... dear friend, thank you for your lovely reply, believe me, I was waiting eagerly and with a hint of anxiety for your comments. I am not a punctual person, this may be a defect, but can also be a virtue, that of not following a fixed life style but one that can be shared without creating false expectations or broken promises. I should have been born at the turn of the last century when the milder tempo was linked with the pace of horse-drawn buggies or the solar cycle; nowadays it's a race to get everything immediately, no, this isn't the best way to enjoy life if it's worth living. In any case the reason for my failure or slowness in answering is undoubtedly due to destiny which always manages to put itself between me and my wishes, creating a sort of temporary barrier which gives me time to reflect, as though protecting me from possible hasty decisions. For example, if I make a romantic or simply sexual engagement, there arises some sudden necessity, a work problem after maybe months of quiet, the computer breaks down, the cam goes crazy, my cell phone blocked or I miss a plane due to traffic, etc. According to everyone this is only bad luck. Boo! What superficial narrow-minded people, without faces, without thoughts. I'm instead a fatalist and so I think that it's my guardian angel, do you believe in angels, my friend?
In fact I'm sunny and positive and my glass is always half full!
My friends, girlfriends and little sisters who feel they know me well, consider me a person out of the ordinary, a bit strange, at times a little crazy, very different from what I seem at first glance, unexplored, seemingly normal in appearance but not in line with today's standards. I think I am quite unpredictable and do everything I can to emphasize it both in my ways of thinking and acting.
Goodness I don't drink at all and I hate smoking and any form of drug, even in food. Candlelight in the house makes me think of the world of the dead, the needle of a syringe scares me, I faint at the sight of blood, I'm a vegetarian by constitution not conviction, my blood pressure is always minimum at the point of collapse, my heartbeat is practically non-existent, I don't have hallucinations or paranoia, no anxiety, I have an extraordinary vitality, I don't suffer fatigue, don't hate or envy anyone, I wake up smiling, open the window and greet the new day with emotion….and I'm happy to be alive.
Yet there is a deep sadness inside me, and I know the reason perfectly well, but it will remain hidden inside my secret place.
Note well that I have never killed anything, not even a fly, maybe some mosquitoes that bothered me. Only once I involuntarily hurt a mouse, and I felt bad for quite a while just at the thought of those two little eyes watching me while it died.

After the events that I related to you, I met the doctor several times because he wanted to check on my health and also to give me some good news. He came to me and didn't want me to go to his studio since his secretary would never have let me in, you know how the upper classes protect themselves. One day he came to take me to meet a patient of his who was owner of a chain of hotels with several motel types (by the hour). He was kind of irritable and seemed sickly, but he offered me two job possibilities: night telephone operator in a central hotel or else night chambermaid in a new motel just outside of the city. Guess which one I chose?...obviously the second one, to be a night chambermaid is my life's dream, I think it must be one of the most disgusting and humiliating jobs you can have, after a washerwoman—much worse than being a whore! - Yes, you're right in thinking that I am a fool, from your point of view, but not if you know me well. Why did I choose to clean a room, bed and bathroom that had been used for love-making just minutes before? Well, starting over means beginning from the bottom, in that way the achievement is be more worthwhile, and takes on an absolute value, a reward all my own!
Dirty stained sheets, bathroom with messy traces inside the toilet and pipi outside, often there were used condoms on the wash stand. Around all these indecent traces and odours I couldn't help feeling satisfied for my mission, wipe up this mess and reorder the room to have it clean and sweet-smelling for the next guests. With my work wagon I ran up and down the service corridors of the hotel, I had just a few minutes to clean the moquette, change sheets and pillowcases, clean and disinfect the bathroom, reorder everything---it was a race against the clock, time is money and so I needed to tidy it all up without paying attention to details. It was really a tough difficult job that gave me attacks of fatigue and stomach aches. Being very small and thin, I found it hard work, at times my energy ran out way before dawn, before my shift ended.

I remember that one night I cleaned up 29 rooms and was horribly tired, nauseated but happy to have done it. At the end of my shift, I went or I should say I dragged myself over to the dressing room to change and I sat down on the floor to rest a minute, I felt bad, my head spun, and a terrible nausea made me keep my eyes shut. The women on the day shift, (two of them while I was alone at night), saw me in that state and immediately called the porter who got in touch with my doctor friend. - I only remember coming to in the hospital emergency room with an intravenous in my arm. It wasn't serious, and the doctor assured me that I just needed to rest. Naturally I didn't follow the doctor's advice and the next day I went back to work like nothing happened, I was afraid of losing my job if I didn't show up at the hotel—goodbye paycheck. - After years of hard work, I began to climb back up and redeem my social status, by changing jobs continuously, I managed to leave those humiliating moments behind me forever, I was lucky, but you have to look for luck, it surely doesn't fall out of the sky. I became part of a high fashion atelier which is different from an ordinary boutique. I had crowned a forbidden dream, high fashion and high society, where all is delicate and golden, light and perfumed, transparent and shimmering, I felt a little worried at first but only for an instant since I would have done anything no matter how absurd to remain in that paradise. Because it was really paradise, even though it required being very diligent and always willing and helpful, yet once you gained the respect and trust of the owners and most important the clients, then there were very interesting advantages to be had.

I managed to earn a lot, I bought my first spider that I was crazy about and a really cute apartment. With my savings and together with 5 sisters, who were like a family, we opened a place, “la farfalla” written in Italian in my honour---a sort of private club reserved for trav desperate or not, a sweet, quiet place, not flashy, and not very visible from the street, just a little door with a light in the shape of a butterfly. Usually we met there to spend an evening in friendly company, to relate our experiences, the facts of the day, to exchange advice, get ready for important events, teach and learn the latest make-up techniques, have a drink(only milk or fruit juice for me), joke and have fun, in other words the club's social purpose was to lift up our spirits. No obscenities, no orgies, and pornography was limited to a therapeutic level only when necessary for a psychic repair.
Inside the lights were soft , the colours suitable, the music was good and lightly diffused, divans comfortable, I often enjoyed playing the piano, and then whoever wanted to expressed herself in some sort of show could do so in absolute freedom, some liked to sing, and in this way we spent many memorable moments.

We had installed some computers, we had our own website, we chatted, we had fun with a webcam, just some silly things to spend time together. After several months, someone hinted that we were disturbing, not so much for the noise or people coming and going, but for our presence in the neighbourhood, it seemed that the people who lived in the vicinity didn't appreciate our diversity.
Time passed and winter arrived, the club lost a few of its usual clients, but with all that cold it was understandable. We, the core group, remained there always, in our little cove, of which we were extremely proud, besides being famous. I was maybe somewhat less involved due to my job that sometimes took me away for more than a week at a time.
One Saturday night around 10 o'clock we were all there without any customers so that we were lounging on the divans when first 3 and then 5 big guys came in and started to demand double malt beer and rum, but we didn't have a license to sell alcoholic drinks. They then began to shout and to insult us, afterwards some of them went behind the bar and started breaking bottles and glasses, ------- who was at the cash register got taken and made to kneel on the broken glass and forced to stay there, ------who was fixing our drinks was grabbed by the neck and locked in the bathroom with two of them, another one made us open the cash register and took what little money there was, just a few dollars. He got really mad, started slapping us around and then smashed everything in sight, even the computers. Three sisters tried to stop him but couldn't, and they were brutally attacked, tied up naked to a column in the middle of the room.
I wasn't noticed and managed to hide behind a divan, watching the scene which was starting to degenerate and was becoming more and more dangerous. I tried calling the cops but was to frightened to dial the number. Then someone grabbed me by the hair and dragged me to a table where I was thrown face down, bumping my nose and forehead. When I tried to free myself all at once 5, maybe 10 hands held me down and I couldn't even move a muscle. They forced me to spread open my legs and tore off my body hose and dress, I tried to raise my head but got slapped back down. Still lying face down on the table I tried to roll over but couldn't get up, I was immobilized. I was in a state of terror because I could hear them preparing strange concoctions to stick up my rear end, a plastic bottle filled with who knows what, a sort of monstrous enema. I could hear my sisters screaming, slaps and curse words of every type, glass breaking, objects flung violently on the floor, lights going out, in other words I felt and thought that our place would be destroyed, devastated, sacked and levelled to the ground.
And what would happen to me and my sisters?
I don't want to tell you what happened in those tremendous minutes, but I'll remember it for the rest of my life just like it was yesterday, and then a strange pain and burning, almost pleasant, ran through my body up to my throat causing me to vomit

I was in a state of torpor caused by that enema which had anesthetized my will to react, weakened my muscles, I couldn't speak or hear anything, I was turned over while a big hand grabbed my throat and squeezed it. He was smoking a cigar and blew the thick smoke in my face filling my lungs and making me choke.
This is the end, I thought, now they'll slit my throat like a chicken, the big hand pulled me by the head partly off the table as he held my throat tightly in his grasp, I couldn't breathe anymore, and then I fainted. When I regained my senses I saw a faint light flickering in the room and then silence all around me. I called the sisters in vain, the place seemed deserted. I realized that I was free from that infernal grip which had been so painful and had nearly suffocated me. I smelled an awful stink on me as I slipped slowly off the table, looking around to get my bearings, and then I ran to the bathroom without caring about the disaster, I leaned on the sink and threw up again, then I washed my face and rinsed out my mouth. As I looked at my reflection in the mirror I thought that I was still alive, I had survived, and then I noticed how dirty I was, but there were no traces of blood on me, I rewashed my face, again and again, even putting my head under the faucet where I stayed until my brain got cold. I lifted my head and massaged my aching neck, then I took off the dirty torn clothes and washed myself a little bit.
And my sisters, what happened to them, surely they are also alive? I thought. In the meanwhile I couldn't put on those dirty shredded clothes again, so I sat down naked on the bidet and started to call for help with a feeble voice. After a few minutes…….came into the bathroom, we hugged each other like two survivors and she even had brought me extra clothes as if she already knew what I needed. Then she wanted to help me put on make-up, insisting even when I said no, she wanted to erase all signs of suffering from my face.
I asked her what happened to them while I was being attacked, she smiled and started drying my hair, then she said that the same thing had happened to them….so? I was puzzled. But have those bullies gone away? I asked. Then I thought to myself that something wasn't very clear, ------- was all neat and well made-up, with no signs of suffering on her, next I heard some noise in the room and low voices. So I asked her again what had happened to the other sisters, and who was in the room. She touched my face and kissed me on the lips, “make yourself beautiful” she said, then she smacked my on my naked backside and left the bathroom with a smile, closing the door behind her.

I looked at the clothes she had brought me, underwear and panty hose of good quality, a breath-taking black silk dress, very elegant, designer sandals, a gold necklace with a diamond pendant—everything seemed to come straight from an atelier. But it was all out of place, I didn't understand, maybe there wasn't anything else to wear, in other words my head was spinning with questions and weird thoughts. After about a half hour I finally came out of the bathroom, I was extremely elegant, and I looked around — I was shocked, stunned, amazed, I couldn't believe my eyes.
With wide-open eyes I said out loud “but it isn't possible, it's absurd, it's crazy after everything that's happened.” The place was in perfect order with nothing broken, decorated for a party, lights sparkling all over, and a sweet perfume in the air. My little sisters came running to greet me laughing like idiots and then there were lots of people clapping their hands, and those delinquents who had made such a mess were now all on their knees in front of me asking forgiveness.
I was breathless, then I looked at -------and saw she had no wounds on her legs, not a single one, and at that moment I understood that it had all been a joke—of course! It was really a terrible joke—well organized, and I had fallen for it. I looked up above and saw a banner with the words “what you've always dreamed of, good luck from your naughty girls to remember forever” I was left speechless. I felt a strong emotion inside of me, the nightmare was over, a little tear rolled down my cheek.
The joke was so well organized that it all seemed real to me, but it was too true to be only a joke — of course! Maybe it was more than just a joke, pure acting wouldn't have created enough tension to make that scene so real and so terrifying. I thought about it and started to laugh, and so with tears in my eyes I embraced all my little sisters, the creators of it all, and then I thanked everyone present one by one, I felt truly happy, I was very pleased, like an actress on stage receiving applause—what an emotion!
With joy on my face I began to observe the team of delinquents, a real arsenal of virility, a forbidden attraction for my eyes, but not knowing what to do I hesitated, but was gently pushed into the arms of these muscle men.
I stopped in front of the one who had choked me and hurt me, hurt me very much, and he told me he was very sorry and was ready for the punishment “give me all the slaps you want to, and I'll be your friend forever” he said, and I gave him only one but a strong one and then a big kiss.

And what do you think? That it was only a cruel joke, no instead, it wasn't cruel, my little sisters knew my tastes well and the emotions I love to live, the joy of receiving a gift wouldn't have had the same importance, a really great gift is remembered for always, so it had to be a spectacular adventure in which adrenaline and libido were mixed together to create the exact sensation of living the scene.
More than anything else I have always enjoyed reciting a part unconsciously and receiving strong emotions, not dangerous ones. When I was young my life was always adventurous and sometimes reckless, leaving within me the desire to relive what I felt the first times, from first trips to first experiences, always alone. For this reason now I don't look for pretence in films, almost always violent and bloody, neither do I look for emotions under the effect of synthetic alterations, useless hallucinations, that certainly don't leave good memories, on the contrary they destroy your brain, causing an existential void—“but they are cheap” says someone, “as if life were worthless” I say. In effect, I haven't told you everything so you can try to imagine what really went on, this gift was a true masterpiece, an extremely realistic theatrical representation, where the actors captivate you to the point of making you part of the scene itself. And I, innocent spectator, was in fact captured and forced to recite the leading role just like an actress.
Happy and at last in peace, I sat down at the piano because I felt like creating a bit of atmosphere and wanted to offer, on my part, a little emotion and joy to everyone. So I began to play the best pieces that I knew and ------- started singing as only she can, leaving everyone in stunned admiration.
The party went on until dawn, obviously there were sweets and champagne, meanwhile the place filled up with people, guests and curious passers-by. To our great surprise we saw our neighbours come in, the ones who had refused so obstinately to accept us among them.

Dear friend, am I really so strange and different? Perhaps all there desires are motivated by a sado-masochistic deviation—bull shit—in my case it is only a question of reference points, contrasts and perspectives. You can value the sweet only if you know the salty, the value of pleasure only if you know the weight of suffering, and so in this way you might arrive at sustaining that you can only appreciate life if you know death.
At times you seem to be on the point of death but you come back to reality and see the world from a different angle, even just a remnant of life—but it's worth living.
I think that only through a return, as with a rebirth, can you fully enjoy your life.

A big hug and kiss from Irene

 

.... return to the Diary page