I’m in a bedroom full of mirrors with D., a very beautiful woman. Truth is it’s not really me but my avatar. In real life I’m on a train to Milan but I’m thinking about last night: Trucione got me to wear Oculus, the virtual reality glasses. And I’m making out with D., my first lesbian experience, albeit virtual; she is very good, she moves with competence, I’m definitely goofy. She strokes me all over especially my erogenous areas. It crazy, it’s not real but it feels as if my body were actually there. She gets down on me with her tongue and I cum (for real).
I’m in Milan. I send a message to the newspaper guy I’m gonna meet so I grab a taxi to go to the center of town. I see girls in every corner, influencer wannabes constantly followed by a professional photographer. I leave my suitcases in the hotel room; I have to teach a lesson on Brand Journalism. I love to teach. Every time I try transfer something that goes beyond the subject: self-confidence and a will to change the world, I feel like Professor Keating on the Dead Poet Society (well, a female version of him).
Ethiopia. As the class ends I go with my friend C. for lunch, our choice today is sushi. As soon as my tempura arrives and I’m dipping my prawn into the soy sauce, I receive a call: it’s the newspaper guy. He asks me if we could meet in the center, in front of a Starbucks in piazza Cordusio. Reluctantly I leave my prawn. I dash to my appointment. He is there. There are 115 types of coffee in Starbucks, I choose Ethiopia Bitta Farm (aromatic nuances, from jasmine to ginger). I’m expecting an interesting working proposal but he goes straight to the point.
Dumbness. “I like the way you write … but right at this point I need to ask you a question” I, still hungry, don’t seem to understand: “Which one?” he insists: “C’mon, it’s easy”. I am still thinking of my prawn dipped in soy sauce: “honestly I don’t understand”. And he goes: “do you fuck as good as you write?”. I’m no longer hungry.
(to be continued)
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