Chereads / The soul-less mirror. / Chapter 12 - Navigating your wet skin.

Chapter 12 - Navigating your wet skin.

Natalia smiled and talked like this, they left the city taking the road to the other side of the island, where after more than half an hour of walking and crossing a long vehicular bridge, they arrived at another coastal community that although it was no longer part of Ciudad del Carmen, but rather of the mainland, it was called Isla Guadalupe, during the journey they spoke very little and only listened to music, because the beautiful driver passed it giving instructions on the cell phone, until they entered a regular-sized house, but very well equipped with electric gates and air conditioning, where they put the truck in the garage.

-Make yourself comfortable Mr. León Martin Jáuregui in what I prepare for you something for dinner that is not cakes, hot dogs, or hamburgers.

Natalia tells him as they passed through the living room, indicating with a gesture to sit while she went to the kitchen.

Martín wrote novels of different genres on an online ebook platform that that he also printed books on paper at the request of the client, whose craft or ability to write had discovered and developed in prison, during the last five years and although he had a certain ranking of sales having acquired some fame, it was not enough to say that he was a famous writer who could live on his royalties, He began writing emotional poems that gradually led him to write love novels, with a suggestive eroticism unique in its genre, and perhaps some of his poetry books or one of his novels had somehow fallen into Natalia's hands, and that's why she knew about him, although in each of his novels he put a photo of his dead father on the back cover,

because the platform asked him for a photograph in his biography, his readers assumed that the poet he signed as a Soul-less mirror named León Martin Jáuregui was an old man of more than 70 years of age.

Natalia arrived at the living room with a couple of glasses and a snack based  of cheeses and sausages, and asking him to drink some sodas from the refrigerator, she went up the stairs to go down a few minutes later with a pocket book in his hands.

The woman on the street.

By

León Martín Jauregui.

It said on the cover that, with a suggestive and sensual image of two mouths splashed with sugar, as if it were a pair of sea shells impregnated with sand were about to kiss.

-León Martín Jáuregui is him.

Martin says showing her the photo on the back cover, without telling her it was his father.

"I'm sorry to disappoint you, but it's just someone who's called the same as me.

Natalia listened to him inquisitively and shrugging her shoulders downplayed the matter, to go to the kitchen and serve at the breakfast table a delicious and unknown dinner, based on mustard chops, which surprised him more than anything for its flavor because he had already alleviated hunger a little, thanks to the snack and coffee, They had dinner together and talked about a little bit about is life in Guadalupe Island that wasn't really an island. 

And when they returned to the living room, Natalia uncapped a bottle of red wine, and while taking a couple of glasses out of her display case giving them to Martín to serve, with a remote control she turned on the 50-inch screen of the room to search for a specific YouTube channel.

-I want you to hear something that is written in this book written by that man who according to you are not him and has nothing to do with you.

For this Natalia had already changed her clothes for a lighter white casual dress and short blue shoes, sitting next to her in the love sit of the room without recharging to take a drink of the drink, in what began what she wanted to see and listen to on YouTube and to the rhythm of the suggestive music of that classic in French, J'etaimè de Lara Fabián, the lyrics of a poem recited in the voice of a man with a well-modulated voice were heard, they heard everything at once and at the end, She took the book and opening it on a previously secluded page with separator told him.

- Can you follow me?

And without waiting for his answer she took another drink as if to clear her throat and began to recite the lyrics of that poem they had just heard on a YouTube channel.

Navigator of your wet skin.

The day was over and I pretended to sleep

Closing my eyes

Without being able to get it.

Maybe I thought.

Or maybe I was looking for.

She recites what she considered her part as she sat tightly to him, urging him to continue with the next paragraph of poetry, as she finished her glass of wine filling both glasses looking at him inquisitively and defiantly.

Understanding on your pillows

Then I would subtly enter through your window.

And while you relaxed

Your hair caressed.

Martín tried to pass the book to her so that she would continue with the next paragraph, but Natalia told him:

-You follow my friend, that comes out equal to the voice of a great poet called the same as you, León Martín Jáuregui.

And Martin , resigned because he realized that he had fallen into the trap of the cunning woman, drank half a glass of red wine to clear his throat and continued reciting, but no longer reading the book.

Between drowsy spasms

I lulled you and rocked you

Like my most subtle kisses

And close your eyes I saw,

As if they were two beautiful canvases.

While your skin,

With my breath it moistened.

Navigating your wet skin

Drifting in uncharted waters,

Without fear of the coming storm,

I ventured out to sea,

Letting myself be guided by this feeling

And that night you were mine.

Disoriented in the immensity of your hugs.

I sailed south of your waist,

In the midst of a storm of caresses,

A hurricane of madness was unleashed,

With gusts of powerful wind.

That you calmed with tenderness,

By giving ourselves in body, soul and feeling.

Navigating your wet skin,

In the midst of a kissing storm,

And when I thought you slept deeper,

You opened your beautiful canvases.

And when looking at me

About to be shipwrecked.

You opened your waters

To let me in...

And together we find thus,

The calm after the storm.

Martín intended to continue with the poetic recital already excited with the musical background of J'etaimè de Lara Fabián, which was still heard despite the fact that the video was paused, but Natalia offered him another drink of wine, while asking for the book for her to finish the recital.

I don't know if I'll have you again,

I don't even know how to be enough

As if to deserve you,

I also don't know if I loved you,

Since before we met you,

I only know that I will love you forever,

Beyond death.

And she rose triumphantly, extending her arms to invite him to embrace her, as a way to celebrate the victory of having discovered the secret identity of Martín , whom she admired since she had first read that book that one of her sisters had given her and that she never thought or even imagined. 

Not even in her most unexplored dreams to get to know; Smiling Martín accepted defeat and stood up to hug her, as she resumed the video on the screen, that was repeated, but excited as he was by the beauty of the lady and the flavors of the red wine, he could not contain the urge to kiss her by taking her by the waist, and that was where the first rays of the storm that was coming since they met, although she pretended a moment of calm to escape surfing among the waves that rose, Perhaps frightened by the force of the approaching hurricane, she was knocked down by a tidal wave of sensations caused by herself.

And Right there, in the living room of her house with the armchairs, as if they were two boats shipwrecked among the waves of a raging sea, they avoided the storm, defying the force of the hurricane of kisses and caresses so long contained, as if they had been waiting all their lives, culminating in the unparalleled shock of those perfect storms that formed a spectacular typhoon that was about to drown them, until fused they sailed through the turbulent waters of their raging skins, and found the eye of the hurricane after several times capsizing, no longer sails, without oars and without an engine to navigate, enduring the intensity of their passions only with the strength of their arms that merged into powerful strokes, which like strong swimmers took them together to the calm that comes after the storm, Their clothes disappeared like broken sails that the tide had washed away, while the surrendered swimmers ended up hugging and lying on the carpet, like a pair of castaways who had arrived on a lonely beach as the waters returned and the waves calmed down.