I once had a boyfriend whom I was used to playing games with to stimulate our love. He finally exceeded the realm of games and played a dirty trick on me.

We were spending a holiday in a small Italian village in the heat of the summer. We had rented a small house in a row along one of the old, quaint, cobblestone streets. We'd often stay in our house until after noon - sleep in, really. We'd then go out to drink our coffees on the town square. After a walk, we would have dinner, meet the village people in the bars and toast to them and their Lambrusco. We'd then retire, midnight time. Inside, we'd be naked and never wear any clothes. The following episode happened after two weeks of this routine.

We were shavers, but had decided to not shave for a few weeks prior to our coming here. (We watched the hairs grow.) The idea was to create a big occasion. This was the night. For our standards, we looked decidedly scruffy, unclean. His chest, his beard, our legs, our armpits, our forearms... Our pubic areas were normally virginally clean and our beautiful genitals clearly visible.

We first had baths, each in isolation, as if meditating in preparation for the event. (The scruffiness did not wash off.) Back together, we massaged each other with musky babyoil so as to prepare the skin in the areas to be shaved. We took our time, taking care that we'd stay aroused but in control. I was first to be oiled, he was next. Both the one administering and the recipient were blindfolded. We found that it heightened the feelings of both participants, the latter floating, the former concentrated on the touch... We were one.

For the shaving afterwards, the recipient was tied to the four-poster bed with silk scarves. The administering party could see, naturally. I did him first and I was next to receive. Every hair but the eyebrows and scalp went, slowly. It took close to an hour to do him. When he proceeded to shave me, being tied up I felt vulnerable. Yes, in spite of my trusting him, I could not help a faint feeling of fear, as he cut and cut, close to the bone, every hair away. Frightfully pleasant, frightful, pleasant.

I was as naked as I ever was. The slight irritation of the skin made me conscious constantly of my uncovered body. Still blindfolded, still tied up, fearfully aroused I was when he made love to me. I could have died from pleasure.

When we recovered, it was four a.m., in the still of the night. We decided to go out into the little garden at the back of the house. Naked, since the atmosphere was soothing. I elected to remain blindfolded because I wished to concentrate on the sounds of the night and the soft breeze on my body. He took me by the arm and led me silently outside. He released his grip and we spoke not a word. Again, I was floating. I forgot time and space. Me, eternity and the universe.

Later, later, when I allowed myself to become conscious, I softly called out to my boyfriend. He did not answer. Was he in his own universe? Repeat calls were made, fruitlessly. Had he gone inside? (Had he gone and left me?) I removed my blindfold and found that he was not there. I saw that he had closed the door of house and the window shutters. I knocked for him to let me in, but no answer came. I beat the door, lightly so as to leave the neighbours out of these strange proceedings. No answer. With my fist, I hit harder, until it hurt.

Here I was, more than stark naked, a freak, in a garden in the middle of an Italian town. What was I to do? Wait an hour and see the sun rise? The first neighbour to look out of his house to greet the morning would see me there, a pretty sight. I decided to risk it and walk round the back of the houses to our front door. Perhaps it was open, perhaps he would answer the bell. Perhaps I would not meet anyone. I felt vulnerable and remained as close to the houses as I could. I climbed garden fences, hedges, silently, scratching myself but keeping silent.

The front door was closed. I rang the bell (a siren cutting the silence), but he did not answer. "Bastard, bastard," I hissed, "enough is enough." I banged the door, no answer, no answer. Then I heard footsteps approaching... I would be shooed away like a dog. I would be raped. I would be ridiculed. My God, let the ground open underneath my feet. Pressed against the door with my back, I held my breath ...

It was him, fully dressed and with a smile on his face. I embraced him and asked, begged him to let me in. He looked at me but did not speak a word. Instead, he disengaged himself from me and rang our neighbours' bell, loudly, and that of their neighbour and that of several others. A window opened and another. Seeing my dismal naked shape in the early morning light, a woman called to the Virgin Mother. A man, and another, were shocked, but strangely interested.

He? He laughed and laughed. "Why? Don't be bashful. Let the whole world have your beauty", said he, before he finally opened the door. Shuddering, I went inside and felt violated. I was paralysed and speechless, would have killed him, but could not.

Inside, I refused his attentions and locked myself in the bedroom. I sat there, head in hands, for some time. Then I rose, dressed, packed my case and left the room. Barging past him, insensitive to his pleas ("I am so sorry. It was just a game. Don't go!"), I left the house, the town and saw him no more.

I have not shaved since. I am dirty.

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