Sadness of Sex, The (1995)

Valentine's Day, Hot, Steamy, Sexy, Romantic Movie Collection.

Moderator: Maskath3

Watch on Amazon   Merchandise   Collectables

Valentine's Day, Hot, Steamy, Sexy, Romantic Movie Collection.
Post Reply

Sadness of Sex, The (1995)

Post by bunniefuu »

(eerie music)

(upbeat eerie music)

(alarms blaring)
(upbeat eerie music)

♪ Here it comes I can feel it ♪

♪ Its like being (indistinct) ♪

(indistinct)
(upbeat music)

♪ And it hurts (indistinct) ♪

♪ We might love each other ♪

♪ Even if we did can't you feel it ♪

(indistinct lyrics)

(upbeat music)
(indistinct)

♪ Save desire, save desire ♪

♪ Save desire, save desire ♪

♪ You captured something wild ♪

♪ Save desire, save desire ♪

♪ Save desire (indistinct) ♪

♪ You captured something wild ♪

♪ Save desire, save desire ♪

♪ Save desire ♪

(dramatic music)

(upbeat music)
(indistinct lyrics)

- I'm alone, Instead of
sleep, I look out my window.

The night is full of meteor showers.

I watch them flip through the starry sky

toward the horizon.

Late in the night, I lie on the couch

wishing a meteor might land in my room.

All at once the window
swells with pale blue light.

(air whooshing)

The softly shimmering blaze
settles on the carpet.

Its steadies and it resolves

into a girl wearing pale blue pajamas.

I make room for her on the couch.

She tells me about her life
in the sky, how brief it is,

how dark the distance
is between the stars,

but how exquisite the sights
slipping into the atmosphere

blazing softly, "And now
it's over," she sighs.

"And here I am with you."

We lie together with my arm around her.

She gazes out the window, lost in thought.

A tear starts down her cheek.

"What's wrong?" I whisper.

"Nothing," she says, "I can
see in the future that's all."

"Well then why are you sad?"

"Because," she says, "First we'll be happy

and then we'll be sad,

that's just the way it will be for us."

"No," I protest, "That's not true at all.

I've fallen in love with you,
I'll be with you always."

She only smiles hearing what I say

as she gazes out at the
heavens and the dreaming stars.

(crowd clapping)

Of course, she left the next morning

and didn't leave her number.

(crowd laughing)

And I start to ask myself,
"Do I have a little problem?

Am I the type of guy they
call a hopeless romantic?"

Accent on hopeless.

But why? Why the sadness of sex?

I never took a vow against
love and happiness.

Where did all these problems start?

(upbeat music)

My childhood wasn't that
different from everyone else's.

I was what used to be
called a sensitive boy,

but there were lots of family activities,

loads of family fun and games.

I can honestly say mom and
dad were really great sports

in all sorts of ways.

My father titters, "He has
turned himself into a girl."

(girl laughing)

A throng of blonde curls
sits on his balding head.

A powder pink sweater stretches
to the point of ripped seams

over the bra bumps of his burly chest.

He swishes about in the
parlor, preening and giggling,

and then heads off
waddling down the back hall

A hand bent wristed on his hip

out into the garden in the moonlight.

I stare at him from
out the kitchen window.

Lifting his little fingers
he holds his hands out

far to either side and bends his big nose

and sniffs a hydrangea.

(sniffs) He petter patters in place

delighted with what he smells.

Shaken I go upstairs and
break the news to my mother.

My mother puts down her sewing.

She crosses to the sewing room window.

"Yes, I see what you mean," she says.

She sighs, she turns back into
the room, shaking her head,

mysteriously a smile plays
at the corner of her lips.

She goes out to her and
my father's bedroom,

when she reappears she has
on black tie and tails,

a top hat and a cloak.

She carries a cane, she squints
jauntily through a monocle,

the thin line of a mustache

is penciled across her upper lip.

"Dearie," she announces,

"I think it's best if you go to bed now.

The sort of an evening is for adults."

She pats me on the cheek,

seeing how shocked and speechless I am.

She winks and steps off
in a swirl of a cloak.

From the bedroom window I stare down

open mouth into the garden.

The slight top hated figure
of my mother strides out

toward the bloated pixie who is my father.

(upbeat music)
(women giggling)

My father wiggles shyly at the
sight at my mother's advance

and then retreats one coy
step and then another,

and then scampers off heavily
into the rhododendron bushes.

His sweater comes flying out
powder pink in the moonlight.

My mother snatches it in midair

and brandishes her cane in a
lusty display of enthusiasm.

And she crouches, she st*lks
towards the rhododendrons

calling ahead teasingly.

Suddenly she stops.

She straightens and looks
about a flying kid glove

bangs against the screen of my window.

"Go to sleep," my mother's
voice orders from below.

I turn off the lamp.

After a while I lie down,

as bidden, but I can't sleep.

I stare in confusion at the ceiling,

hearing laughter from the garden

and the strangest of noises.

- [Narrator] Do you
realize what would happen

if every man in the country

that wanted to wear women's
clothes or felt like a woman

went to their doctors
and wanted a sex change?

(upbeat music)

- [Narrator] Lust, debauchery,
perversion in its extreme,

"Sex Madness," coming
soon to this theater.

(upbeat music)
(crowd laughing)

- Imagine what it was like

bringing girlfriends home to that house.

Not that I had any girlfriends,

not that I really knew a girl.

I was very young and fearful
and shy, but at the same time,

almost certifiably eager.

I guess everybody's first clumsy ventures

with the opposite sex were nightmares.

But for me, I must say
dating was apocalyptic.

- How do you choose a date?
Whose company would you enjoy?

Well, one thing you can consider is looks.

Whether you thought of Janice
and how good looking she was.

Yes, he'd enjoy that,
except, well, it's too bad

Janice always acts so superior and bored.

She'd make a fellow feel
awkward and inferior.

Well, perhaps someone who
doesn't feel superior.

There's Betty,

and yet it just doesn't seem
as if she'd be much fun.

What about Anne?

She knows how to have a good
time and how to make the fellow

with her relax, have fun too.

Yes. That's what a boy likes.

He wants to know he's appreciated

and would be fun on a date.

- My date calls to tell me

she has a big surprise waiting
for me when I pick her up.

This really electrifies me.

I hear she's a pretty wild customer.

She must have something
extra special cooked up.

I leave my sports coat
and sweater in the closet

and get out my zebra
striped dovetail coat.

It's totally outrageous.

But after that phone call,

I know I have the nerve to pull it off.

(crowd laughing)

I look in the mirror and
there I am, a little kinky,

but definitely loaded with sexy pizzazz.

I am going to bowl her over.

I dance up the stairs to her place,

an exotic bunch of feathered
flowers in my fist.

I punch the buzzer on the
downbeat of the little tuna keg.

There's no answer.

"It's all part of the surprise of course,"

I whinnied like a horse
and push open the door.

"Surprise," a voice squeaks.

I look around.

Finally I see her. She's on the sofa.

I drop the flowers. My mouth falls open.

She's barely 12 inches tall.

"It took me all day," she
says, "I'm not quite dry yet,

so why don't you make yourself
a drink before we go?"

I have my drink. Then
another, then another.

I'm in too much shock to say anything.

When she says she's, "Ready,"
I finally get my voice back

and try to talk her having
dinner where we are.

But she insists on going out as planned.

"Well, do you think this is
too much for you to handle?"

She inquires coyly.

"Of course not," I retort,

"Why should it be?"

(upbeat music)

In the restaurant she sits on the table

on an overturned cup.

(crowd laughing)

I've picked out the
darkest, most isolated booth

in the place, but even so,
people won't stop staring.

They don't touch their food.

They just lean out of their seats

and crane their necks and stare.

I'm so embarrassed. I
can hardly see straight.

My date loves it.

She has me mash up a ravioli

and feed it to her with a matchstick.

She asked me if I still
think I can handle it.

"You bet I can," I tell her fiercely.

I can see now exactly
what her little game is.

"All right then," she
smirks, "Give me some wine."

I shove the glass in front of her

before I realized the effect
a few sips are gonna have.

Immediately she gets cock-eyed.

She gives me a lascivious
wink licking her lips.

She slides off the cup and
starts doing a strip tease.

Horrified, I hiss at her, "Cut it out."

She leaves at me.

"I thought you could
take it," she squeaks.

In a panic I grab a napkin
and hold it up around her.

She hauls up her her
skirt, she's stark naked.

(crowd laughing)

She pitches headlong on my plate

and starts rolling
around in the spaghetti.

The waiter appears at my
shoulder to clear off the dishes.

He stares at the heaving napkin.

I grin up a team with all my
teeth and shrug my shoulders.

He looks at me strangely and
says he will come back later.

By now, my date has a piece of spaghetti

worked in between her legs.

She is ooing and aahing squealing at me.

What do I think now? What do I think now?

People are buzzing,
rising from their chairs.

The waiter is on his way
back with the maître d'.

Frantically I throw down some money.

I clear my date up in the
napkin and bolt to my feet

and shove wriggling and
screaming under my coat.

I get 10 feet towards the exit and bang,

the force of an expl*si*n
knocks me flying.

I come to in a heap under a table.

My date is sprawled on her back
in the middle of the floor.

She is shockingly full sized

smeared with tomato sauce and spaghetti.

Her ass is churning away furiously

her hands clutching her thighs.

"Come on your little prick," she roars.

"Come on, come on, let's
see you handle of big fat

man-sized mama!"

(crowd laughing)
(upbeat music)

When I was young, you see,

I thought I'd grow wiser about women

and love as I grew older.

I couldn't wait to grow older.

I thought, "Sure, things
seem confusing right now,

even alarming, but time and experience

will explain everything."

I thought older men
knew something about sex

that I didn't yet understand.

Well I was right.

(dramatic music)

(match striking)

I get involved in a game
of poker, strip poker.

(dramatic music)

The others have somehow
persuaded a cow to join in.

(cow mooing)

The cow stands stupid and
uncomfortable in the cigar smoke.

My table mates ply it with booze.

It is decked out in a pathetic
catalog of bedroom apparel.

Naturally, it always plays a losing hand.

It can't manage with his garments

and everyone makes full use of
the opportunity to handle it

in the name of assistance.

I watch in disgust as a
beefy bank manager type

fumbles with a lacy
garter on the cow's flank.

His hands are trembling.

"Would you look at those adders?

Will you look at those
adders," he keeps mumbling

his face is flush crimson.

The cow shifts a leg, quaking, big eyed.

"Count me out," I mutter.

Finally, I throw in my cards for good.

Without further ceremony,
I push back my chair

and go out onto the patio.

I take a couple of deep breaths.

The salacious laughter rises behind me.

I hurry off and steadily down the steps,

drunk, feeling unclean and despicable.

"These package vacations are a nightmare,"

I think to myself.

In this frame of mind

I wander about the lakefront for an hour.

Not a soul is about.

Lugubriously I make my way
back to the patio steps.

I stop.

The sound of mooing
goes out into the night

above the swarming of abandoned laughter.

The yelps in the cries.

Silhouetted shadows come and
go in the french windows,

horns toss about and disappear.

Soundly, I turn to leave again

when the French windows burst open.

The bank manager staggers
out into the moonlight.

He wheels down the steps
his shirt tails loose,

his suspenders flapping at his knees

and lurches straight into me.

"Oh my God, oh my God," he moans,

half in ecstasy half in horror.

I shove him away from me.

His face is smeared with milk.

(dramatic music)

What do men want?

There's only one thing
in the world I wanted.

I wanted it. Technically
I wanted to lose it.

I wanted to cross that
final silken barrier.

The air would throb around me visibly

whenever I would think about it.

The air just throbbed all the time.

And how on earth was I going
to act if by some act of God

I managed to get it?

Well, since I was young,
fearful, shy, obviously ignorant,

I was gonna act like an expert.

(upbeat music)

I'm in bed with a girl
for the very first time.

- [Woman] Ooh.

- I brought her back to my place.

I think she's pretty impressed,

but I'm playing it very cool.

This is all a bit new to me,

but luckily I've got the
best manual money can buy.

I'm not going to disappoint her.

(crocodile whistles)

By foreplay with the
controlled exquisiteness

of a French (speaking in foreign language)

I lock horns with a steady langer

of an eastern swami,
timeless and temperate.

And then suddenly I kicked the
whole thing into overdrive,

a lumberjack and a brand new Cadillac.

Off we roar down the coast highway.

Rolls about the light crashes over us,

drenches us in a hot
shower of (indistinct).

We roll (indistinct) in
a daze and immediately

I grove for the cigarettes to celebrate.

But in all the excitement,

her legs have somehow
gotten over rearranged.

Unbelievably her legs are backwards.

But I know in my heart that
if I really do a thorough job

on her, really extecize in a way

she's obviously never been
before, just straighten out.

I fling myself into the
task with messianic relish.

♪ Here we go, here we go, here we go. ♪

- At the last minute, I
wheel her on top of me

and make like an oil derrick.

We reenact the discovery of
oil, I gushed (indistinct).

I pull out from under her collapsed form

and gasping from exhaustion

I forage under the
sheets I check her heels.

I check her as I sit back
panting and vindicated.

Everything's pointing
in the same direction

just as I knew it would be,
including I realize her breasts.

Her breast is sticking out
of the middle of her back.

I sink back to the pillows glowering.

It goes like this all afternoon.

When her breasts are
right, her hands are wrong.

When her hands are right,
the cheeks of her ass

snuggle up under her belly.

Finally, the parts of her
body are in a hopeless angle

and I give up.

(dramatic music)

(woman moaning)

I watch as she dresses hasty and competent

despite the jumble of anatomy.

She has an appointment to keep.

She sits at the bureau,

humming to herself as she
combs out the long red banner

of her hair with a
grotesquely misplaced hand.

She dabs a little extra
brightness on her lips.

A practiced fingertip brushes once, twice,

just above the top knob of her spine

where her lips happen to be.

She comes over to me when
she's done and contorts herself

to press her hand to my cheek.

"Thanks," she smiles, "It
was just utterly swell."

She might as well have said,
"Better luck next time."

I watch dismally as she strolls out,

pausing at the door to
throw back a tangled kiss,

the unregenerate cubism of her body

making a mockery of the
grand tradition of my powers.

Maybe I just wasn't built for romance.

Maybe I would be the one
guy in the whole world

who just didn't get it.

Maybe it was all over me
before it started, maybe.

And then one day all these
maybes became irrelevant.

It was a day just like any other.

I woke up alone, nothing unusual,

made coffee, nothing unusual,

decided to go out for a stroll
and a second cup of coffee.

And I had no idea you see no idea at all

that this was the day,
this was the very day

love was lying in wait for me.

(dramatic music)

I sit in a cafe in late morning

browsing the paper for news of the day.

I become aware of a presence

just out of the corner of my eye.

A girl hurries by, she
gives me a distracted smile.

(dramatic music)

She's quite pretty in an appealing way.

I stir hardly at my coffee.

I stir it with a spoon that trembles.

(mellow music)

A while later she goes by again.

(mellow music)

I can't stop myself, I look.

(dramatic music)

She's not pretty I realize, she's lovely.

She's utterly woundingly lovely.

(dramatic music)

I groan, clutch onto the little
round table with both hands.

(mellow music)

"Oh no, not this," I think,

tossing my head from side to side.

"Not this, no, no, no."

I wrench myself to my feet

and plunge back out into the sidewalk

and lurch up against
the side of the building

panting, chest heaving,
passers by turn their heads.

I fumble with a handkerchief
over my face, gasping,

clenching my teeth, "You
fool," I abrade myself.

"You irresponsible fool," I
strike my thigh with my fist.

I push off wildly and start
tottering down the sidewalk.

Apparitions of beauty
inv*de me, overwhelm me.

Images of her dance before my eyes.

(dramatic music)

A young couple on their
way to Lake Crescent

shrink back outta the path ahead of me.

A terrible icy shudder goes through me,

the couple squeal in unison
against the parked cars.

I give out a barking cry of protest

and sink down heavily to my
knees a few yards before them.

I twist about this way and that

thrashing the air with
frantic clamoring arms.

"Help me," but it's no use.

The hideous toxin of love has
been ingested and has taken.

A spasm racks my body as powerfully

and copiously almost luxuriously.

Down there in all fours,
I begin to vomit out

a tide of rose petals and perfume bottle,

scars and scraps of desperately
scribbled love letters

on expensive note paper and
packets of intimate photos

with swooning inscriptions

and torn pages of chic
music stained with tears

and the notes of that one special song.

The whole noxious adoring mess,

sh**t and oozes over the pavement.

Bubbling hazardous spill

lethal with the debris of infatuation.

And this was in fact how I met her.

Her, the girl of my dreams,
the Juliet to my Romeo,

the Jane to my Tarzan, and
the Beauty to my Beast,

the eggs to my (speaking
in foreign language), her.

Of course, we didn't
literally meet as such.

I'm not positive she even noticed me.

In fact, she probably
doesn't know I exist.

But no matter, for now I am in love.

And love makes me bold.

(mellow music)

(woman yodeling)

I track the girl of my
dreams through the park.

(woman yodeling)
(dramatic music)

My little friend is
helping, it's slow going.

Not for nothing has my friend
acquired his reputation

for being a lot of trouble,

whimsical to the point of unruliness.

It's one headache after another with him.

He requires constant attention.

He's all false alarms

and rushing off madly in all directions

and then aimless wandering here and there.

Also the stubby wings my friend spots

are in fact just ornamental

so I have to lug him about all
the time so he can keep up.

The arrows in his quiver
jab in the back of the neck.

I have to put him down repeatedly

and make him rearrange things.

But the girl is impeded also.

She has bags of groceries
and shopping with her.

We've gotten close
enough once to wound her

but naturally this has
had the added disadvantage

of putting her vehemently on guard.

We plot along our woodland section.

We've lost sight of her
for several minutes.

But now my friend gives
a shout, "Where?" I huff.

"Over there," he cries pointing
with his chubby little hand.

I spot the tawny blonde head.

Suddenly it disappears
among the autumn leaves.

"I'll cut her off," I cry,
wheeling and lumbering

off the path in pursuit.

Almost immediately I catch my foot

and the two of us go sprawling cursing

we hurriedly retrieved
the petite silver bow

and bright scattered arrows.

We remount and hectically I
plod along. We're in luck.

We crouch behind an
architectural fragment.

On a bench in a clearing
directly beyond us

the girl has had to pause
with her shopping bags

to catch her breath.

She looks right and left
in great consternation.

"All right," I whisper,

"This time, make sure it's a good sh*t."

"This breeze is kind of tricky,"

my friend mutters glancing
about with a screwed up eyes.

He fits an arrow to its string.
Suddenly we whirl around.

A figure looms over us.

It's a large woman with a walking stick.

"Hello there," she announces,
"My what a handsome child."

"Are you going to sh**t something?"

"b*at it grandma," my
friend rasps savagely.

"For Christ's sake, lady," I add,

"He happens to be thousands of years old.

Can't you see we're busy?" I demand.

The woman looks shocked. She retreats.

We wrench back around.

"She's onto us," my friend
cries, "She's bolting."

The girl is on her feet
backing away from the bench

looking wildly about in
our general direction.

She turns to flee.

"sh**t, sh**t," I yell.

The arrow flashes wide
in the slanting light.

The girl veers and squeezes
fluttering her hands

and rushes off across the
leaf, scattered grass.

"She's going for cover
over there," I cried.

"The pond's back that way
she won't have any way out.

I'll go around and close her off

and drive her back this way.

When she breaks, you get
her," I admonish fiercely.

I go rushing into the
clearing past the bench

and the abandoned monogram shopping bags

and head over along the far
side of the undergrowth.

My heart soars with the
thrill of the chase.

I wheel about and start in
stamping loudly and hollering

stentorian endearments.

"My sweetest of the sweet,
my beloved," I shout.

"My permanent rose. My
autumn heart's golden apple."

At last I hear her wounded
voice quailing, "Please."

It cries from someone not too far off.

"I confess I do find you unexpectedly,

profoundly attractive.

But my personal life has
other priorities right now."

"Oh, but true love is
merciless," I bellow.

"It won't take no for an answer."

I crash towards a voice with
red redoubled, v*olence,

stamping, and thrashing.

Suddenly there's a clamor
and a thicket nearby.

"She's breaking. She's
breaking," I shout hectically.

I go swarming back out into the clearing.

The girl bursts into the
open not 20 feet away.

She leaps across the clearing.

Gorgeous in full flight,

in the splendid gold of the afternoon.

A waring flash stuns her in her tracks.

Throws her arms out magnificently wide

as if to the dying grandeur
of the trees all around her.

Then she twists and
sinks down to her knees

and pitches over sideways onto the grass.

I come rushing up. I kneel over her.

I gaze down at the girl.

The silvery shaft protrudes
its precious wrought feathers

just off center out of her blouse.

The sh*t struck her dead in the heart.

She looks utterly beautiful.

"Are you all right?" I'm inquire gently.

"Are you all right?"

She looks up at me,

her eyes slowly focusing
with dewy radiance.

"I've never felt this
wonderful in my life,"

she says with a trembling little laugh.

"You've always been the
only one for me," she adds.

"Oh my darling," I tell
her. Our lips meet.

We kiss tenderly, deeply extravagantly.

My little friend watches from nearby

leaning on his bow pink
cheeked with embarrassment.

Suddenly he pushes his bow
aside and he turns and hoots

and with his pudgy legs bent,

he sh**t a thin celebratory
arc of silvery water

out into the afternoon light

over the glorious wind blown leaves.

(mellow music)

♪ You captured something
something wild save desire ♪

♪ Save desire ♪

♪ Save desire ♪

♪ You captured something wild ♪

♪ Save desire, save desire ♪

♪ Save desire ♪

♪ You captured something wild ♪

♪ Save desire, save desire ♪

- So at last I was in love,

glorious soul melting
head over heels love.

And when you're in love,

you get the pleasures of
dealing with intimacy.

(mellow music)

While my girlfriend sleeps,

I lean among the bed clothes
and gently wiggle loose

the top of her cranium.

Then I edge closer and inspect

the contents of my
sleeping girlfriend's mind.

(dramatic music)

A parade of memorabilia wanders through.

I smile in affection as a
plate of butterscotch follows

from dinner last Sunday at her mother's.

I note the card from
the flowers I gave her

for no reason at all a few nights ago.

I murmur endearment to
this under my breath.

Now a see your mouth, my
own kissing her goodnight.

The lips loom huge and
close and blot out all else.

Then a bulge of herringbone
appears from the trouser

she bought much too baggy, but
which she insists on wearing

with that trademark obstinacy of hers.

I shake my head at this
farrago of apparel.

My lips reappear for a
reprise, they look odd.

Suddenly the sleepy grin
on my face goes stiff.

"Those aren't my lips at all."

All at once I place them,
they're from that repellent

pseudo hipster my girlfriend did

the graphics work for last week.

I blink as they offer
a lurid smooching kiss.

I met him when she turned the pieces in

and he put in his flirty
little act for her benefit.

I glare at his hairless upper lip

as it slowly dissolves as my girlfriend's

new aerobic shoes thumping
away in her exercise class.

In the morning we have our coffee

at our table by the window.

"All right," my girlfriend
declares at length,

"What's it all about? Why
the mood this morning?"

"Nothing," I mutter from behind my paper.

"Don't tell me that. Come on out with it.

You've been hunched there
in complete silence,

radiating ill will.

Is it me? Tell me what I've done."

I look at her, my jaw sets.

"I was just mulling over," I tell her,

"Why you should be smooching
it up somewhere last week with

that goofball you did the
poster for that's all."

My girlfriend stares at
me. She blushes violently.

"Who told you that?
You were spying on me!"

"No, I wasn't spying as such," I retaught.

"You deny it happened?

"No, I don't deny it," she
admits going red again,

"But it it wasn't anything.

He's just sort of an enthusiastic

and he got carried away for a moment.

But I told him I already had a boyfriend."

"Oh really? How thoughtful of you?"

"But how did you know," She
demands, "Who told you?"

"I have non-conventional
sources," I inform her.

"Oh, you do?" "Yes I do."

She pushes my paper down on the table.

"Listen, you're getting jam
all over the sports section."

I sit back with a sigh of exasperation.

She gazes at me narrowly cocking her head.

A shrewd look plays on her face.

"Perhaps now you might
explain to me," she said,

"Why you were trying to
chew your way through

the neck of that half naked
mutant of a florist assistant

out behind the beach party last Friday."

Now it's my turn to exhibit
a deep shade of red.

I squirm in my chair.

"But how did you?"

"And I had no idea," she
continues, "That last Wednesday

you were closing your eyes
while we were being intimate.

You were away in your
mind for a full minute

bagging groceries in the nude

with that cute little checkout girl

from down in the market."

I blink at her.

"I but..."

My girlfriend sits back eyeing me tartly.

"Just be advised

there are games two can
play at," she warns.

She tilts her head.

"Did you notice your ears don't
quite line up this morning?"

How careless of me.

(somber music)

How long can anyone remain in love?

The French say, "A love
affair, by definition,

can't last more than a
thousand days, three years.

How long can what one
person wants be sacrificed

to support what two people need?

And if you have to change yourself,

however slightly to be with
someone, what are you hiding?

There are two things to do on a rainy day.

(mellow music)

The other one is to play cards.

(mellow music)

I'm in bed with my girlfriend
whose body I realize

seems somehow enticingly different.

When we start nuzzling,

my nostrils fill with something
sweet, something heavenly.

Veritably I put out my tongue,

I nibble, my palate swoons,
feverishly I start munching.

"Stop it!" She cries.
She shoves me away hard.

She thrashes to a sitting
position. I knew what she says.

"You're only interested in
me for damn my strawberries."

"Of course not," I retort trying
to look sincerely shocked,

"How can you say that?

It's merely I've never experienced

anything like this before.

And they are, well, frankly, delicious.

My favorite fruit. But
that's all, honestly.

"It's what they all say," she snorts.

Look enough nibbling. How's
about the real thing huh?"

"Of course," I tell her,

"Just one more teensy snack for energy?"

"No," she roars, twisting head away

and smacking a fist into the quilt.

"Sex or nothing."

"Okay, okay," I tell her, "No
need to get all worked up."

So I climb aboard and start up.

(dramatic music)

But it's hard to keep your
mind on its proper business

what with your nose
pressed against her jaw.

It is teased with the most
delicious fruity essences.

"Look, I'm really sorry,"

I finally have to say getting off

and stretching limply by her side.

For some reason she bursts
into quiet, terrible sobs.

"Oh God, I wish I were dead," she moans,

burying her cheeks in the pillows.

I lean over her feeling heart
sore and stricken and ashamed.

Obviously this all touches some

awful central problem in her life.

Some rotting prop under her self-image,

and I've simply gone
gorging my way into it.

She's clearly extraordinarily sensitive.

I know she is, and I've shown
no consideration whatsoever.

Just typical thoughtless egotism.

"Please listen to me, it's
all my fault," I whisper.

"I'm a real jerk and A1 prick.

You're gorgeous and sexy as
anything, you know you are.

To hell with the strawberries.
They mean nothing to me.

Nothing. Not a thing."

But even as I caress and stroke her,

even as I plead with her, to be assured,

even as I excoriate
myself and my selfishness,

my heedlessness, my brutality,

the aromas work away at my fuddled brain.

Helplessly I feel my mouth
start to creep back down.

Helplessly I feel it surround
her nip and start to chew.

Helpless and choking I swallow
in an agony of deliciousness

in remorse as she weeps as twists around

under me, inconsolable.

♪ Let me call you sweetheart,
I'm in love with you ♪

♪ Let me hear you whisper
that you love me too ♪

♪ Keep the love light burning ♪

- "First we'll be very
happy and then we'll be sad.

That's just the way it
will be for us," she said.

"No," I protested,
"That's not true at all.

I've fallen in love with you.

I'll be with you always.

I'll be with you always."

I wake up

in bed next to me is a woman
I've never seen before.

I stare at the sleeping face.

I have no idea who she is.

I look around the dim room.

There's a bureau and a mirror,

an armchair with a hodgepodge of clothing,

more clothing scattered
on the frail oriental rug.

I've never seen any of
these things before.

I lift the covers away gingerly

and put my bare feet on the floor.

Again, I look down at the sleeping face.

I try to remember, "What
happened last night?"

I can't seem to, I try
to think of my own name.

I gape about wildly, there're
trousers on the armchair

in a back pocket is a wallet.

It contains some dollar
bills. Otherwise it's empty.

My heart gives a sudden sickened jolt.

(man screams)

I realize I can't in
fact remember anything.

The sound of a voice makes me turn around.

"Who are you? Who are you?"

The woman is lying with the
covers drawn up around her chin

as if trying to protect herself.

The look on her face is a
mixture of alarm and confusion

as if she weren't sure she had
woken or was still dreaming.

"Who are you?" She repeats.

I open my mouth, but then I
just begin shaking my head.

( sighs) "I don't know," I confess

helpless to answer her
simple, eternal question,

I stare at her dismally in the gloom.

Her eyes widen in the increments
of a slowly deepening,

bewildered horror.

"Who are you?" I ask.

A long, peculiar silence follows this.

"I dunno."

(mellow music)

(waves crashing)

I go to the train station
to meet my girlfriend.

I haven't seen her for a while.

(train rumbling)

(somber music)
(train rumbling)

The train comes in, but
my girlfriend isn't on it.

(mellow music)

A conductor covered with snow informs me

that my girlfriend has had plastic surgery

without telling me, and the
operation got fouled up.

Now she's too ashamed ever to see me.

(somber music)

I go home, multitude of
ambivalence is battling within me.

I keep peering about for
anyone swathed in bandages,

in case you might have come
out here secretly on the bus.

Back at home the phone is
ringing, but I don't answer it.

I'm too distraught.

The ringing goes on a
long time before stopping.

Suddenly I start to feel guilty.

"What if that was her? What
if she really needed me?"

There's a knock at the front door.

(dramatic music)

The train conductor
stands on the threshold,

dripping, the tear rolls down his cheek.

"Didn't you recognize me?"

(somber music)

I realized that the
source of all the misery

in my life is my heart.

(thunder rumbling)

I decide to take extreme measures.

I liquor myself up and in
the privacy of my kitchen

under the bare light bulb,
I perform a crude, hideous,

but at last successful cardiac removal

using the big parsley chopping Kn*fe

and a series of soup spoons

and a Kn*fe with a
short all-purpose blade.

Grimacing with distaste,
my hand slippery with gore,

I clap the vile thudding
knob of misfortune

up in a plastic leftovers container.

The floor about my shoes is splattered

with crimson and shackles.

I slink out into the back alley

to a small park in the neighborhood.

(dramatic music)

Shake the ex organ out into
the litter amid some bushes

and fling the empty
container to other bushes

a distance away and dodge off heavily

into the broken lamp darkness.

I regained my back door glass
breathing with difficulty.

Huge drops of icy sweat
beading my gray flesh,

but no one is following
me, no one shouts alarm.

The remains of the nighter very bad.

So are the next several days

I collapse into a kind of delirium.

But even as I twist about
gasping in my stained sheets,

even as I fumble all multiple
thumbs in the bathroom

with my preposterously, unsanitary,

makeshift surgical
dressing, I'm all smiles.

(man laughs)

My head veers in and outta
the bathroom mirror frame,

but the edges of my double vision radiate

a profound existential
beneficence, quivering halo of joy.

In not much more than a week

I'm back in my feet as good as ever,

apart from a certain concavity of posture.

Also for a good while I tire easily.

But really so what?

I start dating with voracious abandon.

My love life, so-called becomes a scenario

of boundless activity and
astonishing brazenness.

Whomever strikes my fancy then and there

I make a scrolling beeline for her.

Bishy, that strange sinuous Gamare

spotted slouching at a street corner.

Bishy, yonder jet said hottie
sitting croft and cross-legged

and contemptuous over her pair of teeth.

I present what's on my
mind with forthright brass.

"Excuse me, but are you
aware that you in particular

would look mesmerizing
in costly satin sheets?"

"Good afternoon, may
I caress you for hours

in the most delightful manner?"

Often I'm snubbed.

Quite often it's true,
laughed at more times

than I care to admit.

I'm toyed with, but time's
enough I charm sensationally.

I woo with unearthly impunity.

I take unfazed possession
of quite a number of souls.

I treat more than one with less humanity,

alas than probably I should.

I have girlfriends galore
and sooner or later

for reasons of my own,
I move on to others.

In a word, sometimes I win

all there is to win between the sexes.

Other times the word is short
with two brusk letters, "No."

Occasionally I'm let down
after truly duplicitous,

well my pathological manipulations.

But listen to me, hear
this, it never matters.

Whatever succeeds succeeds,
whatever fails fails

because I don't feel a
single thing (laughs).

No pangs, no torments, no
soulful, wrenching or yearnings.

No disturbing ecstasies,

no twinnings of celestial privicies

just the invigorations of activity.

(upbeat music)

Rewarded by occasional carnal delectations

or else a mild sigh of fleeting annoyance

as if a bug had flung itself
against the freshly polished

sheen of a display window.

"How is it you always seem so nonchalant?

So thoroughly possessed?"

(indistinct)

My girlfriends will earnestly inquire,

wandering the pleasant
confines of my living room.

"I've moved up since my fateful surgery."

"How can you be that way all
the time?" They want to know.

I smile at them from the
drinks table and I shrug.

(thunder crashing)

I go back to mixing cocktails.

(upbeat music)

In the silence, they wander over

to the fashionable red
velvet sofa and settle down

musing and take up a
picture in a silver frame.

"where is this God awful place?"

They say with a puzzled frown.

"And why should you who is
quintessentially stylish

keep a picture of such a God awful place

with little bushes in
such an exquisite frame?"

"Like something from an altar."

My eyes light up as I pass
across the chilled martini glass

and ease back into a neighboring cushion.

"Oh, something very wonderful
once happened to me there,"

I say with a mysterious smile.

"That's where I d*ed and was reborn.

"Oh, as a ladies man?"

(upbeat music)

I nod slow.
(thunder crashing)

"That's me."
(dramatic music)

(woman screaming)

(woman screaming)
(glass breaking)

(car tires screeching)

I hear about a revolt.
(g*ns banding)

I go down into the streets.

It's night buildings are gutted,
smoldering some in rubble.

Obviously there was a
struggle of great v*olence.

(people screaming)

Under a sulfur street lamp

a beautiful girl paces back and forth

apparently standing
guard for the new regime.

But all she has on her red fers

and a pair of satin herring bloomers.

Her face is heavily made up

and her bare breasts
are tipped with rouge.

"Now I understand," I think uneasily,

"What they meant was women of the world

have rebelled against the old order

and it's taking over, taking over."

(women screaming)

I move along with a show
of nervous secrest modesty.

I hear a clamor, I look up ahead,

a furious mob burst suddenly interview.

It's all half naked ladies,
tricked out in garter belts

and lacy undies.

With tasseled whips hey drive before them

one of the masters of the old order.

His fancy silken suit is torn and ripped

and his pomaded hair, a spiky mess.

The sight of his face makes me gasp.

"He looks just like me," I stammer.

(dramatic music)
(women shrieking)

"My God, it's happened.

They discovered that in my heart of hearts

I bear the tawdry sensibilities

of a pimp and a p*rn."

I shrink back as far as I can

into the shadows of a ruined doorway

and gnaw my wrist is my gruesome double

comes stumbling past.

His dyed mustache is all aquiver.

His eyes are fish like with fright.

For one brief instant, his eyes find mine.

(dramatic music)

A look of anguished recognition fixes me.

Then the mob thunders down on his back,

flailing and screaming.

I press myself as far as
I can into the doorways

as the riot he route sweeps on past

and turns onto the next street recklessly.

I hear the cries receding.

I lower my arm, trembling
from in front of my face.

"Somehow I haven't been recognized.

I've gotta get out of here," I think.

"I've gotta get back to
the safety of my own room.

I've gotta get out of here," I think.

I peer out into the street.

It's empty, but the pinup of
a guard is still in her post

under the lamp, cursing her
sense of duty I watch her,

waiting for her gorgeous
back to be turned.

Feverishly I dart out my shabby
wrinkled catches on a nail.

The pocket yawns enormously
and something topples out

and flops onto the sidewalk.

"It's a girly magazine."

I stare at it riveted with
horror, "It's a girly magazine."

I reach down for it. I look about wildly.

I break off and flee down the sidewalk.

I reach my room and
frantically I throw the bolt.

I drop all the blinds, (pants)

with a thumping heart I
peek down at the street.

(panting) It looks tranquil
as far as I can tell,

but elsewhere, something
dreadful is stirring

I begin to realize.

I stared down at myself.

"Oh my God, not now," I
gasp, "This is terrible."

I fumble with myself rearranging,

but I keep sticking out.

"Go down," I admonish,
desperately fumbling.

Sirens rise suddenly
from the street outside.

I look about in a panic.

I rush over to the sofa
then tear off the blanket

and start wrapping it around myself.

There's a pounding on my door. I freeze.

"Open up," a woman's voice shouts.

"Open up in the name of liberty."

"Who? Who is it again?"
I inquire a thin voice.

"I don't believe I quite caught."

"Open up," the voice shouts,

"Open up or we'll burn you out!"

"All right, all right," I mutter.

I waddle over to the door
and I pull back the bolt.

(dramatic music)

The hallway is filled with
grim, voluptuous, militia,

half naked in their red fesses

smokey flames of wooden
tapers throb among them.

Swaddled in plaid. I look at them.

"All right, it's over,
you've got me I admit,"

and I hang my head blushing.

A great cheer goes up, red
nailed hand sees me roughly.

I don't resist as they start
hauling me off downstairs.

The stairwell rings with a
hubbub of gloating cries,

scorned for old.

Halfway down, I suddenly decide that,

"If I am gonna face my
end for being what I am,

then I shall be just what I am."

(dramatic music)

"What I am," I think.

Flinging back my head

practically I search for most gorgeous one

of the lot in my vicinity.

I spot her over by the banister.

With a defiant cry I heave
myself (indistinct) in my blanket

onto her plunging down through
the crowd to press my kisses

against a silky perfumed struggling throat

under a hail of shouts and blows

until the crescendo of clawing
and battering overcomes me

at last and I dissolve into
soft, triumphant (indistinct).

(dramatic music)
(woman screaming)

(dramatic music)

(man screaming)

In the middle of my life,

I woke to find myself in a dark wood.

I had lost my way.

- [Reporter] We interrupt this broadcast

to bring you a news flash.

(women screaming)

(eerie dramatic music)

- A woman's sex breaks
loose from between her legs

and escapes out into the streets.

It terrorizes a residential neighborhood

for an entire afternoon.

A dapper old geezer makes
a mistake of jointly trying

to handle it right after its
appearance on the sidewalk

and gets a finger bitten
for his presumption.

A g*ng of teenage truants
who taunted in a gardener

driven away howling it
flaps and seethes after them

snapping off the sticks and baseball bats

with which they try to fend it away.

One of the youths relates
his terrified drama

with the radio of how
he tripped and fell down

and only saved himself hiding
for over an hour in a trashcan

while not two feet away in the alley

it squatted, gnawing on
a rusty bicycle pump.

Most disturbingly a dozen school
children on their way back

from a museum visit,

are traumatized by the sheer sight of it.

They huddle together, wailing and sobbing

long after it has disappeared.

Every so often a single childish voice

still burst into pathetic screams.

The teacher can be heard
gasping on the radio

in half sentences,
"Turned the young psyches,

she said, "And in ruins."

Afraid she repeats numerous times.

Around dusk the escapee
scuttles up into an elm tree

and there the authorities surround it.

It keeps them at bay

flapping and spitting from the branches.

Policeman crawls up with a snaring pole

and has a wrench from his
hands, a nasty stalemate ensues.

Now listen to the account of all this

being broadcast on the radio.

(dramatic music)

Someone's at my door.
(door knocking)

It's a bulky, worried looking man wearing

in the old fashioned manner a hat.

He announces himself as
a deputy to the mayor.

"Can I come in?" He says.

(dramatic music)

He gets right to business.

"And not only is it a public outrage,

but it's only a matter of time

before someone loses more than a finger,"

he grins with difficulty.

"A terrible embarrassment
to the city and the mayor.

Something has gotta be done immediately.

You've got to help us."

"May I ask why me?

What about the woman to
whom, how shall I put it?

It belongs?"

He shakes his head.

"She's too distraught," he says.

"Well, you can imagine, how
would you feel in her position?"

He asks coloring slightly
in the lamplight.

I don't answer.

He leans close.

"We all know your books
down at City Hall," he says,

"We're big fans.

We think you have a special understanding,

a facility about these sensitive matters.

That wild story about the strawberries

and that other one about
the 12 inch Dame Rose."

"Then you'll also know full
well that I've just gone through

a tremendously difficult and
disabling time, won't you?"

I interrupt.

I walk over to the mentor.

"I'm in no position to have
a relationship right now,"

I mutter and my back towards him.

"My God, no one's asking
you to have a relationship,"

He protests.

"We're simply asking for your
help for just one evening."

I don't answer. I stare at the mantle.

"Please," he beseeches from
somewhere in the room behind.

"We're desperate."

"You know you're the only one

we believe can save the situation.

Think of the innocent
people, the kids," he adds.

I roll my eyes at the hyperboles.

"What is this? A grade B
cop thriller," I mutter.

"What's that?"

"Nothing," I sigh.

I close my eyes. I run
my hand over my face.

"All right, I murmur,
"All right, all right."

I turn bluely towards him.

"It'll take me a few minutes
to get ready," I tell him.

In the bathroom, my
hand trembles as I shave

and find the old cologne
bottle and the jar of pomade.

I take out the dark suit, the
one I always look good in.

I still do.

I give my brown and white stripe tie,

a last tug in the mirror,

and I shake my head with a grunt

at the ripple of memory and melancholy.

"All right, let's go," I
exclaimed somberly reemerging.

To do this one 100%, I'd normally stop off

for a boutonnière, but
we don't have the time.

(dramatic music)
(sirens wailing)

Our official car maneuvers
through the police blockades,

and we turn a final corner and
the scene is in front of us.

(dramatic music)

Squad cars and firetrucks
pack the end of the street

like a disorganized mass of cattle.

(flash clicking)

A pair of spotlights

are trained into the
upper branches of the elm.

A fire ladder probes the
forbidding leafy darkness

runs are empty and ominous.

(child crying)
(women shouting)

The crowd, curious and frightened
strain for the barricades

for a glimpse of melodrama

in the slow flashing
of the squad car lamps.

It's a circus, a bloodletting, a zoo.

The cage doors broken.

(sirens wailing)

We pull up in the dying wail of a siren.

I get out, the elm towers above me.

(flashes clicking)
(dramatic music)

Grim and suave, I make my way
through the squalled tumult

toward the center of the outrage.

(dramatic music)

The deputy explains to
the police chief who I am.

The police chief is big and
red-faced and very unhappy.

"This is what I want," I declare

my eyes fixed on the branches.

"I want this entire street cleared.

I want each damn one of
these spotlights off.

I want nothing here but
this ladder (indistinct)."

"There's no way," the
police chief barks at me

in outrage and protest.

"Do you realize"-

"Listen," I snap swinging about,

"I do this my way or
I don't do it at all."

There's a stark pause taut with stares.

"Do what he says," the
mayor's deputy cries,

"Do exactly what he says!"

The chief swears and turns
away he starts shouting

burly through his bullhorn.

15 minutes later, the street is empty.

There is only the elm and
the ladder from its truck

and me and the moonlight.

The black hulk of the mayor's deputy's car

watches from the end of the
block with its lights off.

I take a breath and look up along

the diminishing metal
parallels of the ladder.

I whisper, "Good luck," wet
my lips and start climbing.

The only sounds in the
street are my footsteps.

mounting one after
another from rung to rung

and the lilt of the ballad I'm whistling.

(eerie music)

My eyes are fixed on the top of the ladder

through the dark branches.

I press slowly on,

at last without incident
my head and shoulders

clear into the zone of high leaves.

The scent in the moonlight
is tangy and unadulterated.

I pause there clutching
on and whistling now

in tender, ultra intimate tempo.

The melody tugs soft
and piercing at my heart

as I smile right at my quarry

crouched not more than
a couple of feet away

in the saddle of two branches.

It resembles the innocent head of hair

of a young brunette child,
streaks of exposed wood,

clean, pale, near it from where
it has gnawed away the bark

in its fits of temperament.

Slowly, gracefully, I extend
an open hand towards it

with fingers relaxed and slightly spread.

"Hello there you beautiful
oyster," I whisper to it huskily,

"I know you and your
kind, you moonlit kitten.

You pretty sea muffin,

you sweet meat with your pride of fur.

So pretty, so pretty," I coo,

as I reach very gently
forward and touch it.

Lightly I begin stroking,
employing just my fingertips.

The montes veneris feels tense, dry.

I continue this nerve-wracking procedure

for several sustained minutes

alternately whispering and whistling

the soft plush hair
sends a throb through me.

I blink away sweat, I swallow
and feel about delicately

for the little pink knob.

I find it.

I commence my tensions
there gently, gently,

just with the soft pad of a fingertip.

I feel the muscles begin to relax

and then the first moisture.

I tremble powerfully and lean close

and slide a finger into the cleft.

The lips turn immediately slick.

I work away there, then back to the knob,

feeling the spasms of response,
my breath grows hectic.

I grunt in labor and
involuntary appreciation.

My wrist is starting to ache (laughs).

I wriggle up awkwardly another rungs

so that I'm several feet
well clear the ladder top.

With a flutter of trepidation,
swampy with desire,

I slip my hand away as
deathly as I'm able,

so both right and left
and grip the ladder.

I bend forward.

(dramatic music)

"May I," I'm murmur in a thickened voice

and my heart throbs through
me and I lower my mouth.

The old familiar taste
is sweet, almost fruity,

like melon and seawater.

My tongue finds the
little knob right away.

Expert is Everett worries it.

I maneuver about with firm
fervent lingering strokes.

(panting) Memories flood me,
I plunge my whole face down,

shoving my tongue deep
into the sloppy cleft.

I rub with my nose and
shake with my cheeks

and work my tongue to a fairly well

and the object of my attentions
bucks around under me.

The ladder begins to sway and
dip as the two of us go at it

for all our worth up among
the leaves and the branches

under the gaze of the moon.

Suddenly my balance goes and I burst away

and hang on wildly as I swing
outward and then treeward

from the ladder, swiveling, pendulum.

I throw back my goo
blasted head and I laugh

in a band and in intimacy
up through the greenery,

up at the blinking stars.

I managed to stabilize myself
at last against a branch

and I give a clearing pull
over my face with my hand.

"Come on, you angry oceanic mouse,"

I whisper to it huskily,
"Time to go home."

I extend my dapper arm. It
climbs slowly onto my wrist.

It mounts waggling up my sleeve.

I feel it's sopping heat
through the material.

It perches finally on top of my shoulder.

As carefully as I can on wobbling legs,

I start down laughing gently
as my burden nozzles my neck.

After several pauses along
the way for rearranging,

I step down at last onto
the bed of the ladder truck

and then finally into the street.

The mayor's deputy's car
rolls slowly towards us.

Sometime later, the car turns
into a street of brownstones

in a different part of town.

"And thank you again for all of us,"

the hatted figure calls
quietly through the window

as I mount the steps to a front door.

The car pauses, then
drives off into the night.

I ring the doorbell.

After a few moments, I
hear hurrying footsteps.

The door jerks open.
The woman gapes at me.

She cries out and in her
motion covers her mouth

with her hands.

"Everything's fine," I reassure
her, "Everything's fine."

I extend my shoulder towards her.

She reaches out with both hands

and seizes the warm plump epaulet,

I make a gesture for her not
to concern herself at all

with ceremony, she turns
and hurries into the house.

"Please come in, I'll just
be a minute," she says.

(mellow music)

After closer to 30 minutes,
she finally reappears,

smoothing her dress over her thighs.

She's tidied herself up nicely,

but she's obviously still
feeling great emotion.

She comes part way into the
room and then she halts.

She lifts her hands, but
at a loss drops them.

"How can I ever thank you?

(mellow music)

And what can I get you to drink?"

I shrug, I name something.

She goes over to the sideboard
and mixes two of the same.

I take my glass from her. We
sit down, we clink and sip.

I keep my jacket still buttoned.

There's a pause.

Her gaze drifts down to a
lap and she laughs suddenly,

shaking her head, (laughs).

She looks at me, her eyes sparkle.

I grin back in labored pleasantness.

I put my drink on the coffee table.

I rub one hand with the other.

"Please listen to me.

I'm afraid I feel the need to say this,"

I tell her my eyes still
fixed on the coffee table.

"Please understand, I was
very glad to be of help

and I hope, I truly hope you know

I had a very, very lovely time."

I prod her drink coaster with two fingers,

"But I'm still recovering you see

from a very difficult situation,
several years duration,

and I'm still not home.

I'm in no position right
now to get involved."

The woman grins back at me,

a mix of strong emotions working her.

"I understand," she says huskily.

(somber music)

And I stay a while longer as
she talks about this and that.

The tender babble of the lonely hearted,

two lonely people together in
a lonely room in the night,

but I can only sip my drink
and smile at her sweet voice

and linger yearning in the lamplight,

hopeless, loveless, heartless.

Then it's time for me to go.

We embrace.

(somber music)

"Goodbye," she says, softly, "Goodbye."

(somber music)

"Goodbye," I tell her,

(somber music)

I start up the street.
The moon is still up.

The night is cool, I
turn up my jacket collar.

I sniff my fingers for a
moment and snort quietly

and sigh deeply as I incline my head

against the tide of memories

and make my way along
through the sleeping town.

(train rumbling)

(mellow music)

I open the door to a train compartment.

There's a girl inside. She
glances up from a magazine.

"Are any of these other
seats taken?" I ask.

She shakes her head.

I close the door behind me and sit down.

I look at her while she reads.

I hear the rhythmic thumb of
the train as it slips along.

The sound grows slowly, more
insistent, more intimate.

I blink at the girl. She looks at me.

I turn my head and stare
hurriedly out the window.

The thumping that swells in my ears

is not from the train at all I realize.

It's from that long vacant
place, deep inside my chest.

The girl is directly responsible.

I try to remain as calm as possible,

but how can I demonstrate
to her in a captivating way

my love for her at first sight I wonder?

Suddenly a gigantic rosebush
appears in the window

and pushes its way in filling
up the entire compartment.

"For Christ's sake," the girl cries

from somewhere under the leaves.

"Help me, I'm choking
under all these blossoms!"

A hack and batter and punch
at the tangled branches

and greenery and pink petals.

At last, I managed to
force the rosebush out.

I slammed the window on it.

"I'm sorry," I protest breathlessly.

"Are you all right?" I help her sit up.

"I meant to give you an
unusual gift of flowers,

not suffocate you," I explained it,

"I've been outta practice
for a very long time."

"That's very sweet of you," the girl says,

"But you know, sometimes
the gift of a single flower

can be just as effective."

"You're absolutely right,"
I agree, "Wait one minute."

I hurry out into the corridor

peering frantically about for flowers

with predictable results.

Then suddenly it comes
to me, the dining car.

I rush there and while the
waiter's back is turned

from a slim vase on a line covered cloth

I filch a single carnation.

I return to the compartment
breathless, but triumphant.

I present a single flower.

The girl looks at me in fond amusement.

"I think you're sweet," she says.

I sit down beside her and
I put my arm around her.

We gaze out the window.

A tear starts down my cheek.

"What's wrong?" She whispers.

I shake my head, "Nothing," I tell her.

"I can see ahead in the
future, that's all."

"Well then why are you sad?" She asks.

"Because first we'll
be very happy," I say,

"And then we'll be sad,

that's just the way it will be for us."

She nods somberly, "You're
probably right," She says.

"I am?"

"I don't know," she laughs.

"I've fallen in love with you you fool.

Let's be together always."

I take her in my arms and
I kiss again and again

her protesting mouth, her
cheeks damp with my joyful tears

as the train sways into
a curve and straightens

swaying the other way and rushes on.

Outside through the window
an early summer storm erupts

raining rose petals over
the greeny landscape.

(mellow music)

♪ Let me call you sweetheart ♪

♪ I'm in love with you ♪

♪ Let call you Sweetheart,
I'm in love with you ♪

(dramatic music)

♪ You captured something
wild save desire ♪

♪ Save desire, save desire ♪

♪ You captured something
wild, save desire ♪

♪ Save desire, save desire ♪

♪ Ah ah ah (indistinct) ♪

♪ You captured wild save desire ♪

♪ Save desire save desire ♪

(upbeat music)

(indistinct lyrics)

♪ Beautiful, envious, numb empty heart ♪

(mellow music)

♪ Let me call you sweetheart ♪

♪ I'm in love with you ♪

♪ Let me hear you whisper ♪

♪ That you love me too ♪

♪ Keep the love light glowing ♪

♪ In your eyes so true ♪

♪ Let me call you sweetheart ♪

♪ I'm in love with you ♪

(mellow music)
Post Reply