– Anyway, it makes no sense at all.
– What?
– I mean, the whole approach.
– Which approach?!
– I mean, it’s something that comes out of you, you can’t behave like this – says Massimo while barely looking at Andrea, knees against his chest, heels on the edge of the chair.
– Well, yes it does come out of you. But if that’s the argument, I would say it’s also valid for the shit.
[Massimo rolls his eyes]
– No, I got it! All I’m saying is that if that’s the criterion, it won’t go far. Andrea’s on the sofa looking at Massimo quite amused. Soft pants full of overweight. Crossed legs. Barefoot. Linen shirt. It’s summertime.

– It’s different.
– Yes. Well, is it though?
– Well, yeah. I mean, shit is shit. It’s a waste. Cum is almost… Massimo even stops gesticulating, on hold.
– A gift?
– Exactly, a gift!
They laugh.

These are the months following Alessandro’s death. They only talk random stuff.  This is before the scolding of September, before making up and before of Burma.

– The concept itself is revolting.
– Of course, the idea can be unpleasant. Even cum…
– Cum is not disgusting!
Andrea shrugs and makes a possibilist gesture with his hands, like it was a head of lettuce made with his fingers.
– It depends on the cum.

Coming from the balcony door, Cristina, in a man’s shirt and sunglasses, stretches her arms upwards. – What are you taaaaawkin about so animatedly? – What are we what?
She stops yawning. – What are you two talking about?
– Your boyfriend was facing the ancient problem of cum – says Andrea.
– Oh, honey. What a delicacy.
Cristina reaches out to Massimo and kisses him, laughing. Her lips are still half-asleep.

– Your boyfriend’s theory is that everybody, if handsome, should drink and share their sperm generously. In case they’re from the Hitler Youth party, they could be, if not disgusted, at least disinterested in cum.
– It seems reasonable – says Cristina.
– That’s not what I said.

Massimo tries to frown, but he’s too entertained and the disappointment turns into the expression of a child on the end of an advertisement for a fizzy drink: happy and cheeky.

– What did you say, love? Include me in the conversation, considered that if there’s someone daily involved with the subject, that’s me. You don’t want to do cumsplaining!
– I don’t wanna do what?
– Cumsplaining. Or I’ll report you to the committee of pride and aware cumming companions. Andrea: – I wonder what image’s on their card…
– I’m saying that if you cum in a woman’s mouth, then you can’t just be disinterested. You have to kiss her.
– Well, “have to”… – says Andrea in a low voice.
– I think you most certainly have to. You can’t.
He thinks about it. Ponders. Then explodes:
– Come on, you can’t!

Cristina plays the British Prime Minister Neville Chamberlain at the Munich Conference of 1938. Together with others, she must decide on a serious, burning issue that Europe is guilty ignoring.

Adolf Hitler is made of cum.

– And what does Andrea think about this?
Consulted, Andrea smiles and sighs.
– I say that it would be amazing if things would be that simple, but…
Cristina: – But…?
Andrea: – But I guess there are people who have… even if they’re great people, but…
Cristina: – Have a terrible cum?
– Right!
– I agree, there are.
Andrea glowing: – See?!

Twenty minutes later, on the balcony. He’s rolling a joint and the topic is unchanged.
– Massimo: I’m just saying that if you think it is a delicacy, you’ll totally serve it to the woman you are with. But if you think it sucks, most probably you’ll avoid. There are people who cum into the girls’ mouth for their en- tire life, but they never kiss ’em and the idea that the girls drink their load disgusts them.
– You already said that – Andrea says.
Massimo, undaunted: – Not just that. Could it be that one of the words considered among the most vulgar and disgusting of the (Italian language) vocabulary describes sperm? Can you imagine? On the one hand the egg, the womb, the origin of life; on the other hand, the cum, the load, the jizz, the abomination…
– I heard that often too.
– Just stop it! – says Massimo refilling Andrea’s glass.
Andrea: – I even agree, on a theoretical level. But why can’t you admit that maybe there could be some people who has a bad-tasting cum? They can only do so much about it, it is what it is.
Cristina, holding the joint, her voice choked by the shot: – Who wants some? Andrea catches it and Massimo presses him: Well, then you don’t cum in her mouth, if that’ so awful…
But if she wanna drink your cum, why should you deprive her of such a joy? Only because it’s not from Eataly, she shouldn’t have it?
Cristina waves to intervene, she raises her hand: – Me too, me too!
They laugh.
– I will never name this person. Ever. But I’ve been with somebody who had not such a good cum.
Massimo: – I absolutely wanna know who’s that.
Cristina: – You’ll never know.
Andrea: – You’ll tell me when we’re alone.
They give a conspiratorial gaze to each other.
– You assholes! I’ll ask you when you’ll be sleepwalking, then you’ll sure tell me.
– I will NEVER tell. [Andrea makes an eloquent, understanding gesture with his hand] And anyway there was nothing to do. Not sure if it was for the coffee or the cigarettes or what, but it was never sweet. It slightly im- proved with pineapple, but not so much. [– Honey, tell me who’s this… For real. It’ll be our little secret.] Fuck off. Never ever! Anyway, we had great sex but cum wasn’t that great.
Andrea: – And you?
Cristina: Well, I… sometimes yes, sometimes not, but anyway…
– See? I was right! Even you girlfriend says that!
– But I only care about one thing. After cumming into your mouth, that skunk, who by the way surely is Alessio, the fashion one, [– Balini, of cour- se! It must be him. HE’S NOT! And stop you two, or else I’ll just go!] Did he kiss you or not?
– Boh. Dunno. Not always. Also, who cares.
Andrea puts his hand on Massimo’s shoulder: – She drank bad cums without keeping a record of the kisses. You sure she’s the right woman? And if she doesn’t like your cum either? If she drinks it only for being nasty?
– You’re awful people, and I’m going to prepare pasta.

Andrea holds him by the arm: wait, wait.

Last question for our expert: what cum tastes like?

Cristina lifts her eyes to the sky to think, you could see her pupils through the dark lenses. She grumbles a bit as she searches for the right words. Then she smiles, raises her eyebrows and says: – It has the unripe and sincere taste of the future generations.
Laughter and applause.
Massimo gets inside to cook, pursued by Andrea’s high voice:

– By the way, we must have mentioned cum maybe 250 times in the last hour. I feel such a rebel.
– Shush. Oh, fuck it, the neighbors!

This was several months before that cataclysmic autumn that followed.