The Quake

July 16, 2009

When he touched her face he felt a strange pressure in his solar plexus.

For a second, this sensation seemed to suffocate him.

He often experienced seemingly disparate feelings.

With a blend of joy and sadness, memories from his childhood ebbed and flowed in his mind.

He had felt abandoned but it was OK.

For him, being abandoned was almost like dying, being purified and finally reborn.

He felt as if the earth were trembling.

His heart skipped a beat and he drew a deep breath to regain his heart’s rhythm.

She touched him, and peeled off his shirt.  Their mouths pressed together.

The sensation that he had experienced in his solar plexus traveled past his stomach and into his loins.

He didn’t feel abandoned now and he felt more powerful than ever had before.

She removed his pants and discarded them on the chair.

She kissed his face, his neck, his chest and slowly glided her hand in a caress of his upper body.

With a lingering kiss, she teased his tongue with hers.

There was something breathless about the sky.

A gust of wind swept across the room through the partially open window and chills fluttered across his bare skin.

The wind imparted a distinctive whistling tune.  A love song.

“Je t’aime, je t’aime

oh, oui je t’aime!

Moi non plus,

oh, mon amour…”

She shed her own clothes and they sank onto the bed.

She lay by his side.

He could die at that moment.

He was fulfilled and life and death were good.

Suddenly a rumble, then a roar, and then a siren.

He had been starving before , but his hunger was being sated.

The obscure obstacle that separates hunger from contentment is despair.

And he consumed with all his passion as if exacting revenge on his prior depleted condition.

He moved over her and kissed her lips.

Her mouth was soft and sweet.

He felt the effect of her kiss throughout his body.

With a wave of relief, the tension that he hadn’t even realized he was carrying had gone.

He felt lighter than ever.

Almost weightless.

In that moment there was also a change in tempo.

Every second was infinite.

The moment was eternal.

It made sense to him.

He continued kissing her as he descended the contours of her lovely body.

From her mouth to her neck, from her chest on to her belly until he found her fleshy mound.

Scent,  wetness, whisper, heaven, life, death, eternity, sensation, body, soul, generosity, pleasure, happiness, love.

He held her close, slid into the cat position and penetrated her body deeply, rocking back and forth in increasing rhythmic pressure.

“Je t’aime, je t’aime.

L’amour physique est sans issue.

Non! Maintenant viens!”

The wind outside blew stronger still.

The whistle had intensified to more like a distant wail.

Now there are  screams.

A man shouting.Pleasure, tension.

A woman screaming. Pleasure, pain.

Then again, the sweet perfume.

Whispers and cries, pleasure and pain, heaven and hell, war and peace, sin and pardon, give and take, body and soul, affection and violence, uttering of love and of insult, all of eternity in a single second.

They shifted position.

She guided him to the edge of the bed.

She knelt on the floor.

She placed her head between his legs where her mouth and tongue worked kindly on his body.

She devoted herself to satisfying a profound hunger.

She bowed on her knees.

He was in heaven.

The earth was moving.

Deep in the earth the rumbling continued.

Glass splintering and shattering. Fire bells. Madness.

Objects fell from desks and dressers, pictures fell from the walls, and resistance fell from their bodies, from their very souls in ecstasy.

Their whole world trembled and they knew that something colossal was coming.

Suddenly, there was an explosion and the floor appeared to have split.

The building was swaying and they had no control, no control over their bodies.

Fearful shrieks echoed from the collapsing stairwells outside, but amidst the fervor in their room the predominant cries of elation were all that resonated with them.

The Big One hit Los Angeles in the middle of the night, but they didn’t care if they lived or died.

ART BY: YOLANDA FRIDERICI

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ABOUT THE AUTHOR:

Antonio Costa Neto is freelancer writer and has worked in some of the most important ad agencies in Brazil and the United States. He now lives in Miami where he owns and operates a marketing consultant company. Throughout his career in advertising, he has won top international awards in the Cannes, London and New York festivals, as well as in the Clio Awards and many Latin American festivals. Antonio Costa Neto has written numerous plays and screen plays in Brazil.
Womb Wrecker Syndrome is his second book.

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