hair (who knows if he was really thirty-five), green eyes, and gray teeth.
At first sight I was charmed, but then the realization that this was the man from the chat room made me tremble. We strolled the clean sidewalks that fronted the chic shops with their gleaming windows. He talked to me about himself, his job, the wife he never loved but married nevertheless for the sake of their child. He has a fine voice, but a stupid laugh that really annoys me.
While we were walking, he wrapped an arm around me and squeezed my breast. I gave him a polite smile, irritated by his intrusiveness and worried about what would happen next.
I could have left, of course, taken off on my scooter and returned home to watch my mother knead the dough for the torta di mele, or listen to my sister read aloud, or play with the cat… I can enjoy normalcy and thrive within its boundaries-I can beam when I get a good grade in school, smile bashfully when I receive a compliment. But nothing amazes me, everything is empty and hollow, vain, lacking susbtance, bland.
I followed him to his car, which took us straight to a garage. The ceiling was damp, and the small space was cluttered with boxes and tools.
Fabrizio threw himself on top of me, but fortunately I didn't feel the full weight of his body. He penetrated me slowly, gently. He wanted to kiss me, but I turned my head. No one has kissed me since Daniele. The heat of my sighs I reserve for my reflected image; and although the softness of my lips has too often touched the thirsty members of the arrogant angel and his devils, they have never, I'm certain, savored that softness. So I shifted my head to avoid contact with his lips, but I gave him no hint of my disgust. I pretended I merely wanted to change position. He, like an animal, transformed the gentleness that had first surprised me into crude bestiality, grunting and shouting out my name as his fingers pressed into my hips.
'I'm here,' I told him. The situation seemed grotesque to me. I didn't understand why he was uttering my name, but to remain insensible to his calls felt embarrassing, so I reassured him, saying, 'I'm here,' and he calmed down a little.
'Let me come inside you,' he said, crazed with pleasure, 'come on, please, let me come inside.'
'No, you can't.'
He suddenly pulled out, voicing my name more loudly till it gradually became a faint echo, a long final sigh. Then, not satisfied, he came at me again, once more I had him inside, his tongue touched me fleet-ingly, heedless. My pleasure hadn't arrived and yet his returned, a futile thing that had no regard for me.
'Your cunt lips are so big and juicy I could just bite them. Why don't you shave? You'd be even more beautiful.'
I didn't respond: what I do with it is none of his business.
A car noise gave us a start. We quickly got dressed (I couldn't wait) and left the garage. He caressed my chin and said, 'The next time, little one, we'll be more comfortable.'
I climbed out of the car, its windows fogged, and everyone in the street noticed that my hair was mussed and I was upset, leaving a driver who had salt-and-pepper hair and a crooked tie.
11 February
Things aren't going so well at school. It may be because I'm lazy and scattered, or because the teachers are too reductive and dogmatic… Perhaps I have a somewhat idealistic vision of school and teaching in general, but the reality utterly disappoints me. I hate math! The fact that it isn't a matter of opinion makes me angry. And then there's that idiot of a teacher who keeps calling me a know-nothing without being able to explain anything! In
Letizia throbs in my brain from morning to night; I don't know what's happening to me. Sometimes I feel like I'm up for anything.
10:40 P.M.
Fabrizio called me, and we talked a long time. At the end, he asked me if I had access to a place where we might meet. I answered no.
'Then the time has come,' he said, 'to give you a splendid gift.'
12 February
The math tutor opened the door in a white shirt and black boxers, wet hair and tortoiseshell glasses. I bit my lip and said hello. His greeting was a smile, 'Please, Melissa, make yourself comfortable.' I felt the same sensation as when I was a child and mixed milk, oranges, chocolate, coffee, and strawberries in the space of an hour. He shouted to someone in the next room, saying that he was going into the bedroom with me. He opened the door, and for the first time I entered the bedroom of a normal man: no pornographic photos, no imbecilic trophies, no clutter. The walls were covered with old photos, posters of old heavy metal groups, Impressionist prints. And there was an unusual, seductive fragrance that went right to my head.
He didn't excuse his obviously informal attire, and I thought it rather amusing that he didn't. He asked me to sit on the bed while he took the chair at the desk and drew it closer, placing it in front of me. I felt a bit awkward… damn! I was expecting some dry-as-dust pedagogue in a canary yellow V-neck sweater, with his hair combed forward and dyed the same shade as the sweater. Instead I found myself before a tanned, sweet-scented, and extremely attractive young man. I still hadn't removed my overcoat,and with a laugh he said, 'Hey, watch I don't eat you when you take that off.'
I laughed as well, displeased by the fact that he couldn't eat me. I hadn't yet registered his shoes: no white socks, fortunately, just a slender ankle and a tanned, well-groomed foot that made concentric movements while we discussed the fee, the syllabus, and the schedule for our lessons.
'We're going to start at the very beginning,' I said.
'Don't worry: I'll have you start at the two times table.' He winked.
I was seated on the edge of the bed with my legs crossed and my hands folded on my knee.
'You have such a lovely way of sitting.' He interrupted me as I was talking about my math teacher.
I bit my lip again and snorted as if to say, 'Do you really expect me to take you seriously? What a cheesy line!'
'Ah, I nearly forgot,' he said, changing the subject. 'My name is Valeric Don't ever call me Professor; you'll make me feel too old.' He shook his finger in a mock threat.
I dallied a little: after so many witty remarks on his part, I obviously had to make one.
I cleared my throat and said softly, 'What if I really wanted to call you Professor?'
This time it was he who bit his lip. He shook his head and asked, 'And why would you want to do that?'
I shrugged and after a brief pause said, 'Because it's more fun, is it not, Professor?'
'Call me whatever you like, just don't look at me with those eyes,' he said, visibly disturbed.
Here I go again, the same old same old. What can I possibly do about it? I can't avoid arousing someone I find attractive, sitting so close to me. I score a bull's eye with every word, every break in the conversation, and I feel great. It's a game.
18 February 8:35 P.M.
They're already eating supper in the kitchen. I've stolen a moment to write, because I really want to take stock of what happened.
Today I had my first lesson with Valeric I managed to learn something with him, perhaps because I love to gaze at his shoulders and his elegant, tapering fingers as they accompany the movements of the pen. I was able to solve two problems, even if it was a struggle. He was very serious, professional, and this made him more attractive. He has captured me. The looks he sent me were awestruck, and yet he sought to maintain a discreet distance between us-lest my cunning interfere with his teaching.
I wore a tight skirt for the occasion; I wanted to seduce him brazenly. So, when I stood up and headed for the door, he started to walk behind me, almost brushing against me. To play with him, I alternated quick strides with slower steps in such a way that he was forced to come close and then immediately back off.
When I pressed the button for the elevator, I felt his breath on my neck, and in a whisper he said, 'Keep your phone free tomorrow night between 10 and 10:15.'
