Under the Venetian mask adorned with Swarovski crystals, Elena smiled nervously. The exclusive party at the villa on Lake Como was at its peak—lounge music, Dom Pérignon champagne, elegant bodies moving in the dim light of rooms illuminated by scented candles.
She was fifty-two and hadn’t attended this kind of event since… since when? Perhaps never. It had been Roberto who suggested it. “Let’s try something different,” her husband had proposed with a look she thought was lost forever. Elena wore a burgundy silk dress that followed the curves of her fifty-year-old body—a body she had learned to criticize in front of the mirror, but that evening, under admiring glances, suddenly seemed worthy of attention.
The invitation had come through one of Roberto’s wealthy clients—a themed party for mature couples, refined, discreet. Dress code: formal elegance and masks. Atmosphere: “liberating,” the invitation had euphemistically specified, though no one was fooled.
Now Elena observed the other couples—some around fifty like them, others younger and older—conversing in small groups, dancing with studied intimacy, drifting toward the villa’s more secluded rooms. There was sensuality in the air, but never vulgarity. Everything was veiled, suggested, elegant, muted. No one could recognize anyone else; all wore Venetian masks over their evening attire.
A man with graying hair, thick above his mask, perhaps in his sixties, brushed her shoulder as he passed by. “May I?” he murmured, offering her a glass of prosecco. His eyes behind the golden mask lingered on her with evident admiration. Elena blushed, embarrassed, flattered. No one could see her embarrassment.
Shortly after, as she moved toward the buffet, an elegant woman in a black dress whispered in her ear: “That’s a vintage Yves Saint Laurent, isn’t it? It suits you divinely.” Her hand brushed the fabric at Elena’s waist, a touch that lasted a second too long to be casual. “You have a magnificent body.”
The music slowed into a sensual rhythm. The distinguished man reappeared at her side. “May I have this dance?”
Elena searched for Roberto with her eyes—he was across the room, conversing with other guests, wearing an impeccable tuxedo and a black mask that gave him a mysterious aura. She nodded.
The man led her onto the dance floor with confidence. His hands were respectful at first, one on her waist, the other holding hers. But as they danced, the hand on her waist slid lower, grazing the curve of her hips. Elena felt a shiver—it was inappropriate, yet thrilling to feel desired so openly.
When the song ended, another man approached—from the hair at his nape, he seemed younger, perhaps in his forties, masked in silver. “The next dance is mine,” he said with a bold smile.
This time, his hands were less discreet. As they danced close, she felt his fingers tracing the bare back of her dress, sliding dangerously, exploring with audacity. Elena should have stopped, stepped away, but a part of her—that dormant part—was awakening under those forbidden attentions.
The first man returned, approaching from behind. For a moment, Elena found herself between the two, surrounded. One’s hands on her waist, the other’s sliding along her side. She felt bold fingers brush the inside of her thigh through the silk, a quick but unmistakable touch that took her breath away.
The music slowed even more. The two men grew bolder, their bodies pressing against her from both sides. She felt them on her hips, her breasts. Elena sensed the warm breath of the younger man on her neck, while the older whispered passion in her ear—words she couldn’t understand but that made her tremble. Their hands slid lower, caressing her through the fabric with a brazenness that should have scandalized her. She felt their palms everywhere, exploring her carefully through the dress.
She closed her eyes for a moment, surrendering to that forbidden sensation. She felt lips brush her bare shoulder, while the other’s fingers found the neckline on her back, tracing her spine with deliberate slowness. For a moment, she forgot where she was, who she was, who was watching. The man in front traced her mask with his right index finger, slid it down her body, along the channel between her breasts as waves of heat overwhelmed her, while the other’s hands boldly rested on her buttocks. She felt dizzy, having drunk without eating. The alcohol had a strange effect, she thought, as she suddenly felt the finger descend to her belly, lower still, pressing above the dress on the slit of her lips. From behind, she felt the other pinch her buttocks. She didn’t know what to do; it seemed to whirl around her. Then the man behind her moved away slightly; she felt the dress ride up on her firm thighs. The man in front slipped his finger under her skirt and in a swift gesture pulled down her black lace panties. She felt naked, intoxicated, disturbed. She looked down. The dress covered her intimacies, but the man had brought the panties to her ankles and was inviting her to lift her foot to let them fall on the dance floor.
It was then that Roberto appeared. His gaze had changed—not distracted anymore, but intense, ignited by a primal jealousy. He saw his wife between those two men, saw their hands on her, saw how she surrendered to those caresses, the lingerie on the floor.
“I’m sorry,” he said in a tone that brooked no argument, stepping between them and Elena, “but this is my dance!” And he grabbed his wife, letting the intimate garment fall on the floor.
The other two fought over the lace panties, both bending down to pick them up, while she slipped away, embraced by her husband.
He handed her a glass of Château d’Yquem. Elena looked at him and saw something in his eyes she hadn’t seen in years—not just desire, but also a hint of possessive jealousy, as if he were rediscovering her through the eyes of others.
“I didn’t know I was so sought after,” she said, mischievous.
“You always were desirable,” he replied, pulling her close. “I was the one who forgot. But they didn’t. They look at you the way you deserve to be looked at.”
Elena looked at him as if seeing him for the first time after years of routine.
“You’re the most beautiful woman at every party, just like the first time I saw you!” he said, and in his voice there was something new. Desire, perhaps. Or the rediscovery of desire.
They danced. Their bodies came closer than they had in years. Roberto’s hand slid along her bare back, lingering on the curve of her hips. Elena felt a shiver she thought she had forgotten.
As they danced, Elena sensed the gazes on her. A salt-and-pepper-bearded man dancing with a younger woman caught her eye and smiled with clear interest. Nearby, a couple in their forties watched them with barely concealed curiosity—the woman whispered something to her companion without taking her eyes off Elena.
When the music slowed, a light hand brushed Elena’s arm. It was the woman in black from before. “I envy you,” she said warmly, addressing both but looking mostly at her. Her touch lingered a moment before withdrawing.
Roberto held Elena tighter, warm breath on her neck. “See how they look at you? How they desire you?” he whispered. “I forgot to remind you how precious you are. But they didn’t, they see it.”
“There’s a room,” he whispered in her ear. “Just for us. If you want.”
Elena’s heart quickened. She should have felt ridiculous—two fifty-year-olds playing at being rebellious—but she felt alive. She nodded.
Roberto led her down a corridor lit by soft lights to a room dominated by a king-size bed with white linen sheets. The room smelled of cedarwood and gardenia. From the window, the lake gleamed under the moon.
They looked at each other for a moment, uncertain. Then Roberto gently touched her face, still masked, with a delicacy she didn’t remember. He kissed her—how long had it been? Ten years? Fifteen?
They undressed slowly, exploring their bodies as if admiring them for the first time. His body had changed—softer, less defined—but when Elena’s hands roamed him, she found him strangely new, exciting. Her body bore the marks of time, yet under Roberto’s gaze that night she felt no shame, only the desire to be seen, finally truly seen.
“You’re still the most beautiful woman at every party, just like the first time I saw you!” he murmured, and she understood he truly meant it.
When their bodies met, it wasn’t with the mechanical frenzy they were used to, but with rediscovered slowness. Roberto caressed her as if learning every inch of her again. Elena surrendered, allowing sounds and movements she usually held back out of modesty or fatigue.
They made love with newfound intensity. They took their time, explored each other, laughed when something didn’t work perfectly, and that imperfection made them more intimate than they had been in years.
Afterward, they lay entwined in the fragrant sheets, masks finally abandoned on the nightstand. Roberto stroked her hair, she traced circles on his chest.
“When did we stop?” Elena asked softly.
“Stop doing what?”
“Looking at each other. Desiring each other like this.”
Roberto thought. “I don’t know. It happened gradually, I think. Between work, routine… but you were always there, I just forgot to really see you. Tonight I saw the woman I fell in love with, and the one you’ve become, and both take my breath away.”
They fell asleep entwined in that unfamiliar room, the masks left on the nightstand as a reminder of a night that had changed them.
