The fate cruel mocking of any sensitive soul, is to clash constantly, and inesorablimente, with a little poetic reality that contrasts with depressing dreams and expectations of moral elevation, sentimental, spiritual, emotional. Some clashes traumatic they still suffer, though he soon began experimenting during my troubled existence from hypersensitive and I should have made us the callus.
Some anecdotes are hilarious and can make me laugh after decades. However, at the time, had lived as an authentic source of frustration and bitter disappointment.
Today I was reminded one that concerns the area of \u200b\u200blove.
Who does not remember the first child falling in love or infatuation?
Well, my first "love" was ten years old and his name was Gino. Unusual name for a tot. But Gino was a "Montagnino" (as the Versilia sea, call the high-Versilia) and a name like that reflects the very ancient tradition, still in use in mountain communities in my part, to baptize the children with the names of grandparents and great-grandparents. A call costs Amilcare, Alfonso or Ermenegildo. Gino met him during a week of "license" from my school work of students in fourth grade (I was nine years old), generously given to me by my father who, over the top in many areas, even in front of the school had all his theories, type (addressed to my mother) "look at that water coming down. let the child sleep, poor ! where you want to send with this time?"
that week thought it well to make me breathe some fresh air because he had to go to based on, the mountain village City of Seravezza, where he played the renovation of a house. So he decided to take me with him. Gino on the first day I met him. Hair and eye blacks, face sbruffoncello, ways to urchin. I "won" right now, partly because, in spite of the rebellious nature that made him a little intriguing to me showed a special interest and attention from boyfriend.
My father seemed very amused and involved the evolution of this new friendship, and encouragement. With the advance of the morning, keeping an eye on the clock and around one suggested I "go a bit down the road, you'll see that we have.'s Gino for arriving with the van!"
I remember the thrill and excitement that animates me when I could see the yellow school bus in the street below. Prelude coveted of all our meeting and daring games such as throwing at full speed down the slopes with a kind of sled or scooter (can not remember). This arrangement lasted for several days and went into growing, so much to make me believe in some kind of symbiosis or elective affinity of souls. Until the tragedy of the unexpected or disappointing ending, if you prefer. Maybe it was Sunday, because I do not think that day Gino had gone to school. The brutal demolition of my dreams of love took place in two acts. The first act I saw appalled spectator of completion On the part of my "Romeo" of physiological functions that are normally experienced with modesty and privacy. So, in other words, he put in a closet outside the house, which was clearly the cabinet, and held the door open throughout the course of these bodily functions, worsening the situation with the repeated interlayer "Guess what I do?". Obviously, I was very clear what he was doing, but with my usual stubbornness in wanting to remove unwanted reality, looking away from the horrible scene, I had the courage to answer several times with a little credible "I do not know" . That was the beginning of the end. A situation that is already severely compromised, the former object of my romantic longings, inflicted a fatal blow to a promising romance so much, when, finally released by the cabinet, dared to externalize what they now had to be his greatest and most intimate desires, cloaked imperceptibly with a veil of "decency" in making the sentence without the sound, trying to make me pick up the sores. At first, I thought I had misunderstood. Could not have uttered those very words! I invited him, then, to repeat, praying anxiously to be refuted in my previous intuition. But what was his lips silently uttered again what I never wanted to hear. Now I no longer doubt. For a sense of bleakness, of shame, disappointment and decency, I continued to pretend not to have understood that at least hoping to desist, and then drop the pathetic advances. Useless, wanted to get to the bottom. And impatient, left the lip and broke very clear in its request obscene:
Me Can you see my pussy?
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