by Fabio Volo
One day he asked me: “What do you want?”
“Nothing different from what we do.”
“I’d like to know if you have any fantasies.”
“I like to come to your place without knowing what awaits me.”
“So you don’t have any requests … Are you sure?” I’ve always been ashamed of my fantasies and he saw that I was embarrassed. “The look on your face, your expression, is one of the most erotic, sexiest, and most seductive I’ve ever seen. The modesty you hold on to is very sensual. Don’t worry, if you’re ashamed, you don’t have to tell me.”
I didn’t know whether I should confess the erotic fantasy I was thinking of. I was afraid he would make fun of me, even though I knew he would never do anything like that. I went for it: “I’d like to do it outside, in a park, on the beach, in an alley at night … somewhere outside.”
“Beautiful, is it because of the sense of freedom, or because of the risk of being caught?”
“I don’t know, I’ve never thought about it, more importantly I’ve never done it … Have you?”
“Yes. Have you ever had fantasies as we’ve been making love?”
Actually, it did happen once but I didn’t know if I should tell him. I was afraid he would think I was fantasizing because I wasn’t satisfied.
“To have fantasies while making love is something beautiful and it doesn’t mean you don’t like what you’re doing.” It was as if he were reading my mind.
“Yes, it happened once. How about you? What are your fantasies? I’m sure that now you’ll read me an endless list.”
“To tell you the truth, I don’t have that many. Anyway, I think that ‘the stranger’ is my favorite.”
“What do you mean, ‘the stranger’?”
“The woman I’ve never met: an encounter on the train, on a plane, in a bar. To make love to a woman I know very little or nothing about. A situation that wasn’t planned and that happened on the spur of the moment, maybe after just a few looks.”
“Has that ever happened to you?”
“A few times.”
“Why don’t you describe one of them to me?”
“On the train to Rome. I was sitting in front of a woman. She was on a business trip: computer, folders, repeated phone calls. Every now and then we would exchange a look. A faint smile, a ‘sorry’ as we bumped into each other. At a certain point I decided to go to the dining car and I asked her if she wanted anything. She said no. ‘Are you sure?’ ‘Actually yes, I’d like a coffee, but if it’s okay, I’ll join you.’ We drank our coffee, she told me what she did, where she was going, and what her name was. As we were heading back to our seats, passing from one car to the next, I grabbed her hand, I pulled her toward me, and we kissed.”
“Did you make love in the bathroom?”
“No, we only kissed. When we got back to our seats, I sat next to her. We kept working, but without anyone noticing, I would touch her legs under her skirt. That evening, after our respective business dinners, I went to meet her at her hotel.”
“How exciting. I’ve never made love to a man on our first encounter.”
I thought back to that evening when I went out for dinner with my girlfriends and imagined him making love to another woman, and then me with them. I told him about it, because I wanted to say something crazier than my outdoor fantasy, which at that point seemed a little banal. I was almost ashamed of having just that one erotic dream.
“To make love with a man and a woman together.”
I got scared as soon as I said it, so I added: “It’s just a fantasy. I don’t know if I would really do it.”
“And what would the other woman look like?”
I tried to change the subject because I didn’t want to get into the details.
“It’s one of those fantasies best left as such.”
“Fine … but tell me just one thing: blond, brunette, with big breasts, skinny …”
I don’t know why but I answered: “First of all, I’d like her to be clean, she must be a clean woman and elegant, too …”
He gave me a huge smile and hugged me; he must have thought I was the cutest thing. Who knows why I gave him that answer.
“But should she be a clean blond or a clean brunette?” he asked me, laughing.
“I don’t know. Certainly, a woman I don’t know, I could never do it with a friend. Plus, it should be a situation that presents itself, I couldn’t plan it ahead of time. Anyway, I can’t visualize her psychically—I can’t picture what she looks like. I would like her to be pretty, and that’s all.”
He got up to get a glass of water and asked me if I wanted some.
“Yes, please.”
I was happy to change the subject.
May 23rd
I love his shy touch after we make love. I’ve always interpreted it as his way of letting me know he cares about me. He often introduces me to places where no other man had ever led me before; he pushes me to the edge of my limits; he makes me see them and experience them. Before we separate he always brings me back to known territories, through caresses, hugs, and delicate kisses. I love it when he kisses my eyelids, when he holds my hand and our fingers interlock as if they were a zipper. I think that if the world were to suddenly collapse, I would be safe.
May 28th
I went back and reread some of things I wrote over a year ago. It was about something a girl said that had really bothered me. I wrote some very harsh comments. The girl was a friend of Federica’s, whom I didn’t know and who had lunch with us one afternoon. She argued that you can meet a man, get engaged, move in with him, marry him, and even have a child with him, convinced that he is the love of your life. You’re happy together, you love one another, and you are kind to each other. You live that relationship year after year: You are a family. However, one day, a stranger’s look stops you dead in your tracks. Someone barely touches you and suddenly, unexpectedly, you feel something you’ve never felt in your whole life. A frightening emotion, stronger than your convictions and your values, the same ones you have upheld and for which you have always fought. You feel naked and the whole world you’ve built with so much effort and precision will topple like a sand castle. That look overwhelms you before you can find refuge in the usual rational excuses: “If I’m attracted to another man it means that I don’t love mine anymore, rather than cheating on him I’ll leave him for the other one, I could never cheat on him …”
Everyone knows it can happen and many are scared of it. That’s why they decide to get married: to contain this fear. Marriage is a promise: a promise that you’ll love me forever. Sometimes you don’t have the time or the strength to make a decision and so you give in to it. And the other can’t get mad at you because he knows it could have happened to him, as well. And the fact that it didn’t happen doesn’t make him a better person. When you’re with someone, you can’t ask for guarantees, since you can’t even offer any yourself. Love is a risk that someone takes. That’s why true love is for courageous people.
I remember I didn’t say anything at that lunch, even though her words bothered me. Hers seemed to be a way of justifying certain actions, a way to avoid responsibilities. I’ve always thought that if a relationship was strong, loyal, and intimate, not even a hurricane could sweep it away. Today, I don’t know if I still hold the same opinion; I can’t quite make up my mind on the issue. If Paolo and I had truly loved each other, if we had had real intimacy, the courage to be close to one another, maybe I would never have gone into his apartment. Maybe it’s like the story of the wolf and the three little pigs: what matters is the strength of the blowing as well as the material used to build the house.
The only thing I know for sure is that now I judge the actions of others with less severity.
May 31st
What’s going to happen to me if that door is suddenly closed? Would I find another staircase that makes my heart pound that hard? Would the new woman I’ve become remain locked outside it or inside
it?
Maybe the only consolation I’d have left would be that of finding refuge in the pages of this journal. But who knows if I can finally feel safe in here?
These are questions that only time can answer. Now I’m forced to live, and I must wait for everything else.
June 3rd
I went to the spa today. The beautician talked me into getting a massage. I had some time, and she had room for one more. I closed my eyes, I relaxed, I started to think that those hands were his, and I was turned on. I don’t think the girl noticed it. When she was done, before she left, she told me: “Feel free to stay as long as you want. There’s no hurry.” When I was alone, I couldn’t resist touching myself. When I got out of the spa, I couldn’t remember where I had parked my car.
As I read what I wrote about that afternoon I feel like smiling. I remember perfectly well how I was feeling and how I would approach my days and my routines. Since he had come into my life, I would wake up lighter and happier. I would often think about us and I would catch myself smiling, surprised at what I managed to do with him.
One morning, as I was driving to the office, he sent me a text: “Can you come by the apartment tonight?”
“Not before nine.”
That evening, as soon as I walked into his place, he kissed me on the mouth, took my coat, and then, taking me by the hand, brought me into the kitchen. There was a bottle of red wine and we made a toast. He was looking at me with a smile on his face. We chatted a bit, and as he talked he was very attentive. He brushed my hair aside and kissed me on the neck, saying wonderful things. In those moments I felt I was really loved. He took a black silk ribbon out of his pocket and blindfolded me. Then he slowly undressed me.
“You’re beautiful,” he whispered into my ear. “Come, I have a surprise for you.”
He took my hand and I could tell he was leading me toward the bedroom. As we entered the room he removed the blindfold. My heart stopped for a second and my stomach shrank. A heat wave ran through my body, my face especially. I wasn’t ready, I wasn’t expecting it: There was a woman on the bed, blindfolded, naked.
“Do you like her?”
I didn’t know what to say.
“Just tell me if you like her, and I’ll take care of the rest.”
She was very beautiful. She must have been about thirty. Blond. I nodded yes, but I was very nervous. I felt like running away, but I couldn’t move.
“Don’t worry, I’m here with you.”
He blindfolded me again, he led me to the bed, and he laid me down next to the woman.
I could smell her perfume. I couldn’t relax. He kissed me on the mouth. He caressed my head. He was very sweet, like only he could be.
“Now I’m going to take off her blindfold.”
I was afraid she wasn’t going to like me. She was so beautiful. Maybe she’d change her mind and leave after she saw me. I was more anxious about her not liking me than when I was with him for the first time. She didn’t speak. She didn’t say anything. I only felt her get up, then her hands on my ankles, my legs, stomach, breasts, neck. She was caressing me, kissing me. I could feel her hair on my skin. I was stiff, nervous. In my ear, he whispered for me to relax, that if I didn’t want to continue all I had to do was say so, and she would leave. I didn’t want her stop. I felt her lips on mine. We kissed. Her kisses were exciting and, at the same time, delicate. I’d never felt the skin of another woman on mine. Then she went down and opened my legs. A woman was kissing me and was giving me an intense pleasure. I liked it immediately, maybe even more than when he did it. My muscles contracted for a few seconds, my back arched, my toes curled. I let myself go and pleasure, like a balm, softened me. He removed my blindfold and smiled. He then blindfolded her, laid her down next to me, and said: “She’s all yours.”
I didn’t know what to do. I got up, looked him in the eye and, without looking away, I bent down and dipped my mouth between her legs. It was the first time. I was kissing her the way I liked it. She tasted good. He got up, grabbed my hips, and after a few moments, I felt him inside me. She grabbed my head and started to move it faster. He followed her example. At that moment the thought that he could prefer her over me entered my head, and it made me jealous for a second.
We made love in different ways, merging our bodies with our desires. Everything was delicate, sweet, pure. At a certain point, we became one single entity, so intimate and deeply united that we reached our climax together, all three of us. I had never felt such a powerful sensation: three bodies shaking in unison. I laid down next the woman and I wanted to look her in the eye. I took off her blindfold and, after we stared silently into each other’s eyes, we kissed.
That evening I went home and couldn’t believe what had just happened, but I was happy. Paolo was already asleep, and I slipped under the covers, trying not to make any noise. I could smell our scents mixed together: on my hands, on my wrists, on my lips. Every small movement made them come out from underneath the sheets. I fell asleep wrapped in the scent of my exciting secret.
June 7th
I need to get out of here. Out of this house filled with our silences. Out of this house that is so big, and yet makes me feel like I’m suffocating, like I always say to Paolo. Maybe I was waiting for someone to come and save me from myself, this is probably why I sometimes detest this man. He makes me angry and sometimes his very presence bothers me. I’ve never written this before, but there are some moments when he actually annoys me, especially in the beginning, when I first realized the power he had over me and I started wondering how it was possible for me to like it so much from the start.
What really gets under my skin is that he wasn’t supposed to be the one to save me. It wasn’t the responsibility of this stranger. It was another man I had in mind, a man who, as Carla says, hadn’t even noticed I’d already left.
June 10th
I brought my journal to the office this morning, to reread a few passages.
When I went to his place after work, I thought that, for the first time, these pages were going to breathe the air where the stories had happened. As we were making love, I could feel that every kiss, every look, every touch was going to be recorded forever on those blank pages.
Before going to his apartment, I bought a dress and some new lingerie. I sent him a message while I was in the car: “Leave the front door open, pour two glasses of red wine, and wait for me in the bedroom.”
I went in, I got undressed in the hallway, I took my new purchases out of the bag, and I got ready for him. I picked up the two wineglasses and went to join him in the bedroom. When I walked in, he made an expression that repaid me for all my efforts. I wonder how someone could stop desiring a man like him.
“Don’t take anything off, not even your shoes … Stay just as you are,” he told me, and we immediately made love.
I could see my reflection in the mirror and liked the way I looked wearing those presents I had bought myself, and in the high-heel shoes. I feel irresistible whenever I’m with him. Then I experienced something new, but it’s something easier felt than explained. I had already felt it once before with my first boyfriend, but it was painful and I had thought that it wasn’t for me. I had told myself I would try it again with my future husband someday. However, Paolo never asked to do it. To be honest, he didn’t ask, either; he just did it. I didn’t resist him. I didn’t say anything to stop him. Everything felt very natural. I was afraid he would hurt me and that I would have to ask him to stop. I felt a shiver run through my body. The slight pain I felt at first was soon replaced by an intense and new pleasure.
Sometimes I think back on all the things I’ve done with him and tell myself that at my age it’s ridiculous to try out new things; I should have done them a lot earlier when I was a younger woman. Plus I think that, after all, at this age, they take on a bigger meaning, because they force you to come to terms with yourself, with your own life.
June 14th
This morning I woke up excited at t
he idea that I was going to spend my entire Sunday with him, happy to have the time to get ready without rushing, doing everything at my own pace. Paolo’s away for work; I told him I was going to spend the whole day with Federica.
I had breakfast the way I like it, thinking about what I was going to wear, even though I had already made up my mind last night. As I was doing the dishes, I had the impression I could feel everything more intensely: the water running on my hands, my breath, the things I was touching. I put some music on and went to the bedroom to pick out my outfit. I laid all the combinations across the bed, all the possible options, except for the lingerie, which I had already picked out yesterday. Then I filled the tub and took a bath, adding some salts. I washed my hair under the faucet, wrapped it in a towel, and put on some lotion. The idea of getting ready for him turned me on. I dried my hair and got dressed. In the end, I chose a simple dress.
It’s nice to leave the house completely ready, not like when I have to change at his place, or even worse, in the car. Today I’m wearing some lipstick—you can hardly see it. I didn’t know whether I should put more makeup around my eyes, to have a different look, or if I should instead show up without any makeup at all, to show off my simplicity. Sometimes, after I’ve spent all that time on myself, I wonder if I’ve exaggerated and if in the end I’m better off letting myself be, like when I’m in a hurry.
I was very happy in the car—I was like a little girl. I looked at myself many times in the rearview mirror before going up to his place. There’s no mirror in his elevator, so I felt my hair to see if it was still in place. I pulled up my stockings and ran my hand down my thighs to straighten them. He was waiting for me at the door and told me that I looked beautiful. He seemed very calm and at ease; I, on the other hand, was embarrassed, since his hands and mouth are usually all over my body as soon as I walk in. But not today.