“I discovered Cupido...”

I walk past his door every day. If it is closed, I do not stop. If I find it half-open, then I go in.

Everything is in a murky half-light. Because my desire is murky too.

I leave my clothes aside. As if I were leaving my skin. As if I were leaving who I am. The light. That part of myself sitting at the table on a family Sunday. Here all of that is unnecessary.

Someone sharpens his nails, somewhere fangs are tensing. I hear noise. Footsteps. A cough. Music. “No, no somos ni Romeo ni Julieta...” and other similar melodies. Why those songs?

He is behind me. I feel his heat. His skin gives off a radiation that could scorch me. Like a damned demon escaped from the underworld to amuse himself. Amuse himself with me. At my expense. Over everything that might seem right to me.

He does not want me to know anything about him. He does not want to frighten me. I imagine his ugliness. Perhaps terrifying. Maybe ridiculous. But he blindfolds me. In some way, he gouges my eyes out.

Everything else remains. And in my mind there lights up the raw flash of a forbidden imagination, absent from my iniquitous social relationships.

Now that world has been left outside. Now I am here and I have no defense.

I remain standing. He says nothing to me. He does nothing to me. The songs follow one another: “Yo soy aquel...”

I grow tired. It exhausts me to stay standing. I need a chair, a floor to lie down on. And I begin to give in. No one tells me anything. But I sink. I fall slowly. I am confused. I am thirsty. I have lost all sense of time. I am on the way to being subdued and they still have not given me a single order. Nor will he give me one. By now I do not even deserve the respect of being ordered. Am I so little?

Kneeling on the hard, cold, stony floor, I receive a kick in the back that knocks me down. Something like a dog sniffs me, licks me, barks at me, growls at me, tells me to get up. And I get up frightened.

I have agreed to nothing. I have spoken of nothing. I simply return. Maybe one day he will amputate an arm. And I will not be able to reproach him. I came back. I knew of all his excesses and I came back. Just as now I come back.

I feel him breathing in my face. I do not have permission to touch him. I do not even have permission to feel him. If he found out what I think, what I feel, it would be my end.

A telephone rings. He answers it somewhere else. I hear his voice. It is harsh. Like a wine too strong, too intense. Why does he never speak to me? Does he think I would not understand him? Do I not deserve his words? Even if they were degrading. I would even endure him apologizing for slapping me until I bled. Does he think his myth would fall? Does he not know that I have crossed the last threshold, that of disappointment? That I am here because I have been afraid for an eternity? I am only the son of a demon. He seduced me when he d...