A Close Friend with Whom I am very … Intimate

“I rang the doorbell. A few seconds passed. I heard the recognizable noise of the door opening. I climbed the fifteen steps. I went to the reception.

I waited a moment, a quarter of an hour, leafing through an old travel magazine, before being received for this meeting of no real importance. I went there alone, whereas usually my husband and my daughter accompanied me. It was normal for me to go to my daughter’s pediatrician with my daughter. There, I had only a few questions to ask, simply. I was pretty fit, tanned, bright. This is what I would hear later on. Bright.

I looked up at the sound of heels, a quick, nervous, dry step. I saw a broad smile, a deep, truly intense look. A firm handshake, which nevertheless enveloped me. This brown hair, wavy on the tips, gave off an unknown, surprising perfume. New. Grabbing.

Something was wrong,

– Come !

So I followed my daughter’s pediatrician into this rather dark, austere office. I glanced at the cross of Christ fixed above the fireplace and watched the very serious pediatrician sit in front of me in his large boss chair. I couldn’t see an auscultation table, game or toy. She was looking at me.

I was staring at her. No words were spoken. She got up, still silent. Passed behind me. Locked the main office door. The heels clicked less, it almost slipped on the parquet floor. I very precisely felt its perfume, which I could not identify. Sweet, almost vanilla. Surely a French perfume.

She also went to close a second door, the one that led behind the scenes of the cabinet. Then she came back to sit on her black leather chair. Put her arms on the armrests. And slowly tilted his head back, like languid.

This scene lasted a long time, like a semblance of eternity. Her sensual attitude, her closed eyes, her long hair resting on the top of the chair, her calm breathing despite the chest I saw rising: everything was only an invitation accepted. Everything was just a call to the forbidden embrace.

Finally, I dared to get up; I walked around the large desk, too slowly. Without a single word. I looked again at the cross over the fireplace. I closed my eyes for a moment. Calmed my breath. I was shorter than she was.

His hands looked almost small compared to his size. However, despite the 10 centimeters she had more than me, I dominated her. It was I who was leading the dance now.

I take the two armrests to turn the chair towards me and I say in an authoritative voice:

– Open your eyes, doctor, look at me.

We stared at each other for several seconds. It is said that silence after Mozart is still Mozart. There, the silence before love, was already love.

Our breaths echoed. I hesitated for a moment, intimidated by the incongruity of the moment. I do not really know. My cock beat, my heart almost hurt, I received in the chest and in the stomach like punches. She did not move. Didn’t speak. But continued to hold my gaze, like a provocation.

“Go ahead, decide, what are you waiting for?” That’s what she seemed to want to yell at me.

A last moment of hesitation and finally I brought my lips to hers, and kissed him on the corner of that round and nervous mouth. “

“The streets of Monaco were pleasant at the end of the evening. It was rather mild, the terraces were crowded and we did not know where to head as there were in this city of chic, luxurious bars, where bourgeois met and luxury whores, who sometimes were the same elsewhere.

I didn’t particularly like this city, but that evening I found it relaxing. Everything was clean, boring enough, the arch-known and rather vulgar codes. Agreed. Impossible to count Porsche, Maserati, Rolls. Tape-à-l’oeil, upstairs, Monaco was a place out of the world. Few bistros, few bookstores. No matter after all, we had not come to cultivate ourselves. We finally chose a bar. Blondes, tall, slender, thin in fact, white skin, sad eyes. Still whores, probably Russians. Or Eastern European countries.

It was everywhere. On the harbor, in hotel bars. Where there was money, not just clean, there were those long blondes! We ordered two whiskeys without ice.

We looked at each other, not knowing who should start. Nor by what. I was sipping my whiskey as usual. He, greedier, drank faster.

– Hey, wait for me or I won’t be able to follow you!

Davide laughed, and threw me:

– And yet, just now, I do not know who was leading the way, but it was not me in any case!

Why make a fuss about it since I had enjoyed this meeting, both cerebral and physically?

Better still, I felt powerful, like invincible. In those moments, I felt in my body what happiness was. It had happened to me before. I remembered that fleeting moment, that moment when I felt this feeling so strong that I associated it with what I imagined to be a shoot.

It was ten years ago and I had just met Davide

From the first evening, I knew he was the man of my life. I knew it instinctively.

We simply met during a show, in a café theatre not far from the Arno. A friend dragged me there. I remember it perfectly.

It was one of those evenings when I wanted to stay at home, under the duvet, on the duvet, whatever. But with my comforter. She had tanned me, come on, come, I have two places, it looks funny and then it will save me from rehashing the story with the other broken arm. Come on.

She insisted so much, got me by feelings. She had just separated from her boyfriend, I was alone then, or rather very accompanied but nothing regular and daily. I didn’t care, I was 25 years old. Time.

The meeting with Davide took place in front of the ticket office. Quite simply. We looked at each other. He had smiled. Me too. Had said good evening to me. I replied good evening. We still smiled at each other.

After the show, he waited for me, smiled at me again, wondering if I liked the show, if I liked the café theatre, and the theatre in general. And inviting me to come with him to a Shakespeare play that was being played the following week.

What I refused, not being in Florence then. But I invited him to meet me for a drink in one of the bars in the city that I preferred, ten days later.

– We’ll see if you get there. We’ll see.

And I turned on my heels, leaving with my girlfriend.

She turned to tell me:

– He does not take your eyes off. You fished big!

Very calmly, I gave him this:

– Look , I just met the man of my life.

She laughed.

– Of course, dream my dear! If you think it’s like this, in real life. You’re going to the cinema too much!

I let her speak

With Davide, we saw each other again on D-day, at H-hour and in the bar that I had indicated to him. Our first moment was pleasant, natural. It was him. I was certain of that. An evidence. An impression of knowing him forever.

He was moving, subtle, attractive, funny at the same time. He seemed free to me, different from other men. I liked it when he grabbed my hand. It was serene, convinced, and his skin electrified me. Filled me.

We decided to have a first lunch on the terrace, then a real first meeting.

“Tall, rather thin, very smiling, determined. In pants, on high heels. A pretty necklace on a white blouse. That this blouse suited him. It gave him an air of severity, of authority, of wisdom too.

Collar raised under her long hair finished to capsize me.

I held out her hand, as usual. But Francesca grabbed me with her left hand and drew me very naturally to kiss me. A gesture of real shy who dares. It may sound silly to say that, but when her skin came into contact with mine, I really felt an electric shock.

I don’t know about that first moment if Francesca felt the same. I admit to never thought to ask him.

The lunch was joyful, brimming with secrets, stories, anecdotes. We ordered, realizing that we liked the same things. We took some wine. Francesca started to speak. Of her couple problems, from which she did not seem to know how to get out. Did she want to? Not sure.

First, I had trouble placing a word, too nervous. And then, I wanted to listen to it. My experience of men made me hold an almost passive attitude. The rule of the game, with them, was to make them talk, ask them questions, show a real interest in their stories.

for part two : https://rubberout.com/a-close-friend-with-whom-i-am-very-intimate/

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