'Hello, blond one,' she replied with a smile, setting aside her can of Diet Coke. He grinned, ran his fingers self-consciously through his hair, stopped right behind her, his hands on her shoulders.

 'Am I disturbing you?'

 'What? No, dear God, never,' she shook her head, throwing it back to smile up at the golden-haired figure behind her. She loved his hair.

 He bent down to kiss her forehead, and then proceeded to give her a shoulder rub. 'God, your muscles are SO knotted,' he muttered, digging his fingers into her flesh. She groaned, and let her head sag forward, breathing deeply while he worked on her muscles. When he planted one kiss on each side of her neck, signaling that the massage was over, she reached out a hand to bring him to her.

 'I woke up with a need to piss and you weren't there,' he explained, wriggling his way so that now he was sitting on the floor, leaning against the couch, while she sat between his legs, back on his chest. He loved to have her against him like that; he could feel her all over with his hands. The only thing that was better than that was to snuggle against her at night, in bed, his chest against her back, his knees against the back of hers, his toes caressing the soles of her feet.

 'I went for a shower when you fell asleep,' she replied, eyes closed against his soft kisses on her neck. 'And then I couldn't get myself to sleep again...'

 'I noticed... about the shower, I mean,' he muttered, nibbling on one earlobe. 'You smell wonderful. As usual...' He loved the way she looked in her white nightgown right after a shower, so fresh and pure, and yet it was always after some furious lovemaking. She was wonderful. Perfect.

 She chuckled, turned her face to kiss his cheek. His hands moved down from her breasts to circle her waist and he rested his chin on her right shoulder. 'I just want to hold you for a while,' he whispered, pressing their bodies together, breathing together, sighing together, perfectly.

 'No objections here,' she smiled, squeezing his hands in hers.

 'You are perfect,' he broke the silence a long time later, as he stroked her stomach. She laughed aloud; he laughed with her. 'What, you don't believe me? I mean it, you know. I've never met anyone like you. You make me laugh, you're a great talk, and clever, and beautiful... And you turn me on soooooo much,' he flashed her a boyish grin.

 'And yet you're not in love with me,' she stated. Not an accusation, a statement.

 'True,' he responded, equally nonchalant. 'But I've never led you to believe otherwise.'

 'No.' She kept silent for a while, while his hand travelled upwards again to caress her breasts, his fingers playing idly with the delicate straps of her nightgown. 'I wonder why, you see. You say I'm perfect - and believe me, I've heard that many times before, from many other men, in different rooms than this one, and in different nightgowns - and yet I've noticed that I'm always the one who falls in love. I've been in love for many, many times... Always the only one to be in love.'

 'Are you in love with me?' he asked with a start, almost afraid. His fingers never left her nipples, however, she noticed drily.

 'No. But closer to that than you are,' she said quietly. 'Don't you think that, being so perfect, I should have been loved back, at least once?'

 He turned his head slightly so he could see her face, stare into her eyes. He stared into them for a long, long time, his face unreadable as he thought of an answer.
 'We have all loved you, in our own way. I think that... that maybe we can't love you the way you want us to because... because you're much more than we can handle. Much, much more. You are better than us, and better than what we think we deserve; we can't deal with that. A mortal man can't fall in love with his goddess.'

 'Mortal indeed,' she muttered to herself, but he went on, heedless of her interruption.

 'So you see, my goddess, we can't love you back. We are willing to give you pleasure, and affection, and adoration, but not love.' He planted a kiss on her neck again, and repeated, 'Not love.'

 He was being sincere, she had to give him that. Of course, that didn't make things any better. So she smiled perfectly at him, and let their lips meet perfectly, and kissed him wildly for a long time before reaching out for the gun resting under the couch.
 
 
 

Tijuca, 08 de abril de 1999.