Puttana, Prosciutto, and Pennance
In the interest of giving something new a chance, I decided to go out on a proper date. A third date. He was kind of cute at brunch, and I thought it would be a smart idea to give this nice, traditional Italian man with a decent job a fair shot.
We were about a half-hour into a platter of antipasto and a glass of mediocre red wine at a remote Italian restaurant. The waiter was ignoring me, and speaking only to my date, who thought it strange that I would be offended by this. I considered him across the table. His long limbs. His hairy wrists. Suddenly the air in the room changed, and I could see very clearly everything that was in his head. He immediately had me pegged as a crazy redhead who might be a fun sexual conquest, but certainly not to anyone to be taken seriously. I had forsaken Catholicism for heaven’s sakes!
I narrowed my eyes, offended at first.
“Oh…” he murmured, “you can look at me like that any time you like.”
He stood at about 6′3, and was in decent shape. He was articulate, and mildly amusing, and more than a little dorky. The girls he usually dates seriously are never the ones he can be sexually liberated with, I guessed.
Let’s face it, I was only being neighbourly.
“Let’s go to your place.” I suggested. “We can drink some wine, and you can tell me about (insert something mildly interesting from some earlier conversation that I was paying minor amounts of attention to.)”
He all but jumped up from the table. For a moment I told myself that going to his apartment doesn’t mean that I have to put out, but then I almost chuckled. I realized that I was curious about what he’d be like as a lover, but not even remotely interested in spending time with him again. This is a rare, rare experience for me, and in the interest of self-discovery, I decided to see where it would go.
As we left the restaurant, I walked in front of him slowly. I wore a clingy dress, and I knew my ass was out of control. It occurred to me that he might be a spanker. I stopped abruptly, pretending that my shoe came loose, and he rammed into me, crotch first.
“Whoops!” he blurted out, sheepishly. A girl with big hair, seated in the window glared at me.
He drove us back to his condo. It was in the same building as my ex-boyfriend’s mother, who coincidentally is also Italian. I prayed that we would run into her in the hallway. He lead me through the lobby with a protective hand on the small of my back, which I figured was to check and see if I was wearing underwear. I was.
He busted out some wine and some decent chocolate, and we sat politely on his couch. I realized that I felt like an early night, and I had to work in the morning. I climbed into his lap and began kissing him. Suddenly, his politeness was gone. He was grabbing at me with his big hairy hands, reaching in to scoop out a breast, hoisting me up from the couch and unceremoniously plunking me down on his bed. His hands were everywhere. On me. In me. Not fumbling, exactly, but not terribly deft either. And the talking. Oh, the talking…
When someone is good at dirty talk, it is a truly beautiful thing. In fact, I think any sincere attempt from someone I’m really attracted to is marvelous. I guess the mitigating factor here was that I was on the fence, rather than convinced, about this guy.
“Do you like how I touch your pussy?”
“Do you want to suck my cock?”
“Do you want to take off my clothes?”
I had to fight to not roll my eyes, as he could barely wait for an answer to any of these questions. I felt like I was part of a strange ceremony played out several times before. Like standing, then kneeling, then standing while reciting homilies and scripture and really having no idea why the words were said in the first place. Everything lost all meaning.
I realized that in order to get home at a decent hour, and to maintain control of the situation, I would have to take over. He was indeed a spanker, and was a good one at that. A true ass man need never be asked to administer a spanking. They can’t help but make contact. It’s like trying to hang on to bubble wrap, but not pop it.
I made him lay down, and then I removed his boxers. I felt totally and completely detached, but set about putting my mouth on his cock while he gave the most inane play-by-play of my actions.
Don’t get me wrong, I love giving head. I really do. And I’m spectacular at this, but I had vacated the premises so to speak. I continued cooing and making the most ridiculous comments, convinced that I sounded like a total sham, but he seemed none the wiser.
He stopped me, and said “Oohh…careful love, I don’t want to cum yet.”
That was it. His use of the term ‘love’ seriously offended me. One doesn’t drop the L-word lightly in my universe. My social experiment was over, but I still wanted to claim victory.
“But I want you to cum for me…pretty please?” I purred, and this time I did roll my eyes.
It didn’t take long, and he was completely thrilled with himself afterward. We got dressed, and then I attempted to finish my wine, which somehow turned into a slow dance in his living room to old soul music. I softened a little. It was really tender, and sweet. He suddenly seemed really happy, and really happy to have me barefoot in a summer dress slow dancing with him in his living room. Maybe I had pegged this all wrong…
After the dance, he began to kiss me again, and I gently pointed out that I had an early start, and should probably head home. I suggested a cab, but he insisted on driving me. Guilt began to creep in. Maybe he really did like me, and maybe he saw more to me than I gave him credit for…
The drive home was more inane conversation, with a little bit of chat about dating. I made a quip about how it’s always been hard to reconcile my love of hedonism with my desire for tradition. I suppose I was trying to rationalize my incredibly friendly behavior for his sake, in case he was perhaps more interested than I had gauged. He glanced across at me, casually lay a meaty hand on my thigh, gave it a possessive squeeze, and said “Don’t worry baby, nobody’s trying to put a ring on your finger here.”
Several Hail Marys later, and it was like the whole thing never happened.
“Blessed art Thou amongst women…”
Leave a Reply