In Search of the Lost Tattoo of Izuzu / M and Mrs Hyde

Do you know those agrarian rites of Japan, from ancient times, where men and women wear costumes of straw and colored silk to honor the forces of nature? That night, I attended one of these dances in the small island of Izuzu. A girl (I recognized the fragility of her ankles) had approached me in the wet end of the day, and threatening with this kind of nutshell completely covering her face, she pushed me in a corner of this little house on the edge of the village. She seemed to want to isolate me, she danced around me, touching me with the end of the straw, almost touching me with sensuality, then suddenly, when no one could see us, this incarnated deity pushed me violently, tilted me on an embankment of foam, undid my linen trousers with its vegetable limbs, and sat astride me. And there, for long minutes, in a swinging movement, back and forth, both with tenderness and roughness, she played with me until I explode in her.

The next morning, when I woke up, she was right next to me, her face still covered. I entered her again, even without asking, without saying a word, this time my weight pressing her down, my hands against her full breasts, and I exploded inside her again, and then once again that morning. Her body was covered wet with me. As I went to uncover her face, my heart beating like a lizard’s neck, she stopped me, caressed my barbed face, and whispered in my ears that the ancient rituals command that her identity cannot be revealed. And if I wanted to be with her again, I would have to find her. I asked with a low voice if she lived in the village, she said she could not tell me. But right before leaving the ancient room still damp from the rain and the heat of naked bodies, she pointed to a long red scratch on her upper thigh I had made on her flesh the night before, and said, “I will tattoo this scar your body has made on mine. If you want to find me, you will have to look for the tattooed scar on the upper thigh, my love.”

M & Mrs Hyde are the two tantric and trashy sides of a forgotten soul, with frequent Jungian mood, tiny red spot obsession, Bombay Sapphire passion, frequent insomnia, recurrent headaches, taste for Darjeeling, and fascination for words. Always travelling from East to West, and inversely.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s

Comments (



Create a website or blog at

%d bloggers like this: