From Stacy to Melanie, from Melanie to Carol, from Carol to Rose. We jump from girl to girl with the journey paid for by deep kisses and empty promises. Our bed will never be cold as long as excitement and romance are a contagious disease, an easy way to get a woman's most intimate nectars gushing. Daniel took most of them... There is nothing more attractive to a teenage girl than a grown-up boy to show them what the world is like and make them feel more mature than they are. Then all it took was a whisper or two close to their ear to convince them to share original sin with me.

After getting tired of going over and over the mount of Venus, we delighted our baser instincts with the androgynous skin of those young men who visit night clubs in search of loud music, even more deafening emotions, and perhaps an answer to the uncertainty they kept about their sexuality. The appearance of the chosen one differs with the nights and with our whims. Sometimes taller or shorter, or stockier and more direct, or shy and hesitant, or intense and crazy. But we approach them all the same, with the caution and eagerness of the best predators, blending in with the crowd and the lights that stun the vision. Sometimes we use drugs or alcohol, for adulterated glasses and pills are keys to the body and the heart.

In a motel room, or bathroom, or parking lot, or wherever it happens, we lay our bodies in a slow, tight dance. Eyes glazed; Pink lips half-open, glossy and eager; We nibble the neck near Adam's nut and roam the bare skin of the shoulder; Tender moans gush forth, like a woman's, or even sweeter and more indulgent; We stain with our ejaculate the stranger's palate and then taste his bitter seed. How many have we shared the bed with...? I've lost count. Or I never started it. Liquor and substances leave deep gaps in my memory.

The company of strangers was not enough, and we decided to unburden ourselves to each other. Two halves coming together to explore each other's innermost layers, we harvested our panting with our tongues between very long kisses. Daniel wanted to try being the passive one first. During penetration I buried my fingers in his back and plowed the skin, and harvested his blood and his cries, and then he came in an orgasm immediately. I cleaned with my tongue the crimson fluid that was dripping down her back. We turned the tables... It was brutal to interrupt in my loins, the first time tearing me apart. It made me cry, and scream his name, and beg for more.

Nights of debauchery. Taboos that multiply. Life is a toilet that turns without taking the excrement, and even when we are up to our necks in shit, we keep looking for what makes us say: It was worth it. Money, power, fame, family, religion? Or in our case, an extravagance that is not born in places where ethics or morals illuminate. Most people give up. People like Daniel, people like me, never stop trying until life ends.

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"Let's murder someone" Daniel once said. I can't remember when. Maybe I dreamed it. Or maybe he told me when he was ramming me against the bathroom wall. Sensation. Palpitations. The warmth and fade to white that takes away the vision for a second, a symptom of reaching climax. Everything looks so cloudy.

And in the background a crazy man does not stop laughing.

Thou shalt not kill... Demands the text that, together with the Communist Manifesto, has given free rein to the worst massacres of humanity. Time goes by and nothing improves, nobody learns, or simply nobody wants to learn. Death becomes a statistic when it visits the majority, a business if the stiff is a singer or actor, or a reason to celebrate if the one who dies is an alleged rapist, murderer, or dictator. Every second someone in a corner of the world dies, maybe from cancer, or a traffic accident, from starvation, from suicide, or from someone else's actions. Death is mundane... Or am I wrong? Is murder a diamond in the rough? Is it the missing piece of our spiraling puzzle-path? What's at the bottom? Sulfur and fire, or a white rabbit?

It's time to go ahead and find out.

Daniel is with me on this.

We'll get there in the end.

I know we will.

"We all end up like sacks of rotting meat in maggots, Josh" In the cold and in the pale light of the waning moon, he buries the shovel. I did the same. The soft, wet earth yields easily to our rape. "So what? Forget the result and think of the cause. Remember our friend, Cherry?"

How could I forget her? Look around at the hundreds of mist-laced graves. It's an elegant place, she would have liked to be buried here.

Daniel continues the monologue.

"I bet her last moments were the most exciting and cherished of her entire fucking existence. Every bump, every crunch of bone, had to fuel her longing to breathe and to see another sunrise. Ironic thing if you stop to think about how little he cared for himself. You know what I think? I believe that the soul, and consequently the world, shows its true radiance, its most beautiful and intense colors, at the crucial moments. During the imminent end. How beautiful and intense is it? I don't know"

I nodded in sympathy, and we continued working. The mound of earth beside us grows and becomes complete. We break the seal of the coffin and almost tear the lid off its hinges. The stench of the afterlife wafts out, reeking of wilted lilies and dead rats. Dark basins face us reproachfully. Daniel raises the shovel with both hands, reaches down and drives the tip into the corpse's neck, cutting it off with a single lunge.

With the skull blackened between his fingers and the skin cracking like papier mache, he takes a seat on his mother's tombstone and gives her a kiss as innocent as the May roses. The lips fall off.

We cover the grave. Daniel carries the trophy under his arm and we march to our building. He slept with his mother for the first time in a long time, made love to her until she fell apart in the face of his onslaught, and told me every obscene and loving detail.

A happy reunion, I guess.