Hablando de eso...

Me encontre esto en un libro que leo ahora, You Must Remember This, escrito por Joyce Carol Oates.


When he chose he fitted inside her like a hand in a silk glove. A foot
in a silk slipper. He learned not to penetrate her too deeply, his penis high
inside her yet in her imagined control as if it were a part of her, a completion
of herself, an emptiness abruptly filled. She felt her eyes roll upward in her
head in atonishment, gripping him tight, gripping and releasing in a quickening
beat that she began to anticipate and hurry his own; she saw a match raised up
of cloth of paper, then the tiny flame took hold, flared violently upward, was
not to be stopped. Now all veered away from her and she realized she controlled
nothing surely not the tiny panicked muscles in spasms encircling him, her hands
wild clutching at his back, his shoulders, his hair, she sobbed aloud crying his
name. O love love love love she was ravenous wanting it never to end begging him
never to leave her. She knew then she could not draw a single breath without
him, she was dead...
Afterward she lay exhausted, too weak to move.