I gingerly insinuate myself in front of him and he immediately folds me inside him, like a pod swallowing a seed. There is no doubt he's interested at this point as my lower back is getting an inadvertent massage. I think, well, that was quick. He flips me over and I start talking nervously, "You know, I've a nickname for you." "Da..?," he murmurs nuzzling his nose into my ear. "What this is?"
"I think I'm going to call you Bossy," I announce. "Bossy? Like I boss, you slave," he questions still in my hair. Except when he says "slave" he pronounces it "slavey" which is understandable given Serbian. "Yes," I say, "do you always order people about?," I giggle. "Only you, da," he ignores my chatter and practically swallows me up whole.
His body runs incredibly hot, I begin to wonder if Arieans are all equipped with internal furnaces, or if like I once purported, their molecules simply moved in hyper-speed and thus generated that much heat. I begin to realize that Dragan's thighs are thick as tree trunks, mainly as I can hardly move when pinned under them. I have a last lingering thought of B, like he was an echo I longed for somewhere and I close my eyes.
Dragan is dismantling things with military precision, so much so I feel the need to announce my predicament as well as the suspicion that I may get a spanking if I don't.
Which he does much later after much tussling and elective canoodling. Finally convinced, he holds me with a vice like grip, as if digging his fingers into me would change things. I lay there wondering if this was it, did he get what he came for? Were there any more words left in English that we could share? I didn't know, but I notice him start to get up. "I must go," he sighs. "I have Serbian party tomorrow." I think to myself that there seems to be a lot of those. "Of course, "I smile, there but not quite. I also notice that Dragan seems to flip a switch, affection being reserved as a gateway to intimacy and not something he'd normally display otherwise. This disturbs me but I'm uncertain if it's him or culture. It was rather 50's.
He lays there for a few more minutes as we talk about his time here, the green card. "It is problem, I am unique, I telling the truth," he states, "it is hard for woman to believe I not just there for that." I stay quietly listening and he continues, "You know, this big problem here, too many people rather be alone, is like, I okay, I better by myself, woman tell me this all the time." I turn around and look at him, curious as to where he was taking this. "Do they?," I ask.
I don't think he fully understood what I meant. That after the Sewer I'd learned, very painfully, that I had an unavoidable relationship with the Truth. It was something about the way I loved people, something that sought whatever was real in them however hidden even to themselves that seemed to lift the secrets out like mercury rising, defying gravity and all sorts of laws of nature. I could run, I could hide, but it would always find me.
Yet here was Dragan announcing he was an honest man. We would soon see. He readied himself to go, and swept me up for a crushing kiss goodbye. I am already filled with sadness that I can hardly explain what for, my phone dings again from B and this time I answer it. Very carefully.