My name is Alessandro Ferrari. I am 45 years old. I live in Offanego, Italy, not too far from Milan, and I have coronavirus.
The government has quarantined me for 14 days. I am not allowed to leave the house. I can’t go to work. I can order groceries over the phone and they are left outside my door. I can’t make any money. I can only attempt to spend as little as possible, and hope to make it out alive. Every other day, I call a doctor, report my temperature. So far, I can breathe, I can walk, I don’t need to be hospitalized.
It’s been 6 days so far and I am going crazy. The boredom. The loneliness. I can call my family. I can text my friends. It’s not the same. The news is always the same. The entire country is locked down. Nobody goes anywhere. The silence on the streets is eerie, jarring. The weather is gloomy. I can’t even open my windows to let the fresh air in.
There’s only so many things one can do to pass the time. Reddit is a trusted friend to me. I can read stories. I can upvote, leave comments. Chat. Most people don’t believe me nor my story. They think it’s a lie. I am looking for attention.
But you, you believed me. You believed my story. And we became friends. You were one of the top posters on a selfie subreddit. As cute as sunshine, as free as the wind. One of the things you miss during a quarantine is, undeniably, sex. My girlfriend is not allowed to visit me. And even if she was, she got stuck on the other side of the country. I may not see her for weeks. Months maybe. Italy is now a million microcosms, a million small scale realities, disconnected one from the other: the only constant the occasional sirens of ambulances or the police questioning the lone passerby. “Documenti” they scream.
You listened to me. You listened to all of it. To my loneliness. To my fears. To my boredom. To my hunger. And, let’s be honest, you listened to my arousal. I told you all about my feelings. And you listened to me. You believed me.And you cared about me. Even though I could almost be your father, you became my peer, my loyal and trusted quarantine friend.
You stayed up late to keep me company, to help me through the long tedious hours. Despite my poor English, oh if only I had paid more attention in school, you helped me learn, and you offered your listening ear.
Until this evening, when you offered me more. When you offered me as much of you as you could.
“How’s it going with those feelings?” you asked
“Which ones?”
“You know.. you know.. the horny ones ;)”
“Well, they’re there.. you know. I’m not old enough to call it quits on sex quite yet” I told you
You sent me a link. To a picture. I clicked on it. It was you. Undeniably you. But naked. As naked as a woman could be.
I could see your soft gentle smile.
The wavy curve of your dark blonde hair.
And I could see what your selfies has hidden.
Your petite perky breasts in full display, your tiny pink areolas, your nipples, bare for me to gaze upon. I zoomed in. I could see the freckles on your chest. I could almost feel what it would feel like to touch your skin.
I could see your thighs, I could see your thick bush of hair, I could see your legs slightly spread,leaving very little to the imagination. I could almost imagine what it would feel like to let my face feast on your juicy pussy.
“Why?” I asked you. Even though I had confessed so much of me to you, there had never been a hint of anything sexual between us. You are 21, I am 45, how could there be anything sexual? You live in Wisconsin, I live in Italy, how could there be anything sexual? Plus my girlfriend. Everything said no. But those pixels, your body, that all said yes.
“Why not?” you answered almost immediately, “there’s no shame, right? Did you like it?”
You know I did. Of course you do. What man wouldn’t?
“Well, good. What did you like about it?”
I gulped. I didn’t know what to say? Was I supposed to give out a vivid description? Was “everything” the right answer? Maybe it was the isolation, but I had forgotten all about seducing a girl. “I liked you” I said. My how banal!
“I know you did, silly. But that’s so vague. So boring. Give it some color. Give it that good Italian passion :)” you told me
Italian passion? Oh, I see. I had a stereotype to live up to. All our people are poets, lovers, magicians of seduction, kings of the written word, tamers of passion and of women.
“I liked how your smile is both so innocent and so dirty. It speaks of a girl that could cook you a nice dinner and then ravage your body with gusto in the span of a moment. I liked how your hair gets ever so close to your tits but doesn’t quite reach. Like it’s teasing you. Like you would yearn the sensation of a caress, but you are denied it time and again. It feels like your nipples would become perfect little pebbles as soon as that touch finally gets to you. I can imagine your back arch. I can imagine your body quivering. And I just love that you keep a bush down there. It makes me happy. Even here, the girls don’t anymore. Shave shave shave. But you let nature do what nature does. It tells me something about you.”
“And what does that tell you?”
“It tells me that you fuck like a crazy bitch” I answered. Brutal, maybe. But honest, yes.
“Do you like fucking crazy bitches?” you followed up
“What man doesn’t? It’s how we get in trouble.”
“Do you want to fuck me?”
It’s not like I hadn’t noticed you’re pretty. It’s not like I had never thought of it. But I had never thought of doing it. It’s one of those thoughts that can’t quite happen. For a million reasons. Age. Geography. Quarantine. Girlfriend. But now that it had been articulated, now that the thought was out there, yes, yes, I did, I wanted to fuck you. My cock sure did. For it was hard in my pants.
I unzipped them. Took a picture of the throbbing erection, barely contained by my underwear. And I sent it to you. “What do you think?”
“I think you need to release that tension”, you started writing. “Sit down. Relax. Don’t say a word. Don’t write. Just read. And do.” you wrote.
And a moment later, the messages started flowing
“Take it out of your pants. Yes, like that, Just take it out. Wrap your hand around it. Don’t stroke. Don’t move. No thrusting your hips!”
You gave it a minute. As if you could anticipate I wouldn’t immediately obey. As if you could see me in my quarantine prison, hesitating, being indecisive, mulling it over. Eventually, I capitulated. Fuck it. I was horny. I wanted it so fucking bad. I did as you told me. I took my cock in my hand. No stroking. No thrusting.
“Think of my picture now. Think of those little nipples. Imagine them hard. They get really hard. They’re so sensitive. I moan and whimper when they get hard. Imagine your tongue licking them. Take your tongue out. Lick them. Do it.”
I did. I was like hypnotized. I took my tongue out. I licked the air as if it was your nipples.
“Good. Caress the tip of your cock. Caress the foreskin. Does it feel sensitive? Does it make you horny? That’s how my nipples feel like. I wish you could see them now. So hard”
“Show me” I wrote back, my whole body aching with desire
“Bad boy. No writing” you told me
“Fine, just this once” immediately followed. And there it was. A photo. I opened it. It was your nipples. Hard. Two little pebbles. Hard as rocks. I loved them. I wanted to bite them. Suck them. Lick them. I wanted to taste your skin, feel every inch of it. I wanted to make you moan and whimper.
“No more writing, you bad boy. I write. You do. Caress the foreskin for me.” you continued after a brief pause
I did. I caressed it. It felt moist. Precum oozing from it, thick and juicy.
“I bet your dick is hard and moist”. How did you know? But you did. It’s almost like you could see me. Almost like you were here
“Now stroke it. Gently. Once. Twice. Three times. Stroke it very slowly. Even slower”
It was torture. Pleasure. But torture. I wanted to pound. To fuck like a machine. But you told me to go slow. So slow. And yet I felt like I could have cum at a moment’s notice.
“You want to cum so bad. I know you do. It’s been days. Your balls are full. You can almost feel it. You can feel the cum ready to gush out. Where would you cum? On my tits? On my belly? Would you cum in my mouth? My hair? I haven’t shown you my ass. Maybe you could cum there. You would need to stroke it a few more times. Just a bit harder. And you could cum on my ass. Would you like that? My tiny ass, so soft, so smooth”
I did. I wanted all of that. Everything you said was honey to me. Every place you named, I wanted to cum there. I wish I had infinite orgasms to give you. But I only had one, and it was getting closer by the moment. Every soft gentle stroke of my cock was delight and torture. I wanted to cum. But I felt like I had to wait for you to say so. I didn’t want to disappoint you.
But you knew. Of course you knew. You sent me a picture. Your pussy. Wide open. Your legs stretched. Your body so perfect. So made for love. “Cum inside me. That’s what I really want.” were your only words. And I did. I came inside you. Or it felt like that. It was really my hand. Gush after thick gush of cum streamed down my hand, too hard to contain, it spurted all over the place. I came for you. And it felt like I came in you. Like you wanted.
You gave me a few minutes to clean up. How polite. How understanding. How respectful. And then you texted me again. “I have to go to work now. But let’s do it again tomorrow. Same time.” and you logged off
And now, I am looking forward to the next day of my quarantine. I have coronavirus. But I also have you. And together, we’ll be ok.
Source: reddit.com/r/eroticliterature/comments/fg8652/m_mast_f_la_dolce_vita