Part 16
Pierre had been a blue blood wannabe from the old world. He had an air of aristocracy and an inheritance so vast that he feared heirs so he had none.
He thought himself so smart that he ended up outsmarting himself out of a legacy. There would be no footprints following Pierre's.
Carolina suffered every minute of her fertile youth in silence. Only after our Cirque Du Soleil sex sessions fueled by Tito's Vodka would she breakout into an inconsolable river of tears.
All I could do was hold her and stroke her hair and gently ask her to run away with me. She never said no but we never left.
The routine of this always left me drunk with sadness.
She felt caged, her indiscretions with me were but breaths of fresh air into her stale life.
She would drill these words into me; "Poet don't ever fall in love, love them and leave them."
"Be guarded Poet screw them but don't get screwed by your sensibilities."
If I could bring the moon down for her I would have, yet I felt so helpless.
In those tender days she was my only refuge and I hers.
Hers were the only other set of eyes my young poems would be seen by. She was the only one I would bare my naked soul to.
She encouraged me to leave the nightclub life and pursue my writing.
Early on she was the wind at my back.
With her tutelage sex was the schooling I excelled at. She taught me technics that to this day titillate the twisted trysts that trust their flesh to this savage.
I was her disciple. Our time together were short bursts that many never experience in two lifetimes.
I was the side beef, this is how I spent my early twenties.
To be continued.
