Call Me By Your Name 2.0

Chapter 8

I was in my room one morning. Marzia had just called to cancel the plan we had made to go to the center and everyone else had gone biking before I knew I wasn't going to be able to meet her, so I was alone in the house. I went into the toilet to clean my hands, Oliver had left his bathroom door partially open. Does he usually do that? It felt inviting, like some weird energy was calling my name from his room.

I peeked my head inside, pushing the door slightly apart even more. It smelled of him, the mature aroma of an American Man. What was I doing? I pulled back and washed my hands on the sink, then dried them on a towel. I found myself incapable of looking away from his room during that time, a piece of fabric with vibrant colours sitting on the floor had caught my attention. So I walked in. My heart thumping against my chest. I picked up that thing, it was his blue and purple swimsuit. I took a deep breath to calm my nerves and pressed the inside of the swimsuit against my nose, my eyes closed. I breathed in his male odour softly and I was met with a light breeze of sweet sweat with a tint of fishiness. It rested on my face for a while, inhaling all his adult perfume, stroking my crotch over the pants I was wearing. 

I opened my eyes and was met with a dark curly hair stuck on the swimsuit. I slowly dragged the piece of clothing away from my face and colected the thick hair with the hand I had been using to pleasure myself. It stuck to my index finger which gave me the oportunity of examining it closely. I stuck my tonge out and placed the hair on it, then closed my mouth. My tongue dragged the hair across my palate and in circles, looking for any trace of a taste. But it tasted like nothing. Swallowing it was hard. I tried once but my throat rejected it in a coff, the second time was almost successful but after a few seconds I started to feel it again stuck on one of my tonsils, on the third time I tried swallowing it with a lot of saliva, that worked.

Looking around his room gave me a better idea on how Oliver lived. Almost everything looked completely clean and organized: the bed was made, the wardrobe was closed, the closet was locked and the floor was clean; even around the bin filled halfway with paper and tissue. The only exception was the desk, full of papers and pencil shavings and books scatered irregularly. I tried to read what it said, the words made sense but the sentences didn't, it was too complicated for me. 

While trying to descifer what he meant by "Their vectors are mostly hematophagic arthropods"  steps started drumming up the stairs and along the corridor. I threw the swimsuit across the room, dashed through the bathroom doors and jumped onto my bed, grabbing my flute in the way to act busy. I heard Oliver step into his room, then he paced for half a second and stopped, then I heard him handling a piece of fabric. A drawer was opened and, subsequently, closed.