I Was Waiting For You Read Online Free PDF Page A

acknowledgement that she should not have broken up with Peppino, and broken his heart into a thousand pieces, as she clearly knew she had. Maybe this was a form of penance, a way of punishing herself? She just didn’t know any more. Had she ever known?
    One dark evening, after he’d tied her hands to the bedpost and, somehow, her ankles, he’d taken her by surprise and despite her mild protests, had resolutely shaven away her thick thatch of wild, curling jet-black pubic hair and left her quite bald, like a child, which not only brought back bittersweet memories of her younger years but also a deep sense of shame. She’d always insisted Peppino should not even trim her.
    The next day, the Frenchman used his belt on her arse cheeks and marked her badly.
    Sitting watching a film that afternoon in a small art house by the Odéon was painful, as Giulia kept on fidgeting in her seat to find a position that did not remind her of the previous evening’s punishment. Her period pains had also begun, as bad as ever; she’d once been told they’d only start improving after she’d had her first child.
    That night, the bad man wanted to fuck her, as usual and she pointed out that she was having her period. He became angry. He would have been quite furious had she actually revealed that she had once allowed Peppino to make love to her on such a day and the blood communion they had shared was still one of her most exquisitely shocking and treasured memories. He brutally stripped her, tied her hands behind her back and pushed her down on the floor, onto her stomach and sharply penetrated her arse hole, spitting onto his cock and her opening for necessary lubrication. She screamed in pain and he gagged her with her own panties and continued relentlessly to invest her. Giulia recalled how she had once assured Peppino as they spooned in bed one night how she would never agree to anal sex with him or anyone. Another promise betrayed, she knew. She grew familiar with the pain. She had never thought it would be so easy to break with her past.
    Later, as she lie there motionless, the bad man said:
    â€œNext week, I shall continue your education. I’m taking you to a club and I want to watch you being fucked by a stranger, or more, my sweet Italian girl. Time we tamed you.”
    He asked her for her mobile phone and took it away with him. Giulia just felt numb. Before he left the apartment, he retrieved her spare set of keys from her handbag and locked her in. They were on the fifth floor and she had no other way out. Giulia sighed.
    It was a night full of stars and the Seine quivered with a thousand lights.
    The taxi had dropped Cornelia around the corner of Les Chandelles. She looked out for a decent-looking café and sat herself at a table overlooking the street, where she would be highly visible to all passers-by. She wore an opaque white silk shirt and was, as ever, bra-less. Her short black skirt highlighted her endless pale legs and this was one of the rare occasions when she had lipstick on, a scarlet stain across her thin lips. She’d ruffled her hair, blonde medusa curls like a forest, and slowly sipped a glass of Sancerre, a US paperback edition of John Irving’s A Widow for One Year sitting broken-spined on the ceramic top next to the wine carafe.
    The bait was set:a lonesome American woman on a Friday night in Paris, just some steps away from a notorious ‘ club échangiste ’: L’ Américaine . She’d found out earlier, through judicious tipping and a hint of further largesse, from the club’s hatcheck girl who drank her pre-shift coffee here, that her target was planning to attend the club later this evening. The entrance fee for single women was advantageous but she felt she would attract less attraction if she were part of a couple. She’d gathered on the grapevine that lone men would often congregate here before moving on to the club, in search of a