Stephen needs a daddy!
I was in front of my computer, trying to find something to write about, and I told myself "Pourquoi pas s'entraîner pour le Thème?!" I'm French! I don't talk to myself in english, sorry! Sometimes I do! XD (Why not train for the French to English Translation!?) So I decided I was going to translate something I wrote for Paul diary, into English. Just so you know, what I'm talking about, when I talk about Paul and Lou.
October 24th 1933
It’s strange to come back to France and to work the French way. I used the wrong language when I was talking to Boris or my stepfather. It’s really strange. I’m not used to it, anymore. But this journey has, at least, a bright side. I, now, know that my life is in Oxford. I will not come back to Niort.
I think it’s different for Eve. She’s a girl from here. She spent all her life in Niort and I took her away from the nest, to make her land in the English country. She misses it, I think. Even if she got used to Oxford, very quickly, I think she will, always, prefer her birthplace.
Today, she left me and she went away with the kids. She’s in La Rochelle, to visit Eloise and her husband. I would have loved to go, too, because I appreciated Marc very much, but it was impossible for me, to leave Niort. So, here I am, in my Niort huge house. I would have loved to tell me that Lou had followed us and that he was going to get out of a room, as soon as he would have been sure that Eve was here to beat him. But he’s not here.
What is he doing? Is he thinking of me? When, I have free time, which is, sadly, very rare, I’m only thinking of him. His body, next to mine. His hand in my hair. His words whispered, next to my ear. His arms around me. His neck calling me. His back… Aaah! His back! I spend nights telling me that if I was King Arthur, his back would be my Grail. He’s my promised land. He’s my paradise.
If I close my eyes, I can see every detail of his body. This beauty spot lost between the U and the L of my name. And the one, at the root of his hair. The scar at the bottom of his belly. This lip, mistress of my moaning. This neck so sensitive. This ear, which is even more sensitive. And the inside of his thigh, that when it’s stroked as it has to be, triggers wonderful sounds. When he’s handled by the good musician, Lou becomes the most beautiful music instrument.
Stop it, Paul! Work… How can I go back to my numbers and my reading after listing all these perfect spots?
His body, dancing under my fingers. His laugh, when he understands he’s lost and that I’m not going to let him go. This noise he makes when I stroke the inside of his thigh. These sounds he makes at every moment.
Work!