CHAPTER ELEVEN - A digression to explain the reasons behind the creation of this purely fictional story—an explanatory sketch.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
A brief aside to accompany this digression.
It is important to note that the characters featured here are entirely fictional and have no connection to reality. This story is purely a work of fiction intended to satisfy the author mentally and sexually.
The only real element is the desire to shatter hypocritical mechanisms and social conventions characterized by grandiloquent falsehood, within which human behavior contorts itself into evident degrees of imbecility and malice, seasoned with extremely and utterly schizoid attitudes.
Thus, the depiction of such sexual expressions serves to bring the characters down to a level of realistic degradation in order to give due recognition to false human interpretations, bringing them back to an ordinary and clearly contrasting reality, as if it were fully acknowledged in its normality.
The only element that bears a resemblance is Bio’s role, which manifests in social settings through an extremely schizoid personality—to the point that, in contrast to his own moral convictions, he has experienced, in the sexual sphere, moments of extreme self-expression.
Thus, an attempt was made to slowly free her from her own false interpretations and place her in a sexually extreme context that, however, proves to be more loving than everyday human expressions.
In fact, in an effort to place Bio in a more realistic human situation—one in which a strong attraction between the two characters, Erm and Bio, is evident—we want to imagine that “grain of sand” capable of jamming a mechanism in which, at a certain point, the lubricating oil begins to run low. This would open up gaps—small rivulets that would slowly cause rivers, previously protected by the walls of dams, to overflow.
In another moment of imagination, we might envision a different “scene” in which the two characters find themselves sharing a period of profound sadness due to irreversible, dramatic events, and we could create a similar, subsequent depiction.
Bio is overcome with emotion and embraces Erm in an almost sincere gesture.
Erm has no choice but to accept this embrace; at first she is hesitant, but given the dramatic moment both are experiencing, she eventually lets herself go, clinging to Bio affectionately to express her need to share those extremely sad moments.
The embrace continues, lingering on without knowing when it’s time to let go. Tears flow profusely, soaking Erm’s shoulder. And Erm begins to feel a certain inner tremor, infected by Bio’s intense one. They continue to hold each other close.
We see her hands still clasped around his shoulders. Then come the apologies, because they’ve “let themselves go” too much. And he fully justifies her; in fact, he tells her it’s right, that it’s better to let it all out. And she cries again, even more uncontrollably. The tears are copious.
He, by mistake—for a moment of weariness brought on by emotional tension—moves his hand, which had been resting high on her shoulder, and lets it slide down her back. She flinches, her tears stopping for a moment; she tilts her head back—which had been resting on his shoulder—so she can look him better in the eyes, to understand what’s happening, whether anything is actually happening or not.
In fact, Erm realizes that the slide—caused by a simple misstep— might have caused a jolt in her, so he moves his arm back up to resume the embrace with greater vigor.
She says, “This wasn’t supposed to happen right now,” and rests her head on his shoulder again.
That mistake, however, had unwittingly stirred other emotions in him—a brief moment of arousal that would be inappropriate in such a delicate situation.
She, on the other hand, thinks she feels a bulge in his pants along the fly because it seems as though he’s pushing his lower pelvis forward.
In fact, she tries to figure it out by clinging tighter to him, to see if that sensation in her lower abdomen was real or just some completely unremarkable movement. She then decides to briefly take her arm off his shoulder and let it slide—in an involuntary movement—between his lower body and hers. And sure enough, she realizes that the sensation turns out to be quite real: that bulge is definitely there. So, her arm returns to his shoulder.
She: “What are you planning to do?” Her tears are subsiding.
He: “I don’t know,” and he pulls her closer and closer. Then he feels the urge to kiss her on the cheek, and he does.
She then tilts her head back, caresses his cheek, and looks him in the eyes.
She: “I love you.”
He: “Me too,” and he looks into her eyes with greater intensity and a slight tremor.
She: “You’re trembling…”
They’re alone in a house.
He: “Can I kiss you?”
She: “You just did…”
He: “I’d like to kiss you on the lips…”
She: “On the lips? Do you think that’s okay?” and she closes her eyes
He brings his lips close to hers and touches them lightly. Then he pulls one arm away from her shoulder behind her and slides his hand forward from her shoulder to the level of her breast, pausing there for a moment and savoring that touch, that glide over one of her breasts. But then he pulls away, feigning embarrassment.
He: “I’m sorry…”
She: “No… nothing happened… actually, we’re a little out of sync… do you want me to make you something to eat?”
He: “No, I’d better go…”
She: “Yes, you’d better. I’ll walk you to the door.”
They find themselves standing in front of the front door—without opening it—looking into each other’s eyes.
She: “What’s wrong?... Do you need anything?”
He doesn’t answer; he lowers his eyes, and that slight tremor has returned.
She: “What’s wrong? Do you want to tell me something?” she asks more gently, almost in a whisper.
He hugs her, tighter, tighter and tighter.
She, even more softly: “What do you want?” she asks gently.
He: “I don’t know, I don’t know….” And he holds her even tighter; his arousal and erection are at their peak.
Then, he slips a hand under her shirt, moving up toward her breasts, over her bra.
She feigns compliance with his advances as if the problem were solely his —his alone.
She: “What are you doing? You can’t do this to me…”
He: “I don’t know what’s happening to me,” as he continues to grope her breasts.
She: “I’ll only let you kiss them, then you’ll have to leave, okay?”
She takes off her shirt, removes her bra, and brings his head closer to her breasts.
He kisses her nipples gently, lovingly.
She: “You’re sweet, you’re so sweet…”
Those breasts that he had always secretly admired in her—and she had always known it—are now right in front of him. He sees them for the first time, and they are beautiful, shapely, full, like doves. He caresses them with desire, loving them for how beautiful they are to him. He kisses them, kisses them, licks them; he never wants to tear himself away from them. And he feels a surge of gratitude: he moves up and kisses her neck, her lips, passionately. Then the passion overflows, and one hand moves, sliding down to the waistband of her jeans. He tries to unbutton the top button.
She says, “No, stop… it’s not right…”
At this point, the phrase “it’s not right” truly becomes an invitation in every sense: they can go to bed, without any further complications.
He’s managed to pull that button out of the buttonhole and is now unzipping her jeans. She looks at him, unable to bring herself to say no. He finds himself, now on his knees, with his face right in front of her white panties. Her pants have already slipped down to her ankles. He takes off her shoes; she lets him. He pulls the legs of her pants off one by one. She no longer resists. Now she’s wearing only her white panties. She turns and heads down a hallway, enters a room, and flops onto a bed. She takes off her panties, and he spreads her legs, pounces on her blonde pubic area, kisses it, licks her vagina, her labia minora, her labia majora, and her clitoris. She’s now panting, panting for a long time.
He undresses too, completely. She gazes admiringly at that masculine body—like a Greek god she’s longed for and imagined in her dreams.
Then she asks him to “enter her.”
It’s a beautiful, carefully crafted phrase meant to justify a situation that has now crossed those boundaries that once seemed insurmountable. She says it to herself and makes sure he understands it too, as if to say: “Yes, we did it… because in the end, ‘Love conquers all.’” But it’s also a dangerous phrase, because it could permanently break a mechanism—a system that has always been well-oiled and free of even a speck of dust.
And he, yes, would like to enter her, to insert his member into her, and he does, but only for a moment. Afterward, he pulls back, climbs back on top of her, kisses her all over; she gasps, hearing long breaths she never could have imagined hearing.
Then he decides to bring her to an extreme orgasm; he lingers on her vagina for a long time, nibbling at it and sucking it into his mouth, and she reaches a pleasure that makes her soar through the cold voids of the cosmos.
Now he can’t resist; he moves back up, and his penis reaches her mouth, penetrating it, and without a second’s delay, his seed explodes inside that eager mouth. She looks him in the eyes as she swallows his thick fluid. And he joins her in that same void where she had lost herself just moments before.
She swallows with pleasure what she received in her mouth; she felt it, sensed that surge of energy that belonged only to him and that is now inside her. And she’s pleased about it, but she couldn’t let on just how intense her desire was to take in his seed—now all hers—a desire that has finally been fulfilled. So, pulling her body away from him a little, she regains her composure:
“Good thing we didn’t make a mess, so they won’t even smell anything strong…”
He feels a little embarrassed for having taken advantage of her mouth.
He: “I’m sorry…”
She: “No, what are you talking about? …It’s better this way, believe me.”
Then, after a moment of stillness, of quiet bliss, he looks at her, admiring her body, gazing at it with joyful delight. It’s beautiful. And he returns to caressing that breast once more, leaning in to kiss it again, and his penis, rubbing against one of her legs, regains its vigor.
She, still whispering: “Hey! You’re really in love with my breasts…”
He: “Yes, but not only that…”
He positions himself on top of her again, and without hesitation, his penis enters her vagina; he knows he has some time before the flow of his semen can explode once more.
He: “I love you.”
She: “No, you can’t love me.”
He kisses her on the mouth with renewed passion, takes her hands in his, squeezes them, then his mouth dives back onto her breast, kissing it again and again.
She: “I love you too, but we can’t love each other… do you understand?”
He: “Yes, I know…”
The surge begins to pulse through his penis again. He pulls away, then lowers his mouth back onto her vagina, licking her until she’s soaked with her own juices. She comes, over and over; he feels her orgasms. Then he doesn’t know what to do. She understands his dilemma.
She: “Don’t worry…”.
This time, she’s the one who bends down to take his member into her mouth. And with even greater pleasure, because she touches it with her hands, strokes it all the way along its shaft, and then takes it deep inside her, and a fresh wave, another spurt of his, flows down her throat. And she leaves that stiff shaft of soft flesh still in her mouth for an indefinite time, still holding it in her hand.
This time, the “games” are complete.
Their bodies separate from one another.
She: “We can’t, you know that, don’t you? We’ll never be able to do what happened again, never again; now we have to pull ourselves together…”
He: “I know, I know—this memory will stay with me forever.”
She kisses him tenderly on the lips.
Afterward, they would see each other again, but their paths would never cross again.