i cannot believe, nor comprehend that as i write this i can look up and spy David Bowie sleeping gracefully only a few feet away. yes that man even snores gracefully. what did i do to deserve this? "ive never done good things," yet here i am, smiling my best smile with every reason in the world to back me up.
now i look up, (just to see him, as i will most likely leave after i write this, without saying goodbye). he is lying in an unusual position, of course, on his stomach with one arm sprawled over the edge of the bed, the other crinkled limply at his side, his oh so oh so lovely face smashed into the pillow, and his hair, which is now fairly long and red with several yellow streaks (almost the thin white duke style) is smeared across his forehead and delicate ears. dear god (of course) he is so perfect, and i am disgustingly tempted to go jump him, but no. i must write this while its still fresh in my mind since i know i will never see him again.
this began when, having nothing better to do i hopped the metro to revist the art galleries in dc and reminisce my teenage adventures there. i swear i dont know how this happened, but when at my first stop, the monet exhibit, i found my eyes groping an intensely elegant man with a stange culture in his stride. i almost didnt recognize him wearing glasses and an inconspicuous hat, completely unglamourized, but with a closer examination the discoloured eyes blew his cover. i refused to fall in the fan trap and become obviously enamoured with his presence, so instead i made myself visibly available, taking on a posed stance of severe interest in the paintings of monet's bridges before and after his blindess, comparatively studying each.
i dont know how he first veiwed me, havent had the desire to ask, but i was looking very much as i usually do, standing tall and especially thin for lack of money for food or the time, but more importantly i notice he and i have very similar haircuts/colors. i was carrying only a small army bag containing some miscallaneous camera film and my infamous journal (which im now writing in) and a few other things. this is all irrelevant, but then! (many exclamation points here) >david< came bahind me, only inches away, and studied the paintings with the same, almost pretentious interest as i. i turned slightly till my face was aligned parallel to his and looked on him with a very slight smile for a few seconds, and when he flitted his eyes to my forehead, then hair, then eyes, i automatically refused to lose his attention and kept the same keen, amused, and mildly mesmorized expression. i word not say a word. my voice would not have it's way with me just yet. he did not have to lean in so very far to lay a light kiss upon my cheek, then let his head fall back to allow our eyes to roam one another's face for several more seconds. an appropriate silence remained lingering in the room. we were alone, fortunately no guard at the door, and to my surprise no guard with him, though he had been carefully portrayed as a simple tourist. these words escaped from his sensual mouth, in a dashing cockney drawel, "i am inclined to desire to know you. to exchange some words with you if...are you...no...do you-"
i dont think either of us felt a conversation was yet necessary, for he only put his hand lightly on the small of my back in order to direct me to the right exit, to his car, not a limo but with driver. still silent, still silent, 10 minute drive with complete silence, directed by david "here, here and here" to his room, where he was to meet me, (not to travel together and make the press though he was unwed now) and i found myself in his hotel room, alone, looking at tossed clothing and scattered possessions, and waiting patiently to have a meaningless affair (to him) with a man i am most infatuated with, knowing it was presicely the right thing for me to do, and why would i mind?
i had chainsmoked 3 cigarettes to the butt by the time he entered and looked upon me attentively. i was still standing, almost afraid to affect his room in anyway, proving it's existance false. we had still not spoken a word, and yet in a stange sense i felt i had been sharing thoughts with him nonstop, and i was not at all dissappointed or even amazed to discover that david is only a man. one which i am madly fond of even till now.
he strolled over to the couch, sat down flippantly, opened his mouth and let loose some words i cannot recall, and we talked. and we talked. we did not halt, what we exchanged is unexplainable, too too much to write down or even begin to describe. we completely experienced eachother with no reservations. i lived through him and breathed his air, we grew old as we talked, we traveled as we talked, we had sex as we talked. i had seen nothing but him speaking, hime sighing, then yawning as i realized it was coming on 4 the next morning. it had been well over 12 hours, and we still had not exchanged names or histories, and i believe he had no idea i already recognized him and certainly had no idea i was previously in love with his image and music. i mentioned leaving, and he said "must you?" and i replied cunningly, "must i?" and he smiled genuenly. he finally approached me physically. i was sitting on the other side of the room, the smaller couch opposite of him, and he creapt up to me, bent his face down to my level, looking absolutely glorious, while his long arms stole around my neck and shoulders and swept me up (or perhaps i swept myself up) and we were finally holding eachother as snugly as we had conversed and first twirling in a senseless manner and then actually ricocheting around a small area of the room in almost absolute giddiness. i began to collapse and brought him to the floor with me, where we remained a single object of meshed arms and legs and torsos for hours on end. and due to the unfortunate fact that we are only human, we fell asleep that way; wrapped up, a mess.
i woke to find it was early afternoon, completely forgetting where i was and assuming i had dreamed it. but i looked up and there was david, and he was looking at me and seemed to be considering my presence very determindly. i was naturally worried for a moment that he was preparing to ask me to leave, but said nothing, instead stretched and straightened my hair, sat up and realized i was now on the bed, and wondered how the hell i got there, and looked around, dazed.
"i thought you'd be more comfortable, so i moved you," he said, with no tone implying i should depart, and i wouldnt suggest it twice. i found myself grinning again, and my face muscles were pained, innaccostomed to the torture they had recieved since the day before. still entirely self-conscious, i decided not to respond but went to the bathroom and peed and rinsed my mouth and wandered into the kitchen to find food and praying he would follow yet knowing that he wouldnt. i brought back bread and butter and ate ravenously and decided not to bother worrying about what he thought anymore. and he knew better than to speak while i remained silent, but then i strode over to the chair he sat in and knelt before him. his bangs lay limply in his face, looking irresistably soft, so i took a strand between my fingers very delicately, then kissed the hell out of him.i must say the entire day went much like the day before, us hardly speaking, barely touching, then rambling then grappling. until we were almost too exhausted to move, but this time sensible enough to make it to the bed. we were sitting indian style, and he finally asked for my name and i said "bethaney," and he said nothing for a moment, but when i flicked my eyebrows high he replied, "its david." halt, "jones." [HAH!] and i laughed while he looked on imploringly and then realized i had known and was smiling all over again. i took off his shirt i needed his skin and gave him mine but we only lay with drifting arms and entwined legs, remaining aroused until we fell asleep in the middle of a conversation. which brings me up to waking up a few hours later (how could i possibly sleep?) sitting here, writing. he remains asleep. catlike.
bethaney opened her bag and pulled out a floral scarf almost unbecoming of her and fit it firmly around her head, tying it in a knot around her neck. she closed the clasp of her bag and threw it over her shoulder, preparing to leave. abstaining from the immense desire to go catch a last glimpe of david, she didnt leave a number, she planned to end what they had while it was still absolute and perfect. as she walked quietly to the door she heard a slight noise behind and turned to find the man who fell to earth standing in the doorway looking almost horrified. "stay with me. stay." she looked unsure, unsettled, but undeniably wanted to.
"for how long, ziggy?"
"does it matter?"