Topic confusing, indeed, I say, osticissimo.
Those who know me well, but also much less, you know for certain that my love has always been a big taboo, more than oral sex (a topic to which I will devote a special post in a few years I think).
I would like to address the issue without falling into rhetoric Sexandthecityiana who sees love as a categorical imperative to be followed for life at all costs.
I'm not yet able to define it. And maybe there never succeed. Since
I was little I have seen love like a sissy thing. Perhaps the fact that in elementary school I was the only girl in my class that was left for lunch at the table participating in the World Championships and also the launch of snots not made me an easy target of romantic attentions.
Although I have not done anything but camouflaged among males showing off for men look sloppy (in winter corduroy pants, shirt and vest or shellsuit and shorts and oversize T-shirts inherited from Frank for the summer) and entertainment in typical male pastimes (killing ants, eating pine nuts, sdrumarmi knees in the courtyard of tar) are not able to exorcise the moment when I made the accounts with the opposite sex.
This condition occurs on the first day of middle school. Cicognini boarding schools were forced to wear an apron (or rather the lap) black, in the name of an imaginary social equality. Grandma Elsa prepared me for that day, a white collar embroidered and ironed to perfection femininity bursting from every pore. My coverage was at risk, and indeed was completely skipped. It was like suddenly serve to camouflage the past 5 years. It was the shame. Hat ass. The collar with lace embarrassed me terribly. And to make matters worse, his grandmother saddled me an apron buttoned back. Can not get rid of without a rash.
was the beginning of end. As the worst spell, crossing the threshold of the first B, I was asked if I were Tom or Dick. A whiff of heat hit my face and the only answer I could give was a shy "but go in the ass" strangled by the collar and shame . That same year another Compagnucci decided to honor me with a letter that Valentine accartocciai and promptly hid under the desk, always a prey to the usual cocktail of anger and embarrassment. But how is it possible?! The three years at boarding school I went to them wriggling from the speeches of love, sexually explicit comments to horrify some of my comrades in full hormonal storm and especially to avoid the punishment, the epitome of the ridiculous, the apotheosis embarrassment: the game of the bottle. Not even lent me a trip. True to the line.
I did not care no, I did not like anybody and therefore I would not kiss anyone, not even on the cheek.
Then something happened after the eighth grade exam. It was muggy summer. The prospect of a summer without my staggering tasks of titanium armor and I awarded a round of the game of perdition " game but I did not put the language ." It was nevertheless a step forward.
In high school I can not say that the situation has improved substantially.
For the first year I just found that some males were not so bad. In particular, one of fifth. Curls and glasses. He was a forerunner nerd, did not know that 10 years after his style had surged. I liked it because it was fifth. And why would never have noticed me. And this simply because I would never, ever done anything that happened the other way. A perfect taproot, which included neither satisfaction nor disappointment. We lived on two parallel planets. no involvement or emotional nor physical.
In second one I made the plunge. I agreed to go out with a guy from third with very wide shoulders, blacks hair and brown eyes. An ordinary guy. We met at the school athletics. I always won, and winning like . He played basketball and was very unpleasant. Do not know why I chose him. We went out once. It was raining that God sent her. I, who have always considered the umbrella of an object unbearable, aesthetically unpleasant and socially out of the way (an umbrella head separates two forces in an umbrella) was waiting under the deluge. He showed up with the largest umbrella of Eurasia and a pair of rain boots. "Input: loser. Output: get rid of as soon as possible, "he said. We took a tour of the historic center and planted it after 800 meters. Before I left I snatched a kiss which I did last breath in a nanosecond, before run screaming. It happened near the shop of my uncle. I spent a night in disgust and paranoia. Surely someone had seen me. I told myself that the game was not worth the candle, not worth the discomfort the person. I lifted the phone and told him that our story was over. It lasted about 24 hours.
was the beginning of the end. The spucinìo. I began mercilessly to claim victims. My friend Laura trembled whenever I communicated that I liked someone. "No, Viola, is not true. In 3 days you will be horrible. " "Lau, I swear, I like that .." and the prophecy of Laura as always manifested itself in all its destructive power. We began to keep count. We got to the point that I decided that maybe it was better to take a vacation from sex male.
came grunge depressive phase. I was too busy to bask in my existential torment to worry about my love life.
passed that stage I started to attend a boy who waited for months without me my comfortable pressure. We won to fall in love and suffer like a dog for my continuing turnaround. I liked today, tomorrow I do not like. But it was the first time I heard the words I LOVE YOU. I went completely haywire. And I began my inexorable march over the dead bodies of poor boys who became silly women in my eyes.
began to show, however, a certain sensitivity. During our first release already did an overview of their what would have been: look, do not be attached to it. Today there are no more tomorrow. "It is because you have not found the right one," I repeated my friends. He had become a mantra. My alibi. They were right. No one was right. I stood alone for months, years. On the other hand I enjoyed like crazy and I drew a sigh of relief when I heard some friends in a crisis of love. Problems that were not touching me. I considered a force. Do not depend on anybody, again neither physically nor emotionally.
was at that time that one of my best friends left her old boyfriend after a history of 5 years. After I feel a little 'guilty as I know that I was certainly totally responsible. But the carefree decantai singletudine so that blesses me as I listened to the strength of my arguments.
Then the university, the new life in Siena. Pure fun, without any ambiguity or promiscuity. I learned to be happy. I was no longer a tank. I had my balance, my closet, my friends. A boy, maybe the right one, would be the icing on the cake. At Siena I was just a kid, I met a few months before leaving for Erasmus. "The less time suitable to establish romantic relationships" will my faithful readers. Not necessarily, I would add. It worked. Because I was not more than a tank. I did not have anything to run from. I lived my life great. Erasmus student in Paris, then made off to Siena. No worries. A decidedly lighthearted period that lasted just long enough to let me take a new rampage. To leave again. For America this time. In hindsight I must say that it was a delicate gesture. I applied for a scholarship without even ask him why in my heart I knew that his opinion would have no effect on my decision.
There was something mystical in this journey. As with many of the spiritual pilgrimage in India, the period is envisaged Yorker bring much revolutions. And so it was. Passing over
feeling of home that I felt just landed at JFK, and the total freedom and enthusiasm with which this past semester, The Big Apple gave me another gift: Love.
Ok, my every attempt not to fall into trappolone Sex and the City goes to fuck off, but it's exactly what happened.
While I had great prejudices against him, he could not bear me. Noisy and disorderly. Also to gesticulate. Sparasentenze and egocentric. So I saw, and therefore I avoided like the plague. If you organize a night with friends, certainly not inviting me. In response to
I just started to ignore it. It was not nice. He did not speak, or rather, not talking to me. He always had that look annoyed and cold. Too Swedish . Then, like a bolt from the blue, a few weeks of the end (of course) radically changed his mind and informed me the no frills, raising his head from the book. And without even giving me time to respond rificcò head between pages. Too Swedish . For a good week forced me to reset the evening. Embarrassing. Unsettling. I hate to try and offset embarrassment. It begins already bad. Then I say, but who cares. Let's try.
And under the astonished eyes of my friends began the historical metamorphosis. Not that I have turned into a sentimental and cloying Squinzi eh, do not exaggerate. The key word is "planning" . No need for large demonstrations and sensational acts. I have done at times in the past and all have turned out to be based on .. Nothing is absolute, the crap aesthetics.
Here it is not horrified at the thought of making plans. Even in the long term. Share with a walk together. Great great stuff. This is love.
Ok, the passion. Ok infatuation. But life is not only embraces the physical and emotional. I am assuming you want to feel good. Some say that women are attracted to assholes. Error, big nonsense. The bastards attract me, yes, if a fit of slapping approach counts as love. No thanks. Carrie takes musate in the face by Big 3 bets each and bea their torment by writing a column on Daily Star. I honestly find it the apotheosis of masochism and, no thanks, not for me. I have found someone to feel good. Be 100% yourself, and do it together. Love is sharing. Everything. Physically and emotionally. Finally.
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