Бях полугол, заобиколен от полуголи мъже. Танцувах с миризмата на попърс и възбуда. Спрях да се оглеждам, когато осъзнах, че бях на това парти заради себе си, а не заради някой друг. Затворих очи и тялото ми започна да се движи изцяло. Глезените ми силно стъпваха във вибрацията на баса. Задникът ми рисуваше кръгове и сякаш игриво избягваше докосването на другите тела около мен. Ръцете ми бяха високо във въздуха, все едно дирижирах, а диджея беше моят оркестър. По тялото ми се стичаше пот и увереност. Изненадах се от миризмата, която излъчвах. Мъжете около мен също я усетиха. Все още държах очите си затворени, но започнах да се движа из тълпата, за да разнеса миризмата си на гордост. Носът ми ме водеше измежду хората. Учих се да се доверявам на сетивата си - да пия миризмите на живота. Учих се да се движа леко - почти неосезаемо. Исках да плавам на повърхността и да се наслаждавам на сладостта, която синтетичната луна сипеше по тялото ми.

Subscribe now

Видях го веднъж, когато си отворих очите. И веднъж, когато езикът ми си играеше с нечий друг.

Ръцете ми пипаха първият мъж, който ме заговори. Но умът ми не беше особено задоволен. Знаех, че мога да имам когото си поисках. Не бях свикнал на това чувство. Останах с него още малко, преди куражливо да си тръгна, в очакване на новите усещания, които нощта ми носеше. Тя искаше да си играем, а аз нямах търпение да чуя правилата. Разтворих ръце в тълпата, за да усетя чуждите докосвания. Всяко едно от тях водеше в различна посока, а аз тази нощ не исках да взимам решения. Също като паднало листо в реката, отброявах всеки камък, който се допреше до тялото ми.

Заговорих го веднъж, когато ръцете ми дращеха нечий друг гръб. И веднъж, когато устните му бяха на сантиметри от моите.

Друго чуждо тяло се притискаше в моето. Бяхме очевидни. Изобличени в содомията ни. Нощта беше забравила обноските си. Усещах как миризмата на всички ни се превръща в желание за похот. Нощта ме опияни изцяло. Беше време да оставя това чуждо тяло и да слея моето със звуците на баса. Гмурнах се в най-дълбокото. Басът ни носеше като вълна. Всички бяхме едно. Вдишвахме наслада. Затворих отново очи и тялото ми се отпусна, за да бъде хванато от тълпата. Интересно колко доверие можем да имаме в хора, които никога не сме срещали. Тази нощ нямаше опасности, защото всички ние бяхме хищници, празнуващи изобилие. Отворих очи да докосна всички тия непознати. И тогава го видях точно пред мен. Не се знаеше къде свършва моето тяло и къде започва неговото. Разменихме изречение и половина. Очите ни изговориха роман. Усетих се лек и като перушина, танцувах върху всички.

Докоснах го веднъж, когато го потупах по рамото. И веднъж, когато ръцете ми държаха задната част на бедрата му.

Read more

Half naked, surrounded by half naked bodies, I was dancing with the smell of poppers and arousal. I stopped looking around when I realized I was at this party for myself, not for anyone else. My eyes closed, so my body could move freely. My feet were counting the vibrations of the bass. My ass was drawing circles - playfully avoiding the touch of others. My hands were up in the air as if they were conducting the music, and the DJ was my orchestra. Sweat and confidence were dripping down my body. I was giving off a scent that surprised me. The men around me noticed it too. I wanted to spread my smell of pride, so I started moving through the crowd. My eyes still closed. My nose was leading me among bodies. I was learning to trust my senses - to drink in the smells of life. I was learning to move lightly, almost imperceptibly. I wanted to float on the surface and savor the sweetness the synthetic moon was pouring over my body.

I saw him once when I opened my eyes and once when my tongue was playing with someone else’s.

Subscribe now

My hands were touching the first man who spoke to me. But my mind wasn’t particularly satisfied. I knew I could have anyone I wanted. I wasn’t used to this feeling. I left my hands on his body for a little while before courageously left, anticipating the new sensations that the night had in store for me. She wanted to play and I was eager to learn the rules. I spread my arms into the crowd so I could feel their touches. Each one of them was leading in a different direction and tonight I didn’t want to make any decisions. Like a fallen leaf in a river - I was counting every rock that brushed against my body.

I spoke to him once when my hands were scratching someone else’s back and once when our lips were centimeters away.

Another foreign body was pressing against mine. We were so obvious. Exposed in our sodomy. The night had abandoned its manners. I noticed how all of our scents were turning into a lustful desire. The night intoxicated me completely. It was time to leave this other body behind and follow the sounds of the bass. I dove into the deepest part of it. The bass carried us like a wave. We were all one. Inhaling pleasure. I closed my eyes again, letting my body lose its structure so the crowd could hold it. It’s interesting how much trust we can place in people we’ve never met. That night there was no danger because we were all predators, celebrating abundance. I opened my eyes so I could touch those strangers. And then I saw him, right in front of me. I couldn’t tell where my body ended and his began. We exchanged a sentence and a half. Our eyes spoke novels. I felt myself light and as a feather does - I danced upon the others.

I touched him once when I tapped his shoulder and once when my hands were holding the back of his thighs.

Read more

A good friend recently told me of the concept of “enshittification” - the tendency for platforms and services to get worse over time as they chase growth and profit. And even though I don’t enjoy labeling everything, it felt good to see that others are complaining too. Everything gets shittier. We’ve lost the aesthetics of social media. As we keep losing the aesthetics of everything else too. Maybe the enshittification of Instagram would bring me pride and confidence in whatever my art is.

Another good friend of mine helped me see that my words are being watered down by 15-second reels. We all go there to lose our minds and time, not to read other people’s worlds. And to be honest, for many years I was okay with that. I was writing because I wanted to write. It wasn’t important who read it. Slowly, the random comments from friends who supported my writing made me reread some of my pieces and I started appreciating them even more. I started thinking that maybe I do have things to share and maybe people would like to hear them. So I started reading out loud to whoever wanted to listen. I’ve been writing since I was in middle school and last year, at the age of 30, I found myself in a foreign country, reading words I’ve written in a foreign language. It felt powerful. And so vulnerable. But I was tired of being vulnerable. I reminded myself that if they don’t like it, that’s okay, because I was writing for myself first and then for the others. I was appreciative of the positive feedback and of the constructive criticism but what I cared most were the questions that followed after my last line. The engagement with my thoughts that people had was intoxicating. I was able to start a conversation and not just a small talk, and that was an achievement enough.

I started devoting more and more time to writing. I even went to Italy to inspire myself with the art that was everywhere around. I finally had a story to write, but most importantly - I had the assurance that I don’t need to write the next best-selling book. I just had to write what my soul wanted to say.

One day I found myself in a random church in Florence. It was October but the sun was way too strong and the darkness of the church seemed cold and welcoming. I opened the big ornate doors and entered. The walls of stone embraced my body. It was dark. The altar at the front was dimly lit and beautifully decorated. A symbol that looked like the heart we all drew as children appeared on almost every wall. I was surprised to see it. It wasn’t something one would expect to find in a Renaissance church. It was so quiet. I sat down and stared at the altar. Probably for an hour. My eyes were still, while my thoughts wandered through time. Not much different from now, I was very lost in life. But I asked myself “What do you really want to do?”. Writing and dancing. Always the fastest answers to come. I have always valued long-lasting relationships. I have friendships that have lasted over 20 years now. And I feel that at this point just the longevity of them is enough for me to keep them alive. Writing and dancing are my two longest relationships. Sitting in that church surrounded by devotion carved in stone, I realized how people in the past would spend their whole lives mastering a single craft. I had already devoted so much of mine to these two. I wanted to keep deepening those relationships.

I thought that maybe I can invest in my writing. It would be convenient to make money with it. But then another voice in my head reminded me that I don’t like making money with the things I love. I don’t know if it’s some type of self-sabotaging behaviour or if it’s what I truly believe. Could I make money writing? Which section of the bookstore do I even belong in? I have never thought that strangers would want to read about my experiences. Let alone pay for them. Maybe I just had to value my time, but then does that mean that I’m not writing for my own satisfaction and pleasure? Maybe someday the answers will dance their way onto the pages of my journal.

There was one question, though, that I couldn’t keep avoiding. As I said - I don’t like labeling things. But I had to give a name to my writing. Now I have an answer when people ask, “What are you writing?”. I started getting better at writing in English as my second language, even though I would always prefer writing in Bulgarian. But English makes it a little easier to reach others.

Now I’m trying to stay true to myself, writing in a language that I never felt like mine but I suppose I’m not too bad as I exceeded one page already - something I almost never do. Even though my relationship with writing has been so long lasting, our dates are short.

I stepped out of the church that day, remembering the warm October sun. I have committed to the two relationships I will always fight for. My dancing fingers will be my forever. And with a little less frustration towards the downfall of Instagram, I sat on a bench by the river and opened my journal.

It was time for another date.