The frequent exclamations tell me that it is a daring story

The frequent exclamations tell me that it is a daring story

So how was it? She’s fine Laure, huh. You are lucky. She, too, is very lucky. I am with Gilles, he does not speak of marriage, he finds that it is enough to love each other, that the papers complicate the life. It’s for when ?

– What?

– The wedding ? You have already forgotten! Do you still dance at one kilometer? Get closer. Yes like this.

Change of rider

Marc was faster than me, I’m hooked more than I choose and find myself with Marie in my arms. The pretty blonde has sung well during the nap, gave me chills while proclaiming his pleasure, but I feel ready to spend again, even with the fiance of his best friend. She tells me, she asks me pressing against me. Hazing or real desire. I’m being tested.

Change of rider.

It’s a shot, the change comes when I’m away from Laure. She danced with Gilles, with Marc, she dances with Sylvestre. I hold the broom. She shines, talks, laughs, happy, forgetful. A stranger has again groomed me, I keep the broom. Who is typing in my place? Laure is too happy to see him. Compassionate Lea is standing next to me. His intention is clear. To avoid, she feels perspiration. I love perfumes. She wants to hold the broom, I have to leave a moment.

I go away, walk to the edge of the lake, find a table and a bench, sit down and watch a flight of wild birds in the setting sun. Ducks, no doubt. I taste the coolness of the evening. The music seems very close, does not want to stop. I walk at the edge of the wavelets, back turned to my tent. Modern rhythms disturb the silence that falls on the lake. Johnny’s voice carries off on the calm waves. I should not have started so fast. Nothing is sure. Laure no longer thinks of me, did not even notice my absence. Doubt creeps in. I was his fantasy of the day for an incomplete act moreover. In the arms of other men, she forgets her efforts to appear in love with me, solicited because known by all the regulars. The music has stopped. Under the thatched roof of the camping restaurant a storyteller makes the crowd laugh. Tell me my poor love performance. In any case, he has success. The strident laughter of women, the frequent exclamations tell me that it is a daring story.

We scatter, I turn to see the small groups go to the tents.
Here is another bench. It’s getting cold, but I’m too melancholy to face the joy of the bride. I should not have taken this permission. I should not have spent much time with AurĂ©lie, I should not have gone up to Laure’s car, nor slipped under her tent, nor undressed, nor let myself go to this simulacrum of love. It was sloppy, and the accomplices put an end to it with their stupid bucket of water. Hazing. One of those we call the most beautiful moments of life, interrupted. Hazing. I will not care!

Tomorrow I go back and I forget this day tormented, this girl unresolved, unstable, superficial. She must be laughing at me with her boyfriends and girlfriends or letting herself be attracted by a less looking and more decent male, of those who ask only one question “Are you fucking?” “. Assured success told me the junk. The next who will make my eyes soft will be interested in knowing how to run fast. I close my eyes, I iron the film of this day.

When I got up I promised myself to be the happiest of men. From jolting to jolting, from despair to jubilation, from happiness to disillusionment, entwined, embraced, betrothed to be immediately abandoned by Laure at the end of her comedy, publicly ridiculed finally to hold a broom, in front of hilarious people who did not leave me eyes, I’m here like an idiot whining about my fate. It’s over, I’m going to take shelter in one of the deserted buildings and wait for it in the morning, far from the love rattles of the campers. Engagement of straw! I repeat it aloud: Engagement of straw!

Two hands rest on my closed eyes. Two little hands from which emanates a strange smell of sweat or urine and tired perfume, two hands of a woman who neglected to wash them after love.

– Who is it ? Ask for a falsetto voice whose artifice does not deceive me.

– It’s Leah!

The hands are withdrawing.

– How did you guess, we hardly know each other? Are you an angel or a demon?

– I heard a lot of your voice during a nap.

– It is not possible. Oh ! You carry me! Say, come quickly. You had just left, Laure came to make you dance. I told him you were in the bathroom. She ran to meet you, did not find you and since then she’s looking for you, all panicked. She cries out that it’s our fault, that we’ve discouraged you, disgusted you. She wants to leave the camp, to leave if we do not find you.

Leave a Reply

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *