Marilyn

MY SECRET LOVE AFFAIR WITH

MARILYN MONROE

 

Chapter 1. A math teacher that sings

The first woman I fell in love with was the math teacher, Miss Susanne Chamberlain.

I could have been punished for that because what I was doing was wrong. Though, I would never regret it. As I looked at her big boobs, I felt my cheeks getting hot. She’d stare at me, smile and then turn around and exhibit her wide and round butt. I was fascinated while listening to her “esoteric” lessons, as she called the numerology, and I dreamed holding her tight as she propped her back on the window and listened to the street noises.

It also made me think of her late virginity, whenever I saw her quivering hands search inside her purse, for her lipstick. It shook me up. Marriage didn’t mean a thing to her, I guess.

She invited the class to see where she lived and listen to Bruch’ violin concerto. I was in love with her blond hair. I told her so. She laughed. When we left her house she let me kiss her hands.

“Contain yourself… You have to control yourself… not to be carried away,” she said.

I was the only kid that knew what she meant. I thought that I should take her in my arms and push her to the floor, as I saw a man doing in that Western movie, and work her up to do things…

I wonder what she would have done if I was alone with her, with no other kids around. Maybe she was waiting for me to do just that.

She had a small hunch on her back, but a full grown plump behind and beautiful ankles. Whenever I stared at her with some insistence she would keep her head down. On the lunch break she called me discretely.

“You are a naughty boy”.

“I love you,” I said.

“Cut the cheese. Where is everybody?” and she whispered in my ear: “Thank you Marc. You’re going to be great man”.

I remember I touched her elbow and she pushed me away.

“That is not possible”.

“I‘d always love you Miss Chamberlain”.

“You are such a handsome admirer. You have to think right. I am your teacher. Do you understand?”

And this was it. My guts told me that she’d not give me any trouble if I touched her butt. I felt so hot. My forehead was burning. In the heat of that moment I heard her breath sounding like a horse.

Next day, as she got into the class, she kept her eyes away from me. She was dressed more elegant than ever, in a yellow flowery blouse and a white skirt, which was like a virgin uniform of a nun looking for love. My love.

I was only fourteen years old and I was thinking what was better, to live a simple life of a single woman like Miss Chamberlain or mess around with the idea that you could know what life was only if you tangle and mingle.

I saw Miss Chamberlain again, next year. She was not teaching anymore my class. It was long before my prowess built up and I my testosterone climbed up North. I kept getting dizzy and gasping for that image of Miss Susanne Chamberlain, opening her blouse and pressing my hand on her breasts and offering me a whole view of her belly.

I still feel my mind glued to that image. She’d blush as she resisted to let my hand get under her panties. We’d both struggle for breath and laugh.

“Stop it! Did you hear what I said?”

“I just want to take a peek between your legs,” I said.

After a moment of hesitation she opened her legs. I couldn’t figure out what to do so I went back to fondle her teats. She then motioned away from my embrace, put her panties on and stood there, in front of me, smiling.

I hope Miss Chamberlain didn’t regret what she did and that her mind and heart are at peace.

“I don’t know what I should do more to satisfy you,” she said.

Not like Kimberly, the neighbor’s daughter, who would enjoy seeing me suffering in pursuit of her love.

“Take your hand off me,” she’d shout.

For her it was sort of a bad joke. Heartless witch! I was so young that I’d rub myself a couple of times in a row. Just imagining Kimberly’s naked arms and her elbows and thinking that she is holding me tight, and then the way she used to let a sigh when I touched her hair, and move away from me, as I grabbed her ass for an embrace - I would get an orgasm.

She wanted to keep me away, until her mom would tell her that it was ok to have sex. Though she told me something that made my penis swirl: that she likes to go into the shower and insert the little shower head into her vagina. She wouldn’t do it during the ovulation cycle, she said. She also told me that she’d never let herself possessed by a man. And yet, on full moon nights she’d let me hug and kiss her. She called kissing a serious stuff that should not be treated lightly.

Chapter 2. A Playboy encounter

One of the moments in my love history, that I treasure most, was when Marilyn came into my life. That’s how it happened. First, I’d have to say that I was a bright kid, well-educated and with a good social record. My parents confided in me fully. I never stole money from the money-box and I didn’t turned into a disrespectful jerk, like some of my friends did. I was also super discreet with my mom’s or dad’s stuff. For instance, I never looked in my dad’s desk drawers or browse his papers, and other stuff, I saw piling up on his desk. Never. I was afraid to take the charge and also I thought it was a waste of time. I was brought up to respect strict rules.

“Take it from me,” dad used to say. “Break a rule and you’re expelled from my house.”

It was dad’s house, of course.

One day I had the funny feeling that I’d have to break those rules. I wasn’t worried that I could get caught because dad and mom went to Aqueduct to see the horse race. First, I went exploring my dad’s papers. Nothing of interest, I thought. Then I discovered, in one of my dad’s drawers, a collection of Playboy magazines. One of them had Marilyn Monroe on the cover. I opened the copy and the ceiling fell on my head.

Seeing Marilyn’s nude, on the centerfold spread, was like getting knocked down by lightening. My penis went straight up, ringing like a bewitched stick. It was like the sheer awakening of the universal root of germination, the big-bang of my balls caught in the original heavenly boogie trembling. Fuck! Fuck! Fuck!

I went to bed and waited for my first wet dream. I grasped the illusion of what fuck meant by looking at Marilyn’s nude and moving my hands up and down. My fingers would run through my balls and I could barely ignore the pain in the name of what was going to be a long waiting for my first come. I would call such an act “masturbation with a scenery”. Marilyn’s nude kept me that night in good shape.

Chapter 3. The learning curve

Dad had lots of books about love. “Love should come to you like a Heavenly call”, the motto read. Lots of books would carry in their title the word sex. One was called “Bondage and sex as a matter of the heart”, and showed a body tied up to bed with chains in broad daylight. And there was also a man holding a deer by her horns. What I’d have to do was to use the illustrations and get it done with on my own.

There was also a lover manual teaching manners: “A lover reacts differently depending on the circumstances, as for instance, the place where he finds himself when a beautiful woman comes by, like sitting on a bench or waiting for a train in the station. If you sit comfortably on a bench you could express yourself clearly, without stammering: ‘Hello Miss, nice weather isn’t it?’ Such opening never fails. If it fails you shouldn’t expect any developments. However if she says: ‘Wise guy!’ she doesn’t mean it”.

“The history of love knows so many failures”, one book read. I wrote in my journal: “Remember that!”

A book was called “Recipes for a happy marriage”. “Find a woman that needs you. What’s that? A woman listening to your talk without complaining. You gaze at her, combing her hair, naked, getting out of the shower, smiling, all love-giving, like stars do in a Hollywood movie. As you call her she gets ready. You take her in your arms and do whatever you please with her. The ‘no do’ rule: you are not allowed to squeeze her breasts, if you want them to stay perky forever”.

Chapter 4: Dad, the stuff he liked to read

 

A couple of days later I discovered in dad’s bookcase a book that had funny drawings of naked women and dad’s notations on the margin of the book. I thought that it was some kind of a book that teaches you anatomy. Drawing after drawing, there were all the same. Naked women, some wearing masks or leather straps. Nothing is real in a drawing.

Dad’s underlined paragraphs where ambiguous, like “choice of dressing” or “good image for bedding” or “Ponerse dura…” (That may have been a quotation from Don Quixote that dad was translating), “Cogienda!” a proper name, I guess, “!Que te la mame tu madre!” etc. There were dozens of notes on each page.

The book was called “A sequel to Casanova’s Spending”, in three volumes. The subtitle was intriguing: “Stories of romance and vice”.

I returned to those books next day. No doubt, by reading them seemed to be the right way to know what sex is and how to practice it.

Was the author telling his own story or it was Casanova’s? “He sees a peasant woman working the fields and, as he approaches her, he lifts her dress up covering her face with it. Then, sooner or later, he notices her pink belly and he hears her singing a peasant song, while he is moving steadily his penis between her legs”.

Dad’s comment: “Sie haben den ganzen Tag”. My penis got sore with each new story. And there were a lot, all the same. To be able to control my mind, I had to keep my hand still under my boxers. Nothing could top a good book reading.

Soon I would read only passages that dad underlined. With each fucking paragraph, my mind would lose its strength and my body would get shattered to pieces, which made me feel confused, dizzy and wet. Whenever I felt that way, I had to stop reading and run to the bathroom to take a cold shower.

Some books though were serious, like the book on love expectancy and the historic role of a man as a perpetual cavalier: “You will know what love is if love would come to you all on its own, unprovoked, with no intention from your part to conquer it, as if you’d be drawn by fate in a cavalier quest. Let yourself sink into melancholy, and pay no attention to it until you get immersed completely in its shadow”.

No shadow yet for me. I had doubts about all my man virtues in all directions…No know-how, yet, of what love and passion are.

 

Chapter 5. An unusual Christmas present

When Christmas came mom asked me to give her a list of things I’d like to get for Christmas. I told her that I’d like to have one thing, a six feet poster of Marilyn’s Nude from the Playboy center fold.

“Where did you see such poster?”

When I told her that I saw Marilyn’s nude picture in dad’s desk Playboy collection, mom got embarrassed.

“This could be an issue here. Talk to dad about it. Be careful how you put it. Dad doesn’t allow me to mess up with stuff he keeps in his desk”.

I went to dad and I told him that I saw a nude picture of Marilyn in one of the Playboy copies he has in his drawers, and that I’d like to have it enlarged to a poster size.

Mom turned and glanced towards dad.

“You want a poster of her nude? How large? Twenty feet?” dad asked with his hoarse voice, while looking at mom.

“Only six” I said.

“Why not?” he said and towards mom: “Boys are maturing earlier nowadays with this damn Internet…”

“Yea? Then you go and get the poster. I don’t want to know anything about it,” mom told dad.

I have no words to describe the happiness I felt that day. I couldn’t imagine that, against all odds, Marilyn would become my living passion and make me understand what love and desire is.

Love never explains itself, if you don’t have a naked woman around.

After I hanged the poster above my desk, I felt like Marilyn looked at me and watched me as I moved around, and that she smiled at me, and me only. I went to sleep that night, and I couldn’t wait to wake up in the morning, to look at her nude and talk to her.

I would sit at my desk and go slowly over Marilyn’s nude body until I felt her eyes flickering.

I remember what the math teacher used to say: “What we see is not true. It doesn’t work like that with numbers.”

Though I felt that Marilyn’s nude was true. Maybe she meant that some numbers are not true.

I have to reiterate that, after I hanged the poster on the wall, everything in my life was love, love at first glance, and then at the second glance; her teeth were tasting mine, her lips were opening and closing like a flower, divinely beautiful, wrapping mine.

My friends in school were amazed that my parents let me put such a “degrading” thing on my room wall, and would come to visit me and be hardly able to speak. When they left they’d all feel melancholic and sad, like convulsing and nibbling their lips. I had to speak for them: “Isn’t it marvelous?” They’re like hit by thunder. No doubt their heart was seized by passion and paralyzed.

I would hear my brain ringing – really – and I’d hear the sigh that comes with love, Romeo’s love, I think. I heard it before in “Romeo and Juliet” movie and then I remember their smooch in the fatal balcony.

Chapter 6. Marilyn wouldn’t say no

All night it snowed. A strange light fell on Marilyn’s poster. Her smile came alive again. That was the feeling I was searching for. No doubt, behind her beauty, there was sort of a wall of cold air, that I felt when I held her hand. And that silence that was talking to the unseen. That made me dizzy… Whatever love means it was hurting me.

The winter storm was blowing rounds of dusty snow. As it ceased for a moment I looked at Marilyn. It looked like she was trembling, with the shadows racing around.

There is no way to describe what love is for a “poster lady”. Only the eyes could describe it. That is what I understand. Between my eyes and hers there is a continuous flow of love rays.

Last night I had an awful dream. I was playing an unknown role in a movie and I saw Marilyn hovering above, with her white dress floating up like a roof above my head, and I could see clearly her vagina, and I felt the fear that my head was going to get inside her, and get stuck there. I kept struggling to stay out. In my struggle I must, as well, have pushed her away to free myself. In the end, when I woke up, I felt like I couldn’t breathe.

Talking about love and courage! I wish I knew what was that secret connection between Marilyn and me, what she wanted me to do to please her. I laid curled in bed for a while. I had a strange hot sweat all over my head, my neck and my back. I didn’t know any more if my love for Marilyn was worth living. Then I realized that, in that dream, I was with her and I felt her. I mean, I had been exposed to her intimacy. There had to be some meaning of that dream; like, her vagina was telling me that she wanted to have a true relationship with me, with kisses and sex and all. I wouldn’t have any idea when I had to start giving her sex, and what grownups do for that. Was my body desirable in her eyes with my thin biceps and my flat pectorals?

“Tell me,” dad would ask, “Surely I respect that, as a teenager, you can fall in love with trees, flowers, vegetable and so on. What use has Marilyn to you? I am no longer young to understand it.”

“She brings about beauty and love, with her smile,” I said.

“No matter how much beauty and smile she brings she can’t move,” dad would argue.

“Oh yes, she moves!” I responded.

“And what you do when she moves?”

“I am moved!” I joked.

“Plato used to say that feelings are a waste if they usurp the mind,” dad went on.

I had too much respect for dad, to ask him what the Playboy collection meant to him. For me seeing Marilyn’s nude was like seeing the sun rising. I’d get naked in front of the mirror and look at Marilyn’s nude, reflected in the mirror, behind me, looking at my naked butt, wincing, moving her carnal lips, hungry of love.

Chapter 7. A short interlude

Mom and dad went to see the derby today. I am naked in front of Marilyn’s nude. I feel that pure love floating inside my body. I am happy and in a frenzy. My whole body would get caught in a subtle vibration, just by touching her tits. She was lying flat on her belly with her ass up, and I was the only one around, to feel her.

Somehow I think that love is different than the delight I feel contemplating her nude. But hey, nobody is watching me. I recognize each and every reaction of my body. It is her lovely tits that are rushing my heart beat, draining the breath out of my lungs. I can’t run away. I am holding my body in check. I want to hold my penis and get the whole meaning of this, something that I already read about, the climax that should knock me out, that would exhaust the hot stream of my blood flowing into my scrotum, feeding my balls with so much pleasure. Marilyn likes when I look straight in her eyes while doing it and urges me to do it: “Come on, do it, come, come!”

Chapter 8. Buying Marilyn memorabilia

I bought today, from a shrift shop, two items that make me happy: a platinum blond wig, that copies Marilyn’s hairdo, and a toy: a Marilyn doll, wearing a white dress, standing on a grid, that resembles the subway grate, from her famous picture, taken in the corner between 52th street and Lexington Avenue. The grate is mounted on a tiny fan, operated with batteries. When I start the fan, Marilyn’s dress begins floating around her legs. The fan has three speeds. The second speed makes her dress fly up to Marilyn’s knees. The third speed makes the dress fly up uncontrollably and exposes Marilyn’s belly and her ass.

I got a discount on both items. The shop owner said that Marilyn toy was made in Germany. It was called “The cyclone Marilyn” and it used to be sold in sex shops.

When mom came home she wasn’t pleased with my acquisitions. “Nothing should surprise me anymore with this obsession of yours for that woman”.

Dad told me what I already knew, that the toy copies a famous scene from a movie, and didn’t make a fuss about it.

I used to sit for hours at my desk, and yet, couldn’t get enough consummation from watching Marilyn getting undressed. As Marilyn’s dress would go up, with the draft, her eyes and smile would grow wider.

Mom found the toy disgusting.

“She doesn’t wear underpants. Of course she wanted to show it to everybody… Buy some tiny napkin and glue it on her butt,” she complained.

I watched the toy so much, that I could see it with my eyes closed, as I went to sleep. My head was living under her little dress. I never had this kind of feelings in my whole life. It will all settle in my guts, as though a heavy ball was growing out there.

“You are a boy. You shouldn’t play with dolls,” mom wrapped up her trashy talk.

I tried to avoid her glance.

“I am aware of that, mom. That is not a doll. That is a woman. She is a woman… if you want to know.”

Mom would get annoyed and take the toy in her own hands and start the fan. As Marilyn’s dress flew higher and higher mom would examine every detail of her body. She wouldn’t let the toy off her hand.

“I hope you use it as an exhibit for your anatomy lessons,” she said…

Chapter 9. That’s right, I might run away

I love my room. The life size picture of Marilyn’s nude makes me vibrate with pleasure. Lately, mom called it an indecent object. Dad called it “a source of my onanism”. My friends would come to visit me just to get a glimpse of it. I always contemplated it for long, before I went to bed. Mom, though cranky about the subject, bought for me a Marilyn Monroe calendar.

“You feed him with loose morals images and then you complain,” dad objected.

Meanwhile I collected lots of famous nude paintings and one hundred twenty eight pictures of Marilyn, including the whole set of reproductions of Andy Warhol’s Marilyn. One day I’d have to donate the whole collection to some University.

As a precaution I hid Marilyn album behind a row of school books. Mom was upset that I was wasting too much time browsing it instead of doing my homework. But she didn’t have the courage to get rid of it.

She’d come in my bedroom without warning:

“I don’t care if you break up or not with Marilyn. I just don’t want you to mistake her image for real stuff. If you stare in her eyes you could see that they’re not moving. Dad said that you saw her lips moving. You are a delusional my boy. And her breath is not warm. Of course you could love whatever you please but remember… In spite of things you imagine you cannot kiss her or stroke her hair like lovers do.”

Mom’s senseless talk would sometimes last for minutes. Dad would intervene:

“If Marilyn is willing to wait for Marc until he grows up he can marry her.”

One day I left the album, carelessly open, at a page that showed the front view of Marilyn, semi-nude.

Mom exclaimed: “You ruin your teenage years with images that are supposed to reveal themselves alive and pure. She is an old woman that twisted the mind of generations of lovely men.”

I suffered when I heard mom talking like that. I cried the whole night. She didn’t have any rights to talk like that and, I am sure, she didn’t understand anything about my love for Marilyn. I vowed that my love for Marilyn would last forever and, in my heart and mind, I believed it was true. So, because mom said so many bad about Marilyn, I could no longer love her and live with her in the same house. How could I entrust my life to somebody that doesn’t respect my feelings?

I thought of buying a stainless steel box, like one I saw in Home Depot, and lock inside Marilyn’s photos, my poems and my ideas for a movie.

After that day, when mom wanted to come into my room, I’d turn the lights out and snore.

“It’s a disgrace. You don’t talk to me because of that woman,” mom would say, and leave the room. “Find a girl of you age and drop this obsession of yours for that sugar mommy…”

I know that men don’t love exclusively one and only one woman. I do.

Gradually mom changed her attitude but not her tune.

“Go and see people. Have fun. You stay home, read books and contemplate Marilyn’s smile. You are like a secluded old man hunting for shadows. I wouldn’t ask you to throw away all of your paintings, you know that. You are an exceptional boy. If it wasn’t for Marilyn you’d be a perfect boy with a girlfriend and plenty of friends. I am only mentioning it to you. I went to the school yesterday, and I saw boys playing baseball in the courtyard, and you were not there. I saw the neighbors’ son. He said that you are in the library, studying. I am glad to know that you are studying but you are too serious about it,” mom told me and she went on: “I don’t understand. You were a normal boy and then you saw Marilyn’s unclad body and turned into an obsessive lover. I wouldn’t say horny, you are too little to understand this word.”

“I am not little anymore. Horny means passionate,” I said.

It took a while until mom stopped talking and arguing about Marilyn. I knew she hid her anger in some way when talking like:

“They tell me in the school that you don’t socialize enough,” or “Do you know that Kimberly, that girl across the street, has a crash on you? Girls get matured faster than boys,” or “Now that you read so many books you must be knowledgeable about what true love is. You could go out with a girl and have some fun.”

I told dad that I was going to buy a steel box to keep my treasures under lock and key. Mom was incensed by the idea.

“Why do you need to hide things from us? Your mind and heart should be open. We are a family. You should not have anything to hide from us. We need to know everything about what you think and what you do. It has to stay like that.”

Dad intervened without raising his head from the book he was reading:

“It is time for us to respect Marc’s privacy. The purchase of the box is approved.”

So I bought a long steel box with a little ornate key from Home Depot. I put in it Marilyn’s photos, my love poems and my ideas for a movie. I’d hide the box key on top of the window frame behind the blinds. Sometimes I’d open it and had lots of fun. This was a hell of an achievement. It was going to teach mom that I was a grown up.

“Haven’t you get too much independence already?” she complained. “What else you’d want? To throw us out on the street and bring Marilyn to live with you here?”

Chapter 10. Teenage love

When mom’s attempt to persuade me to befriend Kimberly failed she planned for me an “intimate acquaintance event” with the daughter of our housekeeper, Misses Marry Ann. She told me that there are a number of ways I could choose from, to let her know me better.

“You could invite her to go to the public library with you and ask her if she read the book “Teenage love”, or invite her to go to a movie. “Be careful not to touch her in any way on the first date. She is an untaught and fragile girl. After all you are also an untaught boy. Don’t rush.”

Then mom gave me to read the book “Teenage love”, smiling. She opened it at a certain page and left the room. I read: “Girls that don’t know anything about sex are blessed”, the book said. “They may have a feeble heart, but they feel more as they move into knowing. They are also avid to know and they ripe faster, if they are taken care of appropriately, and treated with affection and attention to detail. A boy has to wait until a girl responds. There is some fear girls feel for sex, like fear they may grow too tall. If a girl asks you to stop, you stop. If she asks you to go ahead with whatever, you do then go ahead. Don’t dare to show or touch things that girls are ignorant of, like things that they never saw before or would not know of their meaning and purpose. Though, in the deepness of their heart, they have the intuition that, someday, they may have to know it, and be prepared to feel it, they tend to wait for it longer than necessary. Love is firm for a boy and soft for a girl”.

I met our maid’s daughter in the evening. Her name was Shelby. She didn’t resemble Marilyn at all. She’d gasp while talking and excuse herself for gasping. That sucked any desire out of my heart.

Then her mom, Missis Marry Ann Thoth came into my room. She was very polite, and I’d say diplomatic, when she said that it wasn’t a big deal that Shelby and I were going to stay together for a couple of hours, until she finishes the laundry. She began sorting out the stuff that she had to wash, and kept talking to her daughter, telling her to behave, until her daughter told her to go and leave us alone. Then she turned towards me and said that she was going home, and left. Missis Marry Ann Thoth looked very disappointed. “Forgive her” she said, “She wasn’t mentored like you have…”

Chapter 11. I heard her voice

“You could have a good time if we hire a Marilyn impersonator,” dad suggested. “There is a club full of pretenders. They look like the real thing.”

“It’s like eating tofu instead of feta cheese,” I said. “Same image but different taste. You both pay too much attention to Marilyn and blow the whole thing out of proportion. She is my friend. She’s giving me affection. She’s pure love. Nothing to be afraid of,” I insisted.

After a couple of days mom would start again. I could never get mom or dad indorse my love for her. Eventually I had to tell them that they don’t need to take my love for Marilyn seriously.

That night I saw her in my dream. She didn’t change much, like having fresh wrinkles or bruises. She wanted to make me do something. I woke up and I couldn’t remember what she asked me to do. But I could hear her voice perfectly well, when she called my name.

I stared at her poster that day. I couldn’t help thinking that she wanted me to make love to her. I closed my eyes that day and I bedded her. All those love episodes made me feel grateful to her, for the love she gave me. I knew her so well. I mean I knew her better than any other of her past lovers.

I learned from the anatomy lesson about her vagina and her uterus. No surprise there. I could touch her everywhere. I saw that she was willing to respond. She refused me nothing. Today I kissed her ass. She’d raise it up wider and round and pitchy. Maybe she was going to allow me to touch her little button. No girl in the school would allow me to touch it, I know that for sure. But I didn’t have to ask Marilyn. I’d just look into her eyes and I’d see her vaulting and showing her little button and all. I could find my way to her vagina if I just searched for a bigger hole. That’s how I loved her. I touched her and all of a sudden I felt like riding a horse, faster and faster. I couldn’t stop kissing her, playing with her tits.

Chapter 12. I saw her coming

Mom caught me, one day, kissing her.

“Let her rest in peace. She is not immortal,” mom said.

I don’t understand what she wanted to say. It was not funny anyway.

I liked what Plato said about love:

“Love makes man understand what universal values are. Like mind’s grace when listening doubt-free to your thoughts. No more visions of passing clouds or fear for being bewildered by silence. The darkness doesn’t come closer anymore, and you realize how love makes you unique among animals”.

That is what I copied in my journal today.

I realized how fortunate I was being human.

“Let love talk to you”, Plato continues. “This is the right time to feel it rising”.

As I closed my eyes I saw Marilyn opening her lips, talking. I heard her calling my name. Her voice was so soft and suggestive. I wondered if I could ask her to come over. I remembered Juliet’s words: “Come my love, please come. Don’t wait one minute longer”.

To let Marilyn come by, without being perturbed, I unplugged the phone, locked the door, turned off the lights, except the laptop on my desk, which spread a pale light on her naked picture, and then I laid in bed and let myself fall into a deep meditation. I heard her coming, breathing: such gentleness, such affectionate touch.

That night must have been the best proof, that Marilyn could hear me and come around to feel me. I also felt a strange smell, like the smell of candle wax. That smell of her touch got into my nostrils. There is no question about, that it was her smell, an intimate smell that spread around, like a mist.

I saw her image only for in instant. She was wearing a white dress, and her platinum bold hair was tied behind, in a horse tail. There was nothing for me to be afraid of. I was lying there, watching her silhouette disappearing in the black background.

As I woke up, I wanted to write down what the dream was about. I remembered just a faint image of a road and the muddled color of the sky.

Chapter 13. What Plato says about love?

It is strange that, as the night came, and I went to sleep, I saw myself in that dream, walking hand in hand with Marilyn. Sort of a reverie. And then I was, all of a sudden, in a room that officiates marriages. I had this strange feeling, that somebody was going to notify the school, and I was going to be expelled. I tried to keep Marilyn at a certain distance from me. I even pushed her on the side. The thought was that she was going to get her hand into my pocket and steal the photo ID. “I caught you,” I screamed. I also felt that her poster was menacing, and that I’d have to hide it somewhere, inside the wall, between bricks, or throw it into the chimney… As I was searching for the chimney, it was like I was walking on a pitch dark alley where I saw a house in ruin. As I approached it, it got suddenly flooded by searchlights. I kept walking, when I heard a voice. It was Marilyn’s voice. I don’t have any doubt about that. Let me see your face, I said. At that moment, I woke up.

After that day, I used to call her name before I went to sleep, and tell her “Good night”. Twice or so, her voice shook me out of my apathy. But she wouldn’t come back in my dreams. Maybe she couldn’t see me well. I have a picture of her with her hair dresser. Marilyn keeps her eyes half closed. Her hair is disheveled. Looks like it got washed. I wouldn’t like to see her wearing short hair. Her hairdresser is like dusting her hair. One could see her blouse wide open. I told dad about the dream.

“At you age such phantasmagoric thinking lose their merits,” dad told me. “Wait a couple of years and you’d be healed.”

The cynicism of an old man that I thought was my friend…

Chapter 14. I’ll kiss her, and embrace her

Make no mistake about it; I love Marilyn from the bottom of my heart. People may think that this was just a teenage infatuation with a nude. Whenever I look at her, I feel like a deep and warm shade is touching my heart. Love and passion sweep me away, makes me laugh and cry of so much happiness. Some people we know and love, might have lived decades ahead of us. Others, which we’d never know, would live hundred years after we pass away.

Mom used ask me not to talk about Marilyn. She would say for instance:

“She is there in a beautiful place. Don’t talk about her or to her. You can think of her as one of our relatives, and light a candle on Sundays if you are so fond of her.”

“I never heard anything so absurd. I am in love with her and she is as alive as any of us,” I’ll snap.

Then mom would insist:

“What’s the meaning to be in love with a woman that doesn’t exist. Or to love her image on paper?”

I couldn’t find an answer. As I kept searching I found one: It was pure love. It was a light weight love. No sound, no noise. I’d look at her smile, and feel like chocking with emotions.

But then, the more I got involved in the real world, the more I felt that my love for her could crumble one day. She wasn’t part of this world. Then I’d come back home, look at her smile, and feel like she was making my mind shining. Literally. Forever. Was she ever in love with anybody? She was too beautiful to be understood.

Every evening I had to chat with her. Though, as I called her out she wouldn’t say a word. I’d cross my room and feel her eyes trailing me. As I said already, I kissed her a couple of times. Was my love for her still pure after those kisses? I took a serious look at my feelings, and I found out that having an intercourse with her wouldn’t matter much.

Love for Marilyn was defining me. I hope after I pass away I’d get a chance to meet her. She must know by now everything about me and my love for her. People that passed away don’t have any idea what physicality means. They’re blind to the most part of the physical world. Except to love.

I’d bring my love to her like one brings strawberry mixed with roses in a basket. I’d touch her hands and rebuild her bridge to life. She’d turn into a visible spirit as she felt me. “You found me!” I’d shout. If I kept my eyes glued on her smile, long enough, I could feel a glow like, floating between her smile and my eyes, a cylindrical channel of shiny rays, that made me part of what she really was. It lasted just a couple of moments. It felt so beautiful, so rewarding. Her smile, her thin lips, her smile…

Would you really like to know anything about my love for Marilyn? I could talk to her, I could bring her voice back, that velvety voice that nobody would be able to imitate, her fluttering voice. I’d have to touch gently her body to make her moan, open vaguely her eyes and begin to float into the air. She’d spring from her picture as pristine as ever, a virgin to be worshiped. I’d get afraid to talk to her when I saw her flying around, or to kiss her or to touch her intimate parts.

Chapter 15. Just like in a true romance

Dad used to say that life is not always meaningful, that it doesn’t always make sense. I didn’t understand what he meant. I think he was referring to what “life is not”. Like jealousy, hatred, envy… Including my fixated and deceptive love for Marilyn, he’d say.

Or as mom used to say:

“You are stuck on a virtual passion for an old woman.”

I remember the day when my dad told me that he was more entitled to love Marilyn because she was alive when everybody went gaga for her.

“I also loved her,” he said. “You got this passion for her from your mom’s womb.”

The funny thing was that I “knew” that my love for Marilyn came from an incorporeal connection. That’s why it became a permanent thing. There were many moments when I longed for her. After I studied her photographs, I succeeded to know so many details, like her lower lip that she could bend and warp like a poppy petal. Obsessions are not safe, mom used to tell me.

I consider myself a grown up in becoming and whatever I learned from my parents in my childhood resonates in my mind as if they taught me ultimate truths.

Today, mom caught me working my hands inside my pants.

“Sorry,” she said. She asked dad to talk to me.

Dad asked me: “Marilyn?”

I said “Yes!”

For me love for Marilyn was pure as a spring fountain.

The best thing to do when you’re still learning what life is “is to let ideas get into your mind and then let them express themselves as they leap out”.

Mom was cackling, when she discovered that, on the back of Marilyn’s painting, I wrote a love letter to her:

“Dear Marilyn”, it began. “I made a poster with your naked body that I like very much. I wonder if you would love me, if we met, given the fact that I’m much younger than you are”.

Chapter 16. No doubt I had a deep feeling

Today is Sunday. I closed the door to my room and I watched on DVD Marilyn’s movie “Some like it hot”. Seeing Marilyn moving and talking, my emotions got so raw and out of control that I had to go to the bathroom to relive myself. I got back, and as I watched it again, I began to cry. Mom knocked on the door and asked me if I was ok.

I wonder, how often, in his whole life, a man could love a woman as profoundly as I do? Two times? Maybe three? What I like about love is that it is immortal. If I was a tall and handsome man, and able to find the right words to approach Marilyn, I’d tell her how much attraction I have for her, until she’d barely be able to resist my love and go all the way with me. All I have to do is to find the right words.

Mom told me that I am a teenager boy in search for a sugar mom, meaning that she wasn’t sweet enough as a mom. She didn’t need my affection. I could say that, in spite of her good caring for me, she was a strange lady that never needed anybody around her skirt but dad.

After lunch I went to say a prayer in our neighborhood church, and I waited to talk to our family priest about the future incarnation of Marilyn. On second thought, I didn’t. I wouldn’t make a fool of myself. I and Marilyn are connected together in this universal secret affair. Sometimes dad would knock on the door and find out it was locked.

“Are you ok?” he’d ask.

Whenever Marilyn hears my dad’s voice she bounces back into her poster and become unanimated.

As I opened the door dad pointed to the nude picture.

“What the hell are you doing? This poster doesn’t let you do your homework”.

” I finished it,” I said.

“I hope you’re not rubbing yourself… the wrong way,” dad would say and laugh.

Chapter 17. Love letter and witchcraft

Today mom bought from Macys a flagon of Marilyn’s fragrance. For some reason I like to call it toilet water. I could smell Marilyn’s body when mom passes by. As I inhaled it I had the strange feeling that Marilyn penetrated my lungs.

“Her fragrance is just merchandise,” mom would joke. “Her body must have smelled of sweat.”

This gave me an idea to spread Marilyn’s fragrance on her nude. There was not only my obsession for a nude on paper, as mom and dad would insist, but also my desire to revive her, and as the time goes by, I would surely find a plan how to do it.

I decided to write her love letters. I’ll exhaust myself in that writing as I felt her moving around, giggling. Could she ever love me if we met? Then, before I went to sleep, I’d burn the letters and throw the ashes out the window. I couldn’t keep them, or leave them around unchecked, since some words I used in those letters could have sounded hilarious, to whomever happened to read them.

Sometimes I used bad words, “instrumental” to passion (I read), and ask her for a rendezvous in a secret place to make love and do witchcraft. Sometimes she’d talk to me using her hazy voice, and paint for me a true picture of the afterworld. I don’t think she ever cheated on me during our love affair.

Besides our daily talk, I tried one day to get her incarnate her astral projection. As I held her hand, she began pulling me up with her sturdy but delicate hand. She’d pull me up, with the strength of a wrestler, that’s what I remember, and I had to struggle to free my hand. I remember thinking that nobody would believe me that she wanted to take me over. After I woke up from the meditation I felt like I was shaking like a leaf. As I laid in bed, I understood what sort of a moron I was and I began laughing.

Next day I was intrigued that my witchcraft did work. After that night Marilyn never listened to my calls and she refused to get incarnated for a while. She’d lie quietly above my desk, cold and detached. Sometimes she’d smile and put her small hands up in the air like two paws and turn into a frozen picture of a little fox. Nothing was left living in our love. She wanted to drag my body into her astral world; I‘m sorry I couldn’t let her do that.

After so much trouble it looked like I had to stay away from Marilyn. I had to stop my crazy magic calls. I still remembered how her hand joined mine in a romantic and intimate way. She’d hold it against my will and I tried to tell her that I wasn’t in any rush to go there; like some people think that going to Heaven is kind of a walk in Central Park. At the same time they think that the Garden of Eden is a lie. Also that Hell is just dark, dark air, dark sky, dark stars, everything dark. I’m brave enough to go and meet Marilyn there, not today though.

I’d rather bring Marilyn back to Earth, to see her laughing, eating, getting naked, pissing, etc. World would never see one like her ever again.

What a fabulous woman. I collected hundreds of pictures of her. Isn’t that proof that I loved her dearly? Real love. I open her album every day. Some of her pictures are fuzzy. She must have been messed up those days. Like a dove flying through fog. World would never see a dove like her; head to feet, tits and down and all.

I could not talk about her as through she was gone. I kiss her pictures every day and she knows that. Sometimes I understand that she cannot come back. Nothing could make her come back.

Then one night something wonderful happened. I was asleep when she came into my dream and called me by name. Just for a short moment, like she was surprised finding me. I think she was looking for me, to make peace. It happened all of a sudden, without a warning. And she vanished before I could turn around to see her. That short call was enough to turn my love around.

Still, I wouldn’t let myself snatched away to live with her in her current state of existing. Because I knew that she existed in a different stage of being. Maybe she could decide for herself about this or that, like desiring to talk to me or sleep in my bed. Isn’t interesting that everything that happens in our life begins with calling and answering before feeling what love is? You’d call a woman’s name and wait for her response. Then you’d fall in love.

I’d lie in bed and feel that secret sweet-painful love in my belly. Marilyn was there, curled like an odalisque. She wouldn’t let me breath freely. It was her strong fragrance that made me choke. Maybe she came around, what would I know?

Mom would knock on the door and ask me if I was all right.

“Would you please stop locking the door?”

Even with the door open I was so caught in those feelings that I’d get lost in them while doing something else. Mom would get annoyed, dad would grumble. Slowly I understood what my love for Marilyn meant. It made me feel high, a mix of pleasure and pain surging inside my body. I felt like that any time I touched Marilyn’s body.

Mom told me one day with an uncaring tone that to be so sensitive and so emotional was bad:

“You are going to suffer a lot. Women are sometimes insensitive and mean. You wrap up your heart with emotions. Women are going to climb up on your head and make you sweat carrying them around. Some women have a cold heart and stink.”

I felt my chest vibrating. Luckily that was what I liked about my love for Marilyn. It was like she was touching my heart. I could feel her inside me, and I could say that without blushing. It was a deep feeling. Making love is just and act. And then as the act vanishes there is nothing left of it. My love for her was not just an act. It was ecstasy and blissful possession. I really did not know what I was going to do without Marilyn’s love.

Chapter 18. Kimberly: “I am ready for love”

When Kimberly told me that she was mature enough to have sex, things changed. It was like Marilyn came back to me in flesh and bones. I’d go to school to see Kimberly, and look into her Japanese like eyes, that unmistakably reminded me of Marilyn’s. Maybe Kimberly was the girl I was waiting for, all those years. But still she was an imperfect copy of Marilyn.

Holding Kimberly’s hands and thinking of Marilyn, with my eyes closed, made me fall in sort of a trance. We’d go to bed and she’d come and lay behind me, push her body against mine to make her presence noticed; I felt like her warmth and smell wrapped around my body. Her body was like a hot source of life. She’d put her arm around me and her leg on top of my hip and start purring like a cat. Always same way, tender and possessive.

I bought yesterday from a shrift shop a pair of shoes that resembled perfectly the shoes Marilyn wore in the movie “Gentlemen prefer blonds”. Those aren’t of course Marilyn’s shoes. But truly, they could have been. I could see from their wrinkles that Marilyn wore them a lot. I didn’t want to put them on, like a pervert boy would do. I just patted them. Then I’d turn to Marilyn’s poster and kiss her, tell her how much I’d like to thank her for giving me those feelings. I didn’t press her to hear me or to give me an answer. My feelings of love were also feelings of respect.

Mom used to tell me that not every question has an answer, apropos, I think, of the question Marilyn wouldn’t like to answer to. Like Marilyn wouldn’t say if I could throw myself in Kimberly’s arms, but also, she wouldn’t say if I had to stop my love pursuit. I’d touch her body and kiss her hips and not hear a sound.

Anyway, Kimberly could be a true Marilyn if she agrees to dye her hair blond and paint Marilyn’s beauty mark on her left cheek. Before she does that, I could turn off the lights and look at her in the shadow of the desk lamp, or look at her with my eyes half closed, to push her resemblance to the limit. I mean imagining Marilyn has a limit. If she dyes her hair then this will be a real treat.

That night Kimberly came to my place very early, to avoid seeing my folks that went to watch a movie. I put on a jazz CD loud enough to blur my talk to Kimberly. You never know who is listening. That was the first time Kimberly opened her legs. It was so amazing. Firstly, as I got inside her I didn’t feel a thing. She said that I shouldn’t be concerned about a thing; that she knew everything about. And she knew a lot.

I didn’t dare to say anything, but not everything she did was kosher. Especially, when she would put her hand on my penis, it felt so unnatural. Then she’d put her hand here, and there and touch me everywhere, playing with my balls, even touching my ass. I touched her also. She’d take my fingers and put them in her vagina. Then she began moving and as I pressed my knees against hers and tried to stay inside her for as long as I could, she raised her belly like an arch to help me get deeper into her vagina…

“God,” she said, “You are so strong… When you got inside me you called Marilyn’s name.”

“Are you sure?” I asked. “It doesn’t make any sense. I felt being with you every single second. I don’t think of her when I am with you. I wouldn’t like Marilyn to join us. She’d be jealous like hell.”

“It’s ok. You made a hole in my hymen not in hers. If I get pregnant you’d have to marry me.”

The truth is that I thought of Marilyn every single moment while making love to Kimberly. I just adjusted my position to see Marilyn’s picture while getting inside Kimberly. It would have been dishonest if I told her about my passion for Marilyn and how incredibly she’d resemble her if she dyed her hair. I borrowed from

Impressum

Verlag: BookRix GmbH & Co. KG

Tag der Veröffentlichung: 13.07.2015
ISBN: 978-3-7396-0495-4

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