Act I: ██████ and Lust
I was recovering from a cold as the morning light snuck around my drapes and into my room. It was my fourth May Day in Berlin, and I was enjoying the heavy blankets and warmth of my bed before I started what was promising to be a very busy day. After two days of delay because of scheduling conflicts, illness, and the general malaise of depression, █ ███ ███ ██ ██ ███████ ████ █████ ████ ██████ ███ ███████.
We'd broken up about a month prior, and after some turbulence as to what the nature of our relationship was going to become, we remained friends. We still got along well and still had similar senses of humor, but we both recognized that some combination of unlucky situation and our own personalities made it hard for us to be a couple.
But that's ok, because she's still my best friend, and I am still hers.
I lazed through getting ready and flicked through bits and pieces of the internet. ███ ███ █ █████ █████████ ███ ████ ██ ██████ ██ ██ ███ ███ █████ ██ ███ ██████ ███ ███ ███, ███ █ ████████ ██ ███ ███████. ███ █████ █████ ██ ███ ███████ ██ ███ ██████ ███ ███████ ████ ███ ██████ ███ ██ ██████ ██ ██ ███ ██████. █ ████ ████ ███████████ ██ ███ ██ ████ ██ █ ████ ████ ████, ███ ██ ██████████ █████████ █ ████ ████ ███████ ██ ████. ██████ ███ ███ ████ ██ ███ ██████ █ ██████ █████ ███ ██████ while I got dressed.
She sat down at her laptop and started the iPhone camera and the webcam.
█ ████ ███ ████ ███ █████ ██ ███ ███████ ██ ████ ██████ ████ ███ █ ██████████ ██████████ ██ ███ █████ ██████ ███████ ██ ███████ ██ ███ █████ ███████ ███ ███ ███ ████ ██ ███ █████. █ █████ ██ █ ███ ████████ ██ █████ ██████. █ ███████ ██ ███ █████████ ███ ████ ███ ██████, ███ ████ ████████ ████████ ████ ██ ████.
██ ███████, ██ ████ ██ "██ █████████," ███ ████ █████ ████████ █ █████ ██████ ██ ██████. ██████ ██ █████ ██████ █████ ███ █████ ███ ██ ██ ████, ███ █████ ███ █ ███ ██ █████ ████████████. ███████ █████████████, ███ ███ ██████████ ███████ ██████. ██ ███████ ██ ███ █████ ███ ████████ █ ███ ██████ ███ ███████, ██████ ██ ████ ██ ████ ██ ███ ██████. ███ █████, ███ █████ █████, ███ ████ ████ ██ █████, ███ ██ ██████ ██ ███ ██ █████ ████ ██████████ ███ ████ ███████ ██████ ██ ███ █████████████ ████-███████ █████.
At some point while ██████ was straddling me, I was reminded of our current romantic (or lackthereof) situation.
I love you.
I said it because it was true. She knew it, and so did I. She felt the same way, and I knew it too. After we we stopped being a couple, we avoided behaviors kept us in that mindset. The casual hand on her lower back as I moved past her in the bathroom. Her head rested on my shoulder as I did dishes. This all went away, and with it the habitual, open acknowledgements our our lingering, mutual attraction.
██ ████████ ████████, ███ █ ███████ ███ ██ ██ ████ ██ ███ ███████ █████ ███ ███████ ██ █ ███, ███ █████ █ ███ ██ ███████ ██████, ██ ███ █████ ███ ███████ █████████ ███ ███ ██████ █████. ██████ wore a fluffy pink top, black leather jacket, flowy skirt, heels, and cobalt blue sun glasses. It was reminiscent of the pinup look she had favored heavily in the past, and it was very cute. I, ever the bum, was in plain black pants, a grey shirt, and hoodie.██ ███ ████ █████████ ██ █████ ██ ███████, ██████ ███ █████. ██████ had scouted a location near the flat that looked like it would work: a hidden footpath near the S-Bahn tracks. We walked over and chatted about this and that, about the people we were seeing, and her upcoming trip.
|██████||You said "I love you" while we were fucking.|
|██████||Where did that come from?|
|Heartsucker||We used to say it most every time when we were still together. It seemed natural. Plus, let's be real her, we both still think it.|
|██████||Yeah, we do...|
We arrived at the footpath she'd described as small and hidden where I saw that it was anything but. Elderly couples walked hand in hand, and families were out on their bikes.
|Heartsucker||Yeaaaaah, this isn't going to work.|
|██████||What, we can find a place to do this.|
|Heartsucker||But not if we need ██ ███████ ██ ███████.|
|██████||What about over here?|
|Heartsucker||There's like... no coverage. You can see right through the bushes.|
|██████||Ok, maybe over this way?|
|Heartsucker||This isn't looking much better. Plus, you're kinda loud. I think we need to find a park with a hidden corner.|
|Heartsucker||Yeah really. I don't mind if people who are interested see, but I don't get off to strangers catching me fucking. I'd even go so far as to call it a turn off. Blame it on residual sexual hang ups I have from stupid, conservative America.|
Not that we hadn't had public sex before or even discussed it some, but it had happened in broad daylight, not had it ever been so planned.
We kept searching for a location and found a half demolished building. It would be "edgy" and "so Berlin" to shoot there. A temporary fence had been errected around some construction equipmemnt. There was a gap where it met the curb, so I shimmied my way under it getting very dusty in the process. ██████ followed. There was only one entrypoint, and it was overflowing with rubble. The inside looked like it was missing much of its walls and floors. I said it was probably unsafe, especially given that ██████ was wearing heels. She tried to climb in anyway, but I disuaded by reminding her that this month's rent was on the line if she got injured. We found another gap in the fence and resumed our search.
A bit further down the footpath was a park. There was a small play structure and some space for kids to ride their bikes and scooters. A small trampoline was sunk into the ground. ██████ had already started filming on her phone to get B-footage. She handed it to me and jumped on the trampoline ensuring her skirt flew up over her ass. We kept walking and bantering, and in the back of the park found an empty building with a secluded grove. We hopped the fence and found a soft patch of greenery. After positioning ourselves so the light looked good, we planned a thing or too, and kissed each other.
In comparison to the shoot we'd done in the kitchen, ████ ███ ████ ████ ████ ██████████. Laying in some leaves and playfully fooling around felt natural for us.███ ████████ █████ ███ ████ ████ ███████ because there was a couch and bed available, and we had to mind the camera a little more than we liked.
One of the things we'd spoken about when we had the conversations about our break up was how often there was something getting one of us down. Maybe it was her jobs or maybe it was mine. Sometimes it was bad situations with other people that drew us into fights. A phrase she'd used, and a phrase that Tammy had used as well, was "we never had a real chance." In both cases, a lot of the reason they and I had felt like the relationships hadn't had a chance was the stress of money, hated jobs, and unemployment.
But now, that was irrelevant. We didn't have to base our interaction on the idea of a future together. There was only now, and now we both felt love, still enduring after our split, and lust for each other, and that was enough.
We fucked each other and goofed around as the camera rolled, and every so often we get up to move it to another angle, or one of us would hold it and film the other as they gave sacrament to the holiness of sex.
One of the things I had somewhat lost sight of near the end of the relationship was how beautiful she is. I even knew it was happening and tried to fight to see her the way she was, not tainted by the buildup of every little way we had wronged each other. Even after we broke up and some of the tension released, I still felt like I wasn't able to see her as I had the day we'd met.
As I laid a top her, as I fucked her, as we kissed, I was able to see it again. Her haid pooled around her head, and the bright sunslight rained down through the foliage and lit up her eyes. The golden amber danced as the leaves' shadows passed over her. It was a strange feeling, to see her this way again, to have her be so close, yet so far. I was inside her, and we gripped each other, but we were as far from being in a loving relationship as when we were still strangers to each other. Was there ever a better way to describe melancholia as holding something beautiful, something that once was but will never be again?
We finished, put on the clothes we'd stripped off, and walked back to the flat.
Act II: Resist
It was just after 1pm, and I was scouring twitter to see where the antifascists were rallying today. Pankow was the first stop, as the AfD was having a picnic there. I dressed in all black, packed a few things I thought might be useful for protesting into the night, and took the S-Bahn north.
At the station in Pankow, I had a quick lunch and watched the Berliners mill about. A lady was handing out leftist fliers that gave the location of some of the day's activities. This upset a man who appeared to be in his 50's causing him to should at her, to scream about how the AfD was here to protect the children from foreigners. It was so comically stereotypical, I couldn't help but laugh. I wanted to join in and tell him how wrong he was, but a foreinger telling someone their nationalism is bogus has probably never been effective, so I keep quiet and finished eating. I spoke briefly with the lady and then walked to Bürgerpark Pankow.
As the edge came into side I could here someone reciting leftist messages over a loudspeaker, and from the volume I assumed there would be a large rally. Upon arriving, I was disappointed as there was not much beyond a few scattered groups of protestors and certainly nothing that looked like a unified front against nationalism. The police had set up a perimeter with temporary barricades and at least 30 police vans bumper to bumper. Officers stood every 5 meters, and canine units patrolled through the trees and bushes to keep the left away.
As someone who is fully left, I still found this resistance to be underwhelming. What it looked like from the ourtside was a bunch of punks picketing the local golf club because "fuck those rich guys." I didn't disagree with the sentiment or the action, but I couldn't help but think our very protest would be used as pro-AfD propaganda.
I half listened to some of the speeches and watched the picnic goers. Some of the protesters were joking with the cops and bantering. One of the officers was amused by this and was playfully engaging. The whole event seemed rather harmless.
Not long after I arrived, the last speech ended, and most everyone picked up and left. I told my friend who was on here way to turn around so we could go back to Kreuzberg and catch what we could of the festivities. She told me she was already at Gesundbrunnen, and we agreed to meet there.
Therese was someone I briefly dated while ██████ and I were still together. We'd stayed friends, and when ██████ and I split up, Therese and I had returned a bit to old habits. Therese had one of her squeezes in tow, an American named Thomas.
I met the two of them on the U-Bahn platform. We did introductions, and I told them a bit about the picnic protest. I asked Therese about her unfortunate housing situation, and she told me about how she was likely going to have to leave her flat because of yet another case of being sexually harassed and assaulted. It seems in this world, it's just really not possible for women to mind their own damn business without someone taking their existence as an invitation to forcefull engage in whatever way they want.
We got off the train at Mortizplatz and I gave them the run down about the things we could check out. We bumbled around and ate street food. We went to the Jungend Demo and gave hearty approval to the politically active youth. We stopped by some of the booths and picked up fliers. We sat and listened to some live Turkish (or perhaps more Middle Eastern) music.
As precisely 6pm, we arrived at what I thought was Oranienplatz for the main demonstration, but I had forgotten to there were two squares on Oranienstraße. We were in the wrong place, so we weaved our way through the crowd and just shy of 6:30, we arrived at the event. I took my phone out of my pocket, turned it off, and put it in my Faraday bag. Everything from my pockets went into my drawstring bag, and my bag went under my coat. I drews my bandana over my face and pulled the brim of my hat down.
Antifa flags, black flags, and many others blew in the wind. Here and there, protestors held burning road flares and smoke bombs. Most protestors looked like your average assortment of normal Berliners, but there were scattered groups of punks and apparent members of the Black Bloc.
I led us into the thick of the crowd, and with a raised fist joined the chanting crowd. It took all of 15 seconds for me to have lost Therese and Thomas, but that was ok. There were new comrades to take their place.
When the head of the procession started to move, two comrades next to me pulled out a giant trash bag full of ski masks and started tossing them into the crowd. I grabbd one and swapped it with my bandana to hide more of my face and keep my hair out of my eyes.
We marched through Kreuzeberg, the sound of our chants only matched by the occasional firework.
It felt good to be a part of something again. The bits of work I'd been doing toward the cause were all online, and though my friends would say they agreed with my politics near fully, they admitted that they would likely never do anything to advance the cause. As Laura Jane Grace said:
When it came time to throw bricks through that Starbucks window, you left me all alone.
The march was mostly uneventful save for the cops shoving video cameras into the face of every masked protestor as a way to, reasonably, document them in the event of violence, but primarily to intimidate them into inaction with the fear that their mask wouldn't protect them.
About halfway through the march, we came to a stop and a few protestors started running down a side street followed by a column of riot police. I followed to keep an eye on what was happening, and as I did, a second column blocked the road to keep the crowd at bay. On my side of the blockade, there were too few comrads to do anything other than watch, so I ducked back toward the the main procession before we were fully cut off.
An officer saw me do this and as I stepped out of reach, he taunted me. The riot pig, covered in body armor, armed, and shoulder to shoulder with clones of himself egged me on to hit him. He yelled for me to come get him. He invited me to fight. He was so very keen to suggest that I should engage with him. I, the lone protestor with no one at my side, should start something.
Those were the taunts of a pig that knew in that moment he was untouchable, emboldend by the massive power differential he had over me.
Aye, you are right to taunt me, but I'm not stupid enough to do anything, and you are a coward.
I stood motionless staring him down and he danced his pig dance, and after the crowd started walking again, I turned and joined them.
Again, the march returned to its relatively tame previous state. The crowd chanted, people hung out of windows and banged pots with wooden spoons. With more and more frequency, there'd be a bus stop or street light that several Black Bloc comrades had climbed atop. As the march angled towards its origin, the police presence started to increase.
What had started as a single file line of cops on one side of the head of the protest became a column on both sides. The columns slowly doubled up until the head was pinched between them. A row of police had formed at the front until the head was fully trapped. The march was now divided into those in the street and two smaller groups on the sidewalks.
I needed to get back to the center.
I walked a few meters away from the double-wide column of riot police and looked for an opening. They were walking very close together, often with one arm on the office in front of them.
A gap opened, and I shoved my way through.
We continued marching until we arrived at Spreewaldplatz. The head of the group stopped and the rest of us pooled around them. The cops were multiplying. This was where the faceoff was going to start.
The first large wave of riot police came from the north. Their wall met that of the protest, and instantly, instinctually we all linked arms, planted our feet, and to the chants of "Hol ab!" pushed back.
When the pressure would back off and the police would fall back, I'd find myself still arm in arm with those around me. It was almost senseless to keep holding on in those moments, but the firm grip of the men, women, and other persons around me was the grip of solidarity. I knew that if I was grabbed by the pigs, they would fight to tear me back into the black embrace of the leftist masses, and all the same, I knew that without question I would do the same.
This feeling of brotherhood caught me a bit off guard. It was something I hadn't felt in years, and it felt good.
The tide of protestors versus fascists ebbed and flowed. We'd plant and gain space, then get pushed back again. And again, and again, and again.
Around the protestors, May Day partiers, spectators, and the those who had been caught in the square while out for dinner watched. Camera phones were out, and groups youth and young adults stood around drinking beer while watching. As the protestors started to get rowdy and the cops pushed back, large spaces would open, and occasionally they were filled with solo people and groups of two or three posing to take selfies, making sure to hold their beers in frame.
Protest was now a spectator sport. To them, this genuine class struggle for equality and against all the hateful -isms was just a photo opportunity. Something to share with their friends to show how exciting their life was. How they were edgy and cool for watching a riot in Berlin.
I was disgusted. I wanted to grab their phones out of their hands and smash them to the ground, shouting "Don't you fucking get it? This is your struggle too!" But I couldn't. The message wouldn't get through, and I'd be picked off immediately as the one man in a mask out in the clear, harassing the peaceful citizens.
Of course, me keeping to myself and not screaming at those around me wasn't enough to keep the pigs from targeting me. I heard shouts coming from my left and saw a double column of riot pigs charging through the crowd at me. In the meter between when I saw them and they reached me, I could see the scrunched up face and drawn back arm of one who wanted nothing more than to hurt some left wing scum. His eyes glimmered with cold fury and hate. He threw the punch, and I yanked my head back as best I could, but he still connected with my left temple and sent me stumbling back. The column continued driving past, and I back peddaled into the arms of my comrades.
I took a few seconds to observe and get my bearings. There were knots of protestors being cut by groups of police. Clusters of cops were surrounded by protesters. Beer bottles flew and shattered against the ground and the cops' facemasks. In some places, the spectators were caught behind walls of cops trying to shield them from the hail of glass.
The crowd behind me swelled and a tide of black rushed forward, I with them, until we slammed into the police. Some cops pulled out batons and beat the protestors. To my right, some pigs were fighting to get a grip on the comrade next to me. As the wave of bodies behind me gave way, I grab them by the backpack stap and pulled them back to saftey.
To my left, a jet of orange mace blasted into the crowd and drove the masses back. Everyone retreated, and the cops regrouped. I left the front line of protestors and made in the director of the afflicted protestors. I took off my outer coat and pulled the bottle of saline solution from my bag.
Protestors were pouring water into the eyes of other protestors as they bit their lips and tried to open their eyes. Some couldn't even take the water into their eyes and pushed the bottles away. I went up to the first and offered my help.
|Heartsucker||Benutz kein Wasser. Kochsalzlösung ist besser.|
|Heartsucker||Kochsalzlösung hilft mehr als Wasser.|
|Comrade||Hast du es?|
|Heartsucker||Ja, ich hab's.|
I forced the comrade's head back and pulled his eye lids open with one hand, and with the other I squirted saline solution into his eyes. Left, right, left, right. I gave him a smack on the shoulder to let him know I was done. He bear hugged me and said "ich danke dir," and I was on to the next.
When there was no one left around me, I went back to the brawl. In the minutes since I'd gone, it had continued to escalate. Bleeding protestors were holding cloth to their faces, and strangers and friends helped one another.
It felt like a game. There was no winning, but there was losing. You could take a bottle or a baton to the face, or you could be dragged off if you got unlucky and a cop got a grip on you. In this sense, it felt like the whole event was in some ways just catharsis. It was some strange, high risk version of moshing.
I dove back into the frenzy where I pushed cops and pulled protestors backt to safety.
But after some time, my illness of the last week started catch up. I felt like I couldn't remain alert and that I was going to make a mistake up soon. My body ached, and it was time to slip away.
I ducked into the sparse crowd and when I was reasonably sure that there were no cameras, I pulled off my hat and mask, stuffed them in my pockets, and headed to the nearest Späti for water before I took the U-Bahn home.
Even just immediately around the corner from Spreewaldplatz, there were groups of friends and families eating later dinners and drinking wine, completely oblvious to what was happening just a few tens of meters away from them. This was a micro expression of how the world works with regards to the stuggles for human rights: out of sight, out of mind.
I continued to Schlesisches Tor, the nearest open U-Bahn station, and as I furtherd my self from the protest, any and all traces that people were fighting and screaming for things they desperately believed in disappeared. May Day became what the status quo wanted: a block party and celebration. Bars and restaurants played music, people danced in the streets, and stumbling drunks barely managed to avoid the ambulances that zipped by.
In the U-Bahn, I finally got a look at myself. My reflection in the window was of a disheveled and dirty man. I could see veins bulding on my neck and head from my exertion and dehydration. My hair was disgusting and matted, and I was dusty.
I couldn't stop thinking about how just by stepping away from the protest, the stuggle has in some sense ceased to exist. From the conversations around me, everyone's primary concerns were how to get more beer, and where they were going to party and get fucked up.
The enraged spirit of Labor Day was dying in favor of the more celebratory spirit of May Day.
Act III: Rosa
At Warschauer Straße station, I figured it was safe to turn my phone on, so I pulled it out of my Faraday bag and skimmed for messages. Someone I'd half planned on going out with had texted asking what I was doing. We made plans to stroll through Treptower Park just as soon as I could eat and recover a bit.
At home, ██████ was preparing for her vacation the next day. I recapped my day for her while I cooked and ate. She had been busy tying up some loose ends and had skipped out on May Day entirely, and when I told her I was leaving again, she was disappointed as she'd wanted to spend the evening with me. Even though we were no longer a couple, some of the old expectations were still there, and I had minor guilt that I was doing my own thing even though we'd no plans together.
I said goodbye and took off on my bike to meet the new lady, Rosa, by the Spree.
We stopped by a Späti to grab drinks, and like nerly every time I meet a new person, my choice of a non-alcoholic drink seemed to shock her. We clinked bottles and crossed over the Spree and walked along the docks at Treptower.
Rosa, 22, was from South America and was working for and studying with the European equlivalent of John Petrucci. She played in a few bands and guitar ensembles. We talked about her time growing up in her Latin home country, her studies, and in light of May Day, we talkedd about politics. Like many of my other friends, she was somewhere on the lines of "fuck the police, let's bring equality," but she abstained from direct political action. At this point, I was more surprised by people who actually did engage politically than those who didn't.
On a bench, we sat, talked, and finished our drinks. The occasional passerby added fuel to the conversation. The drunk French couple that kept walking by, neither lost, nor intent on getting anywhere. The solitary figures power walking home. Und so weiter.
Rosa commented on how cold it was, and I pulled her up against me. She laid her head on my shoulder, and I ran my fingers through her hair.
Human interactions are always different, but we're pretty good at using heuristics and social norms to guide us. I had made a few guesses that Rosa inviting me out this late was at least some small hint that she wanted to make out or get frisky, but when we paused our conversation and my face was centimeters from her and we held eye contact, it felt like kissing her was the wrong move.
We played with each others' fingers as we talked, and I continued to run my fingers through her hair and along her neck. She asked if I was cold, and when I said yes, she leaned further into me, but kept her faced angled away from mine.
I was having flash backs to so many similar times, and was coming to the conclusion, in part fueled by the (somewhat) racist idea that Latina women were used to aggressive Latin men, that I should lift her chin and kiss her.
I gave her a quick kiss on the lips, but she didn't kiss back.
It felt like a rock was in my stomache. This moment where I gamble what I think the right answer is against the knowledge that very nearly every woman I know has been sexually assaulted often kills me. Of course, my ideal partners are foward and excited about sex, and there's no doubt in my mind that we both want it, but I often attract girls who are sexual, but timid.
Her head was still in my hand, and our lips were still nearly touching. She hadn't pulled back, but she hadn't said yes either. Maybe what I should do in these is just bluntly ask and tell them that guys could use a hint on whether or not they should continue. Doing so would help stamp out this ambiguous behavior, but good god, it can be awkward for some people. For as many girls as I've talked to about this who've said "consent is sexy," at least twice as many have said that asking "can I kiss you" kills the mood, and this comes from fairly promiscuous, sex positive feminists.
I kissed her again, and she kissed back.
I hate this dance.
Things started slowly, but soon we were grabbing at each other.
|Rosa||Do you think we could get out of the light?|
|Heartsucker||Yeah, sure thing. Do you want to find a patch of grass over there?|
She nodded, so I grabbed by bike, and we bounded off to the dark expanse of grass that seemed well off the footpath. I dropped my bike, and sat down, reaching up for her hand to pull her down with me.
|Rosa||What, so we just sit down and start again?|
|Heartsucker||I mean, yeah. If you still want to.|
I'd forgotten that something about sex positivity can run a bit counter to the old ideas of sexy, romantic love making. It's ok that we're both just horny people who want to fool around with each other, but Rosa seemed uncomfortable with the bluntness of it all. Not that I can blame her for feeling as she did, but it merely made it clear that we had arrived at this meeting with rather different sexual histories.
We we both sitting with out legs to the side, facing each other, propped up by one arm. I leaned in we made out before falling back into the grass. I pulled myself up over here and with my free hand began rubbing her side. As my hand stated to wander up to her breasts, I paused to say something, even if for no other reason to clear my guilty feelings of lechery.
|Heartsucker||Let me know if you don't like anything.|
It's impossible to be certain of anything another is thinking, even if you ask and receive a direct answer. I was fairly sure she wanted to keep things going, but a loud, enthusiastic yes would really have been nice.
I kept rubbing her tits through her shirt before sliding my hand up under her shirt and pinching her nipples. Her breaths deepened, and her kisses grew longer. It pulled my hand down from her chest and stroked her thighs through her jeans, kinking my fingers so they'd drag through her muscles. Rosa pulled at the back of my neck, and I moved my head to her crotch and massaged her.
One sigh followed by another, and I unsnapped her pants and reached my hand in. I started rubbing her over her painties, feeling the curves of her labia through the thin fabric, so thin I could tell she was complete unshaved. My hand slid under her unmentionables, and I massaged her clitoris beween my index and middle fingers. Her back arched, her head tilted back, and I slid my fingers inside her. Her pants were too tight to get a good angle, so after a minute, took my hand out and pulled her pants just a few centimeters lower to give me some space.
|Rosa||Wait. I don't want to do this here.|
|Heartsucker||Sure thing. Do you want to find somewhere darker?|
|Rosa||Can we go back to your place?|
|Heartsucker||Not tonight. My roommate has to get up early for a flight tomorrow.|
This wasn't the complete truth. ██████ and I were avoiding brining people around when the other was home in order to keep the house a comfortable space for both of us. This was more at my behest than hers, in part because of her being one of the loudest sex partners I've ever had, and in part because her bedroom door didn't really close, so if she did bring someone home, there was no escaping it.
|Heartsucker||What about your place? It's closer too.|
|Rosa||I don't know. I just moved in a month ago, and I'm not sure if I can do that yet.|
Truly, we came from different backgrounds.
|Heartsucker||Ok, so we could find somewhere darker.|
|Rosa||I guess we could do that.|
|Heartsucker||I mean, we should do whatever makes you feel more comfortable. It's important that you're having fun too.|
|Rosa||I am having fun!|
|Heartsucker||Ok, but I meant, like, let's do the thing that makes it more- Nevermind. Let's just find a darker corner.|
We escaped further from the light and dirt paths, dropped our things, and laid down again.
I slid her pants down from her hips and ran my now cold fingers along her thighs and lips to warm them. Without Rosa's pants in the way, I was able to reach inside her to the last knuckle. I could feel the fully, softness of her lips in the crooks of my fingers. I massaged her from the inside as she sucked on my lips.
She was a new partner, so I couldn't tell if the waves tension in her body we small orgasms, but nonetheless I continued. I sat up and pulled her pants down to her ankles.
I'm better with my mouth.
Rosa, dazed, nodded.
I laid my head between her legs and pushed my fingers back inside her until with a scream, she pinched my head between her thighs and came.
I continued to gently kiss her pussy before coming back up to make out some more. She objected to this and flipped me on my back. Rosa hiked her pants back up to fight off the cold Berlinernachtluft before laying atop me and then rubbing my cock through my pants.
Of course I had played with her with out any expectation of reciprocation, but it's always somewhat relieving to know that your partner is a giver and not just a taker.
Rosa, confused by the shoestring acting as a belt, was unable to get her hand into my pants. I untied it with one while the other held the back of her neck, keeping her lips planted firmly on mine. She wrapped her fingers around my shaft an pulled back and forth. I exhaled.
She pulled my pants down and took my cock out. Her breath warmed it as the cold breeze chilled it. Rosa kissed the tip and slid it into her mouth. Her lips were soft, and her tongue massaged me. Involuntary gasps escaped me with increasing frequency and volume. I watch Rosa work. I watched the clouds roll by. I closed my eyes, and I came.
We laid in the grass for a bit longer before walking back, and where our paths parted, I kissed her goodbye.
I showered and watched the days experinces swirl down the drain realzing I hadn't cleaned up since fucking ██████ the first time.
Warm and scrubbed free of grit, I wrapped myself in my blankets and drifted off to sleep.
Act IV: A New Day
The next day, I awoke with some amount of soreness and the general feeling that my illness was returning. I stretched, did my calesthenics, bathed, and ate, all the while looking at my flat feeling like the fact that I have somewhere clean and warm to live was a betrayal to the cause I believed in. Nothing had changed. I'd taken to the streets, yelled, and brawled with the police, and it all might as well have been a dream.
In the streets, it was worse. Of course, I can't know what everyone around me was thinking, but it felt like there was a soporific malaise and that no one really knew what had happened. I had watched people fight and bleed and cry wretched tears last night, all for something they believed in, and yet the masses were unaffected by it. And I was no better. I was off to my job, too. Off to pour 8 hours of my life back in to some company in the name of making rent. Not that it was a company that didn't try to geniuine do good, to provide better security products to end users, but the fact that the rest of the day wouldn't be spent in a room with other revolutionaries, planning on the next strike made me sad.
I'm constantly plagued by the guilt that I'm not doing enough. Every day I can't manage to put a few ours into activism or free software feels like a wasted day. Even now, as I write this, I think that I could be working on SecureDrop, or contacting other leftist groups in Berlin or anything, but instead I'm doing something narcissistic and writing about myself.
I am part of the problem.
And life goes on.