“Enlightenment”
It was a night in late May 2013. I was heading home after spending the previous night and the entire day at the place of a girl from Mantua with whom I had a vague friendship and a strong connection of “wild” sex; a huge badass thirty-year-old who feared nothing and never had enough. Let’s just say I found it enjoyable to spend time with her from time to time…
Around that time, a few months earlier, I met a much younger Turkish girl in Florence. Obviously, I had never even accidentally crossed paths with the Turkish language before, but technically she was an English teacher and passionate about languages in general, so communication was not a problem at all.
Setting aside the unusual circumstance that allowed me to meet and talk to her the first time, I can say that despite the roughly thirteen years between us, there was an immediate good vibe. In the short time she stayed here in Italy, we got to know each other better—not just through words, and not only physically. There was a certain special chemistry that made her unique and particularly interesting in my eyes, and it must have been the same for her, because ever since then—even when she returned home—we’ve spoken or seen each other every damn day at all hours (ah, technology, what a wonderful thing…).
Her constant “presence” was, all things considered, pleasant. And since I was definitely the poorer one between us, I was absolutely certain she wasn’t interested in me for any other reasons.
Anyway, she had invited me to Istanbul—a city I had never seen in person but which, from her stories, seemed interesting. Of course, I’d be staying at a hotel since she still lived with her parents, but the desire to be together was there, and I felt quite euphoric at the thought of seeing her again. So, I booked a flight and accommodation for a few days in the first part of June.
It’s almost two in the morning on the A1, three in Istanbul; the phone resting on the passenger seat lights up—it’s a message, I read it:
“Let me know when you get home, so I don’t worry when I wake up. By the way, when are you coming back here with me? You know I like finding you in bed as soon as I open my eyes.”
Ugh, it’s Serena (because that’s the name of the girl from Mantua, not because she’s serene as the word suggests, huh). I slow down and, with one eye on the road and one on the lit-up screen, I reply with a concise and vague: “And who knows… When I get there I’ll leave you a message, sleep Serena and at least tonight cover yourself that you can’t sleep naked all the time!” Shortly thereafter another message arrives, I pick up the phone again and read: “Hi! Blah blah blah, blah blah blah, blah blah blah…” Shit, it’s Hande (the Turkish girl), who’s worried and can’t fall asleep because I haven’t replied to her messages, but mostly because things are chaotic there — people protesting in the streets, riot police, and she still doesn’t know exactly what’s going on but she’s scared since she lives close to where all the chaos is happening. I stop shortly after at a rest area and try to calm her down through a frantic exchange of messages. Meanwhile, I get the latest news on my phone and see that, indeed, it looks like a big mess over there. Damn, I’m supposed to be there in a week, and this isn’t good!
A bit thoughtful and tired, I get back on the road, wanting to get home before I start nodding off on the highway — after all, I’m coming off almost two days of wild sex with Serena, and the exhaustion is kicking in. Meanwhile, more messages from Hande keep coming in. I don’t reply; all I want now is to get home and close my eyes — I need it.
Ten minutes later, Skype rings on my phone. “What the f…” Well, I answer hoping I don’t crash on a curve. Hande’s agitated and wants to talk; she even asks why I didn’t reply earlier. I tell her I was at a friend’s countryside place, had poor signal, blah blah blah…
Anyway, shortly after, I manage to steer the conversation towards the fact that if the situation is as serious as it seems, I won’t be able to go there. At that point, she says that’s exactly why I should come, because she misses me and really wants to see me again, blah blah blah…
But honestly, this civil unrest thing doesn’t sit well with me — especially since I don’t want to find myself caught up in an urban guerrilla war in a foreign country where my only contact is a girl just over twenty years old whom I’ve known for only a few months. So I tell her that if things don’t calm down, I’ll have to postpone the trip until the situation normalizes.
She then insists and pushes, saying that if I really love her, I have to go to her, otherwise it means I only want her for sex and don’t care about anything else, blah blah blah…
Look, I really like her — not just physically — but I didn’t know this selfish, hysterical side of hers, and it annoys me quite a bit. I tell her I’ll think about it but I still believe it’s better to postpone.
Then she gives me what’s basically an ultimatum, implying: “Either you come next week or you won’t see me anymore.”
What the Hell…
So she’s really a bitch, I barely recognize her. I don’t remember exactly what we said afterward, but it was short and unpleasant. Then suddenly the call dropped because of the tunnels…
I’m almost there now, I just want to bury my head in a soft pillow and sleep, then I’ll figure out what to do next.
I also need to remember to send a message to Serena — she’s the type to call me as soon as I fall asleep just to check if I’m still alive.
The Apennines behind me, two pain-in-the-ass situations unresolved, and a hundred kilometers of road ahead in the dark night. I light a cigarette, roll down the window, the wind brushes against my face—sharp but pleasant—a cold caress blending with the dreamlike melody of Yoko Kanno and the gentle whispered words of Maaya Sakamoto in Trust Me:
” Trust me
You can change it all
Trust me
Nothing stays the same
I will take you out
As birds flying… “
That was the exact moment I had the infamous “Punter’s Enlightenment.” Like a long flashback, I suddenly found myself thinking about the naked bodies of young prostitutes in all their glory. Blonde girls, brunettes, big tits, small tits, mandolin-shaped asses, firm asses, round and juicy cheeks, smooth vulvas of every shape, vaginas decorated with a patch of hair—sometimes dark, sometimes lighter; one even had a purple one, a cute little tuft of hair strategically matched to her hair color. Ah, I remember her all too well—that fuck, what a girl! Twenty years old and a body just begging to be ravaged, she was Romanian if I remember correctly…
I see the statuesque bodies of the three Bulgarian graces calling me in chorus, taking turns to suck my soul without mercy; then a Hungarian blonde takes their place and forces me to fuck her mouth, those soft pink lips, what beautiful sensations they made me feel again and again… I also see a couple of Polish girls, but I can’t quite grasp them because they slip away greasy like eels, but I remember them well—who could forget those two horny girls—and then… Then she arrives, with her soft tits assembled by some mocking god on the delicate and extremely sensual body of a twenty-year-old. Her green eyes hypnotize me as I lose consciousness, sinking my royal bird between those delicious, warm, buttery breasts…
And then sheep, sheep everywhere—a highway of arched backs, a forest of bouncing breasts, a whirlwind of vaginas framed by perfect asses and thighs sculpted by the demons of lust. Only pleasure, no compromises, no emotional baggage, no sterile discussions—nothing but the joy of unforgettable moments full of absolute well-being.
Paradise exists, I’m an atheist but I believe in earthly joys, and if someone talks to me about paradise, I say maybe that word makes sense if used to describe those places full of emotions as tangible as they are fleeting, and of love for sex given on demand in exchange for simple money.
This is the way, this is the end of the road, the destination but also the beginning of an exciting new journey in a world free of useless troubles and problems related to women—a world where you can take only the good from each of them, leaving the rest to someone else…
And I, before sunrise, saw the light. I decided—I’m telling them all to fuck off, I don’t want their paranoias anymore, I don’t want their problems, I don’t need their ambiguous feelings or to tolerate their presence when I just want to be alone to think and relax.
Women… I’ve always loved them as beings capable of giving me emotions and pleasure, but now I’m tired of compromises and dramas, of sleepless nights, false loves and true regrets, tired of half-hearted emotions and instincts strangled for fear of hurting someone or for the sake of keeping the peace.
Yes, I’ve decided—starting today, I don’t give a damn; fuck angry pussies, crazy vaginas, restless cunts, spoiled potatoes, irritating peaches, and bitter plums; fuck princesses with a pea, confused brides, spiteful girlfriends, fake virgins, horny moms, and precious little sluts…
I love women and I’m a monger, I’m in my late 40s and I take 20-year-olds to bed when I feel like it, with a wave of my hand and a bill in the other…
Because life is simple, you just have to want it.
