19 February 2002 10:30 P.M.
Two bits of news (as usual, one good, one bad).
Fabrizio has bought a little apartment downtown where we can see each other without being discovered by our respective families.
On the phone he was all peachy: 'I've had a gigantic screen mounted in the bedroom so we can watch some of those flicks, eh, little one? You'll have your own set of keys, of course. A big kiss on your lovely little face. Ciao, ciao.'
This is obviously the bad news.
He didn't give me any time to respond, to make him aware of my uncertainties, my misgivings. What he's done seems so rash to me. I had intended to go to bed with him one more time and then arrivederci and grazie. I don't want to become the lover of some married man with a daughter to support! I don't want him, his apartment, his gigantic screen for porno films; I don't want him to buy my complaisance as if he were buying his high-tech gadgets. I've suffered enough with Daniele and the arrogant angel, and now, just as I'm restarting my life on my own terms, this fat, necktie-wearing ogre comes along and tells me he wants to commit himself sexually to me. Yet punishment always hovers over our heads, the sharpened point of the sword is poised there, ready to pierce our skulls when least we expect it. The sword will strike him as well, because I shall seize the hilt.
Now for the good news.
The phone call arrived and ended punctually.
I was naked, sitting on the floor, my skin touching the cold marble in my room. As I held the phone, the voice I longed to hear reached me fluid and sensual. He told me one of his fantasies. We were in a classroom, and I was following one of his lessons. At a certain point, I asked him if I could go to the bathroom, and on my way out I gave him a note that contained two words: 'Follow me.' I was waiting for him in the bathroom; when he arrived, he ripped open my blouse. With the tip of his finger, he gathered some of the drops that dribbled from the tap in the sink and dabbed them on my chest, where they slowly trickled down. Then he lifted my short pleated skirt and penetrated me, as I leaned against the wall and gathered his pleasure into my viscera. The droplets were still trickling down my body, wetting it, leaving thin trails on my skin. We regained our composure and returned to the classroom, where from the first row I followed the chalk flowing across the blackboard in the same way that he was flowing inside of me.
We touched ourselves while on the phone. My sex was swollen as never before, and Lethe was flooding the Secret in waves. My fingers were impregnated with me, but also with him, I felt him close by, despite the circumstances, I felt his warmth, smelled his scent, imagined his taste.
At 10:15 he said, 'Good night, Lo.'
'Good night, Professor.'
20 February 2002
There are days when I don't know whether to stop breathing once and for all or to suffer recurrent attacks of apnea for the rest of my life. Days when I breathe beneath the covers and gulp down my tears and discern their taste on my tongue. I awake with my bed a mess, my hair unkempt, my skin violated. Naked, before a mirror, I examine my body. I perceive a tear fall from my eye to my cheek; I wipe it away with a finger and scratch myself slightly on the jaw with a fingernail. I pass my hands through my hair, draw it back, pull a face, just to be likable to myself, to laugh at myself. But I don't succeed, I want to cry, I want to punish myself.
I head for the top drawer of the dresser. First I scrutinize everything inside it, then carefully select what I must wear. I place all the garments on the bed, folded, and shift the mirror to a position that faces me. I again examine my body. The muscles are still taut, although the skin is soft and smooth, pure white like a baby's. And I am a baby. I sit on the edge of the bed and slip into the stockings, pointing my foot, sliding the thin veil over the skin till the lace band reaches the thigh, exerting a slight pressure. Then it's time for the corset, black silk with lace and ribbons. It encircles my bust and tapers my waist, which is already quite thin, accentuating my hips even more, making them too shapely, too curvaceous and buttery for men to refrain from releasing their bestiality there. The breasts are still small: they are firm, white, round; they can fit in a hand and warm it with their heat. The corset is tight, the breasts are squeezed close together. This still isn't the moment to examine myself. I put on shoes with stiletto heels, slipping in the foot as far as the ankle, and I feel my short stature suddenly gain a few inches. I go to the bathroom, take the red lipstick, and color my soft, succulent lips; then I thicken the eyelashes with mascara, comb the long, sleek hair, and spray the perfume that sits above the mirror, three times. I return to my room. There I shall see the person who thrills me deeply, body and soul. I examine myself, enchanted, eyes glistening, nearly in tears. A special light sketches the contour of my body, and my hair falling gently on my shoulders invites my caress. The hand falls slowly from the hair, toward the neck, almost unawares; it caresses the delicate skin, and two fingers encompass the circumference, pressing gently. I hear the sound of pleasure, still virtually imperceptible. The hand descends a bit farther and begins to caress the smooth hair. The baby attired as a woman appears before me. Her eyes burn with desire (for what? sex? love? real life?). The baby is sole mistress of herself. Her fingers slip into the folds of her sex, and the heat makes a shudder rise to her head. A thousand sensations invade me.
'You're mine,' I murmur, and at once the excitement takes over my desire.
I bite my lip with perfect white teeth, the disheveled hair makes my back sweat, pearly beads adorn my body.
I pant, the sighs increase… I close my eyes, my body ripples with spasms, my mind is free and takes wing. My knees buckle, my breathing is labored, my tongue passes wearily over my lips. I open my eyes and smile at the baby. I draw close to the mirror and offer her a long, intense kiss. My breath fogs the glass.
I feel alone, abandoned. I feel like a planet around which three different stars are now orbiting: Letizia, Fabrizio, and the Professor. Three stars keep me company in my thoughts, but not in reality.
21 February
I accompanied my mother to the veterinarian to have my kitten examined. He suffers from a slight case of asthma. He meowed softly, frightened by the doctor's gloved hands; I caressed his head, consoling him with sweet words.
In the car my mother asked me how school was going and what was happening with the boys. I gave vague responses to both questions. At this point, I ordinarily lie; it would feel strange if I stopped.
I asked her to come with me to my math tutor's house, since it was time for a lesson.
'I'd be delighted. I'm finally getting to meet him!' she said with enthusiasm.
I didn't respond because I didn't want her to suspect anything. Besides, I was certain that Valerio was expecting to meet my mother sooner or later.
This time, fortunately, his clothes were more presentable, but strangely, when my mother asked me to escort her back to the elevator, she said, 'I don't like him. He's got the face of a pervert.'
I gestured dismissively and told her he'd only be giving me math lessons, we weren't going to get married. My mother has this obsession about knowing people from their faces; it's something that really gets on my nerves!
Once the door was closed, Valerio hurried me to get my notebook and start immediately. We didn't say a word about the phone call, nothing but cubes, squares, binomials… His eyes were so impenetrable as to leave me in doubt. What if he made that phone call just to mock me? What if I didn't matter at all to him, if he just wanted an orgasm over the phone? I was expecting some sign, a brief exchange, something!
Then, while he was handing me the notebook, he looked at me as if he had understood everything and said, 'Don't make any plans for Saturday night. And don't get dressed till I call you.'
I stared at him, astonished, but I didn't say anything. Trying to feign an absurd indifference to his words, I opened the notebook and saw what he had written. Amid the x's and y's in tiny letters I read:
I still dwelled deep in my elected paradise-a paradise whose skies were the color of hell-flames-but still a paradise.
Professor Humbert
Once more I did not speak. We said good-bye, and he reminded me again about the appointment. As if I could ever forget about it…
22 February
