The eye of the stranger
Who would have thought that a stranger can detect peculiarities, till then, even natives couldn’t have detected. The eye of the stranger perceives and processes information differently from the regular one, the reason why is good news, we are made from different stuff.
It is true that people are the same, that there is good and bad in each person. The real good news though is that we are not actually made from different stuff materially speaking, Absolutely not. Even the frames and pattern techniques in our brain maps are the same, it’s the content as a matter of fact, the cultural content more specifically. If broken down, Culture is the sum total of the geopolitical, psychosociological, anthropological, economical, the list goes on till it’s no longer specific. All these factors constitute the chore of a culture in the big picture. fortunately enough, right ? for variety is the spice of life.
Every country has its own peculiarity, every city, every county, every house, and finally every individual is unique on his own. Yet there is something we refer to as the collective unconsciousness. It is a retraction and expansion relationship, like male vs female, plus vs minus etc….Male breeds females, and vice versa.
In Amsterdam Zimbar met a surinamese person whose nature he could not define at that time. In fact, a fews days before he had kissed a woman on the street and his friends made of him the fool on the hill , because she had turned out to be a travestite. He had gotten over it quickly, yet the next encounter was more lucid. Of course, he had already come across a piece of news informing people of the swindle transvestites could help themselves with using. A few years ago a german husband who wasn’t told by his wife that her main organ was plastic surgery, and that she had had the exact same organ he had before the surgery. Yet this story went viral because the husband forgave the swindle and shockingly vowed to remain his eternal husband, wouldn’t you do the same ?
Here in Amsterdam John, surinamese, had a twin sister. Technically, what had happened was his masculine genes were attributed to the sister and consequently John looked like a woman. As usual, Zimbar had no shelter, because he was a rolling stone which gathers no moss, it wasn’t for rock n roll or the hippies although he had this bohemian side in him.
and it was John who approached him in one of the most beautiful dutch gardens of amsterdam, not far from the coffee shops, the main reason why he was there in the first place. John was still trying to explain or rather prove this metamorphosis by pointing to a long haired woman with a face like an indian warrior, sitting on the bench next to a stunning blonde, the type who he always labelled as “out of his league”. Quite frankly, he almost died of jealousy. He took a look at John who was trying his best to fornicate with him, and the stunning blonde, the girlfriend of his sister. Consequently, he had to leave orelse he committed a crime. He would have most probably tied the family on one of the garden trees and kidnap the blonde.
He left the garden in dismay, obsessed with the beauty of that stunning and delicate creature. But he had a plan, a wonderful plan for the night. He had saved a few bucks which he had made from prostituting himself with an old lady. What is it with old ladies ? They all want a young man as if their youth was guaranteed to return. Maybe it was no more a man’s world and women are just being competitive.
The white coin shall save you on a black day, in other words, saving a penny for a rainy day, for it wasn’t only raining that day, it was totally freezing cold.
Zimbar’s nose became icy, and so was his tongue every time he opened his mouth to speak. As soon as he was allowed in the club, his nose started drooling, and he had to switch his way to the toilets instead of the bar. He actually went through the door like a drunken cowboy. Hold your horses right there, he said to myself. There was a blonde woman facing the mirror, the same stunning blonde he had seen this morning in the beautiful garden together with feminine indian warrior. He thought to himself that he might have been dreaming or something. Was it the law of attraction ? Was it God compensating him for his long hardships with the soft kind. She was drunk and she helplessly waved at him as she couldn’t stand on both legs. She begged him to escort her to her car in the parking lot, and she begged him again to drive her home. Which he gladly accepted although part of him was rejoicing and expecting to get laid, and the other part was blaming him for taking advantage of a drunk person. Yet if it wasn’t for alcohol, he might never have stumbled over such an opportunity.
It was kind of tiring, because most often he had to carry her through the hallway, to the stairs and then the elevator. Finally they arrived at the door of the flat as she pointed to the keyhole. Zimbar peeped through the hole, the lights were on and there was nobody inside. The dutch blonde lady spoke only in dutch which he never even tried to understand, so he decided to shut up and just act. He was wondering when he would begin the drilling, silent sex drove him crazy. She was a total stranger and almost mute, she used her body language most of the time.
She pointed to her vagina as she was heading to the toilets. Zimbar thought that she wanted him to take in the showers, so he followed her, but only to find her urinating. He could see her turkey sticking out insolently, and the Throughput of her urine changed from a cascade to a powerful waterfall. He did not back up, he unzipped and took her on the toilet seat.
Zimbar had a secret in sex, he could last as long as the bloodflow kept running, which meant that he controlled his orgasm like a button. Although Zimbar was an athlete in bed, he wasn’t so lucky with women, knowing that the hardest part was to get them to bed as getting laid afterwards was his cup of tea. He hated flirting, and he loved rough sex instead. He stifled the blonde lady with both legs as she was eating him up. When he sensed that she made no objection, he began to slap her, she only said “ harder”
He gained so much confidence, he felt like she was his slave, and he spat in her mouth as she needed moisture for the blowjob. He held her hair, and bended her on the side of the bed to go doggy style with an idea in mind of course, stepping on her head. Which she let him do, she seemed to have the same exact vices as if she were his twin soul.
Suddenly and as he was working diligently like a frenetic soldier, he heard her speak English for the first time
" it's my turn right ? "
" what ? I thought you were mute. What do you mean my turn? "
The blonde lady came over and over again, and he loved the journey more than the outcome. They fell on the bed exhausted, she needed a painkiller and pointed to her purse. He went to pick it up for her and his hand grabbed her ID card at the same time. His eyes went blank for a while as he was reading Marcus Vika, gender male, born in Island .
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