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have carnal contact with me.

He kept telling me that he had never felt what he felt for me, that I was fantastic, wonderful, beautiful, unique.

And each time I came out of it drunk.

And each time he wanted more.

Always more.

"I want to make love to you, I can't resist any longer! When I'm with my wife I think of you, I think I'll go crazy at this rate..."

In his arms everything seemed possible, but thinking back to his requests when I found myself alone, I didn’t feel ready, I didn’t want this last barrier that had remained between us to fall, the last small embankment against a current which was now too violent.

***

I felt a vague sense of guilt towards Filippo

hovering between us, leading me to have sexual impulses that, much more than once I think, had left him surprised if not appalled. To me it seemed that by giving myself to him I could partly silence my feelings of guilt.

One evening after some disinterested sex, done as if by obligation, he turned to me and said:

"You can't have children, you can't make me feel real pleasure... luckily at least you’re able to cook and tidy up the house, otherwise ... "