Buku Erotic Lives of the Superheroes by Mancassola Marco
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Erotic Lives of the Superheroes by Mancassola Marco

Author:Mancassola, Marco

Language: eng

Format: epub

Tags: Superheroes, Literary fiction, Thriller, Comics, Erotic, Fable, Romance, Caricature, Hyperrealism, Post 9/11 America

Publisher: Salammbo Press

Published: 2013-08-07T16:00:00+00:00

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Erotic Lives of the Superheroes by Mancassola Marco

*

The girl was a bad kisser. She kissed like a girl. Bruce shoved his tongue in deeper, further back, into the soft regions of her mouth, seeking out the flavour of the coriander and of the salad she had just eaten. That was one of the disadvantages. Young people didn’t know how to kiss.

Of course, that wasn’t the only disadvantage. Young people, to tell the whole truth, tended to be passive. Pretty passive. Young people didn’t know how to carry on a lively conversation. Young people appeared to understand everything, because they were trained to put on that air of cool knowingness, but then they’d come out with some nonsensical or banal point of view. Young people were insubstantial. They seemed always on the verge of evaporating. Young people were people you’d be well advised to get rid of as quickly as possible, because over time they took more than they could ever give back. Young people only knew how to say one word—me, me, me—and Bruce wasn’t that inclined to talk about the me of other people. That’s what young people were like. Still, he couldn’t stop loving them. As for tonight’s girl, there was no denying that she seemed better than most people her age. He grazed her petite breasts with his fingers, cupping them for a minute in his hands. “Little one,” he whispered. “I think it’s time to go to the last room.”

 

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Erotic Lives of the Superheroes by Mancassola Marco

Author:Mancassola, Marco , Date: July 6, 2019

,Views: 30

Author:Mancassola, Marco

Language: eng

Format: epub

Tags: Superheroes, Literary fiction, Thriller, Comics, Erotic, Fable, Romance, Caricature, Hyperrealism, Post 9/11 America

Publisher: Salammbo Press

Published: 2013-08-07T16:00:00+00:00
*

The girl was a bad kisser. She kissed like a girl. Bruce shoved his tongue in deeper, further back, into the soft regions of her mouth, seeking out the flavour of the coriander and of the salad she had just eaten. That was one of the disadvantages. Young people didn’t know how to kiss.

Of course, that wasn’t the only disadvantage. Young people, to tell the whole truth, tended to be passive. Pretty passive. Young people didn’t know how to carry on a lively conversation. Young people appeared to understand everything, because they were trained to put on that air of cool knowingness, but then they’d come out with some nonsensical or banal point of view. Young people were insubstantial. They seemed always on the verge of evaporating. Young people were people you’d be well advised to get rid of as quickly as possible, because over time they took more than they could ever give back. Young people only knew how to say one word—me, me, me—and Bruce wasn’t that inclined to talk about the me of other people. That’s what young people were like. Still, he couldn’t stop loving them. As for tonight’s girl, there was no denying that she seemed better than most people her age. He grazed her petite breasts with his fingers, cupping them for a minute in his hands. “Little one,” he whispered. “I think it’s time to go to the last room.”

Bruce had tried, in the past, going out with women closer to his own age. He’d experienced the complicity of two mature bodies. He’d enjoyed the pleasure of conversing with someone who didn’t constantly demand blandishment, stimulation and teasing, someone with whom it was possible to speak as equals. He remembered taking a bath with one of those women. He remembered mirroring himself in her eyes. At the decisive moment, he’d been incapable of carrying on further. He couldn’t fall in love with the hands of a mature person. Young people could be inept in a thousand ways, boring and irritating in a thousand ways, and yet there was always that precious spark in them. There was something about young people. In some of them, there was that incorporeal hint, that sort of spirit that Bruce was searching for.

They entered the bedroom. During the previous tour of the house, Bruce had skipped that room to preserve the surprise. Here too the lighting was well designed. An amber-coloured light, whose source was impossible to locate, filled the room. The girl took a few steps, naked, exquisite, into that dreamlike light. The floor was made of a russet wood, with a strip of black wood that led, like a trail, to the large bed floating in mid-air. “A magnetic bed,” she observed. “So there’s still a little love of technology in you.”

“Oh, this isn’t technology,” he said, as he began to strip. He braced himself against the bed and took off his shoes. “It’s just a magnetic field, nothing could be more natural.”

“Interesting,” she said, with an ambiguous smile.

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