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“I was watching him daily from my room, behind shade-loving windows, literally rolled into a red curtain. I was afraid of him. I imagined how he might crack the hell out of dusk, discovering I followed each movement of his body, his limbs of a wimp, his vessels and muscles, his sweat and exhaustion, practicing workout, every day. He looked dull and goony, his red puffed up face, his pumping chest, his drooling oral hole, his random search for his cock, loosen and rewarding. His viscous and skinny strength. A walking dead starving weakness. Kind of a diehard. He looked like he couldn´t lift a stone out of his way, but he knew how to crumble it to pieces. I recognized a small mark, on his skin, in detail on his hip, right hip. Looked from far, with little help of a lense, like a crow´s foot or a stump with backtracking roots. I felt he knew. He knew what I was doing, we shared a daily ritual. He practiced with homemade barbells. Cement and plastic tubes. I could feel his eyes on my sticky itchy red dress when he was dabbing his exudations off his face and neck. I could feel his gaze, his eyes, covert behind the bright white towel´s seam, he finally picked out of a cool box. We were just a corner away from each other, but we never will talk, fuck or decide the color of our curtains together or struggle with the last towel in the closet. I fucked him and he fucked me, sometimes, in my dreams, when I had lost control. But I decided to leave, every morning.”