Larissa felt sad for him, even though Andre looked peaceful as he slept. She supposed this was the one time that he could find peace during the World Cup. But, of course, no one could control their dreams. Their sleeping dreams, that is. And maybe even their daydreams, too.
She hoped he was dreaming of something besides futbol. Her, for example. That would’ve hopefully given him peace. Or excitement, depending on what they were doing in the dream.
His awake dreams had only recently been doused like a bucket of water thrown on a fire. He wasn’t good enough to play professionally. It came down to that simple, terrible, devastating fact. He just wasn’t good enough. Even though he had skills, they weren’t up to what he needed to play at that level. As much as he loved the game, he simply couldn’t bring what others brought to the field.
Andre had heart, though, and she loved that about him. His heart was enormous. It was powerful, a mountain reaching far into the sky. It caused him to keep going when others had given up long ago. But such a heart, when it was broken, was tragic. The mountain was brought low, to where most people lived. Larissa had never seen him hurt that badly. Of course, life was full of disappointments. At times, it could be a string of events that tested your strength by throwing rocks in your path.
Larissa tried to share her strength with him. He needed that now. In her love, she wanted very much to help him in this way, to be there for him in this time of pain. For she very much knew that shared strength had helped in her own times of pain. To respect those who had helped her, she turned and gave it back to others. Including Andre. She had listened to him. She had talked soothingly to him across the brutal day and far into the night. She encouraged him to eat a little when he said he wasn’t hungry.
She offered pleasure to him, willingly, lovingly. He may not have had the skills to play futbol professionally, but he most certainly had the strength and stamina. The taut muscles of his body above her showed that. He held his torso up with his arms held straight, on either side of her. His arms like muscular columns. His chest was a hard, hairless expanse. His stomach held chiseled abdominal muscles that moved beautifully as he pushed inside her and pulled back. A gorgeous rhythm. A wonder of heaving flesh. All those gorgeous muscles moving together toward that glorious goal. Of making love to her.
It wasn’t always like this, of course. There had been happy times. Times of wide smiles and the bright potential of life. Dancing in crowded, throbbing nightclubs. Lying in bed for long and hot afternoons, talking about their wants, in between episodes of slowly making love. Cooking together in the small kitchen, wishing they lived in a big house, but making do with what they had.
That’s what she knew she had to focus on. Make do with what they had. One dream had not played out. But now, she would help him get to the place where he could think beyond futbol and see what he could offer life next.