"Let's go back to the car," I said. "We'll be more comfortable there."
We again traversed the dark labyrinth, but this time I wasn't afraid. My body was being traversed by a thousand sprites that delighted in chasing after each other and making me feel by turns distressed and euphoric, ineffably euphoric. Before climbing back into the car, I again observed the names written on the gate and smiled, letting him get inside first. Right away I stripped, completely; I wanted every cell of our bodies, our skin, to touch and share exciting new sensations. I straddled him and began to ride him ardently, alternating gentle, rhythmic thrusts with ones that were abrupt, hard, grinding. As I licked and kissed him, I heard him moan. His moans were killing me, I lost control. It's easy to lose control with him.
"We are two masters," he said at a certain point. "How shall one be forced to submit to the other?"
"Two masters," I answered, "who fuck and take turns enjoying themselves."
I machine-gunned several sharp thrusts, and magically I seized the very pleasure I thought no man could ever give me, the pleasure that I alone was able to procure myself. I felt spasms everywhere, in my sex, my legs, my arms, even on my face. My entire body was electrified. He removed his sweater, and I felt his naked, hairy torso, burning hot on my creamy breasts. I rubbed my nipples against that marvelous discovery, caressing it with both hands, making it all mine.
I got off his body, and he told me, "Touch it with your finger."
I did, astonished, and saw his member weep. Instinctively my mouth drew near, and I swallowed the sweetest, most sugary sperm I had ever tasted.
He hugged me for a few moments, and for those moments, which seemed infinite to me, I felt as if I had everything. Then he tenderly rested my head on the seat while I was still naked, curled up and lit by the moon.
My eyes were closed, but still I sensed him staring at me. It didn't feel right for him to lay his eyes upon me all that time. Men are never satisfied with your body; beyond caressing it, kissing it, they want it to be imprinted in their heads, never to be erased. I asked myself what he might be experiencing by looking at my body, asleep and motionless. For me, looking isn't necessary, perceiving is more important, and tonight I perceived him. I tried to repress a laugh when I heard him grumble about being unable to find his lighter. With my eyes still closed and my voice hoarse, I told him I'd seen it fly out of his pocket when he threw his shirt on the front seat. He gave me a sad glance and opened the window, letting in the cold that I had not felt before.
After a long silence, he exhaled some smoke and said, "I've never done anything like that."
I knew what was on his mind. I felt this was the moment for a serious conversation that might either jeopardize or strengthen our dangerous, precarious, and exciting relationship.
I slowly approached him from behind, placing my hand on his back and then my lips on my hand. I waited a bit before speaking, but from the start I knew what I had to say.
"The fact that you've never done it doesn't mean it was wrong."
"Nor right," he said, exhaling more smoke.
"Who cares if it was right or wrong? The important thing is that we felt good, we lived deeply." I bit my lip, aware that a grown man wouldn't listen to such a presumptuous young girl.
Yet he turned around, flicked away his cigarette, and said, "This is why you make me lose my head: you're mature, intelligent, and you have this passion inside you that's utterly boundless."
He's the one, Diary. He recognized it. I mean my passion. On the way back home, he told me we better stop seeing each other as teacher and student, he couldn't think of me in that role any longer, and besides he never mixes work with pleasure. I replied that it was fine with me. I kissed him on the cheek and opened the gate, while he waited for me to enter the house.
24 February
This morning I didn't go to school; I was too tired. Anyway the play opens tonight, so I have a good excuse.
Around lunchtime I received a message from Letizia, who said she would come at 9 p.m. on the dot to watch me. Yes, Letizia… yesterday I forgot about her. But how does one conjure up perfection in the midst of perfection? Yesterday I had Valerio, and that was enough for me; today I'm alone, and I'm not enough for myself (why am I not anymore?). I want Letizia.
P.S. That cretin Fabrizio! He'd gotten it into his head to come see me with his wife! It's a good thing he isn't too cocky. In the end, I convinced him to stay home.
1:50 A.M.
I wasn't especially nervous tonight; in fact, I felt somewhat apathetic, and I couldn't wait for the end. All the other actors were cavorting, out of either fear or excitement. I stood behind the curtain to observe the people arriving, on the lookout for Letizia. I didn't see her, and Aldo, the set designer, called to me, saying we had to start. The house lights went down, and the stage lights went up. I darted from the wings like an arrow shot from a bow, arriving onstage just as the director had always instructed me to do during rehearsals (when I never managed to do it). Eliza Doolittle amazed everyone, even me: my speech and gestures were so natural, absolutely fresh. I was thrilled. From the stage I tried to spot Letizia, but no luck. So I waited for the performance to end, along with the cheers and applause, and from behind the now closed curtain I continued to scrutinize the audience in an effort to pick out her face. My parents were there, starry-eyed, clapping loudly; so was Alessandra, whom I hadn't seen for months. Fortunately, there was no sign of Fabrizio.
Then I saw her. Her face was bright and cheerful, and she was clapping like mad. I also like her for her spontaneity, her intense joie de vivre; it's exhilarating just to look in her face.
Aldo pulled me by my arm and shouted, "Brava, brava, darling! Come on, hurry up, get changed. We're going to celebrate with the others." He had an odd, crazy sort of look; I burst into noisy laughter.
I told him I couldn't, I had to see someone. At that very moment arrived Letizia with her smile. When she noticed Aldo, her expression changed, her smile vanished, and her eyes darkened. I looked at Aldo and observed the same serious expression descend over his blanched face. I turned around two or three times like an idiot, glancing first at him, then at her, after which I asked: "What is it? What happened?"
They remained silent, gazing at each other with hard, almost threatening eyes.
Aldo spoke first: "It's nothing, nothing, go on. I'll tell the others you can't come. Ciao bella." He kissed my forehead.
Confused, I watched him as he dashed off. I turned toward Letizia and asked her, "Can I please know what's going on? Do you two know each other?"
She was now more cheerful, but a bit hesitant. She tried to avoid eye contact and lowered her face, covering it with her long, tapering fingers.
Then she looked me straight in the eye and said, "I guess you know Aldo is gay."
We all know it at school; he talks about it openly. I answered yes.
"And?" I tried to get her to continue.
"And, some time ago he was with a guy, and, well, then we met, me and the guy, I mean… Right away Aldo suspected something." Her words were slow and fragmented.
"Suspected what?" I asked, simultaneously curious and on edge.
She looked at me with her huge, shining eyes. "No, I can't tell you, I'm sorry… I can't."
She averted her gaze and said, "I'm not only a lesbian."
And what am I? A woman, or not quite, since my birth certificate says I'm still too young. A girl, then, who seeks refuge and love in the arms of a woman. But I'm lying, Diary: I'd never allow my better half to resemble me so much; I must be the only female member of the team. What I see in Letizia, what makes me desire her so boldly, is mainly her body, her carnal essence, but also, I must say, her spirit too. I like all of her, she intrigues me, enchants me; for some time now she has become the protagonist of my many fantasies. Love, what I am forever seeking, seems so faraway at times, so different from me.