Diary of the Senses
CHAPTER III
Remembrances are cherished by everyone. They come and go and when they are with us they often make us contemplative and sweeten us.
Why is it that certain memories come back to me and keep me from resting? Why don't the more pleasant ones eclipse those which haunt me unjustly?
I don't remember how and why I left Vera and Lulu. I think we just got tired of one another and that's it. If one of the party appears to be waning, uninterested, and too easily given over to caprices, well the result is normal, a separation naturally.
Lulu and Vera seemed to offer themselves for nothing at all. The game turned into a bad habit. I was able to have them when I wanted them and this became tedious for someone who is out for adventure. I was free to do what I wanted. I could he negligent and show little initiative, this all became the same thing to them. I lost track of the two vicious gals and my life carried me on to new grounds and far off places.
I wasn't bad looking and I managed to have quite a few mistresses.
My parents were unconcerned with my future and in general they left me alone. I was free to choose what I liked.
At the time I was attracted to painting. I hadn't much talent but I was determined to take a stab at the artistic world. I became a photographer and worked for several newspaper syndicates.
My job allowed me to voyage often. I not only liked the landscapes of distant lands, but their women and their shapes fascinated me.
I can't begin to count the many erotic adventures that my profession afforded me with. Passionate, realistic, dirty... adventures.
Right at this moment I'm thinking of one that has occupied my thoughts these last few days. Ah, Venice... Italy.
I can still see myself along the grand canal in a gondola while the gondolier wheels his oar with a studied rhythm. I can still hear the barbary organ and see the varied colors in the water spelling out the magic of this incredible city.
The places, the depots, the villas, the gardens, the museums the church bells, the bridges, the cathedrales focus in my mind at the mere mention of the word — Venice.
It haunted me for a long time, that striking city in the midst of water with its mermaid jewels glittering in the contrast of night and against the walls of centuried monuments. I wished to sink into its very essence. I wanted to know the true personality of this fabulous city.
I shall begin as anyone else would by giving my impressions of Venice. At first they might appear a bit banal, but I hope to capture a private definition of all this and pass it on to you. I want to be able to tell you what Venice really means to me from my most intimate experiences with her.
***
First of all the decor. But we must act the stage with mortals for without them everything would be empty. I need a human being to initiate me in all this splendor. In the gondola which follows me is a woman, a woman of extraordinary beauty.
She has the supple body of an animal who daily seeks pleasure. Tightened into a green satin robe which harmonizes with the color of her hazeleqes. Her soft ivory skin glistens in the night air and a streak of vivacious red lips skirts past me as fleet as her perfume.
But the most striking aspect of all, is her blond hair. She wears a golden tress which falls well below her waist.- The name for this miracle of beauty is called “Venitien.â€
Could I choose a better guide than this superb creature with her golden locks and green eyes? Certainly she as born in this languorous city. She was and is one the goddesses of the lagune.
I asked the “driver†to follow the lovely promenader and my gondolier oarsman smiled knowingly:
“Oh, serenata!â€
We glided past domes and spires and passed around hidden corners. Vast pillars cradled in my eyes. These “campielli†and those “calli" were animated with a flow of people that animated the squares. I cannot say that they emitted a noise but it was more of a music, a strange cry for the delights of the world which the Italians crave so much.
We passed by the Rialto bridge and the Academia bridge those great structures which give the city its appearance and work like powerful mules to support the trade and hustle-bustle of the water city. We advanced toward the Giardini Riali near San Marco where we finally came to a stop. I must tell you about San Marco, just briefly. It is an immense structure made of marble closed off by a basilique on one side and by the other with ancient and new Procuraties.
The white of this construction resembles the great fountains in the middle of a courtyard.
Particularly at this hour of the night the Cafes such as the Florian and the Quadri — are quite empty and just await the hours of night when they will sing with the sorcery of the night. Soon the tables will be filled with aroused customers who geek the exotic and the bewitching.
Ah, but I am digressing. There she is, my beautiful unknown siren. She is asking some information from a man in a blue shirt whose sleeves are rolled up and who is Italian and probably a real Venetian.
This Italian is like any Italian. Of average size, brown skinned with black hair, he is gifted with the usual bravado and temperament of the meridional Italian.
My “bella†with the supple body is leaving the blue-shirted Italian. But he follows her much to my regret. He attempts to plead with her. He is practically upon her. His gestures are rapid and soulful and his voice is heavy with love.
Suddenly the lovely lady becomes angry and turns to the bronzed man and with a glare that would penetrate any tough-skinned person she lets fly a wave of cursing that sets him off in another direction.
I feel relieved for I still will be able to make my bid.
Here we are alone, she and I, but one hundred feet separate us. Ah, she is going to the Plazzo Ducale. I can not take my eyes off her.
This is the home of the Doges with its ogivinal doors, its arches, balconies, columns, and sumptuous windows. The place is filled with statues of men and animals with latin inscriptions underneath them. It makes me think of a spy film.
In the distance one can see the young Italians dressed in shorts near the unloading pier where the gondola depart. They seem to be like little nymphs dancing on the water. But I have no time for adolescents and my thoughts turn rapidly back to my lovely stranger.
Will she notice that I am following her? She must have seen me from the beginning? From time to time, she turns her head and I am sure that she has spotted me, but luckily I am mistaken.
But wait, I think I have detected a glimmer in her eyes. Yes, I am sure there was a faint smile and it encourages me all the more.
She is slowing down. I have one alternative and that is to make my move. She sees me and startles me by speaking in English. This typical Venetian girl is sure that I'm a foreigner. Well of course she is right. I try to stagger along in broken Italian but she wins me over with her English.
“It is very dangerous for you to walk along here all alone. You are bound to come into the clutches of a “pappagallo.†He is a man who will talk you out of anything. So beware. You look like you would be ripe for them. â€
I ask her if I can accompany for protection. With a quaint turn of the head she acquiesces. So instead of finding a true Venetian, I stumble onto an American. What a strange small world.
We advanced toward some historical site, this American beauty and myself. It seemed to be a covered prison made of wrought iron. It made me think of the spot from where Casanova escaped. Once again I should like to sink into the past and give it the very air of the present. So please stay alongside me as I tell all in the very impressionable present.
Ah, yes. We are walking across the bridge of sighs on which so much human suffering has endured. The sorrows and joys of life has crossed over this bridge.
From far, we are able to hear cries of the gondoliers and the cracklings of the blackbirds floating down upon Venice.
Here I am with an American in Venice and we are on our way to a “traghetto.†From there we take a gondola which transports us to the Lido. Under her curious mask, my American compatriot seems to be occupied with the grander of the night. She has a soul and a temperament and I can feel the vibrations.
We visit the Lido and I am fascinated by the way in which this blond enchantress is at her ease and how well she knows how to calm a man. With the lagune and her warmth, I am in the most delicious of paradises.
My partner asks me to accompany her to the Casino and the Lido. I accept and we walk through empty rooms without stopping to gaze upon the cherished possessions.
Then she asks me if I would like to see her apartment on the Grand Canal. I follow her a little troubled. She descends into one of the most fashionable hotels in all of Venice.
We climb up to her apartment, only because the elevator is temporarily out of order. She requests that I sit in the living room for a few instants until she changes into something a little more appropriate.
I settle back and drink the whiskey which was so kindly offered to me. Then my American beauty comes back into the room in a gorgeous decollete and everything in harmony with her blond hair. I can see that she is completely nude under her night frock and when she places herself in front of the window to take a gander at the Grand Canal, I take all the time in the world to regard her voluptuous forms and there are many of them.
I notice that she has undone her great torsade and her golden tresses fall almost to the small of her back. But just as soon as I try to imagine how it will be in bed with this mass of lovely hair enshrouding us, I watch her wrap it up into a chignon. There is only one thing to do and that is await the fatal hour that will bring us close together in the delicious throes of love making.
There is not any doubt about it she has applied some more red to her full lips and I can see that she is just about ready for the skirmish we shall soon have.
I approach the sensual creature and spin her into my arms. I lean toward her and plant a kiss in the back of her ear. She shivers with delight as shimmering as the waters below and then she squeezes me to her and I don't mind.
Then I circumvent her face and drink in her perfume. I place my fingers on her lower lip and spread them apart in order to dart my rapid tongue into her little cavern. I sense her nostrils dilating and her eyes quivering with the shock of the first sensations of love.
Pulling her close to me, our mouths, interlock in a warm embrace and my tongue looks for the heat of her bucal region. Our salivas mix and the desire we are sharing mounts with every slip of our tongues.
I can feel her breasts even now. They are small and pointed and my hand raises to greet one of them. I can feel her trembling and biting at the edge of my ear. After the derobing of the upper buttons, I manage to seek out her tiny red nipple. My month lowers to the right one and as I nibble at it she lets out a long sigh. Her head drops to my shoulder and I can feel the ecstasy flaming within her.
Then all at once her head swings backward as I suck in her breasts. I have just finished a string of exciting caresses when she begs me to take her in my arms and carry her to the divan not far away.
As I place her down delicately, I carefully sidle up to her all the while planting kisses on her face and mouth and shoulders.
I let her feel my stiff sex and aim it at her vagina. My hand becomes active and I lower it down along her belly. I feel her mound and the tousled hair that compose her lower region. Her breath comes out short and heavy and she presses my and to feel my warm presence. I assure her that it is there by fingering her clitoris. I slip off her thin night frock and now she is completely nude in front of me. What joy it is to have this wonderful shape and this burning flesh in front of me in this manner.
I become terribly excited and while I bite into her neck just where her life stream flows, I finger her cunt and experience its wetness. My thin fingers penetrate the interior of the feverish blond dame. I start rubbing with force and I hear a few muffled words coming from the frothy throat of the shapely stranger.
My caresses become more and more profound and I can hear my partner squeal with pleasure. I take a minute off to undo my trousers and shake off my slip. She feels the wonderful stiffness of my hard cock circling in the air. For a second she stands and watches it and then she grasps it in her two hands begins stroking it. With one gesture I stop her from continuing for I am so wet that one uncalled-for excitement and I am libel to explode.
Holding my prick in one hand and encircling her waist with the other, I aim my swollen sex at her pussy. I penetrate her without a whisper and she lets out a stifled cry.
I nevertheless continue my exploration in the interior of her warm sex and I can feel her dilating her organ. She starts to tremble and I know that she is on the verge of coming. She as well as myself feels the violent siege of desires squirming within. Suddenly I hear her cry out:
“No, stop. I'm going to come. Please take me from behind.â€
I am taken aback and I remain a bit hesitant before taking out my stick. But when I see her ardent hungry look, I become more excited than ever. She is pleading for me to take her from the rear.
No longer stupefied, but thoroughly feverish, I turn her over and admire her superb curves and splendid hips. Her rounded cheeks are especially beautiful. Perhaps this is the real reason that I am telling all about her and my experience with her in the present. I want to bring back the finest of my long career. This is one of the grand moments.
Nervously, I take her rump and crush it in my fingers. Her ass is strong and it resists my squeezing. I cease the forceful approach and start to pat her ass which is as creamy and smooth as a new-born baby's.
Then I lean on her shoulders and spread her fanny apart with the help of my long legs. With one stroke I penetrate her perhaps it is even with violence that I push my long rod into her welcoming hole.
I can feel my sex grow mighty and stiff and my little American companion must be suffering for I can hear her complain with some muted whispers.
“Right in my ass-hole, my darling. Oh it is so good. Stronger. Hurt me more. Ah, it is marvelous. â€
I feel the snobbery of her voice and this forces me on to new heights. I redouble my charges stimulated by her encouraging moans.
All of a sudden she lets out a howl and her spine stiffens and she gets such a look of surprise on her face that she flops on the divan as though she could no longer handle it.
“I've come. Ah, how good it seems.â€
But I don't have the intention of quitting just yet and I resume my arrogant charges. The mere fact that she has discharged heightens my enthusiasm and I increase my feverish pitch. With violent thrusts I can feel my sperm mounting. Ah, there it is I can feel it coming. I try to hold back to gain the last ounce of pleasure and then with an uproar I break lose and spill my load deep within her.
We lie there like to dead mates in silence for a long time. After an hour, that is after the second round of somersaults and love play, I leave her indifferently and stroll into the night air.
Once again alone, I walk mechanically along the narrow streets which border the canal. The canal looks as though it will never end. It goes on and on meandering much as my thoughts which linger in the balmy Venetian air.
Two brown-skinned women stroll past me, one who remains silent and the other one very talkative. Both are dressed in black and their silhouettes appear banal against the black-blue of the sky. These are typical women from the meridional region who have nothing striking about them in particular.
I take a gondola to my hotel which is to the side of Giardino Padaopoli.
The city covered with darkening shadows as though it were under an enormous bombardment. Behind me, at the thin part of the boast, the gondolier seems to be working with unusual grace to keep the gondola in equilibrium. The boat is like a silent swan proudly drifting in the still waters. The great strokes of the gondolier carry us along at a swift pace and I watch the prow as I think of handsome swan. The water illuminates a million reflections which glitter and dazzle like so many small cut diamonds. I can understand why painters from all over the world come and gaze forever at this glorious sight with its infinite nuances and perfections.
Suddenly at the turning of the canal near a lamp post a young woman, small and thin with black eyes and her hair wrapped in a scarf, signals me over to the side.
I don't even have the chance of noticing just exactly at what point the gondolier caught the nod of the pint sized lady. But he obeys the signal of the unknown feline and the gondola comes to a halt alongside the bank.
Of all things, I start speaking to this wretched skimpy person who wants to show me all the treasures of Venice and I am obliged to cast her side. But she is as pesky as an old gypsy and sticks to me like glue. The gondolier winks and unwittingly lets me out.
Truly annoyed, I begin arguing with the small witch and ask her to explain what this is all about. She insists that she will show me all the riches of Venice for nothing. I could not believe that she didn't want to take me for a hustle. My better instincts tell me to follow her but my adventure which will never let me alone tells me something else and I follow her like a lost pup.
I've digressed. I have placed you with my memories into the virtual atmosphere of Venice and at the last moment I've abandoned you. If I had continued I would have gone on indefinitely for the story is so bewildering that you might not believe me.
Some day when you go to Venice you must stop near the Camerlenglu. Walk around a bit and you will see some of the most extraordinary looking object* in the world. After you look intently at the spectacle, make believe you want to see more. Some one will spot you out and soon you will undergo the experience that I have had. It is too much to describe and I can only indicate that you should go there yourself. You will mix pleasure with culture and you will feel life flow in your veins as you have never dreamed.
There is no use insisting upon what you shall come across. Go, my friends and see and sense and live. The triumph of Venice is at this corner.
Once I entered my hotel I slept for fifteen hours without the slightest effort. I must admit that sometimes, I must make an effort to sleep. I am used to a woman companion in the same bed and when this treasured object is lacking, I am at a loss and toss and turn all night long.
When I left Venice I felt like a poet and once more became a man of dignity stepping into a new world teeming with interest. Decidedly, Venice had been good to me.