Come on, honey: what is this sweet something you want me to make for you? Give it a name.
I can't do it, sorry.
Okay, so I'll do it: would you like me to give you a blowjob? Or would you settle for a handjob?
Gianni, what the hell, how do you express yourself??? You're ruining all the poetry of the moment!!!
In fact, it is prose, my angel, not poetry. Do you prefer scientific terminology? Do you want me to use Latin?
No, thanks, forget it: it would be even worse.
How do those sweet things seem to you now?
Honestly, Gianni, you made them seem really squalid to me.
Because they are, darling: just saying their name was enough.
Gianni, I don't know what to say…
Let's talk about homosexual relationships you've had in the past: how did you feel at the beginning?
At least in one case I was full of enthusiasm. In the other it was a strange story, which fortunately translated into a great friendship.
But you were the one who broke off the relationship in both cases, right?
Yes, I broke it, or I caused the breakup.
What went wrong in those relationships? And did that something that went wrong come before or after sex?
After.
See? You have already given yourself the answer. You are not made for this kind of experience, my darling, for everything that dirties you and brings you down. Your soul rebels and protests.
But I'm not even made for the mediocrity of so-called normal relationships, Gianni: I tried and it went terribly. With girls I don't love I don't even feel anything physically, I get bored.
Of course, love, because even those relationships bring you down, or rather, they leave you there: you are in matter and in matter you remain, you never take flight. And the soul needs to fly.
Yes, that's exactly right.
This alone should be enough to make you understand that we can't just have sex as if nothing had happened: for me, you're not a one-night stand, otherwise I wouldn't have all these problems, just like I haven't had them with others.
But now you're making me jealous. Why did you do that to others?
Because there is a beast inside me, like inside everyone.
And this beast is not attracted to me?
She's attracted, but I silence her.
But why, Gianni?
Because unfortunately I really love you.
And why do you say unfortunately?
Because our relationship can't become a stable one: if it were possible I would want it with all my heart, but it's not possible. There are a thousand reasons that prevent it: the first is the fact that I'm already with a man, who has been my partner for many years.
Massimiliano?
Yes. I cheated on him several times, just as he cheated on me: on top of that, he's bisexual, so there were also some women, a great humiliation for me. But we never broke up, because our bond is deep. If I were with you, I would be forced to leave him, because you're not an adventure like many others.
Really?
Really. The second reason is the age difference, which is huge between us. At your age you never take into account a whole series of things.
Gianni, I don't care about the age difference, seriously: I love everything about you.
Be careful, darling: you don't love me, you love the fact that I love you. That's very different. You desperately need to be loved, to be admired, to be seen for who you are: I see you exactly for who you are, and that's what you love, not me.
No, it's not like that. What you say is partly true, but it's not just that: I love every wrinkle of yours, I love your slightly gray hair, I love the smell of your bitter aftershave, I love your smile, your surreal way of joking, of always being over the top, of flying over reality as if you weren't part of it. You have the charm and nonchalance of a gentleman from another era, a sort of Oscar Wilde. 
Thank you for these beautiful words, darling, but you know, you like all this because for now I can still somehow keep myself together and seem like something decent: but in a few years the time will come when I will have to wear dentures, have terrible breath, be forced to go to the bathroom every two minutes because of prostatitis, or wear diapers and other degrading things like that. You wouldn't stand for them, and I would never accept inflicting them on you.
Gianni, if one loves, one can tolerate this too.
Tolerating is not loving, my dear, and I have no intention of being tolerated by you. I know too well what I'm saying, believe me. You see, I loved Massimiliano madly: he's a little older than me; I was a high school student when I met him, a fairly ordinary boy, while he was a wonderful '68 barricade rider with a black lion mane, he shouted "Free Vietnam" through a megaphone, he wore those checked flannel shirts that were worn by alternative people, with an eskimo over them, and I lost my head as soon as I saw him: love at first sight, the kind that kills you.
Your Massimiliano reminds me a little of someone.
One of your exes, I assume.
Yeah.
But now many years have passed, he has gained weight and become saggy, he has lost a lot of hair, he should decide to get dentures, he is always in a bad mood, he is angry with the whole world because 1968 didn't change a damn thing and he paints horrible pictures throwing buckets of red paint in the faces of the Madonnas of the Florentine Quattrocento, a horrifying thing that simply expresses his anger and his frustration. I, on the contrary, live for beauty, I photograph subjects like you, medieval churches and castles. I deeply respect beauty, I would never allow myself to deface or ridicule it. In my opinion his paintings are disgusting, even if I would never tell him so. Luckily the critics like them.
I understand, Gianni.
Anyway, I still love him, little marmot, but only because when I met him he was so different: if I knew him now I would run away, and believe me, it is terrible to say something like that about someone you loved so much. When I look at him I try to see my great love again climbing the barricades with his magnificent black hair in the wind and the megaphone in his hand, but every day I have a harder time remembering him like that. Besides, what do you want, I certainly can't leave him now that he's aged and ugly.
Of course, Gianni, you are absolutely right. The problem is all mine, and it is a problem as big as a house.
Meaning what?
I have experienced sex in a sublime way, and I miss that so much. I especially miss abandoning myself completely, as I did in the early days with that woman; I miss letting see what I have inside, letting see what is beautiful in me and that emerges especially in those moments. Or rather emerged: it hasn't happened for a long time. I can't let myself go anymore, but I feel like I desperately need it.
I totally understand your mood, chick.
I was hoping… or rather, I was sure that with you it could happen. You are the right person to appreciate these things and I would have really liked to let you see them.
Love, I am without a doubt the right person to appreciate your beauty. But you see, I have no need to prove it physically: I know how you are in those moments, I don't need to see you. I know that you are beautiful. I see your eyes getting lost, I hear your sighs, I see your mouth opening in a smile as if you were crossing the threshold of Heaven to throw yourself into the arms of an angel.
Yes, I feel exactly like that in those moments.
Listen to what I tell you, darling, and never forget it: if now the two of us can stay embraced like this in this bed all night, you will carry with you for the rest of your life the memory of a great love. Otherwise we will destroy everything in exchange for a few moments of pleasure.
I feel like I'm experiencing the finale of Plato's Symposium.
Yes, I know: the night of Socrates and Alcibiades, “golden weapons for bronze weapons” and so on. But that’s exactly how it is, love, believe me. And now close your eyes and imagine that what you desire is happening right now. I see you and I hear you, you are not alone.
Yes, Gianni… it's happening… and it's... beautiful…
I know, my angel… I feel it.
(The next morning, as the two walk through the snow toward the car)
So, how is my little marmot feeling this morning?
Very good: fresh and rested.
I feel great too, darling, because now I'm sure we can see each other again. It would have been a disaster for me not to be able to see you again.
For me too. Thanks for everything, Gianni: it was a beautiful experience.
You're welcome: thanks to you…
(They get in the car and leave)
I'll be back in France next week for another photoshoot, this time on the French Riviera. Swimwear.
Oh yeah? And with whom?
A couple of interesting males. Brunettes though: they have to be tanned, and with skin like yours it takes weeks to get anything resembling a tan.
You'll find some excuse to stop and sleep there, I suppose.
I don't know, maybe. It depends on what time it is.
Gianni, damn…
Yes sweetie?
I hate you.
Why?
Leave it alone, you understand perfectly well.
Don't worry, little marmot, I won't do those bad things you're thinking.
Oh no?
No.
And why?
Because my heart is already busy.
Of course, I know: with Massimiliano.
No, love. With you. But don't tell anyone.