It is the first day of class in Verdan. Arno has freshly arrived from Falnë, and he sits down shyly at the back of the amphitheatre as the room fills with students. He observes other people. They all come from different nations, have different skin colours and facial expressions. He wonders if he will be able to make himself friends, if he will be capable of growing out from his shyness. His attention is suddenly captured by a newly arrived girl. As she enters the class, he starts following her with his gaze. She has deep eyes, and a beautiful face, and she is tall and slender, as tall as he is. She walks lithely, energetically. There is something in her energy that attracts Arno very much. She wears a green shirt and beige pants, and her clothes seem to indicate a research for comfort allied with an innate elegance. Her curves are perfectly proportioned for him, and highlighted by her clothes. She’s smiling a slight smile too, and in her smile there is merriness and freedom and curiosity and depth and a bit of shyness too. But overall she seems very confident in herself. As she comes closer Arno notices her eyes are very dark, contrasting with her fair hair. He feels his body strangely responding to hers, as if there was a sort of gravitational pull emanating from her. He has never felt that in his life, never been with a girl in Falnë, never even kissed or been interested. Somehow his body felt blocked, locked. But now, there is something different. As if his body was very much open to this girl. She continues to come closer, and suddenly she seems to notice he is looking, staring at her, and she looks back at him. At first with a little bit of defiance, but as Arno smiles to her she smiles back, and oh surprise, she comes and sits on the free seat close to him. He feels his face blushing and his body becoming very warm. He feels a pull to touch her, to make sure she is real, her face, her body, but for now he refrains his impulse. The lesson starts but Arno can’t do anything else but trying to catch glances of his beautiful and mysterious neighbour. Everything in her bears the right harmony for him, from the way her hair dance when she moves her head, to her lithe hands that make dancing movements in the air, and her handwriting that is the most beautiful he has ever seen. Her letters look like carved embroidery, they are fine and fast and spontaneous and alive. She is left handed and that adds too a layer to her mystery. Sometimes she stops writing and look into his eyes, and their eyes lock for a moment and Arno smiles to her and she smiles back. Her smile is so beautiful, filling her face and his heart with mirth, her lips so inviting, and suddenly Arno feels a strong longing to kiss her and he starts observing her lips, the way they move, filling her face with life. He feels like caressing and kissing her ears too that have exactly the right proportion and seem very vulnerable too, inviting for kisses. He then looks at her fine, elegant neck, and her breasts, and he feels a strong impulse to touch her, to caress her, to press his body on hers. She holds herself very upright on her chair, and he looks at the shape of her back too, and how fine is her waist, how well shaped are her shoulders. And there, in the middle of her pants, Arno feels a presence, a longing to be filled, a longing to be inside of her, with her. He feels a call from her body to his. He wants to grab her, hold her by the waist, to caress her back, to kiss her mouth and her breasts and her neck, and even the thought of kissing her between her legs does not disgust him at all, at the contrary he feels like he wants to awaken her entire body to pleasure and completeness. He can’t stop looking at her. And her eyes, oh her eyes, the depth he sees in them is infinite. He could look into her eyes for hours without being bored. But there is all the rest of her body too that appeals to him so much. Slowly, unconsciously he shifts a little bit on his seat to come closer to her. The closer he comes, the more warmth he feels. Strangely, he is not embarrassed to be so attracted to her, not embarrassed by the growing bump in his pant, not embarrassed by the shivers that run through his body. It is like all his past embarrassment and blockages disappear with her, because she seems, feels, tastes the exact right woman for him. Suddenly Arno is not anymore ashamed or embarrassed to be a man, behave as a man. He looks again at her, their eyes lock, he’s very close and he feels her mouth pulling his. The gap is breached and their lips meet. The world stops spinning around. It is the strongest sensation Arno has ever felt. This sensual contact of her skin with his is breathtaking. Her lips on his lips. Arno feels something indescribable, and when they open their lips slightly and their tongues meet, he can’t refrain from moaning. It’s like if during all his life he had been amputated, deprived, of something as precious as oxygen and suddenly he breathes again. It’s the most delicious thing he has ever tasted, filling all his senses with its marvels. It tastes as the sweetest thing he has ever tasted, and his scent too is filled, and his eyes are fulfilled, and the touch, oh the touch of her skin on his, and even his ears somehow participate to the feast, as everything has grown silent but the melody of his heart. And suddenly, Arno hears her name. She doesn’t speak herself, but an innate, intimate knowledge sings her name in him. Syrtanyelle. Syrtanyelle. He says her name aloud. She looks deep into his eyes. Arnyel. A shiver runs deep in his body when she calls him this way. She has called him in the ancient Melroel way. Arnyel, she repeats as they continue kissing uncaring of what happens around them. And then Arno dares to do what he longed for and he grabs her hips, caress them, and comes even closer from her, and Syrtanyelle too starts caressing his chest, going down his stomach to his manhood. Her hands bring fire and snow on his skin. They make each of his cells want to dance. And he continues to follow his instincts and pulls her closer, and now her breasts touch his chest, and it is the most delicious caress. They kiss a long, full kiss. They hold one another’s faces with their hands, caress each other as if to make sure it all is real. There is a lot of tenderness in each of their gestures. They kiss and kiss and caress each others with each part of their bodies. They look around them but they are not anymore in class. They are on a beautiful meadow. The air is mild, not hot nor cold, and they hear the crashing of waves nearby and see the immensity of the ocean superimposed to the green immensity of plains and hills and mountains in the distance. They smile to one another an uncontrollable smile that becomes a laugh, and kiss again. Now Arno can’t resist anymore and he starts unclothing Syrtanyelle with fury, and she does the same with him. Arnyel, Arnyel, she softly says. Arno starts kissing her on her womanhood and she moans with pleasure, and the more pleasure she has the more beautiful she becomes. Arno wants to take care of her like he never wanted to take care of anyone. He kisses and licks her on her stomach, her navel, that precious remainder telling the story from where she came, and Arno wants to cherish her entirely. He kisses and caresses her breasts, her chest, her shoulders, and even under her arms. He feels love for each part of her body. Then he kisses her on the cheek and slowly comes toward her mouth, and there when their lips meet again their worlds shatter and merge. Syrtanyelle too comes over him and kisses him in all places even giving love to his legs, to his knees and to his feet, and that make Arno cry of pleasure and joy. She then comes to kiss him on his mouth and now Arno starts feeling an urgency to possess her entire body. He sees her breasts, her stomach, her womanhood, her shoulders, her legs that all look so inviting to him. He takes her head, caresses her while kissing her lips, her mouth. Their soul touches, embraces, merges. He feels her clitoris pressed on his penis, her legs pressed on his legs, all her body yearning for his, completing his curves with hers, filling him, filling her. He tries to feel the pleasure of his legs, of his feet that touch hers, of his stomach and his chest complemented by hers, of his head and his shoulders caressed by her hands. And he also feels her pleasure, he sees his face as she sees him, his intense eyes, his beauty, his sweetness, the tenderness and the love she feels for him. He feels the intense pleasure of her breasts, that of her clitoris and her vagina that longs to be filled with warmth, that of her long, elegant legs and that of her feet. They have stepped in a reality of pleasure and completeness. They kiss and kiss and embrace and caress and hug and then of a common agreement, their two bodies merge and Arno comes into Syrtanyelle and she comes into him. He feels his pleasure but also hers, this intense pleasure to be entirely filled, fulfilled. They cry and breathe deeply and kiss, and their kiss is even sweeter, even fuller. The grass around them dance and sing and they breathe the air of the sea laden with salt. A few clouds stroll in the sky casting their little moving shadows on the grass. Arno and Syrtanyelle start moving rhythmically. Their bodies dance with one another, and the intensity builds up and increases. Their kisses are unrefrainable, their thoughts completely lit by the colours of pleasure, their eyes entirely focused by their counterparts. There are so many layers of pleasure, so much depth. They smile and smile and kiss and caress and hug and grab one another with violence, desire, sensuality, they have the brutality of the ocean and the sweetness of meadow grass to them, and the loving caresses of the sunrays of spring. Their dance becomes faster and faster and faster until when everything becomes pleasure, and for a moment they are one and the same, for a moment they are entirely together, merged. For a moment Arno is Syrtanyelle and Syrtanyelle is Arno. They cry and shout and scream and laugh, as their dance quiets down and their breathing is still so, so fast. They start laughing, laughing like they have never laughed in their entire life. They quiet down. When after a long time their hearts have started beating normally again, they start walking in the grass and marvelling at the beauty of things around and dancing lithely in the wind. They cannot refrain from smiling and smiling at one another. They know one another’s thoughts, they feel one another’s heart. They know they both desire to build a house there, in that place of timelessness and unleash together all their potential of creation. With her left hand and his right hand, they want to create worlds, to invent stories, to write with one another, to one another, and have this wonder seizing them every day that passes. And they want to live this togetherness again and again every day, as their bodies never grow used or bored by one another. At the contrary, the more beautiful the prose and the poetry, the drawing and the paintings and the songs they create, the richer, the deeper, the fuller their embrace, their longing for one another, as each day they rediscover one another’s body, expression of one another’s infinity.
And so our story starts my dear… It is your turn to write its next chapter.