The Art of Infiltrating Cultures

In Flirtations

When someone asked us “what is a guest post and why do you threaten guests with tales of mysterious torture in the About section…?” we thought to ourselves “we will show you!” because threatening was just as appealing there. Then we infiltrated her flirtations stories into this page. “That will learn her!”

Guest post by EE, the first infiltrator at infiltree (meta much).


Scenes that I remember

How do you remember a person? I remember them in a fraction of minutes, embedded in a scene. Sometimes it is a touch or a feeling, sometimes it is a short dialogue. These meant to be snapshots of my memories, not bound to a single person, to a specific time or to a certain order.


It is one of the rare sunny days in the city. The doors of your small balcony are wide open. We are couched on large cushions. You are lying face down. I look at your skin glowing with sweat under the sun. I want to reach forth and touch you. I stop myself.

It is late night. We are in my bed, sleeping, but apart. You wake up, pull me to yourself, hug me. I disappear in your arms. You kiss me. I kiss you back. I sigh. We go back to sleep.

I am in front of the computer, talking to you over the internet. You send me the poster that you want to buy. I open the file and I freeze. It is “Umarmung” from Schiele. My body shivers. I cry a little.

We are at a festival, waiting in line. Our friend is paying for the drinks in front of us. You put your arm around my waist and whisper something into my ear. I giggle. You put your lips just behind my left cheekbone. We freeze for a second or two. Our friend turns back and we separate.

We are in the backyard of a theatre in a quiet area of the town. You tell me about how you spent one summer at this very backyard. You drag me to a bench. You sit down, I sit on your lap. We kiss. I joke about feeling like a teenager again, remembering a distant bench under the trees long time ago. It starts feeling chilly. We stand up and leave.

It is weekend, past noon. I am sleeping, you are doing the dishes in the kitchen. You burst into the bedroom. I open my eyes. You are wearing a dark apron and pink dishwashing gloves. You shout at me that I am lazy and leave the room. I leave the bed.

We are with our heads under the duvet, cuddling. My legs are resting on your thighs. You tell me about your childhood and how lonely you felt. I listen.

We are relaxing on your sofa. Our backs leaning on opposite arm rests, our faces facing each other. You tell me how much you like when I reach to hug you while saying “Come here!”. I smile, I say “Come here!”, I reach forth and hug you.


We are drunk at a hotel corridor. You are sitting on an armchair, I am sitting on your lap, facing you. We kiss. You put your hands under my skirt. We keep kissing. I blabber something about that I have to go. We kiss. I repeat. We kiss. I repeat. We kiss. I stand up and leave.

We are walking in a city where we both have not been before. We stop. I lean back, putting my shoulder blades on your chest. You put your arms around my shoulders. We discuss where to go next. We straighten up and start walking.

We are sitting in the classroom, next to each other. I have long hair, your legs barely fit under the table. We are talking about how my best friend is in love with you. You ask me whether you should tell her that you like somebody else. You do not look at my face, playing with a lock of my hair, almost hypnotised. I reply telling you that you should not lie to her. I do not realise.

We are standing in the classroom, facing each other. I have a long rainbow scarf, you have a thick winter coat. You ask me something. You do not look at my face, playing with my scarf, almost hypnotised. I respond. I do realise.

It is summer. I am sitting on a chair. You approach from back, put your wrists in front of my nose and ask me how you smell. I take a deep breath with your perfume. My head spins, as always.

I am reading your e-mail. You tell me how you imagine me sitting next to you while you are driving home back from work, us telling each other about our days until I start napping like a cat crawled on the seat. I close my eyes and imagine myself next to you, crawled on a car seat. Your imagination becomes my memory.

What do you think?

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