Dreamer

“Il giorno in cui seppellirai tuo padre,

capirai di aver perso l’unico uomo

che voleva davvero vederti migliore di lui.”

Ci sono verità che arrivano tardi…

troppo tardi.

E una delle più dolorose

è capire, quando non c’è più,

quanto fosse importante tuo padre.

Perché mentre era vivo

forse non sei sempre riuscito a vederlo davvero.

Forse lo hai giudicato

per il suo carattere,

per il suo modo duro di amare,

per i suoi silenzi,

per ciò che non sapeva dire.

Ma poi il tempo,

che mette sempre ogni cosa al suo posto,

ti fa capire qualcosa di enorme:

pochi uomini nella vita

desidereranno il tuo successo

quanto tuo padre.

Un vero padre non compete con te.

Non ti invidia.

Non vuole vederti sotto di lui.

Al contrario…

anche se non lo dice,

anche se non lo dimostra nel modo giusto,

dentro di sé spera che tu vada più lontano,

che soffra meno,

che realizzi ciò che lui non ha potuto

e che diventi un uomo migliore di lui.

E questo amore…

è tra i più puri che esistono.

Perché spesso non si vede.

Si nasconde nei sacrifici silenziosi,

nella stanchezza,

nelle preoccupazioni che non racconta,

nei giorni interi passati a lavorare

per non farti mancare nulla.

Non era perfetto.

Non sempre sapeva abbracciarti,

ascoltarti,

dirti “ti voglio bene”.

Ma nel modo in cui ha lottato per te…

lo stava dicendo ogni giorno.

E quando lo perdi…

non perdi solo un padre.

Perdi consigli

che non sentirai più,

una presenza che credevi eterna,

una parte di te

che non sarà mai più la stessa.

E allora capisci…

che se n’è andato uno dei pochi

che voleva vederti vincere davvero,

senza condizioni,

senza ego,

senza paura di essere superato.

Per questo, se lo hai ancora…

ascoltalo di più.

abbraccialo di più.

perdonalo di più.

parlagli di più.

Perché quando non ci sarà più…

ci saranno silenzi

che peseranno per sempre.

A volte,

l’uomo che ha detto meno “ti amo”…

è stato quello che ha pregato di più, in silenzio,

La vita va veloce e, a volte, può essere davvero troppo breve.

Non c'è tempo per pensare, non c'è tempo per 'andare piano', non c'è tempo per programmare: le cose cambiano, le persone muoiono, l'orologio non smette mai di camminare...

Non si tratta di 'cogliere l'attimo', ma di poter morire oggi, domani o fra cent'anni dicendo:

"ho fatto tutto, anche quello di cui avevo paura".".. ♠️🔥

(Don't forget to listen to the song while you read My Story, which has a little bit of truth and a little bit of fiction. I think this song is excellently chosen for this story.)

I’m Natalia, and I still can’t quite grasp how I got to that point, how that man, whom I barely knew, had gained so much control over me. It was as if my will bent to his, and though part of me was shocked, another part surrendered to the intensity of what I felt. It all started on an ordinary day when, just before leaving the university, my phone buzzed with his call. His voice, calm but firm, told me he’d pick me up and take me to my apartment to change clothes. I was stunned. How could someone who had just entered my life wield such power over me? But what surprised me most was his attraction to me, a transgender woman. There was something in his confidence, his way of speaking, that made me feel desired in a way I’d never experienced before.

He arrived on time, and when I got into his car, he gave me a soft kiss on the neck and then on the lips. That simple gesture sent shivers through me. He drove me to my apartment, not far from the university, and with that commanding voice, he asked me to wear a short black dress, garter stockings, and black boots. I don’t know why, but I didn’t hesitate. I changed quickly, put on some makeup to enhance my eyes and lips, and in minutes, I was ready. I looked at myself in the mirror, feeling a mix of nerves and excitement. Who was this Natalia letting herself be swept away like this?

The drive to his place was a whirlwind of sensations. As he drove, he placed his hand on my knee, playing with my legs in a way that set me on fire. I loved that he had control, that he knew exactly how to make me feel vulnerable and desired at the same time. When we got to his apartment, everything intensified. We got out of the car and went inside. He poured two glasses of tequila, knowing it relaxed me. Then he sat in an armchair, with that calm demeanor of his, and asked me to stand in front of him so he could look at me. I felt exposed, but there was something in his gaze, the way he took me in, that made me feel incredibly sensual. My body responded to him without me being able to stop it.

Then, with that firm voice that gave me goosebumps, he asked me to take off my clothes, slowly, while he watched. I can’t explain it, but that moment brought out a part of me I didn’t know existed: a submissive woman, eager to please him. I loved it. Each piece of clothing that fell to the floor was like shedding any resistance. When I was completely naked, he asked me to sit on his lap. His hands began to explore my body, slow, gentle, as if memorizing every curve. Then he told me to sit facing him, straddling his legs. He sipped his whiskey on the rocks while kissing my breasts with a slowness that drove me wild. His hands moved from the tips of my fingers up to my knees, touching my backside, my back, pulling me closer with a tenderness that contrasted with his control.

Suddenly, he lifted me in his arms and carried me to his bedroom. He threw me onto the bed, and there, among the sheets, I felt completely his. He, still in his impeccable suit, looked at me like I was the only person in the world. I undressed him slowly, savoring every moment, and when I gave him oral sex, I felt the power he had over me blend with my own desire. Then, with a swift motion, he turned me around, kissing my back as he pressed his body against mine. That night was a storm of passion. He made love to me with a sweetness that disarmed me, but also with an intensity that made me lose track of time. Every caress, every kiss, every movement of his took me further, until I couldn’t tell where I ended and he began.