Erotic, Ironic, Somewhat Spacey Chronicles: Sexual Fantasies, Cravings, Perversions, Betrayals

By Lorenzo Longo

Seven short stories exploring as many aspects of male and female sexuality. Space-Time, a dreamlike and surreal journey, on a train and in the mind, between desires and perversions. Perfumes of Roses, romantic and sweet but with a punch in the stomach at the end. Lu, a woman with particular tastes. Virgo, the beauty of breaking down barriers to pleasure. Madam, a woman as beautiful as a dream, uninhibited, willing, involved, but... Plastic Calm, a raw and sexual tale, without too many words to go around. Finally America, a bastard male, cynical, even self-mocking, but straight to the point. Tales not for dreaming but for smiling and reflecting.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Tektime
• Release date: Nov 5, 2023
• ISBN: 9788835451952

Book preview

SPACE-TIME

I was on the train going to Milan, breathing the usual train air, a mixture of depression and loneliness, too close to Puglia not to feel the lack of friends and places, too far from the destination to feel euphoric about returning 'home'. At every station the same spectacle. Sweethearts canoodling before breaking up, families accompanying their fathers, groups of hard-working people with duffle bags and hands with fingers the size of cucumbers, groups of concept workers exorcising their undeniable status as emigrants by dressing smartly and handling the latest electronics and above all holding a reservation for a comfortable berth and not just a seat.

I, always hovered between observation and life in the present, modulated my emotions by switching from one state to the other, and after the first hour of the journey I felt projected into another space-time dimension. The train was disengaging from the tracks and flying like in that Galaxy Express 999 cartoon, and similarly all the guests felt projected into a reality with different rules, habits, and desires.

My journey had a few fixed stages. At first I read my book trying to avoid chatting with the other travellers, then I would stay outside the compartment in the corridor watching and scrutinising new arrivals, their movements, then long walks in the other carriages looking for familiar faces or female faces... The novelty of the women's berth had populated the trains with girls but they shut themselves up in their bunkers jealous of their apartheid status, then there were the carriages of seats, also populated by boys and girls, mostly female students, brave, fearless of the risks of the night train, used to the hard life of the off-roaders. That evening I had preferred to be seated, the incredible variances of the night train population excited me and soon the observer gave way to a cynical researcher of human affairs.

My technique was always the same. At first I would read, abstracting myself to the arrival of the travellers who would share my compartment. Then, when it got full and people wanted to start sleeping (amazing how strong the desire to sleep becomes on the train), I would go out with my book and read in the dim light in the train corridor. In reality my sensors would listen for any emotion, sensation, desire passing nearby... I would wait for some girl to pass by who would like to rub up against me in the narrow corridor (very few). I hoped for some pretty woman to pause in my vicinity, so that I could talk and flirt with her.

After a few minutes, one stopped nearby, a smile, and with an irregular train movement we were close to each other, apologising and shortly afterwards talking. Loredana, a final year student, studying architecture, in Turin. Her boyfriend was in Puglia and she came back regularly to visit him. We chatted a lot and agreed on all sorts of subjects. Our attraction began to grow, and as we talked we let passengers with giant suitcases pass by and often found ourselves leaning against the walls to let them pass and we laughed complicitly. We began to talk intimately and criticise left and right anyone who passed even a kilometre away. Laughing, almost caught up in what in Monopoly is called 'strignila' or ‘squeeze her’ a condition similar to drunkenness, whereby we laughed for nothing but in symbiosis. I touched her shoulders, she took my hands, our mouths are 20cm apart, our legs touched, often a jolt of the locomotive pushed me into her. We found the excuse that we were bothering the sleepers to leave for a quieter place, but we found none. No place satisfied us as we wandered, they are all too crowded.  I threw it out there almost as a joke, eagerness not reflecting that I already had a definite design in mind. 'What if we go to the bathroom?' Laughing, and as if in jest we went in. Soon as the door was closed we exploded into a passionate kiss. She was short, so I had to bend over a lot, without thinking twice she pulled down my trousers. Wearing a light skirt and with a simple gesture she took off her panties, turned around and bent over slightly, I penetrated her with a light thrust. We stopped laughing and enjoyed ourselves intensely. She wasn’t beautiful but an incredible essence of the train hovered in the air, finding her very sexy, her gestures inserted in the context were intense, exciting, that made me take her with real pleasure. I think that on the train the range values change, the aesthetics are deformed as if impressed by the force of a black hole, which distorts, moulds and models with new canons. I had already been enjoying her for several intense minutes, I didn’t want to wait a minute more, but my orgasm has its usual timing, so I continued concentrating on myself and I saw her in the opaque mirror of the train bathroom, dazed and dreamy, her desire had manifested itself unexpectedly and now caught in the fires of passion, sex, the strong sense of the unexpected and the unknown, she enjoyed herself, even if she was biting her lips to keep from being heard.

The position wasn’t the most comfortable because of the several centimetres of difference, but on certain occasions the height, I don't know how, always managed not to be a problem. Somehow, holding her leg, then supporting herself on some handhold, the penetration proceeded fluidly, intensely, vividly, progressively. Suddenly, in a dramatic incident, her mobile phone rang.

As if she were on the Enterprise teleporter and had suddenly been teleported into another dimension I saw her de-materialise, where for a few more moments out of inertia she continued to move at my pace but she was already absent, and a few more thrusts and she shirked penetration.  The rubbing of her outer parts perhaps caused her some last and intense manifestation of pleasure, but she felt it in her body, not in her head, she quickly dressed, tidied up, as if her boyfriend were not on the phone but outside the bathroom, and with a lightning gesture she came out leaving me half naked, with a fiery red penis all wet with her desire but abandoned, sad and desolate...

I didn’t see her again for the whole night, nor did I look