That last Sunday in October 2015 had been very intense. I woke up with a good fuck with Ania, a Russian girl with whom I meet once a week and without too much feelings. That Saturday I kick her out before lunch, Arika would have arrived in the afternoon. I did not know Arika Lepetit yet in person, I knew she was a 26 year old little girl, skinny and without boobs but a little ass hard and compact as it seemed from the pictures. She had contacted me through a Facebook group "Italian friends". We exchanged a few messages, some digital blinks and, in short, the chemistry was already taken on the chat. I proposed her to come to visit me and she accepted. I rearranged the bedroom, changed the sheets (hygiene first) and I started to read the Idiot of Fyodor Dostoevsky, an endless book. Dring dring! The ringbell sounded cheerful. – Marco Magrildi, nice to meet you. Finally we meet each other! And you're more beautiful than in the picture. – Just to confirm my interest in her before she comes in. He brought me a bottle of French wine, great for breaking the ice. We sit in my room on the sofa. She told me about her family: daughter of separated parents (practically when she was born), a brother and two sisters from the second marriage of the father. She mentioned a little bit of her life in Bordeaux where she studied as a dancer, about the boy she had just left and about her interrail in Europe. The more I heard her talking, the more I felt I like her. It was enough. French wine and passion took over and we ended up making love for a few hours.
In the evening I took her down to my house - I lived in Trastevere - the most beautiful place in Rome. I rented a duplex apartment where the emperors' summer residences stood. It costed most of my salary, but I liked to think to be always on holiday like the emperors. I worked at the post office in Via delle Sabine, a small office not far from Trastevere. I managed the accounting of the office and, at the beginning of the month, I worked at the pension desk where I had met all the elderly in the area. They always brought me chocolates and sweets, they loved me very much or maybe they were afraid I would not pay them the pension.
I had a small terrace where you can see the Altare della Patria and where I often sat down to drink and think. And the more I drunk, the more I thought, and I always thought badly. We went to the San Carlo Bar in my street and we made a quick aperitif, sex consumes a lot of energy after all. We were tired and we went home early. I gave her time to take a shower, then I joined her in the bathroom after knocking (education first). We began to touch, she went down. It was fantastic, she read my mind. The condoms were in the room, I had just been so stupid. Damn! I picked her up and carried her to bed, put the condom on (safety first) and gently penetrated her first on one side and then on the other. I let her breath controls the rhythm of my movement. She groaned, trembled, cried.
I kissed her gently and dried her tears. I hugged her and fell asleep, tight and happy. The next day I took her around Rome: the Colosseum, the Trevi Fountain, the Pantheon, the Fori Imperiali and finally Campo dei Fiori. We stopped there to have a drink and eat a sandwich from a street’s burger on the corner with Via del Biscione, the best salami in Rome.
On Monday morning I brought her to the Roma Termini station to take the train to Naples. I was sad. I had fun with her, I was fine. It was not like the others, I did not want a one-night stand; it was not just the mere pleasure of using her body to satisfy the animal instinct. But then what was it? I was worried it was something bigger.
I wrote to her that I wanted to see her again the weekend after, wherever she was. "Florence" she replied.
- If you want, I will come with you. – I suddenly replied with enthusiastic voice - I love Florence, its churches, its statues, the small streets and the spirit of Dante that pervades it. -
- Marco - she answered - next weekend, I cannot have sex 😊.
The following Friday I joined her in Florence immediately after work. I wanted to take her up to Piazza Michelangelo to see the sunset together. I asked the sun to wait for a moment before going down. But the sun does not wait, selfish bastard. When it's time to go, you cannot stop it. Perhaps he does it only to be a gentleman: if he does not go down, the moon cannot come up.
We did not see the sunset, but we went to eat a delicious steak in a restaurant on the Arno, just before Ponte Vecchio. I loved being with her, we were in perfect symbiosis. We wanted the same simple things: a dinner, a walk, a glass of wine, and who cares if the line for the museum is too long to enter. I had my Venere next to me, Botticelli could keep his. On the way we saw life we were different: Arika lived day by day, she loves adventures, she was going around Europe choosing the next city without a logical order, not thinking about her future; I was a planner, a man tied to his land and his family, a coward with the fear of being without money.
- Arika, I do not want you to think that I'm in love (even if it's probably true …where are you going next week? – I whispered in her ear while we were close on a shaky bed in a derelict house on the suburbans of Florence in the Scandicci area.
- Do you want to come with me to Venice? She asked, grinning. I kissed her. In Venice we lost ourselves among the gutters, bridges, the Church of San Marco and some spritz. Then we went to the islands of Burano to see the Murano’s glass production. What a show! And then we got married, or so we made our families believe. We sent our parents a picture of the two of us in front of a church with a bouquet of flowers in hand, it was so funny. Our parents did not laugh so much; time zero my mother called me with a voice dark and angry - Ah good! You get married and do not even invite me -.
At dusk, a sweet tango echoed between the columns and the church of Piazza San Marco, it was "Vuelvo Al Sur" by Astor Piazzola. I took her by the hand, I tried to dance but I was totally unable (and she was an expert dancer!).
In the morning we returned to Rome, Arika had a flight to Berlin from Rome the next day. We arrived home around 11 pm, tired but satisfied and full of us. Yes, full because being together means eating one another, being consumed like two candles on opposite sides that illuminate the same room, confusing their lights.
We took a shower, ordered two pizzas, a bottle of prosecco and made love on the terrace for the last time. Rome was silent, it stopped to listen to us moaning and enjoying, whispering and loving.
So…what next? Will you reach me in Berlin? - she wrote with provocative tone when she landed in Germany.
On Friday evening I was in Berlin, I had paid that flight 150 euros, normally my budget was 50.
As soon as I landed I called her, Arika did not answer me, she did not want to take a room with me like we did the other weekends. Something was wrong, something was changed. She wrote me with drunken English (worst then general LOL) - I'm here at Sissy. Come! -. Where the fuck is Sissy in Berlin? Silence. I tried to find it on google, it only gave me sites of cross-dresser meetings. Tired of running after her, I returned to the Backpackers Berlin hostel not far from the East Side.
The following morning, she wrote to me and we met at the shopping mall in Alexander Platz in front of the Italian Cafe. - Sorry for yesterday, I was drunk 😊 - she apologised as soon as I arrived without giving too much weight to the previous night incident. I hugged her and she did the same not too enthusiastic. I told her ironically and with a big smile - Let's go getting the real Italian coffee in Berlin. - I gently touched her on the left side to guide her to the coffee. She pushed me away shouting - Do not touch me! -.
To be continued...
In the evening I took her down to my house - I lived in Trastevere - the most beautiful place in Rome. I rented a duplex apartment where the emperors' summer residences stood. It costed most of my salary, but I liked to think to be always on holiday like the emperors. I worked at the post office in Via delle Sabine, a small office not far from Trastevere. I managed the accounting of the office and, at the beginning of the month, I worked at the pension desk where I had met all the elderly in the area. They always brought me chocolates and sweets, they loved me very much or maybe they were afraid I would not pay them the pension.
I kissed her gently and dried her tears. I hugged her and fell asleep, tight and happy. The next day I took her around Rome: the Colosseum, the Trevi Fountain, the Pantheon, the Fori Imperiali and finally Campo dei Fiori. We stopped there to have a drink and eat a sandwich from a street’s burger on the corner with Via del Biscione, the best salami in Rome.
On Monday morning I brought her to the Roma Termini station to take the train to Naples. I was sad. I had fun with her, I was fine. It was not like the others, I did not want a one-night stand; it was not just the mere pleasure of using her body to satisfy the animal instinct. But then what was it? I was worried it was something bigger.
I wrote to her that I wanted to see her again the weekend after, wherever she was. "Florence" she replied.
- If you want, I will come with you. – I suddenly replied with enthusiastic voice - I love Florence, its churches, its statues, the small streets and the spirit of Dante that pervades it. -
- Marco - she answered - next weekend, I cannot have sex 😊.
The following Friday I joined her in Florence immediately after work. I wanted to take her up to Piazza Michelangelo to see the sunset together. I asked the sun to wait for a moment before going down. But the sun does not wait, selfish bastard. When it's time to go, you cannot stop it. Perhaps he does it only to be a gentleman: if he does not go down, the moon cannot come up.
We did not see the sunset, but we went to eat a delicious steak in a restaurant on the Arno, just before Ponte Vecchio. I loved being with her, we were in perfect symbiosis. We wanted the same simple things: a dinner, a walk, a glass of wine, and who cares if the line for the museum is too long to enter. I had my Venere next to me, Botticelli could keep his. On the way we saw life we were different: Arika lived day by day, she loves adventures, she was going around Europe choosing the next city without a logical order, not thinking about her future; I was a planner, a man tied to his land and his family, a coward with the fear of being without money.
- Arika, I do not want you to think that I'm in love (even if it's probably true …where are you going next week? – I whispered in her ear while we were close on a shaky bed in a derelict house on the suburbans of Florence in the Scandicci area.
- Do you want to come with me to Venice? She asked, grinning. I kissed her. In Venice we lost ourselves among the gutters, bridges, the Church of San Marco and some spritz. Then we went to the islands of Burano to see the Murano’s glass production. What a show! And then we got married, or so we made our families believe. We sent our parents a picture of the two of us in front of a church with a bouquet of flowers in hand, it was so funny. Our parents did not laugh so much; time zero my mother called me with a voice dark and angry - Ah good! You get married and do not even invite me -.
At dusk, a sweet tango echoed between the columns and the church of Piazza San Marco, it was "Vuelvo Al Sur" by Astor Piazzola. I took her by the hand, I tried to dance but I was totally unable (and she was an expert dancer!).
In the morning we returned to Rome, Arika had a flight to Berlin from Rome the next day. We arrived home around 11 pm, tired but satisfied and full of us. Yes, full because being together means eating one another, being consumed like two candles on opposite sides that illuminate the same room, confusing their lights.
We took a shower, ordered two pizzas, a bottle of prosecco and made love on the terrace for the last time. Rome was silent, it stopped to listen to us moaning and enjoying, whispering and loving.
So…what next? Will you reach me in Berlin? - she wrote with provocative tone when she landed in Germany.
On Friday evening I was in Berlin, I had paid that flight 150 euros, normally my budget was 50.
As soon as I landed I called her, Arika did not answer me, she did not want to take a room with me like we did the other weekends. Something was wrong, something was changed. She wrote me with drunken English (worst then general LOL) - I'm here at Sissy. Come! -. Where the fuck is Sissy in Berlin? Silence. I tried to find it on google, it only gave me sites of cross-dresser meetings. Tired of running after her, I returned to the Backpackers Berlin hostel not far from the East Side.
The following morning, she wrote to me and we met at the shopping mall in Alexander Platz in front of the Italian Cafe. - Sorry for yesterday, I was drunk 😊 - she apologised as soon as I arrived without giving too much weight to the previous night incident. I hugged her and she did the same not too enthusiastic. I told her ironically and with a big smile - Let's go getting the real Italian coffee in Berlin. - I gently touched her on the left side to guide her to the coffee. She pushed me away shouting - Do not touch me! -.
To be continued...
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