la noche en que no fuimos [gianni perlloni]

A black out, everything around him was como boca'e lobo. The sky full of stars, and his first love shinning like he hadn't seen for a while. That big, white, identified, but not classified special thing, "luna, lunita, lunera". It was a, scratch that, Wednesday, pero Río estaba como jueves. Classes were cancelled so people celebrated the power out like a juernes. The crisis was seen as a motive of celebration for the students. Still, he was on his rooftop, thinking of all the academic stress and everything due that week, so he thought of writing to a friend to come by for some wine and chill to forget about it y ahogar las penas. Antes de'so he had joined "la noche que volvimos a ser gente" like many called that night making reference to José Luis González' story.

That night the streets were full, everybody was socializing with people they hadn't seen in awhile, las barras como gallinero, you could barely hear the person talking to you but the joy was too much como pa' bajarle mil. He never drinks beer and tequila, but put together with lime and salt after all the sweat from the day, one can never have it any other way. So you assume by now he was como tuerca, he had already drowned his problems, but it seemed his problems were still drowning him. A friend of his texted him he was in Río, he had got there spontaneously, he didn't know why he was there or why he was writing to him. It seemed like he had fallen from the sky and not everything that falls from the sky is what you really want. Like a rainy day with the wrong shoes, without a raincoat or an umbrella. Or even a hot day with a sweater. Even worse a hot rainy day, that brings up the steam and makes you feel like a gum stuck in a shoe. Like those past days had felt. But he wanted him there, it was a spontaneous causality. Maybe whatever caused this whole power out was meant for them to meet.

He got what he wanted, without asking. If only that could happen when he wanted the professors to change the due dates, but no. He was late but submitted every work with his best. Better late than never and always giving your best. About late, he and his friend have a strange history, they share an ex and he was with the guy before his friend was, but after his friend ended things with the guy, he went back to being with the guy, and then after he ended things with the guy, he became friends with his friend... Algaro. The thing about late was that they were attracted to each other, but the tension of knowing each other’s story was too much para fluir. Still, they talked, but never enough. That day was "más vale tarde que nunca", so his friend went to his apartment and while drinking wine they talked about that awkward thing between them, that was in fact a past, an ex. Nobody had hurt anyone's feelings, so it was unnecessary to feel that way. La tertulia continued and it all got interesting, filosofando about life, choices, needs, goals and dreams. They noticed they shared a lot of opinions and arguments and the ones they didn't, they could agree on.
Between the wine y la tertulia they became sapiosexuales. It was obvious they had physical attraction but it didn't have a role at the moment. So, he pulled him and kissed him. They lasted 900 tick tock’s and a 6.6 degree turn of the moon heading east. The climate had changed, everything changed from that moment. All of a sudden it started raining and they went down... the stairs. Between besos and versos they couldn’t just stop, it was an ongoing need for more. They caressed each others bodies and with every hair standing they started to get wet. The power was out and the fan was off, so they started to sweat, and he hates to sweat. Then again, between besos y caricias, he lost control of himself  y fluyó. His mouth against the other’s skin tasted his sweat and by that moment it became like water to him. To drink, to bathe, to feel, to taste. He became his muse and the next morning he wrote:

Tantas gotas han tocado mi cuerpo, tantas gotas que me han amargado la vida, tantas y tantas y ninguna que sepa a ti, ninguna que sepa a las gotas que perspiras y que me sacie la sed que el calor me provoca.

Cuerpos libres, fluyen, cuerpos atados a la ropa, sudan, pero más suda mi cuerpo para llegar a ti.

Mas siento que se pegan, cuando menos las deseo, cuando no estás tú y no tengo más remedio. Me acarician el cuerpo y aunque las detengo, vuelven y aparecen ahogándome en el recuerdo. El recuerdo que me agobia de saber que estas tan lejos.

Cuento las horas para llegar a ti, para que sacies mi sed y vuelva a sentir tu cuerpo. Cada otra gota es un deseo.

He was clever enough to disguise him as a faucet and the pleasure of bathing after a hot day, but when his friend read it, he knew...One more day entre besos y sal. He would have never imagined, the thing he most hated was going to become his new favorite thing...taste...thing...tasting him.
A moment of confusion and he felt a single raindrop run through his hair, fall to his forehead, pass though his cheeks onto his chin falling then on his phone screen. He looked at his screen and his phone had went off, he never sent the text message and he couldn’t charge his phone por el puto apagón.
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