Trafika Europe 12 - French Bon-Bons

Not One Day

going vroom vroom, pretending to be racing in the 24 Hours of Le Mans. Her body, naked in the light seeping in through the slightly open curtains, a slender body, tensed up in your hands. Her gaze, fixed on you without pause, without abandon, looms in your memory. It seemed as if she had taken leave of her body and left it in your hands, reacting noticeably but almost automatically to your investigations and proddings. You were tempted to blindfold her, but concluded it would have required compelling her to surrender entirely. To escape her gaze, you lied down on top of her. She instantly wrapped her legs around you, and you buried your face in her hair. Then you started to get bored. You were tempted almost irresistibly to think of something else. It bewildered you to find yourself sentenced to spend this absurd night in the arms of a mechanical doll whose springs each of your oscillations seemed to wind up, who clung to you but did not move you, and whom you despaired of ever moving. You were freewheeling downhill, and at the intoxicating speed of this ride, the failures of the suspension, far from giving you energy, rattled you. Bad trip. And what idiotic point of honor forbade you from wresting yourself from her arms and ditching her to return to your own bed where you wouldn’t be watching yourself neither sleep nor dream? You know that you fell asleep. But later, filtering through your sleep, a worry woke you with a jolt. That upon


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