THE MALE CHAUVINIST - An Erotic Autobiography

Part Two - V - VI

V

After lunch, I indulge in a postprandial nap—an hour and a quarter of blissful dozing. In the afternoon, I send a WhatsApp message to Gessica, asking her out for tomorrow evening.

She replies after half an hour. Just like this: "No thanks." No additions. No smiley faces or other emoticons to soften the bluntness of that unkind response. What's her problem? She was all nice and friendly this morning—she even started the conversation—and now... I call her, thinking maybe she got upset because I texted instead of calling. People from Reggio can be terribly complicated.

"You're one of those men who only look at women's breasts, aren't you?" "Not at all." "Then tell me what color my eyes are." She's got me there.

Oh well, I think to myself fatalistically, I could never have seriously dated someone named Gessica with a G anyway, and I treat myself to a consolation jerk-off to a video I found by typing the keywords 'cosplay' and 'schoolgirl,' where a really cute girl, dressed up as a cat complete with tail and furry ears, gets taken from behind by a guy. As she gets it, the girl crosses her eyes and sticks out her tongue—she keeps her tongue out the whole time. You might not know, but there's an entire category of porn dedicated to these girls whose specialty is to moan with their tongues out and eyes crossed. I guess some guys are into that, and I have to admit it works wonders for me.

After my coffee, I open my laptop and jot down the ending of a risqué story, The Bitch, an homage to Giovanni Verga. In the evening, I unwind by watching Star Wars: Episode II - Attack of the Clones for the eighty-fifth time, with Natalie Portman as Princess Padmé Amidala. Afterwards, feeling aroused—what a surprise—I type 'star wars' and 'princess padme' into the search engine of one of my favorite porn sites (Rule #34 of the internet: if it exists, there is porn of it). Seconds later, I'm watching Star Whores, a fabulous adult parody of Star Wars where Princess Padmé, played by the pornstar Natalie Porkman, is quite the firecracker and performs a 69 with a curvaceous green-skinned alien.

Suddenly, my phone starts ringing. I answer without checking the caller ID. Mistake.

"Good evening, Mr. Grasselli." Damn, I think. It's the usual crappy telemarketer from the usual crappy trading company. I endure the usual spiel.

"Thanks, but I'm not interested." "But you don't know the benefits..." "Really, thanks a lot, I'm not interested." "How can you not be interested in making money?" "What do you want?" I sigh. "I'm a philosopher." "Don't you want to become rich?"

At this point, I lose it. "Do you really not understand when someone tells you politely that they're fed up?" "I'll call you back," says the lunatic on the other end. "Fuck off." And this time, he hangs up first.

I sit there staring at the phone, stunned. This only confirms my theory that trading companies hire nothing but psychopaths. Then an idea strikes me. I pick up the phone again and make a call.

"Hey, Valda." "Hi." The tone is surprised... but not too much. "What did you do today?" "I studied. My professor assigned me a paper on German Romanticism." "What are you doing now?" "Nothing special. You?" "Nothing special." "Why don't you come over? So we can talk a bit about, uh... German Romanticism." "Okay." And she really does come, driving her Smart car.

VI

Valda had already noticed me at the Caffè dello Studente, the go-to hangout for university students in Scandiano. Despite my being "a bit vintage," she found me attractive.

"You look like Orlando Bloom," she says, curled up on the sofa in the attic. "Has anyone ever told you that?" "Yes," I smile. "Do you like Bloom?" "Orlando is dope."