So I am going to the airport.
I could not talk to Lorenzo, the only clue I have is represented by a fax number. He never gave his address, once informed by a travel agency in Zanzibar which I wrote immediately and received no answer.
It 'still out there that I had to stop.
at 47 is the first time that I face an intercontinental flight, my passport is almost untouched, it has two or three spots of Swiss chocolate, a visit to a cousin who lives in Stockholm for twenty years, married to a psychologist, and the last pilgrimage in the footsteps of Portuguese Bernardo Soares, the place of the writer Fernando Pessoa.
Everything here, in the last years.
I'm not afraid of the plane, mind you, but I went there only for a short European routes, distresses me a little 'having to spend nine hours.
I be able to read? Will I sleep?
I look tired and amused, as I had been drugged, the varied humanity connected to safety belts, the worried faces of those who is always moving forward with the next, already looks abroad to those who have dreamed this holiday for a whole year, the bags under his eyes from routine business, two briefcases. The hostess
do a job like any other, only with less certainty underfoot.
traveling on a route parallel to the plane, engage the autopilot of her femininity, flying habits and mood to any turbulence. Maybe that's why, when they touch the ground, often feel uncomfortable, sleeping like hibernating rodents, or strive to live a normal life.
Most seem mad as a hatter, or overly superficial.
are sailors obliged with a smile and girls image-pressurized.
Divagando turns his gaze to the door beside me. I look at anything out there and I try to impormelo inside, but check the profile of Lusitanian Bernard, who from her window, now round and double glazing, the spy who, day after day, trying to erase the rituals and tells me to travel just exist. If you feel
Lorenzo! In order to give him a sense of existence has always been enough to travel, as dowsers hunting for bits of ego around the planet.
wonder if his puzzle is complete.
package arrives hot lunch consisting of a moist Roast with carrots cut thick, plastic-Dutch cheese, pastarelle and fruity. I try to enjoy it, I ask one more bottle of red wine. My neighbor pays homage to a chair I mimic good progress for a commercial-in favor of prohibition.
We have not yet spoken to.
I start to think back to Lorenzo. There he once again, in my destiny, thirty years later. Perhaps this has further encouraged me to accept the proposal for a desperate Beatrice is like closing the circle.
I remember it like yesterday, the day they joined the second G with H, in high school.
At that time I was a seventeen year old child, I watched the girls with the same intensity with which I studied Greek statues of Corinthian period, I had fun with the bike and ping-pong and read, but I did not read.
Professor of Greek, Paganovitz, proud look Radetzki and impenetrability of karstic rock of the Friuli, she had brought a dowry of the fifteen most deserving students, leaving the less good the F section. The only exception, but Lorenzo had one year less than others, according to the same kapo, had "room for improvement." In fact
austerity surplus Mitteleuropa correct grappa had a soft spot for him.
Its lakeside air, sickly and suffering, the physicist and dry lanky adolescent restless, the irony never irreverent, now also conquered new classmates. At that time I
Ran with Milena, or rather that she was forced to read boring and going to the Cinematheque Municipal do not know what inspiration of attraction. In a way I liked, was awake and willing, did not seem to pretend to feel good about myself, and wore a cup size that I did not think existed in nature. As always struggled to take the initiative, said that sexual impulses was not ready, and that she was not exactly my type.
However I was almost jealous, possessive I discovered I was down to teaching and developing the attitude she was my first student.
We had a good relationship, that brotherhood of glances made accomplices, sentences begin and end with a second, coded messages and private languages.
Milena was the first to yield to the charm of Lorenzo. I told him as easily as when I showed her breasts, to ask whether the right was slightly bigger than the left and if the circles of her nipples were like two egg yolks slightly.
When he sensed that I was going to stay evil, believed to act for the better.
"I really want to go to bed," he admitted, "but if you want to be the first ..."
What kindness! I offered her virginity in exchange for the termination of a contract adolescent to feel free to pursue a career woman.
"Rather go to bed with me Lorenzo," I said at the outset.
It was nice, for my part, but Miles laughed.
He was unable to hate, hate not even Lorenzo of which, indeed, quickly became friends.
I admired him for the ease with which he took his life, for the way he treated the girls. He appeared disinterested, always captivated by music from his guitar, as I was for the books, but he loved so much the fact that they harmonize in his lap blues.
Milena was one of many, but fell in love and I suffered a lot, so that was rejected and changed school. Then Lorenzo attended Anna, who was quite inhibited, clung to me because Lorenzo was expected to woo her, so typical riscontrai many other girls.
Anna had a tic that made her blink continuously, and two soft lips. He spent entire afternoons to tell me the dreams he had done the previous night, and dreams there was always Lorenzo.
main actors of his dream movie: dressed as Prince Charming, dressed as traffic policemen, Lorenzo bank robber, police commissioner, Malaysian pirate corpse. Always him.
Anna turned to us for a couple of months, is interested in jazz, he learned to drink alcohol and take to the sound of vomit in the streets, solos of John Coltrane and sunrise views from windows on the bias never the same.
Then one day, Lawrence said he had sex, and that had been a disappointing half.
"Stiff as a carp," was his comment.
followed boring afternoons and evenings full of tension. One Saturday, while leaving the concert Archie Shepp and his quartet, but he found an excuse to quarrel with both feminine and not ever came.
Later I learned that he had had an abortion.
Lorenzo continued to not chase skirts, often approaching the same age only to present them to me, but as my mother said, "that boy is born with a magnet.
They stared at her blue eyes and his mouth, he did nothing but extol the qualities of my entertainer, my culture, my intellect. I just smiled, the girls showed no interest and in the end, he withdrew.
"You can not become an adult and remain chaste," he joked.
Actually I was more fascinated by his way of seducing involuntary, that bothered to imitate or find a way my approach to the female gender. I enjoyed almost see it combined with the most vain, to hesitate to even the most reluctant and often got angry, when he stops to go to bed with a girl who had introduced me, and he thought he could tease my senses still in embryo.
By Beatrice was different.
I knew immediately that was a kind of Beatrice Lorenzo female. It seemed very little to keep us kids, she was beautiful but most austere, independent, mature.
was hard to find out his vulnerable side. Lorenzo
the hated, perhaps he sensed that there was something in her that he would have caught.
fact at that time was I to approach her.
We exchanged books, records, films seen impressions of the film, commenting on the political news and we were preparing together for the School Question.
I think that would attract my way not to see how I liked it, my non-woo, do not try, do not tell her how beautiful she was. Involuntarily, for the first time, I was working the tactics of Lorenzo. Sometimes
happened at my house when he was there, and they were throwing barbs on the edge of bad taste, always giving the impression of trying ideas for the fight.
We could have sworn that they would put together, and that would be lasting union.
What I would not have imagined that would happen at night when I decided to reveal to you my love for Beatrice, and that I suffered so much for the change of character that Lawrence suffered from their relationship.
were made for each other, seeing them fight was neorealist cinema, the dialogues were recorded, their physical reach perfection, they were beautiful. Take advantage of my dual role of confidant for the determination of possible elements of a struggle.
I enjoyed, and I knew perfectly as trigger hurricanes from a simple drop of rain.
Days passed, months.
My attitude towards them did not change.
I realized that I was in love the same way both of them, I need both.
was terrible, sketched of plausible explanations, I tried to stifle the feelings. I made comparisons with other girls, with other couples. I asked an older cousin to me how to distinguish jealousy from loneliness, how to recognize love. But every time I did not know whether to speak of Beatrice or Lorenzo. Because in the end I knew the problem was him. I finally had to convince myself that the reality was turned upside down: I loved Beatrice because after all, temperamentally, she was a man.
The relationship between Lawrence and Beatrice I changed his life. I
immersed in books to find literary references to what was happening to me. Oscar Wilde
I read and reread like a sacred text, I analyzed prose and poetry of Pasolini, I tried damn comparisons in French, I plunged in the stories of Pier Vittorio Tondelli to ward off any extreme attitudes, and learn to know me better.
This time the ink Bernardo Soares friend I had not been helpful, I knew to be an outsider to my own will, and for this I would have suffered less in the future than any other element of diversity with the majority of human human, but I could not ignore a question that was every day more insistent and plausible.
I was really gay?
I would not be able to reveal the emotional torments of my two friends, what I could tell them "You guys, maybe I'm queer and I love them both!"
I would, gradually, carefully removed.
The maternal instinct is not an opinion at home had become the refrain "when you find a girl like you should?"
was that "properly" I've never been able to bear.
Even my two friends will endeavor to find a girlfriend that fits me, dragged me with them on vacation and for me it was already the best. I knew that I would never find a woman who I could make you change your mind and hardly a gay man with the characteristics of Lorenzo.
began to suffer seriously from my diversity, because I felt detached from the different communities: they only ever talked about sex: what is fennel, look! Shake your ass like un'entraineuse ... Lidia is a lesbian, Adele if licked by the dog, Guido is gerontophile, the only like the ladies of a certain age, and you also pay ...
But for me there was something else.
They did not understand, poor things. M'invaghivo soul, not the body. The soul is not male nor female, for there is in the heart of masculinity as much as women's femininity the bottom of the character of certain males. Of these thoughts and still suffered from the alleged taboo to think freely, because the years went by and something had to happen though. It was in Corsica that is triggered a new mechanism, in them and me.
One night in camp, I entered the bungalow of Lorenzo and Beatrice to drink fresh water, that my cabin had no refrigerator. The wind in the island is not subsiding, and sometimes is never a breath accomplice, others an annoying hum made me an ally softening squeaking. The door was ajar, I do not care to current and I was tempted to close it to prevent sbattesse and awakened with a start. But they do not rest. Indeed, they were making love so strong that I could not interested in them. There was a window grill in the kitchen vent that led to the bedroom. I made a wish that I could not just be curiosity. I climbed on a chair without making too much noise and leaned.
It was a beautiful scene, turning the full moon that was light on the two bodies. Meat that was the color of fire. Bea's stifled scream and sweat in every corner of her beauty, Lorenzo was raging at her with mechanical precision and undulations of the basin that seemed designed by a choreographer. I did not know where to look, the half-closed mouth of the girl who begged, smiled, bowed and was reopened in groans at his approach, or buttocks shiny and elastic Lorenzo, showing that it contracted intermittently the rectum as taut as a plunger.
I masturbated, it was my first sexual adventure. As I reached orgasm I seemed to see Bea open your eyes, look up and smile. To date, those images are inside of me as the best film I've ever seen. Anime friends and beautiful bodies together.
The next morning I was visibly upset, my head was bursting, my legs trembled all day. Lorenzo was convinced that I have a fever, Beatrice did nothing but play down, every now and then approached and stroked my hair.
"Professor, come to the beach naturist Balistra with us?" He asked, sure I would have taken advantage of migraine to let them go alone. I would be ashamed like a thief, but the desire to see the two bodies was enormous.
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