Read Online About Time by Simona Sparaco - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Simona Sparaco
Ads: Link
her big smiles.
“I’ve been working too hard, I need one of your massages to feel human again.”
She kept smiling at me all the way to her room. Once inside, I tried to undress as quickly as possible, she switched off the light slightly impatiently and then whispered excitedly in my ear, “At last, Svevo. I was afraid you wouldn’t come any more.”
I touched her lips with my finger and begged her to give me the kind of massage that makes you lose all sense of time.
She nodded, and started with my feet, as sensually as ever. Little undulating circles, which in less than no time reached my buttocks, where she lingered only for a few seconds, before climbing gently, but quickly, to my shoulders.
I’d hoped, in closing my eyes, that at least this massage would last long enough to relax me, but after not even twenty minutes—of my time—Donatella had already finished.
“How about a nice Turkish bath?” she whispered in her friendliest Roman accent.
She’s beautiful, Mediterranean, sensuality personified. A pity about her heavy make-up, which makes her look vulgar, and about that black ponytail that’s pulled back so tightly it makes her look as if she’s had a facelift. I’ve only slept with her a couple of times, and in normal circumstances would gladly have repeated the experience now.
She kissed me on the lips. “If I could, I’d keep you company,” she said, putting her ointments away.
With an instinctive gesture I grabbed her by the ponytail and kissed her roughly. She pulled back. “I can’t, I’m at work. Why don’t you invite me over for a little supper sometime? I’ve almost forgotten where you live.”
I noticed I was getting an erection. It was a relief to know I still could.
“What do you say, Svevo? How about the day after tomorrow?”
“Nine o’clock.”
“Don’t stand me up…”
“I’m not that mad.”
Then she walked me to the Turkish bath, arranged the towels next to the washbasin and said goodbye. “You know what you have to do. Ten minutes, then take a cold shower, and if you want to, repeat three or four times. See you the day after tomorrow, darling!”
So I made my way through the steam and lay down on one of the marble steps. As soon as the heat enveloped me, I started to feel pleasantly relaxed.
Immediately afterwards I lost consciousness.
When I came to, three or four pairs of eyes were looking anxiously at me. My legs were being lifted in the air by the secretary, Donatella was pressing a cold cloth on my forehead and the bodybuilding instructor was ordering a young boy to bring some water and sugar.
“How do you feel? Donatella asked, anxiously.
“Fine, what happened?”
“You collapsed,” the instructor said, with a frown. “It’s lucky we noticed in time. You spent fifty minutes inside a Turkish bath… It could have killed you.”
Fifty minutes. My heart started pounding. I had to get dressed and go home.
Fifty minutes. I kept thinking about the tragedy I’d narrowly avoided, at the same time as insisting that I wanted to go and assuring everybody that I felt better. “Are you sure you feel all right?” Donatella asked, still pestering me with her cold cloth.
“Perfectly all right.” A few minutes more and I’d have died in the corner of a Turkish bath. And all because fifty minutes for my body no longer correspond to fifty minutes in my mind. What a stupid end.
I got home at ten, but for once You weren’t what was uppermost in my thoughts. I have the impression I’m doomed to remain motionless, like a disenchanted spectator, while my life is going downhill and no one can do anything to stop it. When the spotlights are turned off, darkness will invade everything. The mere thought of the negation of ourselves is chilling.
First, an infinity of emotions, life in all its overwhelming intensity , then suddenly nothingness. A body huddled in a corner, hidden by the steam of a Turkish bath, and someone picking it up, almost with
“I’ve been working too hard, I need one of your massages to feel human again.”
She kept smiling at me all the way to her room. Once inside, I tried to undress as quickly as possible, she switched off the light slightly impatiently and then whispered excitedly in my ear, “At last, Svevo. I was afraid you wouldn’t come any more.”
I touched her lips with my finger and begged her to give me the kind of massage that makes you lose all sense of time.
She nodded, and started with my feet, as sensually as ever. Little undulating circles, which in less than no time reached my buttocks, where she lingered only for a few seconds, before climbing gently, but quickly, to my shoulders.
I’d hoped, in closing my eyes, that at least this massage would last long enough to relax me, but after not even twenty minutes—of my time—Donatella had already finished.
“How about a nice Turkish bath?” she whispered in her friendliest Roman accent.
She’s beautiful, Mediterranean, sensuality personified. A pity about her heavy make-up, which makes her look vulgar, and about that black ponytail that’s pulled back so tightly it makes her look as if she’s had a facelift. I’ve only slept with her a couple of times, and in normal circumstances would gladly have repeated the experience now.
She kissed me on the lips. “If I could, I’d keep you company,” she said, putting her ointments away.
With an instinctive gesture I grabbed her by the ponytail and kissed her roughly. She pulled back. “I can’t, I’m at work. Why don’t you invite me over for a little supper sometime? I’ve almost forgotten where you live.”
I noticed I was getting an erection. It was a relief to know I still could.
“What do you say, Svevo? How about the day after tomorrow?”
“Nine o’clock.”
“Don’t stand me up…”
“I’m not that mad.”
Then she walked me to the Turkish bath, arranged the towels next to the washbasin and said goodbye. “You know what you have to do. Ten minutes, then take a cold shower, and if you want to, repeat three or four times. See you the day after tomorrow, darling!”
So I made my way through the steam and lay down on one of the marble steps. As soon as the heat enveloped me, I started to feel pleasantly relaxed.
Immediately afterwards I lost consciousness.
When I came to, three or four pairs of eyes were looking anxiously at me. My legs were being lifted in the air by the secretary, Donatella was pressing a cold cloth on my forehead and the bodybuilding instructor was ordering a young boy to bring some water and sugar.
“How do you feel? Donatella asked, anxiously.
“Fine, what happened?”
“You collapsed,” the instructor said, with a frown. “It’s lucky we noticed in time. You spent fifty minutes inside a Turkish bath… It could have killed you.”
Fifty minutes. My heart started pounding. I had to get dressed and go home.
Fifty minutes. I kept thinking about the tragedy I’d narrowly avoided, at the same time as insisting that I wanted to go and assuring everybody that I felt better. “Are you sure you feel all right?” Donatella asked, still pestering me with her cold cloth.
“Perfectly all right.” A few minutes more and I’d have died in the corner of a Turkish bath. And all because fifty minutes for my body no longer correspond to fifty minutes in my mind. What a stupid end.
I got home at ten, but for once You weren’t what was uppermost in my thoughts. I have the impression I’m doomed to remain motionless, like a disenchanted spectator, while my life is going downhill and no one can do anything to stop it. When the spotlights are turned off, darkness will invade everything. The mere thought of the negation of ourselves is chilling.
First, an infinity of emotions, life in all its overwhelming intensity , then suddenly nothingness. A body huddled in a corner, hidden by the steam of a Turkish bath, and someone picking it up, almost with
Similar Books
