by Fabio Volo
My breath shortened. For the first time I felt like being selfish and I didn’t think about anything. I wanted to lose myself in those feeling, because I liked them and they made me feel good, regardless of the consequences. I hadn’t felt such an intense pleasure in a long time; actually, I had never felt a pleasure like that, so I gave in to it; I let myself go. That afternoon the boundaries I had been building with so much dedication crumbled. I felt as if all the rubber bands that had kept me tied up were being cut one by one, popping away. I felt light, my breath grew deeper and deeper; it was rising from inside me, from my stomach, from my soul. His and mine together. I was letting a stranger take me away.
It only took him a second to sweep away all my reasons, all my certainties and convictions. He picked me up, we went toward the door of his apartment, he pushed me against it and we went in, me holding on to him, my feet off the ground. He pushed me against the wall once more, this time violently. With his hand on my neck he pulled my head toward his. His lips against mine.
He laid me down on the table. He lifted my skirt; I felt his lips and his tongue kissing me. I felt embarrassed at feeling him so close to my most intimate part, and so I tried to pull him up toward my face, to kiss him on the lips. My eyes were shut, and I heard him undo his belt. He drew me close to him and lifted my legs. I thought he was going to spread them; instead he closed them, one held tightly against the other. He entered me. I opened my eyes and saw his gaze fixed on mine. That gaze that had made me feel naked since the first time I saw him. Naked from the inside out. I felt everything as if it were amplified. Every little movement. I already knew I wouldn’t climax, and I started thinking that he would be disappointed in me. As I was thinking that, suddenly, I felt overwhelmed by a wave of intense heat, my mouth let out a deep cry as if I had kept it inside forever, and I came.
He stayed inside me, motionless. A moment later he pulled out and I felt his liquid heat on my stomach and breasts.
That was our first time.
March 24th
Today wasn’t a good day. Yesterday, after I left the apartment, my body was shaken by continuous vibrations. I felt like I was in a bubble, separated from reality. I walked with my feet barely touching the ground and kept looking for something banal, normal, usual, to maintain some sort of connection. I was grasping at everyday actions and habits. But that feeling didn’t last long. The more time went by, as the hours passed, the more I felt strange. The fact that I had enjoyed myself made me feel guilty. At night, in bed, I couldn’t find peace. I realized that I can’t handle a situation like this; it’s not for me; I’m not the kind of woman who can have clandestine encounters. What happened will forever be my secret, and I’m sure it will never happen again, because I don’t want it to happen. The anxiety and the discomfort I’m feeling are not worth the pleasure of that encounter. If I talked to him, if I called him, maybe it would make me feel better, but he has vanished. No message, no phone call.
I left his apartment and he didn’t tell me if we were going to see each other again. Maybe it was just a one-time thing, nothing more. It’s better that way. And yet it felt very good to be in his arms. How can something that beautiful bring so much confusion?
At that point in my life I was still a woman who needed to know how the other felt about what we had experienced together in order to assign it a value. The fact that he hadn’t called me made that encounter feel less special, as if the future could have added or taken away something from what we had experienced. It took me years to learn how to recognize the value of an encounter while I’m experiencing it, disregarding what happens the next day.
In spite of all my thoughts and all my fears, he called me the next day. “I wanted to tell you that it felt so good that I’m still smiling. When are you coming back?”
“I don’t know—I’m confused. I didn’t expect to feel what I felt.”
“All right, but if you decide not to come back, I’ll come get you myself.”
After that phone call I immediately realized I wasn’t feeling ill anymore; all the weight had been lifted. At that point I was hooked.
March 27th
Today, when I went up to his apartment, I didn’t take the elevator. My fear of elevators aside, I also needed to walk a bit. As I walked past the doorman I pretended I was on the phone because I was ashamed of what I was doing. I was also afraid that somebody Paolo or I knew lived in that building. When I got in front of his door I waited a moment. I was hoping that my heart would stop pounding. I asked myself what I was doing there, outside a stranger’s front door. I had spent the past few days repeating to myself that I shouldn’t see him again, that such behavior was something beneath me. I knew I was taking a huge risk, and not only because I could have been caught; yet there was something stronger attracting me and leading me there. As I was thinking about these things, he opened the door, smiling.
I was even more embarrassed than the first time. Without saying a word, he hugged me. I immediately recognized his smell. I relaxed and I felt a sense of well-being. We didn’t speak for a few minutes. It had been a long time since a man had hugged me so strongly and for so long. He pressed his lips to my forehead and kissed me lightly, then moved to my head, my cheeks, and finally, my mouth. I wasn’t nervous anymore.
We went into the kitchen, he poured two glasses of red wine, and we made a toast. We kissed again, slowly. He picked me up and lifted me onto the counter, next to the sink. I was sitting with a glass of wine in my hand, and with my feet dangling like a little girl. He kept his eyes fixed on mine as he undid the buttons on my shirt one by one until he opened it completely. He started kissing my neck and my shoulders, from one side to the other. He slid his hand behind my back and, in one quick movement, undid my bra. Then he kissed my breasts and bit my nipples ever so lightly. He took my wineglass and put it down on the table. He started kissing me on the mouth as he was touching me, and delicately entered me. Then he took his fingers out and put them in my mouth. That was my taste. He took a step back, undid his belt, pants, and shirt, until he was completely naked. He laid me down on my side. He came closer and his member was a few centimeters from my mouth. He grabbed my hair and he pulled me toward him.
He tasted good. I can still taste it as I’m writing now. I was afraid I couldn’t do it—I was afraid of disappointing him, of not knowing what he liked. I was insecure. Sensing my doubts, he guided me with his hands. They gave me the right rhythm. My breathing grew faster and faster, like my desire. He kept touching me delicately and I felt like I was going to climax in a few seconds. He noticed it and slowed down. He asked me to wait a little. I shivered. He picked me up and brought me to bed. We made love for an eternity. In my head I can still hear the sweet words he whispered while we did it. No man has ever told me words like those. I felt loved.
I enjoyed everything about it: my body, his, his eyes, his hands, his mouth. I was free to live that experience to the fullest, to turn off my brain and follow my body.
After making love, I got up from the bed and went to the kitchen to get some water. I felt his eyes on me and realized I wasn’t used to that anymore. With Paolo I’ve felt invisible for years.
March 31st
Today he asked me to go to his place during my lunch break. I left the office ten minutes early. I parked the car near his place and quickly walked to the front gate. I didn’t do it because I was afraid someone would see me, but rather because I didn’t want to leave too much room for that rational part of myself that keeps telling me to stop seeing him.
Today the door to his apartment was left ajar. I pushed it in and entered. I asked if anyone was home, but nobody answered. Everything was dark, except for a candle on the table in the hallway. I was tempted to leave—then I called his name. Silence.
During our encounters, I always have the impression that words are out of place. Especially mine.
I stood still for a few seconds. I waited to see what was going to happen, afraid to make any mistakes, to do something
wrong. There’s always something that’s out of place when you use good manners in those moments.
My eyes were getting used to the dark. From the room at the end of the hallway came a dim light. I took a few steps forward and saw that there was a note next to the candle: “Don’t speak, don’t look for me, just do what I tell you. Take off your clothes and leave them on the floor. Keep your shoes on and walk into the room holding the candle. I see you.”
I still hear the sound of my footsteps in the hallway. As I walked, I was thinking of the last words written on the note: “I see you.”
I felt ashamed to get undressed and so I stood there for a while, trying to find the courage to do it. I knew it was my last chance to escape—to retreat and forget about the whole thing.
I decided to get undressed. I realized that the idea of him hidden somewhere, looking at me, excited me. I imagined he was naked as he watched me. My panties slid down my legs and fell to the ground. I walked over them and went toward the room. I saw my reflection in the hallway mirror and there, in the twilight, I discovered I liked myself naked, and that I was no longer ashamed. I went in and on the table, I found a candle, a negligee made of black silk, a blindfold of the same color, and a note: “Put it on, blindfold yourself, and bend over. Don’t speak. Touch yourself as if I weren’t here. When the time is right, when you’re ready, I’ll come to you.”
I did as he asked. I completely surrendered to his will. I bent over, resting one cheek on the table. It was cold. I ran my hand under my belly, and I started to touch myself.
Everything was quiet, and I could feel his eyes on me and this aroused me more than my fingers. I focused on all the little noises; I wanted to know when he came near. After a few minutes I felt the hardwood floor squeak. He was coming, and I was ready for him. I wanted his body, his hands, his lips. After a few moments I felt his breath, then his mouth. He was kissing me, licking my legs, his hands were running under the negligee; I felt them on my butt and on my back. I continued to touch myself, then realized I was about to explode and stopped. I didn’t want to come right away. I removed my hand and I stretched my arm across the table.
“Like that, don’t stop,” he whispered in my ear. His warm voice reached deep inside me, somewhere my fingers couldn’t go. I started touching myself again, he put his hand on mine and we continued together.
“Do you want it?” he asked me.
I didn’t answer. I was ashamed.
He grazed his sex against mine.
“Tell me you want it.”
I nodded and let out a soft moan.
“I don’t hear you,” he said.
“Yes …”
I didn’t think I could do it, but I said, “Yes …”
He was making me crazy and I wanted it so badly, but all I could manage to say was a feeble “yes.” He entered me, all the way. He was gripping my hips, and I felt his breathing, his moans, and his desire grow stronger. I was completely under his control. While still inside me, he flipped me onto my back. I still couldn’t see him, I was blindfolded, but I could feel him more and more. I came, I don’t even know how many times. To think that until then I thought it was impossible.
At a certain point he lifted my negligee above my breasts, he grabbed one of them and squeezed it. Suddenly he pulled out and I felt his pleasure on my belly. He let himself fall on top me. His breath slowed. After a few minutes of silence he got up, lifted my head, and kissed me on the lips.
“Stay like this, don’t move … and don’t take off your blindfold,” he whispered, and went away.
When he came back he began to wipe me with something warm and wet. That humid heat felt wonderful. His movements were delicate. He was taking care of me. He covered me with kisses, then sat me down on a chair. I was still blindfolded. He asked me not to move. I heard the sound of a pen across paper, then a tear. He said: “It’s time to get you dressed.”
He had just wiped me with a warm towel, kissed me, caressed me, and then he started dressing me. With a gentleness that was moving. No other man had ever done that for me, no man had ever dressed me since I was a little girl. I felt safe and loved; with him, I became that little girl again, in a matter of minutes.
He stood me up so he could finish dressing me, he put his hand behind my neck and freed my hair from the shirt. He kissed me on the mouth and led me to the door, opened it, and told me to keep my eyes closed, and then he took off the blindfold. I didn’t understand what he was doing. We exited the apartment, he put a note in my hands, and he told me, “Count to ten and then open your eyes.”
He closed the door. I counted to ten and opened my eyes. The light bothered me. I was alone, and I was standing in front of his door. I turned around and he wasn’t there. I read the note: “Did it actually happen or did you not come in yet?”
My head was spinning. I wanted to knock on the door so I could kiss him at least once while looking at him in the eye, but I was beginning to understand the rules of the game.
In the car I started to doubt whether it had really happened. I didn’t see anything. I must have imagined everything I had just experienced.
I read the note again: “Did it really happen or did you not come in yet?”
I wanted both things to be true.
April 1st
Everything is so new, and yet it’s as if I’ve been waiting for it a very long time. I’ve been waiting forever for a man like this, for a passion like this.
Sometimes, as I’m on my way to his place, my desire for him grows stronger with every step, so much so that when I get in front of his door, I’m already wet. It even happens during the day when I think about him. I’ve never been like that. Sometimes, with Paolo, it would even hurt because I wouldn’t get excited. I even thought that something was wrong with me, so much so that I put my embarrassment aside and asked my gynecologist for a lubricant. She told me nothing was wrong with me, but she gave me a cream anyway. When I’m with him, I hardly recognize myself. I’m a different woman, and I’m starting to like her.
I’m not afraid of anything; when I’m in his arms I feel protected from the world and I feel that nothing bad can happen to me. It doesn’t matter if it’s true. It’s a feeling I have and I like it. Maybe I felt that way as a little girl, in my father’s arms.
April 3rd
Today I felt like playing with him. I couldn’t wait. I sent him a text and we agreed to see each other before dinner, around seven thirty. When I got to his place he didn’t even wait for me to get through the door. In a matter of seconds, his mouth and his hands were everywhere. I like to feel his excitement; I like knowing he’ll soon be mine.
I was trying to picture how it was going to be this time. By now I know that with him I can never guess beforehand. I never know where he’ll lead me.
He asked me to sit on the table. He kissed me and undressed me. When I was completely naked, he laid me down in the middle of the table. He opened a drawer and removed a few black ribbons. He tied one wrist, then the other, then my ankles, and then all four ends to the legs of the table. I had never been tied down. I was afraid, but also excited and curious. Then, standing next to me, he poured himself a glass of wine. He drank a sip and he passed it from his mouth to mine one drop at a time. He put the glass down and turned his attention to me. He started doing something I love: He ran his hands around my whole body without touching me. I could feel their warmth on my skin. I really liked that invisible caress and got excited waiting for what was going to happen next. He took a feather out and started to tickle me. He ran it over my legs, my stomach, my neck, my breasts. It felt good; he looked at me, and he kept tickling me. The game lasted a few minutes, and then he started doing the same thing using his fingers. It tickled really badly. I was laughing. I couldn’t help it. I was trying to hold back, because I was ashamed of letting go. I was naked, tied, and restrained in front of him, and I was ashamed to laugh. I had lost control and that was what embarrassed me—it made me uncomfortable, even more so than being nak
ed.
But he didn’t stop and I didn’t know how to repress the laughter I couldn’t quite control. With his fingers, he touched my hips, he went down to my thighs, then up to my armpits, and then back down to my legs. When he moved to my feet, I jumped. I couldn’t take it anymore and I exploded. I couldn’t stop laughing, and I was trying to free myself by moving my arms and legs as much as the bonds allowed. My lungs emptied themselves from the laughter and I was screaming without restraint. He started to press his finger underneath my armpits. I couldn’t even breathe anymore, since I couldn’t stop laughing. I thought I was going to die.
Suddenly he stopped. I caught enough breath to beg him to quit. As I was begging him he started again. Whenever I was almost suffocating he would stop. He would take some more wine and give it to me through his mouth. I felt electric, like after a long run. I felt alive, as if all my cells had awoken. I felt lucid, awake, energized. I swallowed the wine. He started to tickle my armpits again. I couldn’t tell him to stop because I was laughing so hard I couldn’t speak. At one point he stopped tickling me and started to just pretend. I would laugh anyway. By now I had lost all control over my reactions.
I don’t know how long it went on like that. My head was spinning. I was exhausted. Every time he stopped I was overwhelmed by a sensation of well-being. I was panting, I would catch my breath, and I felt strangely happy, as if I were drunk. At that point he started to touch my clitoris with one of his fingers. In a few seconds I started to shake more and more and then I exploded in a very strong and intense orgasm. It lasted forever. I don’t even know if it was more than one, or if it was one that just wouldn’t stop.
