The Encounter: A Geography of Shadows
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It was a sunset that smelled of old books and the idleness typical of university life. We gathered at a friend’s house to complete one of those assignments that teachers impose, perhaps believing that our youth is an inexhaustible resource. If it hadn’t been for that boredom, I would never have found her.
I remember my entrance: books weighing down my arm and a weariness that spilled from my eyes. And there she was, in the heart of the room, dissolving the tension with a laugh that seemed not to belong there. From the first glance, I felt a gravitational pull, a magnetism that admitted no resistance.
—Hello, kid. What's your name? —she asked, opening up my world.
I gave her my name, and she, with a smile that was both invitation and enigma, replied: —I'm Gabriele.
We talked for hours about trivialities that time has erased, but I retain the vibration of her voice. I felt like I had known her forever. When she left, claiming academic obligations and believing herself to be the subtle cause of our distraction, she left an absolute void.
But before that, she slipped a confession onto the last page of my notebook and sealed my forehead with a kiss that tasted of a secret.
—Look what I wrote for you —she whispered, brushing my ear.
I ignored my friends’ teasing and looked for the note. “I must tell you the truth, I like you very much. I’ve never felt so attracted to a man. Please, when you’re free, call me; I hope it’s not too bold of me to expose myself to you like this.” Her words were a fire on paper.
It was two in the morning when the silence of the street greeted me. As I walked to my car, doubt wrestled with urgency. Call her now? Maybe she was asleep. But desire is an impatient animal. I dialed. She answered on the phone’s first breath.
Did I wake you? —I asked, my pulse racing.
—No. I was waiting for your call... Where are you?
—On North Avenue, on my way home.
—And do you have to go home... right now?
—No. I was waiting for your call... Where are you?
—On North Avenue, on my way home.
—And do you have to go home... right now?
That night, there were no laws or schedules. Fifteen minutes later, I was a bundle of nerves in front of her door. When she opened it, the air stopped. We looked at each other with an intensity that dispensed with words; she took me by the waist, and we melted into a furious kiss, a shipwreck of tongue and skin I had never experienced before.
We entered her house without breaking contact, as if separating would be a mortal risk.
We went up those elegant stairs into the dimness of her room. We remained in a long and silent embrace. My heart galloped while she comforted me.
When comfort turned to weariness, I watched her sleep. Her silhouette beneath the sheets was a landscape I wanted to memorize forever.
The next day, the mystery materialized in a book: Nine Weeks and a Half. In its pages, her perfume flooded my room, and a dedication spoke to me of the monotony of man and the ability to say "you." But the gift brought a poison: our story had to be a secret. She was engaged.
—Stay with me —I begged, with the desperation of my eighteen years.
—I can’t —she stated—. It’s a long-standing commitment. My parents.
—I can’t —she stated—. It’s a long-standing commitment. My parents.
I accepted the terms of our secrecy. I became a zombie fed by nocturnal encounters, Scotch, and pills to endure the wait. Her final abandonment was ruthless, an open wound in the middle of youth.
But hope is the last thing to die, and revenge… revenge is a dish best served cold. And I savored that gourmet delight much later. But that belongs to another chapter.
Author’s Notes:
We have created a universe of immersive, erotically immersive stories. Everything unfolds within the natural and supernatural experiences in human relationships, specifically those of couples; magic, enchantment, control and loss of control, intimacy always as the common thread, which submerges us in sublime and powerful moments, leading us to discover nuances that we barely imagine in our deepest thoughts and wet dreams.
It’s no use us telling you, but we invite you to live and feel it, as it will be the best way for the words to affect you as we expect.
- Adrian Thomas
