Posts Tagged ‘regret’


Posted: November 6, 2017 in Uncategorized
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“Hey Goldie,” the dominant lady with big belly exclaimed. Her name was Teresa. Old, almost blind lady Goldie stopped and looked. She was ready to do whatever she was about to be told.

“Come here,” Teresa ordered dominantly. Her husband Michael smiled in the manner of a dog. Was he really that submissive or was that love, I asked, wondering who that man was smiling behind his thick glasses.

“She Is too old now…she cannot see, she cannot hear, she can hardly walk, she does not understand what we talk,” said Teresa as the old Goldie ran towards her in slow motion which generated compassion in everyone. Michael laughed to compliment his wife. I joined him not to receive oppressive look from Teresa. She, too, laughed. I had to have her heart in my palm, it seemed like from the first minute I had met them.

She held my index and middle finger very firmly after greeting me in our first meeting and stroked them like she stroked Michael’s cock when she felt like.

“I let that house to an Armenian family,” said she and invited us into her own house with enthusiasm of a teen, hardly containing herself in her old body. I kind of liked her then and there. I knew why; we had the same kind of madness maybe at different degrees. I was already imagining how we could become explosive one day if we ended up being friends or acquaintance as I followed her with my old neighbour who was in love with me. I fancied his son and slept with him soon after I had met him with no guilt or shame. He was the sweetest man I had ever met. He fancied me, too. Hence he hid the fact that he was married twice and had two kids. You see, I could have easily called him a liar if I did not like him so much but I have not. I guess I still like him. I cannot help it just like his father could not and still cannot help being in love with me. I did tell him that I liked his son and slept with him like I had never slept with any man before but he did not care. His love was extremely blind. I did not know what to do about it but for now it was good to have him with me to give a great first impression to Teresa and Michael. Yes, it is still true that a woman, no matter how attractive, how pretty, intellectual she is, is not respectable on her own unless she has a big bank account and two body guards in which case she would not need to rent a house of such people like Teresa and Michael. Yes, it is still true that money is the only power unless one is supernatural.

goldie lady


“You might want to buy this house,” said Teresa to my ex-fucker’s father whose name was Emir. He smiled.

“It is a big and beautiful house but I need something smaller,” he lied, and smiled at me sarcastically. He was good at lying. It made him feel smarter than others but he had no idea about tricks of the mother nature nor did he seem to have met a secret demon catcher like me before.

“Oh aren’t you, too, going to marry soon,” asked Teresa and laughed without knowing a word about us. She knew she had just said something she was not supposed to. So many butterflies began flying into the air from Emir’s eyes. I did not know what kind of stomach he had to love the woman who slept with his son and who was his child’s age. I stopped condemning people long time ago. Playing with their weaknesses as I pleased was more joyful, I discovered. It was so much fun to make them believe that I was the person they had perceived and behave like who I really was when they least expected.

goldie 2


Emir smiled like a shy teen, I looked away, Teresa looked at us as if a fortune teller looked into a crystal globe and told the future on top of the stairs in her big old and messy house which smelled food. Michael did not even bother to walk in and interrupt her. He knew that she was not going to give him a chance to talk so he stayed outside and played with the cat instead. She talked, talked and talked…she talked even when she did not talk, I heard every word crossed her mind. She was not really showing her house to us, she was studying us in her house. I decided to play idiotically innocent young woman whom she could easily deceive even abuse sometimes. I knew this was the type Teresa was looking for to let her house. I made sure that she regretted letting her house to the Armenian family before we walked out of her smelly, messy big house. I did not talk at all. I only smiled and acted so extremely kind to the point of stupidity. By the time we walked out of her house, she was in pain, I could see it in her eyes. She was no longer dominant but extremely motherly creature. She held my hand and said:

“Let me show you a place.”

“You said you let it to an Armenian family, did you just change your mind,” I asked.

“No, forget about that place…I have a better one for you,” said she and led us to it. We walked through beautiful garden right side of which had admirably peaceful white houses. I had never imagined to have one up until I was thirty. I never thought I was going to live long enough to have a house, I contemplated about killing myself if I did not die that soon but I did not. I could not, there was still some goldie 3love left somewhere in my bleeding heart apparently , I did not kill myself nor did I die. I had chosen love.



“Oh, that is exciting,” I said to Teresa and smiled. Mad parts of our selves greeted each other second time when she looked into my eyes as we walked through a heavenly garden.

Michael did not come with us. He stayed with the cat instead.

“I kept this house for my son, I was going to live here after selling my big house for a while but since I loved you so much I am not going to let you keep looking for a place,” said Teresa with a great empathy which I was not sure whether stroked her ego or was a sign of her humanity. I was not in a position to care about such subtlety, I needed a place. Where I currently lived was too noisy. I was no longer able to sleep at night due to loud fucks around my flat. People were primitively basic around that place.


“Here is the living room,” said she and I fixed my eyes on the bluest and brightest Aegean Sea shouting quietly in front of the balcony. Teresa did really love me, I thought stood where I stood in the evening she and Michael visited me with a bowl of soup and some cookies. Goldie had come with them, too.

The old, half blind and deaf Goldie stood by her feet and kissed them. It was hard enough to be a dog but harder to be an old one, I thought. She was living last years of her life, according to the local vets. Teresa and Michael were prepared to lose her any moment.

“She had been with us for fourteen years,” said Teresa and lifted her up. Even her hair looked old and weak. Teresa sat Goldie on her laps and stroked her back. Michael smiled, sitting next to her.

“Would you like a cup of tea,” I asked. Teresa stood up as the biggest authority. She had already decided on behalf of all of us. She took three packets of three in one coffee out of her bag immediately and walked towards the kitchen. Michael smiled like a little old dog. That was how he had coped with her dominant nature half of which seemed to have originated from love and desire to express her womanhood. I allowed her to be the best woman on earth. She made us coffee very motherly and served the cookies she had made.


“Teresa loves kitchen and she is a very good cook,” said Michael and smiled. And I admired them with regret. They had been married for forty-seven- years, they were almost seventy but their love was as young as seventeen.


I would have married to love of my life only if I knew what it meant to have a family like the one they had, only if I knew how…only if I knew that when I had the chance. I had never seen such a happy marriage or family in my entire life before. All I knew was how to push away someone or withdraw myself. And he was now so far away. Maybe with someone else. Maybe happy or maybe faking to be happy…I can feel he is not really happy and I know my feelings are true because he still texts me in my hardest time as if he feels it, too.


“Did you like my cookies,” asked Teresa after she had served her coffee.

“Delicious…everything you make is delicious,” I said to delight her and she was delighted.

“What is your secret,” I asked.

“I put love in everything I make my dear,” said she and Michael held her hand like a school boy.

I admired them with regret and heartache once again.








He left and it rained but not because he left. It just rained. I thought I was upset because he had left, but I was not…not because of that. He said he was my friend and I agreed with that….at least for a few moments a day…or something like that. I then got a severe headache…no not because he had left but because how I felt after he had left. And it rained. Something felt fake when I waved at him from the balcony… something was still fake. Was it something in me or in him, I did not know that yet.

I hated his beard for the first time. He, too, admitted that men with little manhood tended to grow big beard in this land where minarets were more potent than most of them. Was it his beard? No, not completely that. He smelled like a hell and he did not seem to know that. No, no…don’t get me wrong before I even began. I did not even touch him, he was my friend. Just because he wanted to…but he was too primitive…too manishly man…too shallow…too proud to have a little extension between his legs…no he thought he was but he was never my friend…and I never cared. Wasn’t I dreaming like everyone else? And it rained…I love the way soil smelled…a big white bird opened her wings and flew towards me…she seemed to have known how I felt.

red and blue pill

What pill would kill the pain a fake friend left in my head? I opened the cabinet and took the blue pill. I poured water into a thin tall glass, put the blue pill in the middle of my tongue and pushed it down with water. The pain seemed to have disappeared as I walked towards the mirror. My face seemed different to me. There was disgust and regret even when I stared like a newly made statute or dead. I felt more sublime when I was a statute, insignificant and sad when I pretended to be dead. Then I got scared , no I did not want to be dead…but I did not want to be fake either…I began hating the mirror after my friend…no he was not mine…he was just a friend …

He told me how he stabbed a man…he was proud of that because that was very brave…that was the only reason why he had become  a friend in my conscious sphere…I knew how sorry he and all the other men felt sorry for me for not being a man…I felt sorry for him for not having anything else apart from the little or big extension between his legs.

“Have you ever thought that you are smarter than me?” asked he. He knew the truth, I knew the truth. I still had to pretend that I did not know the truth…because I was not a man…and I could not stab a man…but I think I am going to have to, I said to myself…I am going to have to pretend to be mad…because I know that is going to be less painful and more real…I am going to be a mad woman, shooting the minarets…cutting the throats and cocks of men who made me fake…who forced me to pretend, I promised myself. No, Buddha would not do that…because he was a man…he, too, would not understand…nor would Mohammed…he would laugh at that…

“Sit down! Stay down woman!” he would exclaim, stroking his big beard.

It rained…it rained regret all day… and I took one more blue pill…it rained revenge all night… and I took another blue pill…