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Sie sind hier: Home » Girl Friday – the Book of Bad » Girl Friday – the Book of Bad 06. We Were Strangers
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Gabbi WernerGirl Friday – the Book of Bad 06. We Were Strangers

Von | 03.05.2013, 9:00 | Kein Kommentar

We made out on the bed, we undressed. And it seemed as if we were strangers indeed.

Welcome. To the stories I told in many hotelrooms. To a man who had trouble falling asleep. A business deal, men usually pay for different services in hotelrooms. He just paid for my words. Here they are.

*

Being in such a hotel-room – partly knowing your future, waiting for Future to become Now – can make you feel odd. You have been anticipating the moment of your adventure for so long. You sit on the bed, admire the crispy soft white bathrobes, carefully put on the bed, inviting you to put them on. You brush your hair with extra care. You put your make-up on just perfectly. And there you are. Alone.

And all of a sudden it is no longer just a room. All the obvious hotel standards become grotesque whilst the time is going far too slowly. The fake gold overindulgence that is so common in these luxury hotels, seen through in the extreme. The uninteresting magazines that are laid out on the coffee table in a most aesthetic fashion, offered to you, to be leafed through with no goal to inform you of anything what so ever, empty gestures, impersonal perfection.

The only thing left for me to do was smoke a cigarette, and another one. Look in the mirror. And sit on the bed. Get up, walk to the balcony. Decide not to smoke another cigarette, look at the people on the street, and then move back to the bed, looking at the room again. The room became emptier the longer I looked at it.

I had imagined myself to be the stunning temptress secretary, and wanted my boyfriend to be my tattooed rock and roll hero pop star. He had a magnificent body. Covered with beautiful coloured tattoos. Every summer summer he wore a tight sleeveless shirt. And looked rockstarrish.

Today he would be my rock star. That was my fancy, my fantasy. He would write songs and dedicate them to me. And we would kiss. And kiss and make love.

Unfortunately, my love had had an other idea, and was wearing an expensive designer blouse, which covered up his tattoos. He said that if he were really a rock star he would go for the understated look.

Bummer.

It turned out that we both had had our expectations – some of which where partly fulfilled – never to exceed the original dream.

It had been fun to ride the elevator up and down the hotel fifteen times. We kept pushing the buttons. That was how long one of our kisses lasted.

We ignored the tourists who entered. We ignored them when they got out of the elevator. Sometimes, I could nearly hear the slightly abhorred engrossment of some of them. The way they held their breath, wondering if they should stop us. But i did not care. This was us kissing. The new us. The Star and His Girl. A glamorous couple no mere tourist should dare disturb.

In our room we made out. On the bed. We undressed and it seemed as if we were strangers indeed.

We tried to make love. But who were we? I was not myself, nor was my boyfriend himself. Our kisses became different. My mouth was stale dry in a nervous way. The orange juice still playing up? My love seemed distracted, unhappy.

His kisses became more and more agitated, not turned on, but worried, lost. We wanted to do more, we tried to keep our chosen characters alive, but at a certain moment my boyfriend said:
„Can we please just go back to being us again, this is scaring me. I want you back.“
We lay on the bed and talked a little, and kissed some more. Even though we had decided to be ourselves again, something had changed. My boyfriend kissed me, stopped. Looked at me. Stroked my arm. Stopped again. None of his actions were natural anymore. They were tense, deliberate. As if he was observing himself.

 *

I had to go to R.s room to tell him his story. My boyfriend became silent half an hour before or so. He didn’t want to make out anymore, turned his back on me and the TV on.

„And then you go up to him?“ –
„Yes, it will take an hour or so.“ –
„And you tell him stories, right?“ –
„Yes.“ –
„Just stories. And he pays you this shit load of money.“ –
„Exactly, that is why we are in this hotel now.“ –
„I never heard of a guy who pays to get stories told to him.“ –
„You know that. I told you. He has trouble falling asleep and somehow it relaxes him if I tell him about me.“ –
„You believe that or you want me to believe that?“ –
„What are you saying, you think I fuck the guy?“ –
„No. No. It is dodgy. That is all.“ –
I kissed my boyfriend and told him I loved him. He kissed me on the cheek, and zapped through the channels. He did not look at me when I left the room.

I went up to the top floor of the hotel.
R. opened the door. He looked at me.
„You look hot.“ –
„Sorry?“ –
„Warm, the heat getting to you?“ –

He gestured that I should enter.

To be continued. Next friday. Every friday.

Link to German Translation: click Girl Friday – Buch des Bösen 06. Wir waren Fremde

Artwork: Gabbi Werner

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