak and breathing heavily from the effort of having to walk barely a hundred meters. But your face is lit up in a little smile. “I have been here before,” you remark. “That’s not possible,” I tell you. “Oh well not here perhaps, but a place similar enough to call it ‘here’. It doesn’t matter how far away it is if it is the same in all essential details, does it?” I consider this for a moment before replying, “I don’t know.” “And you seem not so different from someone I once knew either,” you continue, “In fact you look and talk almost the same. You even made Darjeeling tea. Do you know?” I am not sure, what it is that I am supposed to know, but I reply anyway, “How do you know it wasn’t me and not someone else, if we are so close?” “I know. The tiniest of differences persist. There will always be a gap.” I am forced to accept this as a fresh gust of severely wet wind chills me to the bones. Yet again, as if responding to my melancholy you inch closer and hug me round my shoulders, your breath warm on my wet neck. I don’t know how to respond as I struggle to get accustomed to your sudden changes of mood and demeanour. You are not a very realistic character. Although I have searched for you for as long as I ...
    remember, the very real-ness and practicality of the mundane life I have lived for the past several years of my twenty five, have etched their traces on my psyche, so that I am forced to struggle with the brilliance of your presence at first, before I can remember, adapt and present myself more impressively to you. Now our fresh clothes are completely drenched. Clinging tightly to my body it makes me feel all the more cold. The rain, while it had promised to stop, continues to fall gently. But you have no desire to go back to the cottage just yet. Instead as you catch me shivering, you help me out of my wet shirt. “Thank you,” I say. You merely smile and I startle myself wondering if there wasn’t the slightest hint of mischief hidden in it. “Aren’t you cold?” I nearly stammer, “Wouldn’t you like to… you know go back…” You bend your head gently and kiss my damp chest with your wet lips. By now I’m not even sure whether you are seeing me or remembering the other person you have told me about. When I go about unbuttoning your shirt, you behave in compliance as if you have allowed me to do this many times before. Soon as I have unbuttoned the top four slots, a thin dark red mark etched on your milky white skin peeks out from the gap in the fabric. When you arch your arms behind you, taking off the shirt, I can see it etched at an angle between your breasts and ending a little above your abdomen; a surgical relic from a disease you once had or might still be suffering from. I have ...
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