Christopher Pearce and mistress.
is an image in my head since I was little - one of several overlapping geographies to those real buildings that exist for the sphere of dreams and memories to have the status of your senses, but the facts tell you that they have never lived.
And you wonder, then, because your memory is so precise.
is a two-or three-story building, shaped like a turret, shaped Victorian ashlar, with high windows and fragile. It has a hexagonal or octagonal, and the entry you are faced with a spiral staircase that now - no more calls - leading to the first floor.
The only room I have ever known it - regardless of the day, from the time of year, the mood - carved by a visually enveloping gloom.
I have seen it many times, empty, seeing only the profiles of the chairs for guests, the waves created by heavy curtains, a few fur sull'appendiabiti forgotten. There smell of a step just taken place, rub on pantyhose pantyhose on velvet cushions, powder and the smell of dry and dignified woman who starts being matron.
Every time I was there I had the impression that it came immediately after the conclusion of a banquet. If I had arrived a few seconds before I could hear voices whispering them heading in the tangle of small rooms leading to the shop - the shop is on the ground floor is a shop for fur, but there are never entered. Not even their
remember, but I know I have known him.
least one, one for sure, the mistress.
She invited me to every time I return there, but do not ask how it is. You can
spying hidden behind one of the tents, but I do not have that right with her.
On the other hand, it is his home.
this picture I took with me for years without being able to solve it. The everyday reality makes me even more paradoxical, because practically every day I walk past the place where there should be the retro shop, whose apartments are reserved for the mistress and intimate tour of his friendships. Exclusively for women.
I do not know why it has always been excluded, is intended to be a guest and only lonely for her, for his acts of voyeurism behind a curtain while I look around bewildered sniffing the trail he left.
That place, as I recall and not a dream, a member of my adolescence alternative. There is growing as a person within is no longer a child and not yet a woman - no longer children and not yet man - leave aside the connotations related to the word "maturity", the words "woman" and "man "they have. Take childhood and maturity, as well, and look for that door that connects them, that moment when the child has become smart enough to figure out the tricks of an adult - and therefore the adult must begin to defend themselves.
I gave this place the childhood of Christopher Pearce, commendably diligent and serious and cute boy who went there almost every day, but finding the living room as I can not bring it back to memory, which is populated by the time of the of the lady with her friends.
Christopher, child, adult, and then excluded from the sphere, so could be there with them, because it was as if there were. The nineteenth century, above all, loved this conception of the child as a creature apart, not yet a man, part of a different world, half-creature, harmless for tax innocence.
Christopher remained standing while the ladies took tea, and listened in silence, their speech - all the speeches, speeches that a group of sophisticated women would not furred before a man, not even a boy - but at a child yes, coming to the paradox that the ears of a child can be filled with immense intelligence, so why not have the keys to decipher the adult malice. But Christopher
understand. He understood everything, knew much more than a grown man could do, pliable material ready to be modeled around the whispered conversation between a chuckle and the other, incorporate them, make them their own, then leave them free as butterflies - all in silence, standing beside a chair or another, fondled by bystanders with adorable little despotic orders ( "Dear, will you hand me the mirror?" ), advances in the form of chocolates, praised his good manners, good-natured derision for his status of half-man, the skilled hands of the seamstresses who tried on clothes for other children - clothes for little princes, and Christopher was not, but in that room you have seen him go to the children of industrial gold buttons and velvet shorts gala ceremonies. A perfect model, used to raise his arms before he was asked.
Years pass and Christopher arrived at the age where the dreams I may enter that room.
Too big to be safe, too small to have any relevance.
Christopher is entered in the previous scene to the one I dream so often: the living room is still empty, you can still hear the voices and take to the shop, the then turns away and you feel the silence and the breath of the lady, with a pin in his mouth and skillful hands to unfasten the buttons of a jacket just proved.
Christopher Pearce, in the twilight of his childhood, not malice. He does not need. It has a clear and coherent framework of the female, no transparent veil to obscure the view, no eroticism. Watch his eyes half-closed her mistress, while the concentrated unbuttoning his pants without even draw out the pins, and know what you think. He knows how the White changes his shirt in the look of her, she knows the thought ever present, but silent, her husband's home, the little things to be endured and little revenge, rivalry neighborhood and her customers intimately despises, what is repugnant and what you want but can not - and would give it to him, Christopher, but half-man has no influence on adult lives.
is that lack of wickedness to betray him, when she finished undressing him, because it is different to that lack of filters. That Christopher
you do not even raise a doubt or a question, or a fear. He knows the way her legs - long, hardened by past half days walking in high heels and could throttle him - just in sweat socks, a bra is like the string on the skin when she sighs, each recess and ledge that clothes cover. Lead in those ravines, Matches no mystery. The taste is consistent that detects the smell of you who already knows and recognizes the voice in all its shades, so while he acknowledges in heaving groans.
There is no mystery, no doubt, no problem for Christopher Pearce 13. The women are familiar with.
The problem comes when you wake up the next day, and those that followed, when the lady does not find one more to the living room is no longer invited, and when you happen by chance is banging his forehead against a shatterproof glass, like running through a maze of mirrors without knowing they are there, and then hear the echo of that blow up in your ears do not hurt. Christopher
became a man, and understands the derisory and fearful way in which the owner loses mischief among her friends behind him. Enjoy the strange mingling of contempt and fear, which has so often seen sculpt the face of the lady in the shop when a man entered.
"Poor fools." , he thought then - every time.
"Why is it so?" think now looking for an answer appealing in the looks of her, but gets annoyed the lack of compassion that would treat a victim to his executioner.
Christopher Pearce has 13 years, and I brought my fate: each time you return to the living room that is empty, and the smell of powder and tights is a reminder that is fading away when he hears voices laughing down.
course author and storyteller, even when there are half stories, two people with different views and opinions and express them in different ways.
I never understood the great secret of womanhood, that talk soft intimacy that only pours. I only heard jokes from longshoreman - but obviously my fault. Some muffled derisive laughter and fun and there are probably outside of the many representations (male and female) of the CD. "World of women, but repugnant to me, so probably I have wisely avoided so far. Pearce is not me and we stumbled on the kid. Pearce is a Machiavellian who enjoys some plots, on the other. That the meeting be living above a shop at night or the hold of a ship changes little.
Well, probably the CD. "Female world" does not exist, but if you believe it then becomes problematic to fuck someone who is part of the cd. "Man's world" and then maintain that someone with a clear and non-paranoid Understanding (wow, almost looks like a "moral of the story").
Not that I know because she has cast Pearce, of course. Did not understand that he is an expert Machiavellian world of women, then I certainly will not understand.
(The title of the entry seems BDSM, not it?)
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