He was still dressed and I wasn't. I loved being naked before him. Then he kissed me, and kissed me again, deeply this second time, as if he too was finally letting go. At some point I realized he'd been naked for a long while, though I hadn't noticed him undress, but there he was, not a part of him wasn't touching me. Where had I been? I'd been meaning to ask the tactful health question, but that too seemed to have been answered a while ago, because when I finally did find the courage to ask him, he replied, "I already told you, I'm okay." "Did I tell you I was okay too?" "Yes." He smiled.
I looked away, because he was staring at me, and I knew I was flushed, and I knew I'd made a face, though I still wanted him to stare at me even if it embarrassed me, and I wanted to keep staring at him too as we settled in our mock wrestling position, his shoulders rubbing my knees. How far we had come from the afternoon when I'd taken off my underwear and put on his bathing suit and thought this was the closest his body would ever come to mine. Now this. I was on the cusp of something, but I also wanted it to last forever, because I knew there'd be no coming back from this.
When it happened, it happened not as I'd dreamed it would, but with a degree of discomfort that forced me to reveal more of myself than I cared to reveal. I had an impulse to stop him, and when he noticed, he did ask, but I didn't answer, or didn't know what to answer, and an eternity seemed to pass between my reluctance to make up my mind and his instinct to make it up for me. From this moment on, I thought, from this moment on--I had, as I'd never before in my life, the distinct feeling of arriving somewhere very dear, of wanting this forever, of being me, me, me, me, and no one else, just me, of finding in each shiver that ran down my arms something totally alien and yet by no means unfamiliar, as if all this had been part of me all my life and I'd misplaced it and he had helped me find it.
The dream had been right--this was like coming home, like asking, Where have I been all my life? which was another was of asking, Where were you in my childhood, Oliver? which was yet another way of asking, What is life without this? which was why, in the end, it was I, and not he, who blurted out, not once, but many, many times, You'll kill me if you stop, you'll kill me if you stop, because it was also my way of bringing full circle the dream and the fantasy, me and him, the longed for words from his mouth to my mouth back into his mouth, swapping words from mouth to mouth, which was when I must have begun obscenities that he repeated after me, softly at first, till he said, "Call me by your name and I'll call you by mine," which I'd never done in my life before and which, as soon as I said my own name as though it were his, took me to a realm I never shared with anyone in my life before, or since.
Want to live in Elio's house? Yup, Villa Perlman is YOURS if you want it, for €1,800,000 or US$2,135,000, just a bike ride of 11km or 6 miles south of Crema, where Luca Guadagnino lives! In the photo of the front elevation, Elio's bedroom is the upstairs corner on the right. 20 rooms, 5 bathrooms, spacious salon, library, dining room, impressive staircase, frescoes, and, of course, an Oliver with his own bicycle comes with the price, I'm assuming--!
I read The Lord of the Rings trilogy once, over the break between the fall and spring semesters in college. I tore through those books, but, in retrospect, reading them seemed like a chore, but reading them also seemed like a point of honor, as in those days even college boys were big into that sort of thing (Dungeons & Dragons, etc.). I remember thinking that the whole series seemed pretty dark, though that tone did seem appropriate to the stories. And Tolkien lost me at the talking trees; I found that a bit much. I suppose the memory of the reading being a chore is why I've never had the slightest interest in seeing the films. When you come right down to it, I'm just not into the fantasy genre. I dismissed Game of Thrones out of hand when I heard there were dragons. I'd rather read history or a good murder mystery.
Nevertheless, The Hobbit has always been a joy to me. I've read it a number of times. Critics may have dismissed it as childish trash, but what do critics know? The pictures that form in my head as I read The Hobbit are like Disney animation at its classical best. And in my opinion anybody who is tired of classic Disney is tired of living (apologies, Dr. Johnson).
(I recognize that the Jackson films are masterpieces of film-making; I just have no interest in seeing them. And I was offended by the idea of making three movies out of The Hobbit.)
The paper bag. Ennis had his stuff in a paper bag at the beginning. And he left the Twist ranch with a paper bag at the end of the movie. It's like a circle is closing.
I read LOR first in my teens and must have read it a dozen times since. I saw each movie 3 times on the big screen and have the DVDs.
Me too. LOR is a great book. And also the movies are a masterpiece. I really enjoyed watching them on the big screen. Unfortunately there are very few theaters that show films in OV in Germany. So I bought the DVDs when they were available as UK import.
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why did they stretch the much smaller book into 3, pure commercialism
I didn't get that, either. It was all for making money.
I read LOR first in my teens and must have read it a dozen times since. I saw each movie 3 times on the big screen and have the DVDs. I think I have only read the Hobbit twice and while I saw each movie, I did not like them. Agree just one big battlefield and if the epic LOR needed 3 films why did they stretch the much smaller book into 3, pure commercialism. Of course I live in the country where the films were made although I have never actually set out to visit the many sites which draw tourists. However LOR set me on a life of reading Fantasy novels, especially the Shannara series by Terry Brooks. I am just reading the first of his latest series "The Fall of Shannara" which will apparently be his last, he writes 1 per year and a series is usually 3 so he must plan to retire at 75 as he is the same age as me.
The pictures that form in my head as I read The Hobbit are like Disney animation at its classical best. And in my opinion anybody who is tired of classic Disney is tired of living (apologies, Dr. Johnson).
