Bene Virilis: Salvē, dulcissima! What do you look like?
Dulcissima: I am wearing a red silk stola, a fine tunica, and my best leather calcei. I walk daily through the forum and practice throwing discus—toned and perfect. My measurements are triginta-sex, viginti-quattuor, triginta-sex. And you, Bene Virilis?
Bene Virilis: I stand six Roman feet and three unciae tall, weigh about 250 librārum. I wear oculāriō (glasses), and right now I’m in my sublīgāculum (undergarments) and a tunicā novā I purchased from the market in the Subura. There's a bit of garum (fish sauce) on my tunic from dinner, and it smells... well, distinctly Roman.
Dulcissima: Oh, I long for you! Shall we engage in sweet Venus’ games?
Bene Virilis: Bene, let's proceed.
Dulcissima: We are now in my cubiculum. Soft music plays from the tibiā (flute), and the glow of oil lamps fills the room. I gaze into your eyes, smiling. My hand descends toward your toga laticlavia and fondles your large, swelling... fibula (the clasp on your toga).
Bene Virilis: (gulp) I begin to sweat like a soldier in Gaul.
Dulcissima: I pull up your tunic, kissing your chest, where your heart beats as fast as a gladiator in the Colosseum.
Bene Virilis: I unfasten your stola. My hands tremble like a senator about to deliver bad news to the emperor.
Dulcissima: I moan softly, like a Vestal caught sneaking out after curfew.
Bene Virilis: I take hold of your stola and slowly slide it off, as if unrolling a precious scroll from the library of Alexandria.
Dulcissima: Ohhh! I throw my head back, the cool silk sliding off my warm skin, like a toga on a hot Roman afternoon. I rub your fibula faster.
Bene Virilis: My hands suddenly jerk like a nervous scriba (scribe) in front of the magistrate and accidentally tear a hole in your stola. I’m sorry!
Dulcissima: Nil refert (it’s fine), it wasn’t as expensive as a consul’s toga.
Bene Virilis: I’ll repay you with denarii.
Dulcissima: Don’t worry about it, my love. Now, I’m in my fasciae pectoralis (lacy chest band). My soft breasts rise and fall like the tides of Neptune.
Bene Virilis: I’m fumbling with the clasp. It’s stuck! Do you have any gladius (sword) nearby?
Dulcissima: Haha! No need, love. I reach back and undo the clasp with the ease of a skilled auriga (charioteer). My chest band falls away, leaving me bare, like the columns of the Forum.
Bene Virilis: How did you do that? I inspect the clasp like a philosopher studying a paradox.
Dulcissima: I arch my back, moaning, “Oh, Bene Virilis, I want to feel your lingua (tongue) all over me!”
Bene Virilis: I drop the chest band and lick your...um... you know... mammae (breasts). They’re... uh... neat!
Dulcissima: Ah! I run my fingers through your hair, nibbling your ear like it’s a freshly baked panis.
Bene Virilis: Achoo! Oh no, your breasts are now covered with my spit and phlegm!
Dulcissima: What in the name of Jupiter?!
Bene Virilis: Forgive me! Truly!
Dulcissima: I wipe off your phlegm with what remains of my stola.
Bene Virilis: I take the dampened fabric and drop it with a wet plop.
Dulcissima: Vale! I pull up my tunic and rub your... gladius... no, not a sword—your scrotum.
Bene Virilis: I scream like a Vestal caught in a scandal! Your hands are cold like the waters of the Tiber in winter!
Dulcissima: I raise my tunic higher. Take off my subligaculum!
Bene Virilis: I pull off your subligaculum. My tongue travels where no Roman legion has gone before. Wait—hold on a moment.
Dulcissima: What’s the matter?
Bene Virilis: I’ve got one of your pili pubici (pubic hairs) caught in my throat! I’m choking!
Dulcissima: By the gods, are you well?
Bene Virilis: Coff! coff! I’m choking like a bad orator in the Senate! I run to the kitchen! Where are your cōpīae (cups)?
Dulcissima: To the right of the basin!
Bene Virilis: Ah! I gulp water from the cup like a Roman soldier after a long march. Much better!
Dulcissima: Come back, lover.
Bene Virilis: First, I must wash this cup! I’m a Roman citizen after all!
Dulcissima: Venī! Venī! I’m on the bed, arching for you like a triumphal arch!
Bene Virilis: I dry the cup, put it back in its place, and now... wait, it’s dark. I can’t find your cubiculum. Where is it?
Dulcissima: Last ianua (door) on the left!
Bene Virilis: Ah, there we go!
Dulcissima: I tug off your tunica, moaning. I can’t stand it another second!
Bene Virilis: Me neither, cara mea (my dear).
Dulcissima: I kiss you passionately. Our naked bodies press together like the stones of the Colosseum.
Bene Virilis: Your face is pushing my oculāriō (glasses) into my face! It hurts!
Dulcissima: Take them off!
Bene Virilis: I can’t see well without them, but alright. Now they’re on the tabula nocturna (nightstand).
Dulcissima: I bend over. Intra me nunc! (Enter me now!)
Bene Virilis: Wait—I need to relieve myself. One moment!
Dulcissima: Festina (Hurry)!
Bene Virilis: I find the latrina in the dark, fumble around, and... oh no, I’ve realized I’ve relieved myself in your cista vestimentaria (laundry basket).
Dulcissima: What now, Bene Virilis?
Bene Virilis: I’m deeply sorry. I’ll be right back.
Dulcissima: Venī cito (Come quickly)!
Bene Virilis: Now I’m here, ready to put my gladius... into your... uh, you know... tēlum muliebre (womanly sheath).
Dulcissima: Yes! Do it!
Bene Virilis: Umm... I'm having some trouble.
Dulcissima: What kind of trouble?!
Bene Virilis: I’m... flaccidus (flaccid).
Dulcissima: What?!
Bene Virilis: I’m limp as a Roman fresco! I cannot maintain... an erectio!
Dulcissima: By Juno’s tits!
Bene Virilis: I’m getting my oculāriō to see if something is wrong.
Dulcissima: Forget it! I’m getting dressed.
Bene Virilis: Wait! I’m squinting, knocking over lamps, jars of olive oil, and your candles—oh no! The candle has fallen! The curtain is on fire!
Dulcissima: Abī in malam crucem! (Go to hell!) I’m logging off this forum, loser!
Bene Virilis: Oh no, the whole cubicula is ablaze! Ignis! Ignis! (Fire! Fire!)
Dulcissima: Valē! (Goodbye forever!)
