So Tazio DellaTerra is taking over the world.  Good.  It's about
time...I've been waiting for him to do it.  And now the Media is
going crazy looking for eyewitness reports from anyone who ever
knew him whenever, to find out just who he is.

Well, I met Tazio before he became famous, six years ago.  Even
then he was making a name for himself, seducing girls on the
Spanish Steps in Rome.  

I was one of them, although hardly a girl, having been 37 at 
that time.  Yes, I know I look much younger than that now, which 
is because of him.  

I was living in a 3rd story apartment on Piazza di Spagna back 
then, with a good view of those Spanish Steps.  I didn't get out
much because I had a bad back--slipped disc--which usually hurt
too much to walk far, so I used to watch all the young people
coming to meet and sit on the steps: travelers, young
Interrailers, rich tourists, students, office workers on lunch
break; it was a good place for people-watching.  I could look
down from my window and see the show for free, better than
Italian daytime TV.  

He showed up on a motor scooter one day, a normal-looking
dark-haired Italian boy, not especially big or impressive.  I
hardly noticed him at first, but over several days I observed
that he was taking girls away, sometimes bringing them back and
then leaving with yet another girl.

Many girls, sometimes several per day, an impossible number, 
it was scandalous and fascinating.  I watched: he would go 
directly to them, talk, touch them, take them away, they never 
said no.  Not one girl told him no, out of the half-hundred he 
approached in the two weeks he was in town. 

What does he DO with them? I wondered.  He can't really be having
sex with them ALL, can he?  Maybe it's perfectly innocent, just
my own impure thoughts. 

 

I went to confession every day.  It was the one thing besides 
shopping for food that got me out of the apartment, it hurt so 
much to walk.

"Bless me father, for I have sinned."

"How have you sinned, my child?"

"I have had impure thoughts."

"Say two Hail Marys and pray for forgiveness, my child."  He
always sounded so bored by my confessions.  Then again, I didn't
have much to confess.

There really wasn't much "sin" in my life.  Back then I was "a
good Catholic Senora"; moralistic, uptight.  Mostly because I was
sexually defeated.  But at that time I looked nothing like I do
now--I was overweight and flabby and pale from being indoors so
much.  My hair was the only part I considered pretty any more.  I
was often in pain from my slipped disc, living alone, had no job
and very little money. 

I had been pretty when I was young, but that prettiness was all
gone.  I wasn't ugly, but then I wasn't really anything.  A woman
is what she looks like.  I had once even been more or less 
happily married, until my back went out and I gained 20 kilos. 
My husband Mario lost patience with me when I couldn't have sex
because of my back and he left me for a younger and healthier
woman.  I almost couldn't blame him, but he certainly let me down
when I needed help, so much for "better or worse" marriage vows.



Then I saw Tazio with the black girl.  A really spectacular
African beauty for whom a lot of men had turned their heads. 
Tazio talked with her a few minutes, she looked at her watch as
if saying that she had an appointment somewhere soon, and then
she screwed him right there on the Spanish Steps.

I could clearly see them from my window, but the strange thing
was that although there were several people sitting around,
playing guitar, eating bread and cheese, no one else seemed to
notice them at all.  Ignored them as if they were invisible.

And that black girl was obviously enjoying herself, pulling him
into her with her legs, and making lots of noise.  I could hear
her all the way up on the 3rd floor, but it seemed that no one
else could.

I, however, could almost feel her orgasm, going on and on. A 
foreign feeling, it had been a long time since I'd had any sort
of sex life--my back was too unreliable, I was afraid, was
unattractive--but I felt a vast Lust just then.  Touched
myself--something I usually never did.

I was gasping myself when I first realized that I was actually
masturbating--committing a sin--without even being aware of what
I had been doing.  I stopped with a cry of disgust.

However, I couldn't stop watching until they were finished.  Just
couldn't.  But refrained from touching myself again.

My reactions to these events were overwhelming---first I was
shocked, then morally offended that they would do that right
there in public, right under my window.  But even more outraged
when I realized that he must be doing it with each and every girl
he picked up on the Spanish Steps.  Two, sometimes three a day,
20-30 girls by now, and soon hundreds, if he wasn't stopped!

Did he use any protection whatsoever?  Did he get them pregnant? 
Did he--and I was horrified at this idea--have AIDS?  

What right did he have to do this to all those innocent girls--
for it was clear to me that they COULDN'T say "No" to him, that 
he was a hypnotist of some kind.  Such immoral arrogance and 
irresponsible behavior HAD to be stopped.

If I'd had a telephone I would have called the police.  But I had
to walk down to a street corner two blocks away to find a public
phone.

My back hurt, but I decided to do it anyway.  And then it was too
late, they waved goodbye to each other as she hurried off to her
appointment, and he turned to select another girl, an Italian
office worker, and drove off with her on his scooter.

But I did write down his license number. 



I went on past the phone booth, I was going to church anyway and
the police station was right next to it.

It was an old neighborhood station, but modern inside, full of
computers and electronic voices.  I'd never been inside before,
so it took a while to find out where I had to go to file a
complaint.

At last I got to sit at a desk with an officer behind it.

"There's a boy who comes to Scala di Spagna every day, and he's
having sex with all the girls there.  Two, three different girls
every day!"

"Porca Madonna, it should be me," said the officer with lifted
eyebrows.

"It's not funny," I disapproved, "he'll be getting them pregnant
or giving them Aids..."

"Aids?  He has Aids?"  The cop was suddenly serious.

"Well, I don't know, but he's...doing it...with so many girls, 
at least 20-30 up to now.  If he doesn't have it yet, he will 
eventually."

"How do you know he's...uh, doing it with the girls?" 

"I saw him just about an hour ago, uh, actually having sex with a
black girl.  They were naked in public, making lots of noise
right there in a crowd of people on Scala de Spagna.  It was
shocking!"

"Porca Madonna," he commented wistfully, then asked, "a boy, you
say, how old?" 

"15-18, I'd guess, hard to say.  Could be older...or younger."

"Is he forcing the girls?"

"I don't know; they don't seem to have any choice about it. 
Every girl he asks goes with him, every one.  I think he
hypnotizes them somehow."

"A boy Rasputin, eh?  What's his name?"

"I don't know--but I took the number of his motor scooter."  I
handed the officer the slip of paper.

"Hmm, ok, let's run a check on that, see what we get."  He typed
the numbers into his computer and entered it.

The computer worked for a few seconds, then the screen went
bright red, with blinking text.

"Hmm.  Access forbidden, highest level.  Might be diplomatic
immunity on that registration, or...."  He suddenly looked
nervous.  "At any rate, unless it's something serious, like
murder or violence--which this doesn't seem to be--we can't 
do anything about it.  Sorry senora, ciao."

And that was that.  I was back out on the street again, as if 
the police didn't want me in there anymore.  Maybe the 
scooter was owned by the Mafia or something.



So I went to confession, as always.

"Bless me father, for I have sinned."

"How have you sinned, my child?"

"I watched a couple...having...doing...uh...it."

"You mean...Fornicating?"  For the first time ever I noticed 
a slight interest in the priest's voice.  

"Yes, father.  And I...I touched myself as I watched."

"Say 10 Hail Marys and pray for forgiveness, my child."



I continued to watch the Spanish Steps from my window, but now 
I was only really interested in observing that boy's actions.  
I gathered evidence, resolved to do something about him.  For 
the sake of those poor girls, and perhaps even for his own sake.

So one day, on the way back from confession, I casually sat
myself on the Steps, a spy among all those young people, even
though I knew that I really didn't belong there.  But it was my
neighborhood and I had a duty to know what was going on.

I wanted to get close enough to overhear what the girls were
saying: Did they talk about him?  How did he seduce them?  What
did he do with them? What did he say to them?  

But I wasn't good at languages then, I spoke only Italian.  I 
had some English and German back in school but never really 
mastered them.  So I couldn't understand what the foreigners 
were talking about.

I was still sitting there when he arrived about 2:00 in the 
afternoon, looking for a new girl...or two, the rascal.  He
wasn't there five minutes before he had borrowed a guitar and
expertly played some song--I recognized it as a Michael Jackson
number--and instantly there were several girls breathing heavily
around him.  He chose a plain-looking Scottish girl, and they
left on his motor scooter.

I couldn't resist asking around and found two American girls
studying Italian.  They told me that his name was Tazio, and that
all the girls knew that he wanted to use them, he was becoming
famous for it, so they lined up to have sex with him.  And with
good reason.

Several girls had returned from their adventure with him to tell 
about it--and what they said was fantastic: that he was a great 
lover, sure, thrilled them all right, but the amazing thing was 
what happened to THEM.  They came back prettier, healthier, 
smarter...he had some sort of magic touch and there was no girl 
that didn't want it.  

And there were many girls waiting there on the Spanish Steps,
girls who had heard about this magic Romeo, even girls who
actually had no intention of having sex with a strange young man,
but just wanted to see what such a stud looked like.  They too
got plucked and fucked.

It was said that he didn't take only the pretty girls, but that
they were pretty when they came back.  One girl had really poor
skin, awful scars from a teenage tragedy of acne, which had
probably scarred her more deeply within than without, made her
ugly.  But he took her off with him and when she came back to the
Spanish Steps a day later she had the complexion of a ripe peach
and was as beautiful as any girl could ever wish to be. 

Of course, I didn't believe those stories.  Until I saw the
Scottish girl again the next day.  It was hard to define the
difference--she was simply no longer plain-looking, but an
especially striking beauty. 

There was one English woman--big, oafish, not so much fat as
shapelessly loose-fleshed so that everything wobbled when she
walked, cow like eyes, mouth dragged open by a baggy double chin, 
prominent teeth, big sagging breasts, stringy drab brown hair.  
I don't mean to be bitchy, running down that unfortunate girl's 
looks, but to describe the effect Tazio had on her I have to tell
you what he started with.  She was a mess with zero sex appeal.

No one understood why Tazio took her off with him, he could take
anyone and as his reputation spread there were lots of girls to
choose from, including some real beauties.  But he smiled
politely to the pretty ones and took the ugly duckling instead.  
A day later he brought her back on his motor scooter.

Only her clothes were recognizable, hanging loosely on her
now-tight body.  She was still big, but voluptuous, and 
not at all oafish, instead quite elegant somehow.  Yet the most 
dramatic change was that the ugly sack under her chin was 
gone, giving her a lovely lifted face and shapely throat and
neck.  Her hair and skin glowed.  She was now beautiful!

People really started paying attention after that.  Me too.



One day as I was watching from my window, Tazio came to the steps
as usual and looked over the harvest.  Some girls waved to him,
he waved back but made no move for any of them, as if he couldn't
find the flavor he wanted.   

Instead he looked up three stories and across the street, at me.

Even from that distance--I couldn't actually see his eyes--I 
FELT them lock to mine. He'd caught me watching him. Embarrassed, 
flustered, I jerked back inside my window to hide from him. 

I stayed away from the window for a few minutes, but I really
wanted to look: curious to see where he was now; or if he was
gone so that I could relax.

Carefully I approached the window and peeked down at the Spanish
Steps as sneakily as I could.  I couldn't see him so I stuck my
head farther out...

...and there he was, talking to a group of girls, of course,
probably about to take them all off with him and have an orgy.

But then he abruptly turned his head up to me and stared directly
at me, as if he knew I was looking at him again.  However, I 
did not flinch back this time, in fact felt myself leaning out 
toward him.  Then he left the group of girls and walked directly 
across the Piazza towards me.  I lost sight of him.

My door phone buzzed, someone down on the street wanted into the
building.  

"Who...who is it?" I asked over the door phone, pretending I
didn't know.

"Tazio."

"I don't know you," I was rattled like a schoolgirl who says 
dumb things she doesn't mean.

"Sure you do, Theresa; you've been watching me every day for a
week."

My heart started pounding in panic: How did he know my name?  
Or that I was watching him from up here?

"Uh...what do you want?"

"I'd like meet you."

"Me?  Uh...why?"

"You've been watching me, you know why."

That caught me totally by surprise.  I never thought that he 
would want ME too, when there were so many women to choose 
from.  Then I remembered that he often took the ugly ones.

I was suddenly very afraid of this sinister creature with his
power over women.  I jumped back from the door phone, fearing 
that he could reach me through the speaker, like voodoo or 
something. 

"Don't be afraid," said his far-off voice from the dangling
phone, a very soothing voice anyway, "I want to help you.  
You've got a slipped disc in your third lumbar, it hurts, I 
can heal you."

I stopped being afraid, as commanded, but wondered how he could
possibly know about my back problem.  Then I comprehended: he's 
a psychic, with healing as well as seductive powers; he's magic. 
The infamous dæmon lover.  

I went to pick up the door phone, but somehow pushed the open
button instead, unlocking the street door three floors below.  

"Oops," I told myself, even as there was a knock on my apartment
door. I wondered who that was: it couldn't be him already, the
elevator was very slow and no one could have run up all those
steps so quickly.  I was amused to think that anyone could be so
eager as to run up to me.

I wasn't going to open the door, but did anyway.  There he was,
obviously relaxed, not at all winded or sweaty from running up 
three flights of stairs at impossible speed, a perfectly 
beautiful boy.

His smile was dazzling.  In fact, he was just so loveable.

"Hi, Theresa, I'm Tazio," he said with a sparkle in his eye,
offering his hand, "nice to meet you." 

I'd seen him do that with all those girls, it was part of his
seduction technique, so I didn't shake his hand.  Didn't dare.

"How can you...heal me?"

"By having sex with you."

"You can't be serious," I told him, "besides, what about...
disease?  Like Aids?"

He laughed.  "I cure Aids.  Don't get girls pregnant either.  How
about it?"

"I...I can't, I'm...uh...married!"

"Your husband's abandoned you, so you're free to do whatever you
want."

"Me, free, are you mad?  And how do you know everything about me
anyway?"

"I saw it in your eyes," he said, "from down there."

"At that distance you couldn't even SEE my eyes...this is all
some kind of magic trick!"

"Magic indeed," he said, and held out his hand again, with a
flourish like a magician.  I seemed to see bands of energy
bending around him.

I found myself giving him my own hand despite my resolve to
resist, and then the energy that flowed through him flowed
through me. It WAS magic, a feeling of health and power I hadn't
know since I was young.  And sex, the animal power of lust
tingled in my crotch and nipples, I rose to my toe tips on a wave
of desire.  I was suddenly panting, ready, he could have me here
and now...

I plucked my hand from his, breaking the connection.  I didn't
want to; it was a conditioned response by a civilized adult.  
He was only a boy, I was...    

"Well, then you must know that I'm a proper Catholic woman," I
said, "and I'll have no part of your wicked behavior!  Just go
back to all those whores you've been carousing with, at least
they're more your age."

"They're too young.  I'm tired of airheads today."

"Well, you're too young too, just a boy." 

"You know that I'm not just a boy.  And I want a grown up woman 
tonight, like you."

"Why me?  I'm fat, I'm ugly, I'm...broken."

"That's why.  Actually you have a very nice face, it would be 
easy to make it beautiful.  And fun to fix your body.  From 
inside."

He had a very cocky look on his face, absolutely sure of 
himself, raised one of his eyebrows.  Our eyes locked.  Then 
I REALLY wanted him.

But I turned away, good Catholic woman that I was, burning with
shame.  "No!  It's immoral and disgusting, I won't do it!"

"Look at me," he said.  I couldn't resist, I obeyed.  He was 
smiling the most arrogant smile I'd ever seen.  And now he was 
sweating slightly, although he had run up those three flights of 
stairs without doing so, and he smelled like desire itself.  I 
felt my own desire escalate to the threshold of pain.  

"No?" he asked, lifting one eyebrow smugly.

"NO!" I screamed, "you're not getting away with this!" 

Suddenly he looked quite surprised.  I liked that.

"I don't know how you do it, but you control women's feelings--
this is rape!  You're a MONSTER!

"No, I'm not...I..."

"Hasn't any woman told you NO yet?  Some of them must have boy 
friends, even husbands--but they can't say NO to you, can they?"

"Well, sure, they...can..."

"Then here's one who does: NO NO NO!"

All right, I was hysterical, but it worked.  He back off a step.  
Not only had he lost his attitude of arrogant confidence, he 
even looked a little sick.  He was sweating more, flushed, his 
eyes were...desperate?

"But I need you!  I've got to have you..."

"You've got to GO!  Out of here, you monster!"

He backed away another step, then stopped resolutely, an angry 
frown took over his face, a sneer, and he stepped back toward 
me again.  He spoke with a very nasty tone, "You'd better 
service me now, or..."

His face seemed to have changed--his eyebrows were amazingly 
peaked, his teeth pointed and dangerous, and his eyes resembled 
a cat's.  He looked like a monster--a demon.

I became terrified.  This kid was also blazing with power, I 
could feel it like a wind.  Psychic, physical, I'd be a straw 
hut in a hurricane if he should lose control and chose to use 
force.  I think I whimpered.

But he did regain control, stopped advancing on me, wiped the 
sweat down over his demon face, and then looked almost human 
again, although still breathing raggedly.  He finished his 
threat, "...or you can fix your own back."

I fell on my knees, weeping.  "Who are you boy, The Devil?"

That seemed to hit him hardest; I was astounded at his reaction.  
His face turned suddenly pale, eyes abruptly childlike, hurt, 
afraid, and he staggered back a step.

Then he said, "I...I'm sorry, you're right: I AM a monster!  
And it IS immoral what I'm doing!"  

And he left.

I'd won.  But the strangest emotions rattled around inside me, 
with those last words, and that pathetic look on his face, he'd 
also won my heart somehow.  I felt suddenly sorry for him, no 
longer afraid, sympathized with him, desired him.

I almost called out to stop him--"wait, fuck me before you go!"
--but couldn't, it was too late, he was gone.



A few moments later I went to the window and looked down just in 
time to see Tazio driving his scooter away with a Japanese girl
sitting behind him.

I should have said yes.  Of course I should have.  Morality?  I'd
wanted him--and I'd wanted the pain in my back to stop--it would 
have been the only right thing to do.  I'd had my chance and 
thrown it away.

I was so rattled that I had to lie down.  My hormones were still
rampaging, I had to touch myself.  I imagined having sex with him
and ended up thrashing around on my bed.  Violently.  I'd never
been so stimulated in my life...

And then I threw my back out once again.  

My slipped disc stabbed me from inside, excruciating pain 
immediately replaced my horniness.  I cried out in agony, 
although there was no one there to hear it, and collapsed into 
a helpless puddle of useless flesh.

I knew right away that this was one of the really bad ones--the
kind that leaves me on my back for weeks, unable to walk or even
go out to shop for food. 

It got dark but I couldn't even reach a light switch.  Finally I
had to pee, and could only crawl on my belly to the bathroom, 
but couldn't sit up on the toilet and had to pee on the floor.  
I lay there weeping in frustration and pain.  And fear, because 
I lived alone.

I managed to take five painkillers and eventually fell asleep.



It was still dark when I awoke to the door buzzer.  My back still
wouldn't let me get up to reach the door phone or push the button.

All I could do was cry out, "Help!  Help me!"  Hoping that
whoever it was three stories below out on the street could hear
me.

My window was open.  And suddenly someone was in silhouette out
there, three floors up.  Someone who moved like a cat, I even
imagined a tail curling around behind him as he stepped over
the window sill into my dark room.  But I wasn't afraid, I knew
who he was and was glad to see him again.

"Hang on, Theresa," he said, "I've come to help."

"Tazio, my back...I can't..."

He turned on a light.  Beautiful boy, especially just then.

"I know, that's why I'm here."

"I'll do whatever you want if..."

"No, no, please.  You don't have to service me, Theresa--sorry 
about that.  I'll just heal you."

"Can...can you really do that?"

"Yes.  But not on this wooden floor, we need to get better 
contact with the earth.  Out on the stairway."

"I can't get up.  My back hurts too much..."

He kneeled and slid his arms under me, lifting me as if I 
weighed nothing.  Literally weighed nothing, and I was a fat 
woman then.  He was strong for his size.  

And when he touched me there was suddenly no pain.  At all.  As 
he pressed up against me I felt a wave of energy ripple through 
my body, warmth, power, a sense of wonder washed away all doubt 
or fear.

"I'm healed!" I gasped.

"Not yet, you're just out of phase with the pain right now. 
You've still got structural damage; we'll have to fix that."

He took me out to the stairway.  It was dark there but he didn't 
turn on the light.  He went to the wire cage of the elevator, 
pulled off a sandal and placed his bare foot against it, gripping
the metal with his toes.

Later I found out that he was making contact with the energy-flow
of the earth itself, the "Urr" he called it, which requires a 
mineral circuit path, like metal or stone or earth. 

The darkness filled with a pale silvery-blue light, and still in
his arms, I felt a wave of energy flow through me much more
intense than before.  I got hot, sweaty, tingling everywhere--but
especially in my back, where lightning was running from vertebra
to vertebra, where I could feel things being MOVED into place,
and STRENGTHENED, and FIXED.

When he put me down on my own feet I was cured.  Not only was
there no more pain, but I also felt strong, light, agile.  It 
was a miracle.

"Oh!" I said, delighted, "I feel really good!  Oh, thank you!"

"Good, I'm glad."  He smiled slightly and then looked serious.  
"Look, Theresa, I apologize for how I acted today," he said, "I 
don't like the way the Lust makes me behave: it makes me greedy, 
brings out the worst in me."

I turned to him, I was very grateful.  "Do you still...want me?"

He nodded, and a bead of sweat ran down his brow.  "Since you
asked, very much so.  But then I actually want most women, so 
anyone will do.  And you were right: what I do is immoral, so 
I'll try to not do it with you.  Good night."

"No, wait!  I want to thank you for...for this miracle! 
Please...uh...do whatever you want with me."  

"Thank you, that's sweet, but no--I'm resolved to interact with
someone without the Lust steering me for once."

"Well, it's steering me now," I admitted.

"Oh, of course, sorry!"  He brushed his hand across my face, and
I was suddenly at peace, calm, sated.

And he left, just like that.

Sated, but not satisfied, if you know what I mean.



I was soaked in sweat, had to take a shower.  When I saw my
reflection in the bathroom mirror I was stunned: the pudgy
saggings of my face were gone--I looked ten years younger, even
pretty!

I whipped off my sweat-soaked nightgown and stared at my new body 
as if in delirium: I'd lost ten kilos of flab.  I was still
heavy, but my flesh was so well-toned that it looked good.  I'd 
always had big breasts, but they'd never looked so good, not even 
when I was 16.  And more: every muscle in my body was bulging 
slightly with raw strength.  And my skin...

My apartment seemed too small to contain me, nor could I sleep
with all that energy powering me, so I threw on some amusingly
loose clothes and went out walking the streets of Rome that
night.

I walked as I hadn't in years, it was so easy, so wonderful, so
light on my feet, almost dancing.  No pain!  I was also tireless,
strong, fast, fearless.  Happy!  All my senses were sparkling, I
was aware of everything the painkillers had numbed me to for so
many years.

I walked to Fontana di Trevi, and splashed through the water 
just like Anita Ekberg in Mondo Cane.  I would never have done 
that before, afraid of getting wet and catching cold.  I knew I 
couldn't catch a cold just then, being too hot with healing 
energy.  

I ran a kilometer to the Coliseum, and on around it once full 
speed, still not winded.  Over to the Forum Romano, where I 
easily vaulted over the fence and climbed around the ruins 
like a kid.

I crossed over the river via Ponte Palatino and found myself 
in a part of town I didn't know.  I lived in Rome, but it had 
been years since I'd walked around in it.  This part of town was 
a little bit seedy.  I loved it.

It was about dawn when I came to a mercato, where there were 
men working, unloading trucks.  Some of them called out to me, 
flirtingly, they seemed to like the way I walked.  I was
surprised that they were interested, and then surprised that I
was too.

I'd been neutral to men for years--the only man I talked to any
more was my priest, and I bored him--I'd given up after my 
husband left me.  I was also afraid of men, sometimes bitter.  
They never flirted with me, nor I with them.  

But now my new, healthy, younger body was still ringing with the
sexual energy Tazio had charged into me.  He had dulled it, but
it still tingled, still reminded me of how it could be.  I was
horny.

So I stopped, looking at the men.  The good Catholic girl was
ready for almost anything.  But of course I knew that none of
them was the one I really wanted, so I went on.

I found a Metro station and took the subway back to Piazza di
Spagna, not to go home, but to the Spanish Steps.  Of course
he wasn't there--nobody was there, it was too early.  



The sun came up.  Me still not tired, amazing.  I hadn't slept
all night, my feet didn't even hurt from all that walking.  So I
continued walking, on to the church, it was always open early.  
I went to the confessional, as was my habit.  

"Bless me father, for I have sinned."

"How have you sinned, my child?"

"I...I..." suddenly realizing how totally PURE I felt,
"uh...can't really think of how." 

"No lustful thoughts, my child?"

"Oh, well, yes.  I suppose so." 

"Say 3 Hail Marys and pray for..."

I interrupted him, "Father, I DID in fact offer my body to a
young man."

"...ah?" said the priest, sounding interested, "not your
husband?"

"No--Mario abandoned me years ago--but to a very special someone
who desired me passionately, and who certainly deserved anything
I could do for him."

"Well, so...what happened?"  Definitely interested.

I almost said, "a miracle, he healed me," because I had always
told the priest the truth.  But what I said instead was "He
turned me down," which was also the truth.

"Ah, hm, yes, well.  You must fight temptation, my child.  Say 30
Hail Marys and pray for forgiveness."

I left the church, knowing it was for the last time.  My life had
changed, time to change my habits as well.  



I went to the Spanish Steps again that afternoon, sat and waited. 

There was the usual crop of people, and many girls also waiting
for Tazio.  There were definitely more every day.  I was now one 
of them, just one more girl hoping he would choose her that day. 
Eventually he arrived.

He nodded to me, and to all the other waiting women, inspecting
the offerings.  I expected him to just go on by, but he sat down
beside me as if we were old friends.

"You look good, Theresa.  Beautiful, in fact."

"I should, thanks to you!  It's wonderful!  You've changed my--
no, you've given me a new life, Tazio.  Molto molto grazie!"

"Prago, that's good, I'm glad.  Ok, see you."  He started to get
up.

"Wait!" I said, "I want to repay you somehow."

"Oh, you have," he said, and I could see that he meant it. 
"Listen Theresa, you told me NO, and it was a kind of salvation 
for me: proof that someone could.

"Truthfully, I even want you right now--you can feel that I do--
but if I take you, that no becomes nothing, and my Monsterness 
is complete. I have to prove to myself that a woman can deny me." 

"But I can't deny you," I admitted, looking down shyly, "I 
really want you."

"I know. Sorry."  He put an arm around me.  "I'm so sick of what 
the Lust makes me do--it's an all-consuming curse--so it was 
important for me to touch a woman in an unselfish way, to forget 
my own greed for a moment.  You reminded me that I didn't used to 
be like this."

"How long have you been...like this?" I asked.

"It just started about a month ago."  

"Tazio, what do you get out of all this?  Besides sex, of
course."

He looked almost surprised.  "Don't you know?  Besides sex
there's just agony: I'm driven by The Lust, all the time.  I
simply HAVE to have sex, again and again.  With different women,
with whom I can't keep or have a genuine relationship."  

"So why can't you just keep one?  Or several?"

"I wish I could, that would be nice, and easier.  But you've seen
what happens to them: they change.  And when it goes too far they
are no longer themselves, but someone else entirely--I have no
right to do that to anyone.  I can only use them so much."

"Well," I said, blushing, not used to this, "you haven't used me
yet.  I'd like you to."

"Oh, thanks, but no.  I know that you're grateful but I also know
that you felt what I do is immoral, and I agree.  I can't help
it, I can't stop myself--but at least I can maintain ONE pure
relationship with one woman."

"One...pure relationship?  With me?"

"Yes, you, Theresa."

"Excuse me, aren't you that Tazio bloke?" a butch-looking
Australian woman asked, stopping directly in front of us.

He smiled at her, "Yeah.  Are you my next victim?"

"Sure, if you want," she said.

"And what do YOU want?" Tazio asked her.

"To fuck your brains out," she said, and they left.

I went home, virtue intact.  That night I couldn't sleep, I kept
wanting sex with that strange boy.  This wasn't his sexuality, 
this was my own, awake after having been dormant for so long, my 
own juices flowing in a healthy female body.  I was aroused to 
the core.  That evening I ended up thrashing out my horniness in 
lonely privacy.



The next day I was sitting on the steps again.  I was resolved to
have him, even if I had to wait my turn.  

He showed up about noon, dropping off the Australian woman.  She
no longer looked so butch, was more feminine--radiant, in fact. 
He waved to me but took two British punk twins home with him.

I asked the Australian woman how it had been.  I had somehow
remembered my school English, but that hardly surprised me, all
my mental functions had improved as much as my physical ones. 
She smiled like a Mona Lisa and shook her head, saying "I don't
want to talk about it, or analyze it...it was like being with...
a god."



I waited there day after day.  At first I was concerned that I
wasn't beautiful enough to attract him sexually, even though he 
seemed to like me a lot.

"Look Theresa, I'd love to have you--I actually prefer you to
most of the girls here right now.  But I can't, that is the test
I've put to myself."

However, when he kept taking unattractive women instead of me I
realized that I was maybe TOO pretty--that he had already
improved me as much as he dared.  Not that I was desperate to be
more improved--I was totally satisfied with my new me--I just
really wanted to make love with the guy.  So I continued to wait
for my turn every day, along with all the others.



We talked together almost every day.  And every day I offered
him my body, and every day he politely refused my offer.  But he
usually sat with me for a while...the younger girls WERE airheads
to him.  So was I, really, he was blindingly intelligent.

"I've changed my mind about you being immoral," I said.

"I know you have, but I haven't," he'd answer, "and I want to
stop doing this.  I really don't want to be hanging out on the 
Spanish Steps anymore."

"But you do so WELL here," I said, perhaps somewhat indignantly.

"You think so?  I really have more important things to do than
indiscriminately screw an endless chain of girls.  It's a
colossal waste of my time."

"More important?  Time to do What, for instance?"

"At present I'm designing a cold fusion engine.  You know; cheap
power, stop pollution, save the world, stuff like that.  All this
silliness with women cuts into my computer time."

"Well, all work and no play..."  I guess I gave him a get-serious
look.

"No, really.  Last week I finished a DNA formula for a protovirus
to cure AIDS, in fact all virus infections.  It will work.  It's
already posted on Internet."

I stared at him with my mouth open--anyone else I would have
ridiculed, but I was learning that his abilities were beyond
anyone else's.  I believed him.  And as everyone now knows, it 
was all true.

"Wait a minute..." suddenly recalling a newspaper article I'd
read, "...last year an Italian boy genius named Tazio was
nominated for the Nobel Prize for his 'Ozone Solution'..." then 
I gulped rather solidly, "...but he was only 11 years old!"

"I'm 12 now," he admitted, shrugging.

I didn't know whether to laugh or cry.  So I laughed. 

He left with a 35 year old Spanish slut named Consuela.  Then I
cried.



I would have expected lots of broken hearts among all those girls
who had been with Tazio, but there were none.  They mostly seemed
quite content with having had the ultimate sexual encounter of
their lives, with no hopeless craving to repeat it--at least, not
with Tazio.

At first all the other guys hanging out on the steps were
resentful and jealous of this KID who whisked away all the
women--and screwed them every one--but they soon became quite
glad for him.  Because all those women came back more beautiful
and very horny.

No, the hopeless craving was reserved for those women who had
NOT had him--such as myself.

And as the word got around, the number of girls sitting on the
steps grew until it WAS hopeless: he could never get around to
them all.



Not all the girls were enchanted by their "date" with Tazio: "He
took me home to this fantastically huge penthouse apartment, 
pool and bar and video with surround sound, and was screwing me 
on the bed in minutes.  That part was pretty good, but then he'd
come like a wild man...and then jump up and run over to his 
computer--inspired, he said.  So he had no time to talk to me, 
until he suddenly got all horny again, screwed me, and run back 
to his computer.  He did this all night long, never slept, 
must've nailed me 20 times."

Some seemed confused as to where they'd been and with whom, no
one could really say where Tazio's apartment was.  "Limbo" 
was the rumor.

Some girls even complained that they weren't made as beautiful as
they wanted, or that other girls got more out of Tazio than they
did.

Tazio shrugged off such complaints.  He really didn't care, "Next
girl, step on it," he said to me, making a joke of it.

"Pearls before swine?" I asked.

"Naw.  I can't blame them; they don't get much romance from me. 
I just USE them."

"But when I see what you do for them I wonder "Who's Using Who"?

"I don't begrudge them that, I really do need them.  Otherwise,
I'd go mad, I think."
 


All of these events took place within just two weeks.  The last
time I saw Tazio on the Scala di Spagna was on the 16th of April,
six years ago.  It was a nice sunny day in Rome, not as hot as 
in the summer, very pleasant.  

But it was getting out of hand on the Spanish Steps.  It was
becoming a circus: there were women coming to get laid--young
girls, tourists, prostitutes, nuns--some to become beautiful,
others to be cured of terrible diseases; and there were people
coming just to watch.

On that last day I went down to the Steps to continue my vigil.  
There was almost no place to sit. 

When Tazio arrived, the crowd of girls swarmed toward him.  He
raised his hand and shouted, "Relax!"  

Everyone did just that, relaxed.  They all stopped, some sat
down, others started talking with each other, all ignoring him
now.  It was amazing: one command and everyone obeyed. 

It was then that I realized that he might actually just take over
the world one day.

He walked through the crowd unmolested, more or less ignored, to 
make his choice for the day.  But he chose no one.  Eventually
he came to where I sat waiting for him, and he sat beside me.

"This is crazy," he said, looking around at all these people.  
It was odd how they didn't even seem to notice him at all now, 
although they'd all been waiting for him.  

It was like we were alone there in that crowd, only him and me. 
He turned directly to me.  "I guess I should say Goodbye," he
said, "I'm leaving Rome tonight."

"Goodbye?"  My heart fell down.  "For how long?"

"I won't be back.  Time to get out of this trap I'm in."

"Oh Tazio!  Where are you going?"

He smiled.  "Sailing on a private yacht with the Most Evil Man 
in the World, who is out to get me, one way or another.  It's 
yet another trap, but I know that, and have contingency plans. 
Should be interesting.  Any change would be right now."

"It sounds dangerous."

He laughed.  "Absolutely, but I can take care of myself, you know
that."  He put his hand on mine, "And you take care of yourself,
ok?"

I almost couldn't speak, my heart was about to break, the thing I
desired most in life was about to not happen.  I had to control 
myself, or make a scene, but I couldn't decide which.

"I suppose you can have fun with the girls wherever you go," I
said.  Petulantly, wistfully, accusingly, I'm not sure how I
meant it.  But his reaction was dramatic.

"You think I do this for fun?  This isn't fun, this is Hell.  
Having a girl friend would be fun, loving someone would 
be..." his voice caught.

To my surprise and shock, he began to cry, sobbed, tears running
down his face.  I could suddenly see that he WAS only a young
boy, and that he bore some great sorrow.

"Oh, what is it, Tazio?  Tell me." 

"I did have a girlfriend, whom I really loved, but she...died. 
Because of me."

He was still sitting right there beside me, so I put my arms 
around him like a mother would, and held his head to my bosom.  
"Oh my poor boy," I said, "I couldn't know....."

"It's her I wanted to be having, not all these strange girls."

I hugged him close, rocked him.  He stopped crying, but I began
to, for him and for me and for his dead girl friend.  

"It's a paradox:" he went on, "if I like a girl as she is I can't
have her without changing her.  So I take some girl who doesn't
matter, but she changes until I find her very appealing--which is
when I have to stop with her, because she'll continue to change
into...a copy of Jytte, the woman I once loved."

He was holding me close, our bodies pressed together.  His hands
had somehow drifted to my breasts.  Neither of us noticed until
he began to gently squeeze, and by then it felt too good to stop.

We were kissing, gently at first, then passionately. Until he 
snapped his bead back and his eyes open wide.  He looked
surprised, embarrassed.  

"Oh, I'm sorry...I didn't mean to...damn, I can't help it!"

"Don't be sorry, Tazio.  And just help yourself--to me!"

He was sweating now.  "I was going to keep us pure..."

"Oh fuck pure, Tazio--or rather, fuck me!"

"Theresa..."

"Don't leave without loving me at least once!"

"But then I'm a monster!"

"Ok, so you're a monster, so what?  Me too.  If you won't use 
me, let me use you!  Don't be so strong: be WEAK! You'll just 
be more the human for it--then it's YOU who can't say no."

Once again the genius who knew everything looked surprised.  
And relieved.  Only this time he smiled shyly.  And was really 
sweating now, he was hot, he was into it. "You're right," he 
admitted, "I can't tell you No!" 

"I'm leaving in an hour; don't have time to take you anywhere... 
your apartment?"

"No, not there," I rasped, "here.  Here and now on the Spanish 
Steps!"

Tazio's sweaty grin was almost feral.  He was as impassioned 
as I was! I really had him now! 

"Can you can make us invisible, as you did with the black 
girl?" I asked, "or not, I don't care."

"People should ignore us, but we won't really be invisible..." 

"Whatever, good enough for me."

"I don't know...I'm trying to end all this immoral behavior..."

"So end it with a bang!"

"All right," he casually waved a hand, "consider us invisible. 
Undress."

We were surrounded by people.  There was an international group
of young folks with guitars and drums singing folk songs, couples
nuzzling, strangers flirting, Interrailers exchanging travel
stories.  A typical day on the Spanish Steps, lots of traffic
passing by on the street.

And I, nice moral prudish Catholic woman, stood up and gladly
peeled off my clothes until I stood there naked under the open
sky, surrounded by the City of Rome.  

It felt wonderful, warmed by the sun, kissed by the wind, I
spread my arms wide and was Free At Last.

Although I did sneak a look around to make sure that no one was
staring at me.  But no one noticed, people came and went
without turning their heads, the folksingers were doing John
Lennon's "Imagine".

I looked down at Tazio, who was still sitting and still dressed,
but who was obviously enjoying the moment.  Then he leaned
forward and sniffed at my thighs.  "You smell good," he said.

Perhaps I smelled him too, pheromones and all that, anyway I
heard myself growling like an animal in heat as he stood and
lifted me onto the low stone wall beside us.

I pulled off his shirt.  He dropped his pants.  I saw his tail. 
By then I didn't care, only for the other tail in front.  He...

...no, wait--I'm not going to give a thrust-by-thrust report of 
what he did and I did.  I didn't mean for this to be pornography.  
We made love, we did what lovers do, we had sex, okay? 

But then again, I do need to tell what happens now because it
wasn't like most lovers do--I'd certainly never experienced
anything like it before or since.  Whether it was more like
animals do, or Gods do, I'm not sure.

At first it was very Animal, two beasts in rut.  Glorious
physical gratification.  He was a perfect stud with absolute
power and stamina, I was the earth mother.  The folk singers 
were singing Italian songs and we were keeping beat with "bella
CIAO, bella CIAO, bella CIAO CIAO CIAO..."  I thought 
that was pretty funny and I giggled.

But when I looked up at Tazio's impassioned face I could see 
that he was even farther into it than I was, seemingly lost in 
sexual intensity, eyes closed, nostrils flaring, a grin full 
of sharp pointy teeth--he WAS an animal!

Then he opened his eyes and everything changed--in every
direction at once.  Because his eyes weren't human: catlike slit
pupils, golden swirling irises.  I suddenly remembered his
reaction when I'd asked if he was the Devil...dæmon lover 
indeed.  But before I could be afraid I saw the cosmic/universal 
love in his eyes and was carried away to another level.

I was almost reluctant to be carried away--my body was having
such a nice time--but couldn't resist.  My vision expanded to 
see energies zipping around us, magnetic fields banding, 
spectrums of light, radio waves, but most brightly the power 
emanating from the Earth itself, through Tazio--and flowing 
into me.  

I could sense my body changing, being improved: muscles 
charging with power, bones and ligaments tingling and 
toughening, brain cells pulsing, a long lost tooth grew 
back anew; I was becoming...perfect, Godlike.  I was 
becoming like Tazio.
  
And then came the orgasm--his, I had been in constant orgasm 
from the start--and the energy level went beyond my capacity 
to register.  I was blinded by the light.



I awoke in my own bed.  Alone, but not lonely.  I felt very 
good, very peaceful, very very very satisfied.  It was about 
sundown and the light in my room made it seem like a cathedral. 

I got up and went casually to the window to look down upon the
Spanish Steps.  There weren't many people there, and of course 
he was gone.  Nor has he ever been back since.  Or at least I
haven't seen him, I left Rome a while after that and traveled
around the world, just like all those young people I had 
watched from my window.

I did get a little revenge upon Mario, my once-upon-a-husband,
whom I met by accident just before I left Rome.  He hadn't
recognized me, but I greeted him and he was shocked by how
beautiful I was: that last episode with Tazio trimmed off the
last extra weight and turned me into what you see today. Mario 
fell desperately in love with me and wanted to come back, but 
of course I wasn't interested, it had never been that good a
marriage anyway.   

My real marriage took place on the Spanish Steps.  And now that
Tazio has shown up again, I'm going to go join him.  With a 
harem of other women, I know, so be it.  If he's going to take 
over the world, he's going to have use for us all.  

So that's my eyewitness account of having known Tazio 
dellaTerra, the young man who has just taken over the world, 
after having literally saved it from Nuclear Destruction.  

You ask: Who Is He?  What does he want?  Is he a mutant or a 
devil or a god? I don't know, just that I trust him.  He's the 
most moral man I've ever met.  Try him yourself and find out.

Ha!  "Be WEAK!"  What a line, but he bought it!  It was I who 
was the seducer.


Theresa Rossini,
Paris