The Hang Glider Part II

This time I won't miss the opportunity to start that conversation, but first I want to enjoy these rare moments.
Everything happens with the sweetness he's learned to use with me. It moves me so much that I suddenly burst into tears.
“Why, little one?” he whispers to me.
Gianni, I didn't think... I really didn't think I'd be able to experience these sensations again without feeling dirty... I almost can't believe it... I'm moved, that's it.
He holds me close to him tenderly.
Cry, if it does you good.
Yes, it does me good. It brings all the garbage to the surface.
What garbage?
"I've always felt so inadequate, Gianni... everyone treats me with condescension, as if I'm never up to what I should be, as if everything I do is pathetic and a little ridiculous. In fact, I'm ridiculous as a man, and also as a father: I don't know how to take care of my son as I should, he got hurt because of me..."
"Puppy, it was an accident. Accidents happen, you know? And you immediately did your best to get him treated. How's he doing now?"
He's fine, he's almost healed. But he laughs at me; he doesn't even know I'm his father. In my brother's eyes, I'm a loser: he treats me indulgently because he loves me, but ultimately he just feels sorry for me. My ex treats me the same way, and yet I loved her so much, believe me. Even my friend Carlos seems superior; lately, there's always a hint of irony in his voice. I mean, it's already a lot if I feel accepted. You, on the other hand, make me feel wonderful, special, and that seems too good to be true...
Because you are, my love: I simply can see it, others can't.
Gianni, I don't know what makes you so different from the others: I just know that with you, everything seems beautiful to me, even feeling pleasure, and that's truly rare for me. I feel like I'm giving you a kind of gift, something you enjoy too.
That's right, my dear: it's a wonderful gift you're giving me.
And then there's nothing dirty or vulgar about what we do… Right now I'm flying.
We're flying together, love. We're on a hang glider. Can you see the ground below us?
Yes, it's beautiful.
I bury my face in his shirt and think nothing more. Suddenly I feel him squeezing me too tightly, to the point of pain.
Gianni, I whisper to him with a moan you're castrating me.
He lets go immediately, but I can hear him panting.
What's wrong? I ask him.
Nothing, I have nothing, don't worry.
He slumps back against the pillow, as if exhausted. He grabs the bottle of water from the bedside table and gulps down half a liter. I take his hand, shocked: I realize he's been overcome by the usual pang of guilt. I don't know what to say, so I keep quiet. It's him who speaks. He shakes his head and rests his neck against the pillow.
All this is exhausting me.
How?
He runs a hand over his sweaty forehead.
Yes. Don't get me wrong, it's all wonderful, but I'm not used to it. Sex has always been something very different for me.
I imagine so, Gianni. Maybe I'm making you uncomfortable, I don't know... Explain, please.
No, love, it's a new and wonderful experience, believe me. But it does tire me out, that's all. It creates an incredible amount of nervous tension.
This is the right time to have that conversation.
Gianni, you're obviously tense: you never let off steam. I can't do anything for you; you won't let me.
You're there, love. What else should you do?
A cri de coeur bursts from my lips:
Gianni, do you realize I barely know your body? You never let me see you naked. I only glimpsed something that time… that time, you know.
Erase what you saw he replies dryly, peremptorily.
But Gianni... I mean, what's the point of a relationship like this? It's completely one-sided, it can't work. Seriously, let's talk about it.
“Okay, let’s talk about it,” he says in a serious voice.
He sits up in bed, staring at a point in front of him.
I'm listening.
"Little one, I already told you: I don't need you for this. Fortunately, or unfortunately, I have sex almost daily. Physically, I lack nothing. You're the one at risk of being left high and dry, so I have to do it. I have to do it for you."
I understand that, Gianni, but try to understand me: I want you to enjoy being with me physically, too, otherwise you'll make me feel inferior. You make me feel inferior too!
(A very silly little song starts.)
But Gianni… what is this stuff?
(Another very stupid little song)
It's my new ringtone, darling. My gorgeous latest Nokia lets me have all the ringtones I want, and I chose the old Carosello commercials.
But you're not answering?
No, love, I won't answer: I know they're just annoying at this hour.
Sorry, but we were having a serious conversation... Can we continue, please?
Of course, darling, I'll pick up where I left off.
He places a kiss on my forehead.
Physical pleasure wouldn't add anything. You know when a vase is filled to the brim? If you add more, you waste time and effort, because there's no room left. I'm completely saturated with the happiness your presence gives me.
I savor the sweetness of these words for a few seconds, then I reply:
But that goes for me too, Gianni. I truly love you, I don't need sex to be with you if it's going to be an effort you make just for me. What I feel for you has to do with feelings, not physical attraction.
I thought I said something nice too, but I feel him stiffen.
So you don't like me?
The same gaffe again: Gianni is extremely sensitive in this regard, I have to be careful what I say.
-What are you saying, Gianni? Of course I like you.
Oh, I know, I'm not twenty anymore... I understand, you know? I was pretty good-looking when I was your age, but it's been a while...
"Gianni," I interrupt him abruptly, "enough of this silly self-pity. I like you very much: you're a very attractive man and you know it."
He smiles thoughtfully, moved by memories of his adolescence.
I was that kind of brunette who turns males on.
I can imagine, Gianni: you still turn on now, let alone as a boy.
Do I turn on?
Yeah, you are truly hot.
How lovely. Too bad we can't go all the way.
I sigh and say nothing. He continues:
I was the kind of boy with long, wavy hair, big black eyes, and that fake-intellectual look that other boys like. I wasn't effeminate at all, you know? I was, let's say, refined and provocative.
Like now, in short.
You're too nice, sweetie. I'm a shadow of my former self now, but I was really cute back then. Massy was incredibly jealous of me; he couldn't stand the sight of other boys staring at me. And a few girls, too, to be honest, but on that front he knew he was safe.
I would have been very jealous of you too.
Which means you're not now?
This constant attempt to catch me out is making me feel unwell.
Gianni, don't overdo it now, okay? I can't afford to be jealous of a man who doesn't belong to me.
He doesn't answer.
I can only avoid thinking about it, I add sadly.
He smiles skeptically.
If someone loves, he's jealous, little darling. I'm fiercely jealous of you, and it's not like it's better if I don't think about it.
I sigh, resigned.
I am, anyway. Don't you remember that time with Aaron?
Yes, maybe a little.
Gianni, I'm sorry, but you're being unfair and sadistic: you basically want to inflict your betrayals on me and you expect me to suffer for it. Does that seem logical to you?
He thinks about it for a moment.
Yes, it seems perfectly logical to me: I would really like you to suffer for my betrayals.
I shake my head.
Thanks for the thought, eh.
He turns to me with a smile.
"But I never betray you, little one: that's what you don't understand. I always have you on my mind, no matter what I do and whoever I'm with. And that's exactly what pisses me off."
Oh, I see: so you have to make me pay for it.
Yes, my love, a little, yes. You have to pay a little. I accept feeling bad for you, I've humiliated myself to the point of begging you to come back into my life, I live constantly with guilt, and so there's a small price to pay for you too. You have to feel a little bad too, otherwise we're not even.
I don't answer anything.
(Another theme song starts: this time it's Calimero.
Are you my mom?
No, you're wrong, you know... I don't have any black chicks.
-But if I were white, would you want me?
Yes, of course, little one.
Then another theme song starts.)
Listen, your Nokia's going too far now! I mean, damn, a little privacy...
Okay, okay, if it bothers you that much I'll put it on silent.
He kisses me and lies down beside me.
-You're so beautiful sometimes, you know? And your little sparrow is beautiful too.
"You've obviously never raised sparrows," I reply dryly. "You almost crushed him a little while ago."
I'm bad at what I like so much.
I saw. Or rather, I felt.
Were you offended?
A little, yes. But it doesn't matter, in the end you were honest, and that's what matters.
"It's true, though, you know? I've never had pets. But it's better for them: I get so carried away by enthusiasm that I strangle them. As a child, I accidentally killed a duckling because I was too fond of it: I squeezed it like a sponge. I still feel terrible remorse."
Damn, Gianni, you have to calm down.
Yes, you're right. You're my angel, you have to help me not to hurt anyone.
I'm no angel at all, Gianni, but I'll try.
I hesitate for a moment.
Do you really think he's handsome? You don't think…
What, puppy?
Look, don't you think it's a little too small?
Oh no, love, it's perfect. Who put such a stupid idea in your head?
A woman, some time ago.
Women can be beasts. Even if it were true, which it isn't, you should never say something like that to a man: it's a deep wound, it leaves a mark.
I know, Gianni. She wasn't stupid, far from it: she was just mean. And not entirely so.
Bad guys are usually also stupid, and vice versa.
However, from what little I've seen, you are much more gifted than me.
He turns around with a sudden jerk and covers my eyes with one hand.
You didn't see anything, love: delete everything. Erase, delete, control-alt-delete.
Okay, I'll delete everything, even if it wasn't bad.
I'm of Sicilian origin: my great-grandparents were from Palermo. It seems that in that respect we're more gifted than northerners.
I understand. However, if I may, it's not fair that you can judge me and I can't.
"Darling, get this straight: I don't judge anything. You're perfect just the way you are. You make me feel clean: other relationships made me dirty. I used to like feeling dirty, because my soul is rotten, but now dirt disgusts me."
Your soul isn't rotten: it's just suffered. It needs healing.
It must be because in those moments you have the sweetness and abandonment of a girl, as I told you.
Should I take this as a compliment?
It is. But how do I know what it's like to be with a girl? I've never been there. Is that how it works?
Well, I think so .
Do you think so? You're bisexual, love: you need to know it, not believe it.
You see, Gianni, you can't generalize: from my experience, there are very enterprising women who like to take the initiative, at least with me. So my role with women has been more often passive than active.
But shouldn't this way of letting go be typically feminine?
Yes, I think it's typically feminine.
It doesn't usually happen like this between men: everything is much more rough and equal.
Equal?
He drops my question and continues:
I like this kind of abandon. Who knows, maybe I could have tried it with some girl too.
The girls would have really liked you.
Thank you, but I don't think I've ever realized it. You know, this may seem strange to you, but I'm gay precisely because I'm too masculine: I don't like femininity at all. I feel completely masculine, one hundred percent.
Anyway, you already have your girlfriend.
He smiles and hugs me.
Yes, darling: you make me love femininity. Let's sleep together for a bit, shall we?
Gladly. What's this perfume you use?
Eau de Cologne, my love. Just plain old-fashioned Eau de Cologne.
It's delicious. Very manly.
You're the girl who smells like talcum powder: I'm your man, right?
Right.
We put our hang glider on autopilot and fall asleep peacefully among the clouds.
(Calimero ending theme:
They always do it like this here because they're big and I'm small and black... It's an injustice though...
"It's the same old story, Calimero: you're not black, you're just dirty. There!")