imagined such a surprise. He arrived on a motorcycle, his hair in the wind and a pair of sunglasses covering his splendid eyes. I was chatting away in front of a bench where a few of my classmates were sitting. My hair was a mess, my book bag heavy on my shoulder, and my face flushed. When I saw him arrive with his sly, captivating smile, my jaw dropped, and I was tongue-tied for a moment. I quickly said 'Excuse me' to my mates and ran into the street to greet him. I threw myself against him in a childish manner; it was spontaneous and said a great deal. He told me he was longing to see me, he missed my smile and my perfume, he thought he'd fallen into some sort of crisis of abstinence from Lolita.
'What are the clones looking at?' he asked me, nodding toward the kids in the piazza.
'Who do you mean?' I asked.
He explained that this was his term for young people who all look identical, each of them a member of the same great, enormous herd. It's their way of distinguishing themselves from the adult world.
'You have a strange way of defining us. Anyway, they're looking at your bike, they're intrigued by you, and they envy me because I'm talking to you. Tomorrow they'll ask me, 'Who was that guy talking to your
'And what will you say?' he asked, certain of my response.
His certainty irritated me, so I said, 'I might or might not answer. It depends on who asks and how they ask.'
I looked at his tongue wetting his lips, looked at his eyelashes, long and black as a baby's, and his nose, which seems a perfect copy of mine. Then I looked at his penis, which swelled when I drew close and whispered, 'I want to be possessed, now, in front of everybody.'
He looked at me and smiled, nervously clenching his lips as if to contain his feverish excitement. Then he asked, 'Lo, Lo, do you want to drive me crazy?
I answered yes with a slow nod and flashed a smile.
'Let me smell your perfume, Lo.'
I offered him my pure white neck, and he nuzzled it, filling his lungs with my musky vanilla fragrance. 'I'm going now, Lo.'
He couldn't leave. This time I was ready to play all my cards.
'You want to know what panties I'm wearing today?'
He was about to start the motor, but he stared at me, shocked, and with his mind befogged he answered yes.
I hiked up my trousers, unbuttoning them at the top, so he could see that I wasn't wearing panties. He continued to stare at me, searching for a response.
'I often go pantyless. I like it,' I told him. 'Remember that night we did it the first time?'
'You're driving me crazy.'
I drew near his face, keeping a distance that was very close and therefore very dangerous. 'Yes,' I said, looking straight into his eyes, 'that's my intention.'
We gazed at each other without saying a word for a long time. He would occasionally shake his head and smile. I again approached his ear and told him, 'Rape me tonight.'
'No, Lo… it's risky,' he replied.
'Rape me,' I repeated, at once bossy and wicked.
'Where, Mel?'
'The place where we went the first time.'
29 March
1:30 A.M.
I climbed out of the car and closed the door, leaving him inside. I set off down those dark, narrow streets, and he waited a little while before following me. I found myself alone crossing the jagged pavement. I heard the noise of the sea in the distance, then nothing more. I looked at the stars and felt as if I had to catch their imperceptible sound, beings that twinkle intermittently. Then the engine and headlights of his car. I stayed calm; I wanted everything to unfold as I had planned it: he was the executioner, I the victim. Victim in body, humiliated and subjugated. But the mind, mine and his-I command it, I alone. I desire all this; I am mistress of it. He is a fake master, a master who is my slave, slave to my desires and whims.
The car pulled up. He switched off the engine and headlights and climbed out. For a few moments I thought I was again alone, as I heard nothing… There he goes; I heard him. He was walking at a slow, calm pace, but he was breathing fast, panting. Unexpectedly, I felt fear. He started to pursue me more vehemently, he ran toward me and, seizing my arm, threw me against the wall.
'Signorinas with lovely little asses shouldn't wander around the streets alone,' he said, his tone of voice changing.
With one hand he held my arm, hurting me; with the other, he pushed my head toward the wall, pressing my face hard against the rough, muddy surface.
'Stay still,' he ordered.
I was waiting for the next move, I was excited but also frightened, and I asked myself what I would have felt if a real stranger were violating me, not my sweet Prof. Then I erased this thought, recalling a few nights ago and all the violence my soul has endured so many times… and I still wanted violence, violence beyond endurance. I am accustomed to it; perhaps I can't do without it. It would seem strange to me if one day gentleness and tenderness came knocking at my door and asked to enter. Violence kills me, wears me down, dirties me, and feeds on me, but with and for it I survive, I feed on it.
He used his free hand to rummage through a trou-ser pocket. He squeezed my white wrists hard, released me a moment, then used his other hand to grab the object he had taken from his pocket. It was a blindfold. He tied it around the upper part of my face, covering my eyes.
'You're so beautiful,' he said. 'I'm raising your skirt, whore. Don't speak, and don't scream.'
I felt his hand inside my panties, his fingers caressing my sex. Then he gave me a violent slap; I groaned in pain.
'I told you not to make a sound.'
'Actually, you told me not to speak or scream. I groaned,' I whispered, knowing he would punish me for this.
In fact, he gave me another slap, even more violent. But I didn't make a sound.
'Brava, Lo, you're great.'
He bowed down, still holding me tightly, and began to kiss my buttocks, on which he had visited so much violence. When he started to lick them slowly, my desire to be possessed grew, I couldn't stop it. I arched my back to make him seize my lust.
In response I received another slap.
'When I say,' he ordered.
I could perceive only sounds and his hands on my body. I was deprived of sight and now of total pleasure.
He let go of my wrists and leaned his entire body against me. With both hands he grabbed my breasts, free of any constraint that might impede him. He grabbed them hard, hurting me, squeezing them with fingers that felt like burning pincers.
'Easy,' I murmured, scarcely audible.
'No, it'll be the way I say,' and he let loose another, very violent slap. As he was rolling my skirt up to my hips, he said, 'I would've liked to hold out longer, but I can't. You've got me too worked up, and I can't do anything but give in to you.'
He plunged a stake into me, penetrating me deeply, filling me completely with his excitement, his uncontrollable passion.
A powerful, shuddering orgasm swept through my body, and I collapsed against the wall, scratching my skin. He held me, and I felt his hot breath on my neck. His panting made me feel good.
I remained so long like that, too long, long enough that I didn't want it ever to end. Returning to the car meant returning to reality, a cold, cruel reality from which escape was inevitable, as I immediately realized. He and I, the marriage of our souls, had to end there; the circumstances won't ever permit either of us to be completely and spiritually inside the other.
