ITALIAN SPEAKINGMy shoes today are an object: look at the metal, silvery heels. Now look at him, my most faithful slave. Here he is ready, with his soft flab that serves no other purpose. I climb on him with ease. I pierce him where I please. Straight on him, incurable of his labored breathing and moans, I stroke my hair. Then I get off , deluding him that its over, but instead I spring back up, arrogant as I am, a little bitchy even. I ravage him: look what Ive reduced him to at the end. A gruyere. A map of red marks and holes. A being devoid of any will ,a piece of meat at my disposal
