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- Herausgeber: Fate d'Argento
- Kategorie: Gesellschafts- und Liebesromane
- Sprache: Englisch
Eleonora has a childlike heart in a wonderful mature woman’s body, a delicate and sensitive soul of those who have had much less than they feel to deserve from life.
Abandoned at a very early age by a father never known, torn by grief for her mother’s death, who died after a long illness, she dreams of finding redemption in a man who can love her as she is, without hypocrisy, immune to sterile jealousies and earthly misunderstandings.
At the age of thirty-four and working as a professional escort, Eleonora turns into an involuntary and lucid witness to human madness and indifference: in her tastefully furnished alcove, in the sensual red light of a bedside table lamp, depraved, hasty, ambiguous men alternate, prisoners of their shyness and selfishness, unable to give a moment of peace to her tormented and disappointed soul.
She has no family, children, trusted friends: she can only offer her wonderfully smooth body, her refined ability to make love in all its empty and exciting shades…
When her existence seems to be hopelessly prisoner of the useless daily routine, she knows Manlio, a mature and protective figure who, with his calm and deep voice, manages to mitigate her innermost anxieties and finally make her feel free.
He is nineteen years older than her, divorced since long time with a dependent daughter, partner with a prestigious car dealership, Eleonora actually knows very little about him, but she is convinced that his reticence, his fascinating halo of mystery is just a small price on the way to coveted happiness.
One evening like many others Manlio arrives very late for an appointment, with his face completely swollen: will it be only an inappropriate chance or are human nature and love going to show her their darkest side?
With Eleonora’s character Andrea Oliveti finds his dearest themes again, describing extremely in detail and with power an extraordinary woman’s innermost life, a prostitute almost for an inscrutable joke of fate.
In her we relive the doubts and contradictions of an existence always at the limit, the slow and inexorable succession of the seasons, the enigmatic plans of the Almighty, the infinite thrill of a barefoot walk on a moonlit beach.
In her colourful world, studded with crazy, tender and improbable characters, nothing is exactly as it appears, but to find it out we will have to hold our breath until the last, unmissable emotion…
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Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2021
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My Blood in Your Soul
Andrea Oliveti
This work is in copyright: Law N. 633/1941 .
All rights concerning translation, quotation, reproduction in any form, use of pictures and tables, supplied software material, radio-tv broadcast, analogue or digital recording, publication and distribution through the Internet are reserved, even in case of partial use.
The reproduction of this work, even partially, is allowed only to the full extent permitted by law and it is liable to the written editor’s permission.
The violation of the rules implies penalties provided for by the Italian State. This book may include some words which are asserted to be proprietary names. The presence of such assertions should not be regarded as affecting the legal status of any proprietary name or trademark.
© 2021- Fate d’Argento, Rimini
All rights reserved
English Digital Edition: June 2021
ISBN: 9788890638688
Translated by the English teacher Mrs Anna Cantacessi
Preface
Eleonora has a childlike heart in a wonderful mature woman’s body, a delicate and sensitive soul of those who have had much less than they feel to deserve from life.
Abandoned at a very early age by a father never known, torn by grief for her mother’s death, who died after a long illness, she dreams of finding redemption in a man who can love her as she is, without hypocrisy, immune to sterile jealousies and earthly misunderstandings.
At the age of thirty-four and working as a professional escort, Eleonora turns into an involuntary and lucid witness to human madness and indifference: in her tastefully furnished alcove, in the sensual red light of a bedside table lamp, depraved, hasty, ambiguous men alternate, prisoners of their shyness and selfishness, unable to give a moment of peace to her tormented and disappointed soul.
She has no family, children, trusted friends: she can only offer her wonderfully smooth body, her refined ability to make love in all its empty and exciting shades…
When her existence seems to be hopelessly prisoner of the useless daily routine, she knows Manlio, a mature and protective figure who, with his calm and deep voice, manages to mitigate her innermost anxieties and finally make her feel free.
He’s nineteen years older than her, divorced since long time with a dependent daughter, partner with a prestigious car dealership, Eleonora actually knows very little about him, but she is convinced that his reticence, his fascinating halo of mystery is just a small price on the way to coveted happiness.
One evening like many others Manlio arrives very late for an appointment, with his face completely swollen: will it be only an inappropriate chance or are human nature and love going to show her their darkest side?
With Eleonora’s character Andrea Oliveti finds his dearest themes again, describing extremely in detail and with power an extraordinary woman’s innermost life, a prostitute almost for an inscrutable joke of fate.
In her we relive the doubts and contradictions of an existence always at the limit, the slow and inexorable succession of the seasons, the enigmatic plans of the Almighty, the infinite thrill of a barefoot walk on a moonlit beach.
In her colourful world, studded with crazy, tender and improbable characters, nothing is exactly as it appears, but to find it out we will have to hold our breath until the last, unmissable emotion…
Andrea Oliveti: his biography
Andrea Oliveti was born in Rimini and attended a five-year Technical High School. He achieved an accountant diploma and even earlier a business consultant diploma. After the military service he studied Law at University in Urbino (PU), Italy. For a long period he worked in his father’s insurance agency as a collaborator, and then he registered in the register of insurance brokers (the Italian ISVAP). His work did not prevent him from cultivating his passion for Art, especially the 20th century Visual Arts, that we also find in some of the best pages of his novels and that push him to follow with interest some of the most famous auction houses in Italy. He wrote five novels novels: Petali di Vita: i Colori del Sole e i Colori dell’Inferno (2011), Arazzi di Sangue nell’Anima (2013), Criteri Cerebrali (2015), Il Giglio Bianco intinto nell’Etere (2017), Il Mio Sangue nella Tua Anima (2018). He also wrote a monograph about the famous painter from Romagna (Italy): Tonino Savioli. All his books: Petali di Vita: i Colori del Sole e i Colori dell’Inferno (Petals of Life: the Colours of the Sun and the Colours of the Hell), Arazzi di Sangue nell’Anima (Blood Tapestries in the Soul), Criteri Cerebrali (Cerebral Criteria), Il Giglio Bianco intinto nell’Etere (The White Lily Dipped in the Aether) and Il Mio Sangue nella Tua Anima (My Blood in Your Soul) are also available in the English digital version.
Curiosity: he has got a blood relation with the lieutenant colonel Ivo Oliveti, a highly decorated officer, a fearless and brave pilot fallen during the Ethiopian war, honoured with a gold medal of military valour.
Andrea Oliveti: his photos
CONTENTS
Dedication
To the bloody existence…
Preamble
Is there anyone who can explain to me what life is? Someone who elucidates the meaning and the obligatory nature of earthly existence? Why did God want it so? What is the point in being born, fighting daily for something that we will inevitably lose? In this fake humanity no trace of us will remain, not even in the narrow sacred and invincible paths. After our demise, our souls will perhaps dart anonymously, distantly and silently along the celestial vault… But it is only an optimistic hypothesis...
Chapter I
Isoak every thought in my blood, my soul is restless, more than usual, if I released it and let it wander away, as far as possible, it would detonate… Being sensitive is a dirty disadvantage. The more I think about life the more I find it meaningless, the more I look at the world the more I find it horrendous; ignoble was he who deceived me with vain promises. But it is precisely when you feel like a useless woman that true existence begins, the true resolution of your Ego.
I let my mind run free, without absurd mysteries, an unworthy voluptuousness assails me taking me by surprise: I desire a person far from any psychological hindrance that is based on my emotionality… on my entity. The secret of love runs along a very thin thread, I see it next to an expanse of imaginary pink water lilies, near the scent of indistinct souls with irregular breaths. The intimacy of that vision spreads strongly, aligns with the colours and essences of lonely wounded hearts, still intrepid, eager to love with sincerity. I crave debauchery and immense instinctual skill…
My name is Eleonora, I’m thirty-four years old, but it is as if I were twenty years older, it is fault or merit of previous experiences. My body, however, does not seem to be affected, my skin is white and silky, free of any imperfection. It looks as if it was polished by a conquered man from the Neolithic Age, exhumed for the occasion. I am proud of my body, my long legs and my breasts. Inwardly, however, I still feel like a child, not even a teenager, I would spend hours and hours playing with dolls to rediscover the distant scent of a lost childhood that often comes back strong and exerts an inexplicable power on my mind. I am a woman steeped in resilience, there is nothing made impossible for me; nothing can confuse me anymore. I have lived and still live in the midst of burning depths, in the throes of carnal submission, pouring out my bodily works mixed with unworthy absurdities. My nerves have become more tense every day, indifferent to the surrounding events.
I am in my dressing gown, lying on the couch, I smell the roses on the table, they were delivered to me by one of the many lovers on duty. The usual note is present between the folds of cellophane … it recites ready-made declamatory phrases.
Opposite the mirror I scan my face, I do not recognise it. I irrigate my mind with strange dichotomies. I want to be guided towards every honest decision, in return I will let my body once again attract the animal instinct of nature. Lascivious images pass me by: moans, secret rituals, anonymous desires, obscene wildness, expansion of the senses. Whimsical wisdom mingles with delight in humiliation. I brush my long blond hair while divided objectivities fan out, penetrating me. Darkness has fallen inside me, that does not make sense. I have no concentration or mental strength, I think about what surrounds me and I do not make sense of it. I feel completely unhappy. I have to create a new life, a new identity, I dream of a man without mistrust, useless jealousy that will save me and really love me. But what can I offer him in return? I am nothing, I am only good at making love. My tears fall copiously down my cheeks, I light a cigarette, open the window and look outside, the sky is gliding into darkness.
Chapter II
My life depends on chance. I am a prisoner of sex, during intercourse I enter an anonymous, confused and infinite dimension. They are states of semi-consciousness, one different from the other. I have just given my body to an unknown man, at first he was sweet, full of care, intimately close, now I see him put his clothes on quickly, with a disarming coldness. Indulgent regulations towards his own reality. He is not married, so he told me, but I could swear it is the opposite. On the desk he placed four banknotes of one hundred euros. The vile money that has always satisfied and disunited my moral digressions is now completely foreign to me. I am not rich, although I have saved up a fair amount of cash, but my profession ordinarily imposes a brutal psychological enslavement which I manage to free by spending without restraint. In my flat there are three wardrobes full of designer clothes; I love shopping, it makes me alive, it disengages my psyche. Sometimes, however, I feel ashamed when I think of those who have a more dignified profession than mine and earn little more than a thousand euros a month. What is more, I do not have any children or a partner. I am alone, atrociously alone.
I leave my house, a gust of wind hits me, it is cold outside, it took years for my mind to forget the images that came back strong after each union. I said goodbye to my client and went into the shower, washed my skin, threw back my head and kept my eyes open under the shower head, to purify myself, to cleanse myself not only materially, but also spiritually. For hours and hours those representations of pain would pierce me, those immaterial shots of an atavistic camera would hang in my mind. Only the next consumer of pleasure could rouse me from that stupor. Then, however, even more painful and twisted figures came to me again,. Active elements, passionate commands of sexually aroused men, intimately close, with clear insane desires. Every day there was suffering, my face was always wet with tears, but after some months I turned the torment into a challenge with myself, into a game of strength. Time had managed to sweep away all my pain; I had almost no more anguish, spasms or pangs of submission. With each passing month I became less and less sensitive, until I became completely indifferent.
It all started out of an absolute need for money, some friends who were doing it told me it was fun, a game, that I would also enjoy to excite males, see how my body could bewitch any man, even a powerful one. Economic necessity and the constant assurances that were instilled in me tickled the desire to try. I wanted to enter this vicious world, but with thoughtfulness. Physical, not sentimental experiments, joint superficialities but handsomely paid. It was worth a try. But what a pain it was the first time I plunged my face into the sex of an unknown individual, I felt myself annihilated as a woman, in those confined spaces and in the midst of that unknown voice that spoke to me while having an orgasm. On average, every day, I met eight men, always different voices tearing my soul, faces transfigured by pleasure, then, once the orgasm was reached, there came a fall out. I did not understand how there could be such a clear and total split: before the union of the bodies an overflowing delicacy, then total detachment. “Better, Eleonora” my pseudo-friends kept reassuring me, and they were the only ones I had in those uncertain moments. A few months later I realised that through the clients they got me, they had half of my takings.
I am walking alone, along the streets, autumn has already stripped every tree present leaving expanses of red, yellow and orange tinged leaves on the sidewalks. The mantles of gold and rust create relaxation, as in the most precious oil portraits of the second half of the nineteenth century. I often go into museums to find that inner peace that paintings give, I pause to look at the works by the Impressionists that I find very close to the artistic works conceived by nature that regularly gives rise to them. I can calm down, the climate is restful, the spaces are wide, no shouting inside, but only silence and an immeasurable peace enters me.
I do not meet more than five or six clients a week, it is a law I have imposed on myself for a few years. However, the time I allow for each appointment has increased considerably. Some frequenters sometimes propose alternative games such as group love or ménage à trois. But I am proud of the fact that I have never descended to those abjections, they disgust me. In the past, when I was a beginner, a friend called me and told me that in her house there was an entrepreneur who would have paid very well if I had joined her. For just two hours of close proximity, he would have given me over a thousand euros. At that time I was only getting fifty euros per client and the amount of money proposed to me seemed unlikely. I accepted even though I did not know what I was getting into. But when I reached them I shuddered, I thought about my life, about what love was, totally different from how I had imagined it as a teenager. I said goodbye and left immediately. Since then that friend has never spoken to me again. I consider that kind of union of bodies as an obscenity.
Later I met a woman, a colleague a few years older, who understood me like no one else before; I often cried beside her, relieving myself of my afflictions. She was always caring, she really helped me in the dark moments, those no-win situations. I had full respect for that person, because she had never wanted to mix her profession with our friendship. One day she kissed me on the lips, there and then I did not understand, I was convinced that she loved me boundlessly, then she kissed me again, this time with her tongue, but I still thought it was only tenderness, boundless affection. Shortly afterwards she began to caress my breasts and to touch my private parts with her fingers. I felt very bad because I had unconditional confidence in her. So many times she had been able to cheer me up from that greyness that exhausted me and enveloped me, always with her sweetness, with those lovely caresses that I would never have believed one day to confuse with the vile opportunism and with the marked depravity towards bisexuality.
Chapter III
“My sweet little baby of priceless value, I wish you could choose me and love me to death… I recognised you right away and I want you… Eleonora, you are always inside me, I long for the idea of being able to live my life inside yours…”
I met Manlio about a month ago, since then he has been meeting me twice a week and he already says he loves me. He is very kind in his manners, never tedious, even if he punctually sends me three text messages a day, but he never allowed himself to call me on the phone once, except to arrange a meeting. He is not the type to have a hundred red roses delivered to his chosen lady; according to him, if he did, he would blend into the crowd and he loves to stand out. He is one of the noblest people I have come across. He is nineteen years older than I am, but I believe that age does not matter if the man is older than the woman; the opposite would be true if it were the other way around. He is not physically handsome, let's even say rather ugly, but I am attracted to him, a bit for his calmness, his refined manners, besides that, during intercourse, he does not ask for strange things. In my profession I only fell in love with a client once, but I was at the beginning and I still did not understand how everything in love could be cruelly unreliable. One individual, through deception, managed to mark my skin, to ruin part of my spirituality. He was so handsome, as sweet as hell, firm and calm at first, never an outburst of anger, but always and only rich in pleasantries to be given, combined with an inexhaustible gracefulness. I trusted him, I really thought he could be my ideal companion, to whom I would soon give a baby. I dreamt of living next to him, creating a family, loving him more and more every day... I wanted nothing more. This was my only great aspiration... And I believed it, I really believed it. Every time he met me he repeated that he respected my work, he almost never demanded my body, he only saw me for a hug that lasted interminable seconds, if not minutes, and he left me money for the time I had dedicated to him. For his sake I would have given up on this life, but he did not want to, he said the money would not be enough. We went on like this for several weeks, then, on the first Sunday of March, we decided to live together. I still remember the scent that was in the air, in the courtyard, the peach and almond trees in bloom gave off hilarity with their magnificence, it seemed a painting with an enchanted dimension. We were both very young and the same age, the step we were taking was important and perhaps too fast, after all I did not know that boy, besides I had met him for work, in extravagant circumstances. But I was a dreamer and in this earthly existence I hoped that destiny, after my mother’s death, would reserve only pleasant things for me. I had never known my father, I was alone and helpless, longing for true affection. I had to necessarily take the risk. The change was almost total, after only two days I did not recognise him anymore; I could not understand how a human being could totally change his thoughts with a disarming simplicity. Soon I realised that he had parallel affairs with more than one woman. Whenever I tried to approach him and explain to him that this was wrong, he would respond by telling me that I did not love him enough and that I did not understand the stylistic charms of life. He made me feel so much guilty that finally I ended up supporting his choices. I loved him so much that I forgave him even when one night he showed up visibly drunk at home, in the company of a girl who was a stranger to me, expressing the desire to have a threesome. There was no trace of the boy I had longed for, of the man with whom I would have shared my blood. Soon he began to be violent, to beat me... I did not understand how there could be horror inside the person I adored. I went ahead and endured all this in silence, hoping that my love would change him sooner or later, but in the months to come I found out he was taking marijuana and cocaine. I could not accept this, drugs would have destroyed our family and jeopardised a possible pregnancy. My heart burst because of my heartbreak. And it was so painful to walk away from him, because I really loved him.
If Manlio were authentic I could fall in love, even if I live daily in uncertainty, but who can assure me that over time he will not change his character, that he will not become quick to violence, demanding, jealous, all follies, these ones, that would disorient my mental state even more. I would not want him to become a putative father, that figure that I missed and that conditioned my troubled childhood.
I have never tried to find my father, I have always known very little about him. Since my mum was an only child, I did not have the chance to confront myself with uncles or cousins. Too bad it turned out this way. Maybe one day I will want to understand who was the one who, together with my mother, conceived me with original sin.
I refresh the nail polish on my toes and fingers. I apply a very bright red, the client who will be arriving in a couple of hours is the classic slave: rich in rigid submission, bodily enslavement, with a good preference for feet, bandages and scratches. The first time he came to visit me I tied him up like a salami, then slipped off my pants and stuffed them in his mouth. I scratched him on his shoulders and legs for over ten minutes until blood gushed from his skin. He had entered timidly, on tiptoe, but the desire to be dominated soon prevailed. As a good mistress I gave him my orders and he, as a good docile man, licked my feet with pleasure for half an hour. When he reached orgasm, he sucked my fingers in an insane way, especially my big toe with mere greed, so much so that for a moment I feared he would pull out my nail. At first I thought these people were mentally ill, then, over time, I realised that there are many people with an outspoken inclination towards extreme sex. We live in a filthy depraved world.
I am sitting in an armchair with my legs crossed, he is next to me, on his knees, intent on licking my leather boots, he lingers several times over the heel. I am wearing a plaid skirt and fishnets, which have always exerted an inexplicable appeal to men. One evening a vicious man spent the whole time licking them and masturbating, there was no need even to touch him, he could come on his own every few minutes.
Now the slave goes up with his tongue on the leather of my boots, his drawings are fast and convoluted. I stop him, even though my boots are up to mid-thigh and I order him to go down, to start licking my feet again; as a good submissive person he executes the command. A couple of minutes later he asks me in a low voice if I have a whip. I shout at him that for a slave of low interest like him the whip is not needed, the cry, the word, the command is enough. He resumes begging that even a belt would be fine, continuing to beg on his knees... He yearns to be whipped to blood, I can see it in his eager eyes. Psychosexual abnormalities. How can I indulge an intimately indisposed person? I wonder if this person is just a proponent of sadomasochism who wants to live his moment in madness, exercising the fervent and unstoppable call to liberally release hormonal surges, or if his weakness is really an objective disorder. I cannot give myself an explanation and maybe I do not even care to discover the mystery. I would just want to indulge him and lash him with all the strength I have in my body, after all the disgusting men that have passed me by over the years, but in doing so I would put myself on their level. No, I do not want to hurt him, I do not feel like being more feral than strictly necessary. For an hour of erotic torture he pays me five hundred euros, but if I wanted, he would give me eight hundred. He thinks I am the cruelest mistress he has ever met. Even when I take my leave of him, I treat him badly and make him feel like an insignificant being, that is why he is so close to me and worships me. But he does not know in his heart that I am probably the least brutal. I hate doing what he asks of me, like inserting clothespins into his testicles, nipples and scraping his skin with a pin. I restrict myself to only scratching him with my nails and giving him orders. I do not know his profession, I wonder if this living being is married and if he is a father. The mere thought that later he will go home and embrace his wife and child makes me feel sick. How is this possible? I still believe that these people are not mentally disturbed, but only weak and selfish. Life sucks... How disgusting!
I walk along the streets, my psyche continues to wander restlessly, I am inside this envelope craved by human beings and I am not happy. Strange anagrams pass me by... Once upon a time there was love, once upon a time there was feeling, once upon a time there was friendship, once upon a time there was the thrill of a smile.... Man without filters, where are you? What are you hiding behind the cosmos of love? I need life, sincere affection, pure impulses, now, in this instant, because I am ideally here. Shadows creep deeply inside, I feel imprisoned, as if I were inside a dead-end wineskin. I am near the edge of demise. What can I do in life? I certainly know how to make a man come... And then? Maybe I am good at making the buyer of my body comfortable for an hour or so, but not the buyer of my soul.... But what else can I do after that? Nothing... I cannot do anything.
Greasy, unscrupulous men, with perverse cultures linked to the times, adorned with their own limitations, obsessed by sex; wicked, tormented, ambiguous men, and I am there, ready to release that strange repertoire, made up of emotional lusts, simulations, lies, indifference, external realities towards those individuals who, after coming, recompose themselves and assume a different air from the initial one, almost of shame. Bad complicity, arousal of the senses, impertinent glances, feats of the tongue, licentiousness perpetrated in the big little university of the union, in a short delirium with no way out. Ignominious mysteries. I feel fragile, confused, frightened and without distinction; I no longer have concentration or mental strength, I look at what surrounds me and do not understand its meaning. With an exhausted and empty brain I return home. After a few minutes I lay down on the bed, let myself fall once again into the unknown and fall asleep.
Chapter IV
It is Saturday night, I'm waiting for Manlio, he invited me to dinner, he is going to take me to one of the most elegant restaurants in the area. I do not feel any emotion. With my legs stretched out on the sofa, I am listening to an extraordinary piece of music by Händel. Bloody chasms dance in my mind, incessant anxieties assail me, in these years I have shattered all my dignity. But what else could I have done? I could not escape, I was only able to forget the indecency that I suffered in my daily life.
I have to be more instinctive, otherwise fears will lead me into the deepest abyss. Every good resolution, however, ends up seeming incoherent, without any cohesion. I think about how selfishness too often prevails in people's hearts, people always pretend, even if they apparently seem to show understanding towards the discomforts of others, but it is just emotional behaviour suited to the circumstance. Shortly afterwards, they imperturbably resume their course towards their own selfishness, towards their own egocentricity, forgetting every trace of hypocritical do-gooders. Narrow individual observations that fade away when I hear the intercom ring. I quickly put on two black velvet gloves, a Chanel houndstooth print coat and go down the stairs.
He welcomes me kissing me softly on the forehead and accompanies me opposite a sparkling Jaguar taking my hand; he opens the door and lets me get in. He really seems to be a gentleman. The English car glides away silently, Manlio speaks to me softly, his firm and calm voice calms me down a lot. His words are warm and put me at ease. I have never heard him ask absurd questions or ask about my past. Next to him everything becomes simpler and more natural.
The restaurant is immersed in a mammoth aquarium, the setting is spectacular, the soft lights are amalgamated with mantles of blue and cobalt blue that cross the room made as a gallery. Inside there are few diners, no more than fifteen, the tables are very refined. We seem to be catapulted into a highly suggestive underwater city; varieties of tropical fish swim indifferently in the face of our amazement and our moods. A very light background music makes this atmosphere even more magical and blissful.
«Eleonora, do you like it?» Manlio whispers to me.
«It's a show...» I answer.
«The first time I saw this enchantment I was astonished too, now I no longer pay attention to it, I delight in capturing the revelations of the faces and hearts of those who have never been here.»
«Do you come very often?» I ask him.
«No, just sometimes.»
The waiter arrives, he does not look like he has emerged from a sea temple hidden in the secret waters. With great harmony he pours champagne in our respective flutes. I let Manlio order, for me anything would be fine in this Eden. He speaks to me, but I am still ecstatic and absorbed, with my fingers I make circular movements on the glass, a not at all fearful fish approaches and stops in front of me, it slightly moves its ventral fins, its gills and breathes; it looks at me for a few moments, then darts away quickly.
We consume tasty seafood appetisers with a regal charm and a Chardonnay Cuvée Bois white wine.
«Are you happy?» he asks me.
«I don't know happiness, but I am fine next to you.»
We stay for more than an hour in this chimerical and highly original restaurant, then Manlio has the bill brought.
When we get home, he kisses me on the cheek and puts a small package with a bow in my hands. I look at him with amazement, I take the ribbon off very carefully and remove the silver paper. A small pearl grey velvet box appears, when I open it I find a small light shining upon an enchanting white gold solitaire. I am breathless at the beauty of the ring and the size of the diamond, but I am immediately saddened, feeling in debt or worse still, bound.
«Eleonora, is something wrong?»
«It's very beautiful, but I can't accept it…»
«Take it, please, you'd make me sorrowful if you refused it...»
«Will you give me a hug?» he asks me.
«Yes...»
I embrace him and this time I feel his moist lips on mine.
«Manlio, thank you for the very pleasant invitation and for this unexpected gift...»
Like the great gentleman he is, he gets out of the car and opens the door for me, he accompanies me to the entrance, but does not ask me to come in. He looks at me and kisses me on the lips again, as if that desire pulled him out of the air... I see his eyes and notice how his pupils are very dilated, now he would like to have me in his arms. Feeling in debt I invite him to come up the stairs.
We shamelessly have sex throughout the night, Manlio seems to have a different humanity than other men. Unusual impulses of pleasure invade me, indecencies become affective spheres. Relevant pliability of the senses, no more moral and philosophical admonitions, no slow and invincible constraint is inside me. Our bodies continue to join together with our consciences, I no longer feel like the usual unrepentant person, the poignant afflictions vanish, as if the world were changing taste and interest.
