He started thinking of his slutty look, his thin dark lips always pulled taut across a smile, that never failed to be in his face. It was not his idea to begin these thoughts nor his idea to continue them. It was just brewing within, without a due reason. But now that he was in the middle of it he seemed not to have the energy to escape. A fatalism has taken him over. It was a kind of sickness. Let the sickness take its course? Was he impatient? Did he really want to be intimate with that "exosome"? He marvelled that he used the same word the girl used. Was there any substantial reason to use that same word? Did she intervene to intermediate something? Was she announcing to him it was the time to let down his guard or was she offering herself to him? He started thinking again of the exosome. He seemed easy and uncomplicated, a little shallow. Passive. And this excited him. He blushed. He felt disappointed to admit he was excited at the idea of sexual intercourse with him. A b...
Laboratorio di scrittura