I am writing this with mixed emotions. As my regular followers amongst you know, I do not like to share too many details about my private life. But I feel I need to make an exception this time. I need to try and explain the reasons that pushed me to some drastic changes.
I would love to be able to say that my story is unique. And yet, I would be lying. This is a story common to many a man, of different upbringings and ages. You will have heard it many times: men who are not perfect, but who have tried for a long time - perhaps too long? - to respect their commitments, keep their promises, remain on the chartered path that was laid in front of them. Men who at some point came to the conclusion that they just couldn't take it anymore. They felt that Passion - with a capital P - can only be avoided and kept at bay for a limited amount of time: sooner or later it will set you on fire and burn to ashes everything you deemed real: certainties, commitments, promises.
The first time I saw her she was wearing a red dress. A sensuous, carnal red, yet at the same time as inviting and relaxing as a velvety chesterfield couch. Her white skin, hidden by a hat also red, was barely visible. Yet, the effect that skin had on me was barely containable. I felt my desire thrashing everything else inside me, growing with no control, merciless, like a son who claims that everything you owned is now his.
My wife was next to me. I don't know if she immediately understood what was happening. What I can tell you though, is that my sense of guilt engaged in a fiery fight with my new desire. A fight it immediately lost. I felt like a chained dog realizing its leash had finally been broken: a split second of uncertainty, the desire of old caresses, of faithfulness, and then away, running away free. No more looking back.
I knew this time I wouldn't be able to resist. But wat frightened me the most was my realization that for for the first time in my life I did not want to resist.
There had been times in which I had wanted to change, turning everything upside down. But nothing I had ever experienced compared to what I felt the moment I saw her. In the past, I always had something hollering me back home, to the comfort of my familiar things. Those wishes of something new, of unknown flavors, always resulted either too weak or too exotic to really lure me into a new life.
This time none of it mattered.
Even before my lips touched her skin I knew that this time it woud be different. I knew she would become my everything. I knew I could not mount any resistance: her smell told me so with extreme clarity. I heard her words whispering into my mind: bite me, touch me, undress me, lick me. Get dirty with me, of me, lick my flavor off your fingers.
The moment I saw her I knew there would be no redemption. There would be no bank to block the flood. My life would have been parted in a before and after. She would be the after. The before would not matter if not as a path which lead me to her.
And here I am. Still watching the photos I took of her the first time I saw her. Just trying to live in my head - like in a infinite loop - the flavor of that first kiss.
I am leaving you with a photo of her. Perhaps you will be able to understand why my lustful love only has one name now: Red Velvet Cupcake with cream cheese.
(*) I had written the Italian version of this a long time ago, the first time I had tried a red velvet cupcake. I thought it would fit well in here too.