Fucking Italians! Literally, this time. YAY!

I finally did it. I prised open the tight clam of Italy’s thighs, took a good look, and pulled out a pearl necklace.

I fucked an Italian.

I am so happy right now.

I did it. I fucking did it.

I got into an Italian’s pants and I didn’t even have to listen to his bullshit chat up lines or pretend to be a classy bird.

And it was… fucking brilliant. Rad, if you will. If my hands didn’t stink so bad right now, I would expect a whole pile of fist bumps.  But I need a shower… you’re off the hook.

Ok back up, you didn’t tolerate my masturbatory whining for nigh on a year now just to miss out on the details of my foray into two player sex.

I’m gonna make good and shoot my TMI load all over your screens now.

So last night, I go out to celebrate the birthday of a guy who I consider hot but sorta too skinny and a bit short to let me like him too much, but as he is a hottie I crave his approval anyway. I made my sister’s birthday cake and it was a monument to my awesome cooking skills, appreciation of how much chocolate a kid can eat, and my sisterly devotion in the throes of a raging minor cold.

So while mixing up the cake I thought I’d make a bit more and do a couple of muffins too, and that way I could look like a nice person to the hot but small guy and put a candle on one for his birthday, as well as impress people with my cooking skills.

So I added to the recipe and made muffins and put them in a tin and brought them in my freshly washed gargantuan handbag (the one I puked in last week. Oh how the fallen have grown mighty!) and headed out to the party at some bar wearing a freaking lovely dress that’s flattering and classy and also I had my hair brushed and straightened and I was not wearing too much makeup but definitely enough.

I looked gooood and I had cake, what could possibly not be awesome about my night?

I met Andrea. We groaned and laughed about last week’s outing and blamed the shots. We mingled at the party but kept finding ourselves isolated on the edge of all these groups of people.

She wondered why we kept winding up alone.

I said it was because we were men’s women – women don’t like us and men are afraid of us.

She liked that explanation although really all it means is “we are catty bitches, we avoid women and instead start colonies of men only, like queen ants or bees or some shit so we can get all the good attention and none of the competition”

But anyway.

We drank beer… SERIOUSLY NO SHOTS. PROMISE ME!

She promised and we also promised no more jagerbombs or any of that crap.

We chose a table to sit at that was empty, and sure enough we soon found ourselves in the midst of a lively group of menfolk. One guy, an Italian flatmate of one of Andrea’s dude friends, was introducing himself to the guy beside him. I thought I’d be polite also he was kinda hot so I was like “Hi!” and put my hand out.

Then he’s like, eh we just met five minutes ago, we shook hands and exchanged names.

So I imediately smooth that faux pas out by being like “yeah of course I know that, I’m just saying welcome to this table!”

Everyone else is like, groan… I felt kinda bad.

Anyway I chatted to him for a bit about whatever, and managed to let him know I despise Italy and want to leave without saying anything bad about Italy really. He was nice, from the South, in his final year studying engineering. I considered him and decided he was pretty hot, and would be a viable candidate for flirtation if he managed to keep his stupid Italian mouth shut and not say anything to turn me off.

So we chatted to people, menfolk tried to make me dance and I insisted NO I DONT DANCE.

I sat in the corner scowling at prospective dance partners and downing pints of red beer which I discovered I like now.

Andrea’s boyfriend showed up. They were being a good couple and trying to avoid me ending another evening howling in the back of his car as he drives me home, about who do I have to blow around here to get some decent one night stand?

They suggested some guys to me.

“He’s hot, I think… he was looking at you like a sex wolf” said Andrea. Who? Oh that guy… Pablo or some shit? Nah don’t like him.

“What about him?” she indicates another guy. Nah. Yuck. No likey…

They were starting to exchange eye rolls and be like, what the fuck is this girl’s problem? I gave birthday hottie his little cake. He was drunk as a skunk so I don’t think he fully appreciated my selfless gesture. But anyway. I had two other muffins so I shared with Andrea and her boyfriend. I was kind of hoping Andrea would eat a whole one and get fat and stop being so much better looking than me… but she only had a little bit. And it would take more than a muffin anyway. And she’s my best friend in Italy, and she’s nice. I’m just a bitch.

Then I was like AHA… what about the Italian?

I started checking up on him from the corner of my eye. He was pretty hot actually, although he did have a stupid fucking checked shirt. But underneath, he’s naked, I told myself. I saw him dancing with some Italian girl. Bitch.

Instantly, with the filter of another woman’s interest, he was a whole lot hotter.

Way to his pants is through his stomach. So I used the excuse of cake to lure Italian guy with stupid shirt over to look at me and leave my competitor who did not have any home made desserts to offer him.

He came over but was like “no I can’t I’m on a diet, I’m fat”. Groan. Why, hot Italian guy? Why you gotta sound like such a piece of vagina? You’re not fat. You’re perfect, you have a tiny bit of extra pudge but it’s fucking nothing, you’re not fat at all. You’re just how I like my men, I can’t stand these overly skinny guys with skeletor pelvises.

So I’m turned right off, in one fell swoop he has gone from I will cut that bitch if he tries to steal him away from me, to oh seriously I could not get nakey with someone who thinks that if you can pinch it, it’s fat. I’d be too self conscious.

So I’m like, “yeah me too, I’m also on a massive diet but you have to be able to eat cake sometimes…. plus you can just throw it up later, sure it’s saturday night! Amiright?”

I don’t think he understood what I was saying. Anyway the music was loud.

Andrea tries again to turn me on to some guy. She reminds me of a quality anecdote I shared with her of my one night in Buenos Aires when I went trawling for men, and I was at a terrible party and found a tall guy who was aiight and I went up to him and said

“Hey, I’m a tourist, will you teach me to dance?”

And he’s like, “uh my friend dances better than me”, pointing at a short dark guy nearby.

I am like “you don’t understand… TEACH ME TO DANCE.”

He didn’t get it.

I said “Ok, let me make it clearer… if you don’t know how to dance vertically, maybe we can go somewhere and do it horizontally?”

THATS RIGHT, I used the horizontal tango line in Argentina. I rock.

Anyway I pulled that night, although he then turned out to be a bit stalkery and put my number up in a phone booth near where he lived when I stopped answering his calls and then I got lots of calls from weirdos. But that’s a tale for a slower news day methinks.

So Andrea is all, why don’t you use your horizontal tango line? Come on go for it?

Welllll…. I’m emboldened with red beer.

I look sheepish… “Will I? What if I actually go for it?” I muse, as she and her boyfriend look on with hungry grins, dying for me to make a memorable and hilarious tit of myself. I remember that in Argentina, I didn’t fucking know any of the people at the party and I risked no shame or fame or anything. That’s why I had the balls to do it. So no. Pass… Phew, that was close.

But then they were talking about leaving, and I was stuck talking to one of these guys who apparently was eating me up with his eyes (I didn’t notice, but I don’t blame him I looked awesome) and he was annoying the hell out of me for some reason, probably jsut that he wasn’t hot, and I started just saying random inflammatory shit to get him to leave, but it became a heated debate and I was getting rowdy and offensive.

Andrea was like “MFO WE ARE GOING, COME ON!”

But just as I was about to get up, with the most perfect timing possible, Italian dude comes over and sits on half of my chair, shoving me over but pressing nicely up against me. I have a choice to make:

Gamble on this guy who maybe is annoying and will think I’m fat if he thinks he’s fat, and maybe doesn’t like me anyway, but he’s kinda hot, or go home and get a lift and be in bed and warm and safe and definitely not get laid?

Terrified by the prospect of another home alone night… I went all in on this guy, ugly shirt and all. I waved Andrea away with my hand… I think I’ll stay a bit longer. She nods sagely. OK if you’re sure… her and her boyfriend beam at me proudly and then they’re gone. I realise I probably made a mistake, this Italian guy is probably just drunk and sitting down wherever…

I chat to him as it dawns on me, I’m deluded…. He doesn’t like me… I will need to get a taxi home, alone, and it’s gonna cost me. And I don’t even know where I am…

The annoying dude I was bored with walks off in defeat, as Italian guy and I stay on this one uncomfortable chair. A couch becomes free, so he leaps over to a new seat and pats the space beside him. Come!

I join him. There’s loads of space but we are sitting pressed up against each other. Thigh on thigh. His shirt is really horrible. It reminds me of those stupid soldiers I tried to sexually assault. I dislike this memory. Also he is wearing it tucked into jeans that have a stupid Armani belt buckle. Fake, maybe. Stupid, definitely.

I shove those petty criticisms away. No I will not ruin this with hipster smugness.

And then, and this is kind of proof that I WAS pretty drunk, I just dive in there with the

“your place or mine?” conversation. We were just talking about our home towns or whatever, no flirting, nothing.

I’m like, “right… so I live on my own, but my house is messy.” He’s all “well, I have 3 flatmates but a big room.”

I’m all, “Ok messy house, but no flatmates. And a big bed.” He’s like, “Counter offer… Single bed, but I have two beds.”

OH FUCK. Two beds? I realise he must think I want to sleep over, like a friend or something.. shit I’m misreading this… he doesn’t like me at all. He might be gay… maybe he wants a platonic sleepover? I am drunk. I can’t tell any more.

So I start babbling incoherently trying to patch up whatever mistake I think I’ve made, but then luckily he interrupts and is like, “I have two beds, that I can push together to make a double.”

OHhhh. Of course. Of course he gets that we’re gonna do the beast with two backs and four nipples.

Ok.

But I still want to go to my place… so I have all my stuff near, and can stay and be hung over and sleep in my own bed… except I shaved my legs earlier, or hacked at the thick and stumpy follices more like, and used up 6 disposable razors to get them remotely smooth (they are not smooth at all) and I think I left the hairy razors strewn around the bathroom, plus my bedroom is full of plates and orange peels and my kitchen is a mess… and there are dirty knickers on the floor and the bin in the kitchen is smelly.

Luckily he insists on his place.

Now that that is settled, we sit back and realise, we just decided where we are gonna fuck. We didn’t flirt, we didn’t check for signals, we didn’t even talk for very long about anything before hand. Hmm. He just sat beside me, we talked about the South of Italy, and then we each made a case for our bedrooms, and we settled on his.. and we are now putting on our coats and heading for the door.

I’m a bit nervous but a lot pissed and rowdy. I wanna fuck this guy.

I drag him through the crowd by the arm, and then stop outside and I’m like, oh yeah… your house. Where? He says it’s walkable, but I warn him however long it really is, I will complain for the whole journey. So make it short, I say, gritting my teeth. Memory added: I whined about needing to pee as well. And accused him of having a penis he can pee with while standing. Man, that particular line needs to be put to rest. I have to stop saying that to men. All the fucking time.

We get the night bus. I whine about wanting a taxi. I wanna taxxxxxiiiiiiiiiii… I whine for a while. We haven’t kissed yet or put arms around each other or anything. I rest my face on his chest at one point as I kinda get the spins when a car drives past me real fast. He sort of holds me but it’s a bit awkward. I worry, shit maybe this will be like when I tried to force a no-chemistry fuck buddy relationship before. Except without the door handle breaking and him peeing out the upstairs window while I peruse a wall collage of photos of him and his ex girflriend who is clearly still into and then his mother having to break the door down to let us out in the morning and trying to drag the covers off me yelling “who’s under there? Slut! Hussy! Slut!” while the dude pins the duvet on top of my quivering naked body trying to hide me and screeches “mum get out! it’s no one, get out!”

I met him on the internet. True story. Never again… I hope it’s not like that.

We get the bus and I whine a bit more and then realise I am being an annoying dick and try to be more upbeat. I praise Italy’s vegetables and fruit. I ask him about the primary crops and economy in his region, as well as his favorite cheese. I have clearly become a skilled conversationalist because he has plenty to say on these topics. He tells me some interesting facts about certain fruits and things, like how to peel a cactus fruit without getting little needles in your hands. Already this is the best one night stand ever.

He is an engineering student so I presume he is a geek and somehow tell him all about my gaming, my evenings watching shit on my computer, and my stumbleupon habit.

I don’t remember this but he remembered it all today, so I must have talked a lot. I also apparently gave him the impression that my life’s dream was to study engineering but I was five points off getting the course. I was five points away from engineering but it’s not like I actually wanted to study something hard! Although I would have liked it, there were very few girls on the course. But I could barely get out of bed for 11am when I was in college to do some piss easy classics course, 3 days a week…. Engineering was not for me. I don’t know why I told him that…

We get to his house. His room is massive but oddly kinda empty. There is a really neat desk in one corner, a single bed and then he does all sorts of efficient moving around of things and the bed becomes double but with a gap in the middle. I wonder at his abilities with sheets while so drunk. (Answer: he had only had one drink)

We kiss for the first time and he’s a bit of an empty-mouth kisser but it improves as we get into it and it’s passionate as fuck. No problems with chemistry here.

We kiss and I try to correct his empty-mouth kissing without mouth raping him and then it’s better. I feel like I’m being the man in the kissing though… I don’t know if this is just some shit I think, but it feels like the tongue is the dick substitute here and he should be penetrating my mouth more than I his. I think this may just be something I have come up with in my own overly analytical and paranoid head so I will let it slide…

He takes off his shoes. They have velcro. Oh god no… velcro. I almost want to call the whole thing off and tell him I’m leaving and going home because grown ups wear lace up shoes.

Not velcro. No. But he is feeling the curve of my waist- hip area and I am really turned on by the fact that I feel really slim and he’s clearly appreciating my body. My ego soars. I whip off my dress and stand there, as good as I’ve looked in years, in my undies.

He takes off my bra. My boobs are warm and so are horrible and shapeless. Get cold, damn you! Nippes, scrunch up and look pert! Fuck it. My boobs look like crap most of the time. But I felt like my slenderness and the low lighting kind of offset the poor tit sitch, and I thought, I’ll fake it… and I pretended to be uber confident and didn’t cover them up or anything.

He (let’s call him Fabio) has me on the bed and then it’s that wait stop awkward condom moment. Ugh how boring. I hover all naked on the  mattress, unsure what to do with myself… while he does the solemn man-condom rites. But then I see he’s taking too long to get the thing on… because he’s not hard. Shit. Fuck. I am a hideous manbearpig. He’s all floppy now… it’s my nipples isn’t it. His penis is reacting in disappointment to my stupid soft pyramid shaped breasts. My “pg tits” as I call them… Triangular shaped for better circulation. That’s a brand of teabags in the UK… never mind.

But I just know that’s what’s going on, it’s my pathetic excuse for a pair of breasts… damn it. Feel so wretched…

But then I pull myself together, give the sorry bendy dick a look of contempt and say “not on my watch, soldier”

And I go to town, cpr style.

I haven’t got much saliva to make it a good un, so I just let things stir beneath the surface… and then over to you, Fabio…

He is clearly very eager to get more head. I think he made it floppy again on purpose. I go back for more, remembering, wait, didn’t I say I hated giving head? It’s all rushing back to me. The joy in a good job done… the knowledge that as long as this dick is in my mouth, hung over or no, I look seriously good to this guy. I try to muster some spit but all the beer has dehydrated me. I have no extra saliva… Pity, because I actually really feel like impressing this dude with my oral prowess.

It’s a really nice penis. It’s big, tubular… no weird shapes, no bends, an honest, hardworking cock.

We have liftoff. The sex is rough and fun and passionate but over pretty quickly.

I take it as a compliment, I decide, and we lie back and shoot the breeze while our chests rise and fall and our cheeks cool.

We chat…

He asks me “do you think you will be able to get to sleep without playing?”

And I think he means, do you think you will be able to sleep without masturbating? And I start going apeshit thinking DAMN what? WHY did I tell him about that? What the fuck? And I’m like, why would I need to do that if we are having sex? I’m on the verge of being like, oh well I never orgasm from sex anyway, but it’s ok, I have fun anyway… LUCKILY I don’t say this…

But he’s like you know, your game on your computer?

And thank fuck he doesn’t get what I thought he meant, so that was a close save. Although why the fuck was I talking about gaming anyway? Just because he’s an engineer, I presume he’s a nerd. He isn’t a nerd though. Really glad I didn’t mention masturbation. Damn it’s a fucking minefield, this whole thing of keeping the truth about how pathetic and lonely I am from other people so they will like me and not be repulsed.

But damn, engineers are supposed to be geeks… I work in a fucking clothes shop and I’m a total nerdazoid, why is a guy who studies HOW TO MAKE ROBOTS THAT FIGHT EACH OTHER not share my passions? (Yeah smartass, it’s that kind of engineering, I asked.)

Italy: you weird.

After a while we go again. This time he comes quickly too, but I am pretty wrecked and drunk so I don’t really care.

We fall asleep and I wake up hung over, sticky with sex gunk, stinking of latex, and spooning with my very first Italian.

He’s not hung over. He’s wide awake, and I feel the gentle, persistent stirring from behind. I missed that. He runs his hands over my curvy bits. He kisses me and I clamp my lips shut so none of the foul breath can escape my mouth and try for that to not be weird… I remember having his dick in my mouth. I have a dry dry mouth.

He strokes my back… I’m naked. He’s wearing a t shirt and those stupid tight pants that supposedly fuck up your sperm count.

Anyway he looks at me quite a bit and smiles even though I am all smelly and hung over and have small chesticles. It’s reassuring that he probably doesn’t want to kick me out of bed imediately. I wonder how I will extricate myself eventually, whether he will give me a clear sign when he wants me gone and whether I will get more sex before I gather my stuff and embark on the walk of shame.

It occurs to me, I don’t remember his name. I decide to just bite the bullet and not let this become some stupid awkward thing. I groan loudly and say “I’m really sorry… I forgot your name.” I don’t even remember if he told me last night… oh yeah, I already introduced myself twice. This is the third time I’m forgetting the poor guy, and I already fucked him too.

He tells me, but he doesn’t say mine so I triumphantly announce “aha! you forgot mine too!” and then he regurgitates not only my name, but the stupid little blurb about how it’s spelt for Italians who can’t figure out foreign names. Shit. Blush. I’m sorry.

I begin implying my desire to fuck again… I get touchy feely. He replies by getting a hand in there but like, not some amateur fumbling shit like you usually get with a new guy. No, he’s doing it right. I am really surprised.

But then he’s all, oh there are no more condoms.

WHAT? Fucking WHAT?

What are we doing here then if there’s no condoms? I look really disappointed. That’s all I get then? Two quickies?

Fucks sake. I point out that we should have gone to my house because in my house there are more than two. I stop myself from saying “if I had known in advance, I wouldn’t have been so forgiving about the premature ejaculation!” Man, I am on the ball.. I have avoided saying so many bad things… I am getting the hang of this. I think it’s cause my Italian sucks, I have time to mull things over before I speak. If only I could be shit at English, too, then no one would know the truth…

He says something about needing to buy more. He starts getting dressed and asks me if I want breakfast.

Breakfast… no… I don’t eat in the mornings. Milk? Honey? Of course not. I’m not a child. I’m pretty pissy with him about the condom situation. He’s up out of bed and I can’t stay naked on my own, maybe he wants me gone now? That’s probably it. I am sure he has loads of condoms but just wants me gone so he lied about it. He probably will laugh about me when I am gone. Maybe he filmed the whole thing and will show all his friends and be like, what a sap, look at her with her unshapely boobs bouncing around thinking I’m actually enjoying this… and she aint kidding anybody with those sandpapery legs and the stubbley but still somehow overgrown bikini area.

This paranoia drives me to get dressed extremely fast and then sit in a chair drinking water with solpadeine waiting for him to give me another get out cue. I’m not sure, I’m doubting myself. I’m a little hung over…

He has his jacket on. It’s a really hideous shiny puffy jacket with a furry hood. Oh Jesus H Christopher, this boy hasn’t a clue. He velcros on the awful shoes… cringe… but then he comes over and is like, why did you get dressed? You can stay in bed.

I’m like, urgh no gotta get on up and start making a move… I look at his outfit blearily… man he looks so much better naked. This is so offputting… his shirt is tucked in too… oh man, all we need now is a spritz of Lynx and my horror is complete…

He’s like, well you don’t have to come with me it’ll only take a second, there’s a machine just across the street.

Then I realise, oh he’s actually going out to buy more condoms. Oh my god YES!

He both wants me to stay longer and is going to have sex with me again.

I have to stop being such a skittish paranoid freak.

I mutter something and he comes over and kisses me. He seems quite into me actually, now that I discard the whole “he hates me and wants to laugh at me with his friends” theory. His kissing is still fairly out of sync with mine but it’s better than last night.

He goes out for condoms and comes back with a big box. I forgive the stupid jacket and the stupid shirt and the velcro shoes.

We have sex four more times wherein I manage to bring my a-game even though the two beds pushed together thing is a terrible surface… but somehow it works. I even manage to get on top and I am so into it, I don’t even notice my thighs screaming “we don’t do this shit, put me down, put me the fuck down and let him do the work.”

He’s awesome in the sack. He fucks me from behind and pounds me down into the mattress… a strangled cry of “fuck” escapes me after I had decided not to make any noises because my breath stinks and I’m not good at noises.

He asks me if I have ever tried anal and do I want to. I’m like yeah no, don’t like it. He doesn’t try to argue like some people do… He moves me around into a whole load of different positions. Some of the time I remember how I dry shaved my legs and I’m sure they feel really really horrible against his skin… the hairs are all sharp although short enough to look good. I try to keep them from chafing him. I fail..

I find myself taking the initiative too. I am so good at sex sometimes. This is one of them.

I seriously haven’t been fucked like that (or at all) in a lonnnnng time.

He takes longer with each new condom. The last one before I decide to stop pestering the poor man as he is clearly worn out, is fucking mind blowing. I think he’s impressed with the fact that I keep going back for more, even though I am clearly hung over to shit. I decide to let that be the last one though, because I don’t know how much more my body can take in its condition and I don’t want to actually freak him out… also, he’s tired. We’re both tired.

He says occasional stupid shit that annoys me (luckily not during… he shuts the fuck up while we’re screwing), which is good because it means, I will not be eager to attach myself to him in any way other than sexual.

He says shit like, “People always think I’m older than I am,” and he’s the same age as me and yes in bed he definitely surpasses most of the lamewads I’ve done the horizontal bad thing with, but then he’s like “uh people think I am two or three years older” and that rubs me up the wrong way a little because it seems like such a juvenile attitude.. but I have to be forgiving with people because I say immature and retarded shit all the time.

He starts talking me into having a plate of pasta. I don’t want to eat yet, but I remember I have very little food at home so I should probably eat something.

We get dressed. I’m amazed at how comfortable I am naked around this Italian guy after all the shpiel about how judgemental the eye-ties are… I suppose because I actually do look pretty decent now that I am that bit lighter. He’s pretty hot… his shoulders are hairy which feels kind of weird but it doesn’t bother me or anything, I don’t mind hairyness in men if it’s not too… tufty… or too all over.. or if they are pale like me. He’s nice and tanned.

We hang out in the kitchen and talk about all the shit we don’t have in common with each other, while he makes pasta.

His pasta is delicious. I immediately tell him so. He’s like, uh don’t just say that cause I’m here.

I’m all, well I wouldn’t be talking if I was on my own…

And he’s like… what? No don’t say it because you feel you have to.

And I’m like, well I mean it… it’s good..

But I think, this dude is more racked with insecurities than I am. He’s got a nice face though and he’s most certainly not fat… he’s pretty fucking hot. I’ve never woken up with a guy I’ve had less regrets about lowering my standards for. He’s not total smoulder city but he’s definitely hot enough for me. If he was a barman, I’d probably show up at his place of work pretty regularly. Oh yes. He’s cute…

We have pasta and he tries to feed me fruit and stuff and I’m like, dude I can’t eat any more… and he’s all, come on some apple? Eventually I cave and have a mandarin but he tries to make me eat more than one because they are small.

The Italian in him is coming out now… he makes coffee and insists I have a chocolate before the coffee.

I smile a lot. I’m really happy. I can’t wait to tell everyone. Also Andrea texted me in the morning “are you alive?” which is nice… when he went for condoms I wrote back that I am VERY alive indeed. I was going to add “…in my crotch” but not entirely sure if our friendship is there yet.

He tells me he had a great time, it was really nice…

I tell him I’m glad, I really enjoyed it… and my typical annoying line of “that was just what I needed” which I don’t know why I always say it to guys, I can’t help it.. even though it’s true, I always feel like it’s admitting the corner of my true sexual frustration and loneliness and inability to find a mate. Also I kind of leer it at them, like “ooh arr, that hit the spot!” Anyway it makes me picture some old farmer smacking his lips after a pint of scrumpy.

Just as I’m starting to freak out that I may have to blurt out “doyouwantmynumber sowecandothisagain?”, he asks for my facebook… it takes a while because I am hard to find for some reason, even with my name I don’t show up. Maybe my profile is hidden… I don’t know. We are now facebook friends. I rifle through his photos like the obsessive freak I am and come across proof that the shiny puffy jacket and the shoes and the shirt share a wardrobe with a lot of other unattractive clothing. It’s ok, I don’t wanna be seen out together or anything… I just want some good sexing.

I wonder what’s going to happen next. Will he ask me out on some awkward date?

Or can I hope to be invited over for dinner where we won’t have to act like we want to spend time together or anything but we can have lots of lovely sex? Or can I just booty call him when I feel like it? He lives close by.. that would be awesome, my very own dial-a-dick.

I really want more sex.

I know I had 6 sexes but I want more.

There is never enough.

I thought I would be more sore, and yes I’m kinda tenderised down there but really I thought I’d be in bits, and I’m not.

I have a few red scratches on my arms which are probably just from being drunk and bumping into stuff.

I remember he put his thumb in my mouth a few times while we were fucking and I wasn’t sure if he wanted me to bite or suck it. I tried both but wasn’t entirely convinced either way… he didn’t make any noises really so I just went with my instinct about what he was enjoying… which was good, but I couldn’t figure out what to do with the thumb. He took it away after a while which was a relief, I could just focus on the sex again and not have to freak out about what was expected of me.

He asked me a couple of times if I liked it… I said yes, but didn’t really know if he was trying to open the door for dirty talk. I can’t do that shit… I just wind up sounding like crappy porn and being all embarassed the next day. But in Italian, it would be even worse I’m sure. So I was just like, yes, it feels great, or whatever, and then was like, eh and you? and he was like, yes, I like it too. So that was all the talking during, and I was pretty fucking fine with that.

I had a lot of fun. I’m surprised it was that good. Really surprised. Like, it was comfortable but dirty. It was rough but it didn’t hurt. Man, that was so good. I haven’t felt that good in so long.

Really, really, really awesome. I feel like a brilliant sex person.

And also how many calories must I have burned there?

Enough to justify my gobbling up the last muffin in my bed which now I feel a bit nauseous about. Too much chocolate, seriously not for the faint hearted.

So. There you go . My first Italian, in all his glory. I have to say, and of course I had to say it to him… he did a pretty fine job representing his country. I quite liked the language barrier too… it protected me from a good whack of the bad jokes I made.

Awesome.

Gonna go shower now, long overdue.

Woo woo!

Happy.

14 responses to “Fucking Italians! Literally, this time. YAY!

  1. Woo-HOOOO!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! high five, chest bump!
    You finally did it with a home-boy!… and from the south at that! … and mamma taught that one to cook! AWESOME! Thing is about the boys from the south… they never just “sit down wherever.” ;)
    Just think, you can probably have ‘mo o’ dat and if he gets all stalker on your ass – you’re moving anyway! enjoy the ride baby!!!!!!!!!!! xoxox
    (damn, I need some of that fresh meat…. I’m starving!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! – NOT about to call on Roberto ;)

    • Chest bump! Awesome! Yeah I’m super happy… just wish I was bloody satisfied now instead of starting to freak that he will either not get in touch again (he asked for my facebook so of course he will) or WORSE, he will call and be like… hey let’s go out tomorrow night and hold hands in public while I wear my puffy jacket and then you can meet my parents! That would be my worst nightmare. I’m sure he’s fine… I was wrong about how awesome he would be in the sack so I will try hold off on my judgement. But YAY! Hope he’s not a Roberto… I’m sure he aint.. I’m sure!

  2. Awesome post. You just don’t hear ‘rad’ enough these days. (It makes me happy in my BMX bone.) Hearty congrats and thanks for allowing me to live vicariously through you. Total wucs on him trying to feed you up like an Italian Mama.

    “Eat! Eat!”

    • Thanks wuc! I’m glad I finally have something joyful to share, something that actually went well for me. YAY! Successful person to person interactions… that, my friend, calls for the uncorking of a particular vintage word I’ve been keeping in reserve for a celebration like this… RAD me up, baby. Oh…. yeah…

      • I know, right. What are the odds of a kick-ass one night stand? I thought it was a myth, like dry land or the notion that Kevin Costner is in any way attractive. But no, look at you. Dry DOES exist, you’ve seen it! (I stand by the fact that Costner is a eunuch and aspires to asexuality.) Reckon he could be worth another go (the Italian), right? Am I right, right, right? (aka Ned Ryerson)

        • Dry land a-fucking-hoy, bitches! Admittedly, if I had woken up self loathing and with a less pleasing face beside me, I would have high tailed it out of there before he could bring the good morning bacon and fry it in the pan. The night stand was fun but over in a jiffy (possibly because when I’m drunk I’m hopelessly aggressive and have limitless energy and muscle power in my thighs…) So maybe it worked out because I stayed, took some pain killers, drank water, and remembered how I like my eggs in the morning (at risk of fertilization, baby!) He vindicated himself, rounds three to six. And I’d do it all again! I just have to go for some harrowing waxation of my bits and clean my house (don’t know which I’m resenting more) and then bring it on! Also, I think I owe this dude a home cooked meal… Shit, there’s something to freak out about… PS. I’m with ya on the Kevin Costner front: smooth like a Ken Doll, one hopes

          • Major cracks. It’s a tightrope of self-loathing and regrowth, alright. I guess the motto is: take painkillers and risk fertalisation. No, wait. Um, don’t throw in the towel in the second round? Yeah, that’s right. Meanwhile, screw the homecooked meal. You aint no motherlovin’ Crocker Focker.

            • Possibly… but then, don’t flog a dead horse either. The squeaky wheel gets the grease? Keep on truckin? I don’t know if my one good one nighter will hold up under dissection, like a lay that goose a golden egg… but nevertheless, the important thing is.. we know it’s possible. OR perhaps… eek the thought of it… there have always been decent one night stands, but our memories were tainted with the aftermath, they turned out to be total freaks later. So that’s a possibility too. Shit…

  3. I’m so very proud of you. Look what fun you can have when you overcome those inner demons and believe in yourself.
    Now please don’t try to over analyse it. You had a good time and you can continue to do so if you play it smart. So that means cleaning up your place and bulk buying condoms so you can invite him round.

    • Thanks… I’m not gonna overanalyse, I think I was pretty good. This is the wonder of sex though, any social mistakes I make, can be erased with oral. YAY! I have a whole lot of condoms actually because last time it had been so long since I got laid, I was overenthusiastic and bought 24. We used two. So that just leaves the cleaning… and waiting for him to make some kind of move… or I could just be forward again. That’s probably fine… Ok cleaning.. finally, some proper motivation!

  4. Pingback: I cleaned my bathroom for you, the least you can do is sleep with me « More fucking opinions from someone on the internet.

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