La Bella ItalianabyBob Waters©
Why wasn’t I born rich? I mean, I really could get used to the good life. There I was, sitting on the beach in Nice, Mediterranean sun beating down, sipping an Orangina. Don’t get me wrong, I like my job but I live for vacations.
What the hell, I worked hard for this trip. Three years of Law School and two years busting my ass as an associate for a Big Boston Firm, hell, if you went by my billable hours I compressed three and a half years of work into those two years! It paid off; Junior Partner in a mid-sized firm of good repute, all by the age of twenty-seven. Slammed right through that glass ceiling. I had a right to be proud.
This trip was my present to myself. I finally had some money of my own and the time to spend it. Three beautiful weeks being a bum in Europe, going where I wanted to go, doing what I wanted to do. No schedule, no alarm clocks, no commuting to work, just relaxation.
Well, actually up until this point, I had been running my ass off. I mean, there was so much to see! I spent five days in London, hit the British Museum, Harrods (of course!), took in a show, danced the nights away. On to Paris! The Louvre, Printemps (OK, do you note a shopping theme emerging?) a ride down the Seine on a bateau mouche, hanging on the left bank, more dancing. Hop a train to sunny Italy, Fierenzie, the Boboli gardens, Il Duomo, more shopping in the leather market (I got a jacket that’s to die for!), Il David (boy, for an allegedly homosexual man, Michelangelo really short-changed his masterwork in the um, ‘plumbing’ department!), Gelato! Back on the train to Pisa, can’t go up the tower anymore. On the train once again, stopping in Nice, which brings me to this chair on a rocky beach on the romantic ‘Middle Sea’.
This was life! ‘Jill, you’re gonna hate going back to work,’ I said to myself with a smile. I leaned back in my chair, took a sip of my drink and adjusted my Red Sox cap. I had my ponytail a little too high and it was pushing my cap down. I closed my eyes and just soaked up that sun like a lizard on a rock.
The drink vendor made his way back down the beach, calling out, “Mamma mia, mamma mia! Coca-Cola fantazia, birra birra fria fria! Coca-Cola! Orangina! Ice-a cold beer!”
I smiled again, less then two hundred years ago, Nice was a part of Italy. The two cultures meshed here like no place I had seen before. You were as likely to hear Italian spoken as French.
A shadow blocked out the sun, I opened my eyes and squinted up. Backlit, I saw a head of rich, wavy curls looking down at me.
“Bella, you are going to get the sunburn!” she laughed. “ E Americana?”
“Si, Io sonno Americana,” I replied with a smile.
“Ah! Parle Italiano?” she asked.
I laughed, “No, No, that’s about the extent of it!”
“Ha, well then it is good for you I speak English! You Americani, you are so spoiled. We Europeans all speak two, three languages.”
“Yeah, I know. It’s kind of embarrassing.” I laughed again. She seemed nice. Pretty smile.
“Do you mind if I sit down?” she asked.
“Go right ahead,” I gestured.
She set her beach-chair up next to me. Not too close, not invading my space, but close enough to carry on a conversation comfortably. Pretty girl, tall, thick, wavy chestnut hair, nice tan! She set her chair among the small rocks that make up the beach (if you want sand, you have to go to Monte Carlo where they truck it in), chattering away.
“Oh what a beautiful day, una belle di! I have been stuck in that officino all week! Thank God we have the week end eh?”
Setting her chair facing the sun, she removed her bikini top and started to rub lotion over her arms and torso.
“You had better put some of the lotion on yourself, bella. You are showing the sun to places that don’t usually see it I think,” she gestured at my chest.
I looked down. What the hell, I was in France. I had decided to go topless. The problem was, there was a white band across my boobs. As she had surmised, they had never seen the sun (well, for any length of time at least!). They weren’t burnt yet, but putting another coat of sunscreen on wasn’t a bad idea.
“That’s how I knew you were Americana,” she went on. “You Americani are modesto, you don’t show the…” she gestured at her own ample chest, “on the beach.”
“No,” I chuckled. I liked this girl. “No, we don’t. We’d get arrested if we did that,” I answered getting out my own sunscreen and applying it liberally to my chest and belly.
“Pazzo!” she declared. “Crazy! The flics in America should spend their time arresting the crooks, the gangsters, like in the movies. Not bothering ladies at the beach.”
“Well, it’s not really like it is in the movies,” I said. “Anyway, I’m Jill, what’s your name?”
“Hello Jill,” she pronounced it Jeele. “Me chiamo Carla. Nice to meet you,” she waived.
“Nice to meet you too. Are you from Nice?” I asked. I assumed not since she spoke Italian, but you never knew.
“No, I am on holiday. I’m from Milano. I have un apartemento here in Nice. I like to come up here to get away from the city.
“That’s nice!” I said with feeling.
“You are from America, eh? Where in America?”
“Boston, Massachusetts,” I answered.
“Ah! Boston! (Boss-tone, I giggled). yes, I know, near New York! I have never been to Boston, but I go to New York, two, three times a year,” she answered.
“Really?” I asked, “What do you do for work?”
“I design clothes for a House in Milano.”
“Wow! That’s something!” I was impressed.
“And you Bella? What do you do?” she asked.
“I’m a lawyer,” I answered.
“Ah! A Boston Lawyer, like the Alley McBeal on TV!” she laughed.
I laughed too. “No! She’s too neurotic!” I saw her confusion. “Pazzo, she’s too pazzo!”
Carla laughed harder. “Si! She is very pazzo! But the show, it is funny. You are much prettier then her too. Rubia, blond, like she is but not so skin and bones, no?”
“Actually my hair is strawberry, thank-you-very-much.” I was glad of the not skin and bones part. I’m pretty thin, and small busted but I have some shape at least!
“Strawberry? Like the fruit?”
“Si!” I said giggling. “Like the fruit. That’s what we call blonds with a little red in their hair.”
“In Italy we call them ‘rare’,” she laughed. “Not too many blonds over here who did not get their color from the salon.”
We talked a little more.
“You are traveling alone?” she asked.
“At this point. I was with friends for the first part of my trip, but they wanted to go to Germany and I wanted to come here so we split up. How about you?” I asked.
“Yes, alone. I, (how do you say?) ‘dumped?’” I nodded. “Si, ‘dumped’ my boyfriend Paolo last week and wanted to get away.”
“Oh, had you been dating long?” I asked.
“Chinque, months,” she answered holding up five fingers. I noticed she held the hand up palm in, instead of how an American would do it, palm out.
“Owe, that’s tough!” I sympathized.
“Eh,” she shrugged. “It was over for a long time before, we just didn’t know it yet, you know?”
“Yes,” I answered.
“What about you? Una bella ‘strawberry’ lawyer in Boston. You must have a boyfriend,” she stated as if a fact of nature.
“No, no boyfriend, not for about a year.”
“Then the men in Boston are all pazzo!”
We both laughed.
We talked some more. The drink vender came over and tried to talk us into letting him give us an ‘Ice cold beer massage’, whatever the hell that was. We laughed and declined his kind offer. I learned she was thirty (she looked about ten years younger). She was from a big family and her mother was panicked that she would never settle down and get married. I told her about myself, my family. How this was the first real vacation I had taken since entering Law School.
“Bella,” she noted. “You are starting to burn where I think you don’t want to burn!” She pointed at my chest.
I looked down, my boobies were indeed getting pink. “Uh oh!” I said, reaching for a tee. “They may be small, but they’re all I have!”
Carla laughed. “You have such pale skin with the, um freakles?”
“Freckles,” I corrected.
“Si, ‘freckles’. You stay so light!”
“Yeah, I always say, ‘I don’t tan, my freckles just get bigger and kind of merge.’” I stood and pulled my tee shirt on. Impulsively I asked, “Would you like to have dinner? I mean, if you don’t have any plans.”
“No, no plans. Si, I would like to have dinner with you very much,” she answered smiling. “Do you know Antonio’s?”
“By the statue?” I asked.
“Si, by the statue! I will meet you there at eight, we will have an early dinner, you and I.”
“Great! I’ll see you then.” Early dinner? I thought. At eight? Well, when in Rome….or at least Nice.
We said goodbye and I went back to my hotel. I was drained from the sun so, setting my travel alarm, I took a nap. Upon awakening, I figured I would need a shower if I was going out. The shower was a hand-held wand attached to the claw-footed tub with no shower-curtain. That meant I would be taking my showers sitting in the tub.
“Fuck it!” I announced to the air. “I’ll take a bath.”
I filled the tub up deep, sat back and soaked. Damm, the tub was huge. More then big enough for two. There’s a thought, two in the tub. That would be nice. I had been single for a very long time. My last beau, Billy, had been fun, but there was never that ‘spark’. He was the perfect ‘catch’ as my cousin Lynn pronounced, but…..he was just kind of…..blah.
As a matter of fact, most of my boyfriends could be categorized that way. Acceptable to my parents, good ‘catches’ but……blah.
There was one relationship that wasn’t blah, but that one was certainly NOT respectable. I giggled to myself thinking about it. A few years ago I had become the third in an ongoing ménage a trois after a strange conversation in an internet chat room. It was my first – and only – experience with another girl. I ‘played’ with Gloria and Jimmy off and on for that whole summer. The sex was amazing, but I never felt wholly comfortable with being the third in a married relationship, so I broke it off. We parted as friends and still stay in touch, Christmas cards, birthday wishes, that sort of thing. In all honesty, I was more attracted to Gloria then Jimmy – or maybe I was attracted to the naughtiness of being with a girl, I don’t know. I’ve been tempted to call her on occasion, but I’ve resisted.
Laying back in the warm tub and remembering those times, I soon became ‘tingly’. Closing my eyes, I let my hand drift south and called up images of making love with Jimmy and Gloria. I stroked my button as I remembered laying on their bed, Gloria kneeling between my legs, licking me, bringing me right THERE and stopping. Popping up, mouth wet with my juices. Reaching over to the night stand.
“Jimmy, hold her hands,” she’d said. Jimmy had pinned my hands to the bed above my head. We had never played restraint games before, but I knew them well enough by then to feel safe. I had just laughed.
“What’s this all about?” I had asked them.
“I have a surprise I picked up just for you,” she replied.
She removed a gargantuan dildo from the drawer.
“You’re not going to use that on me!” I protested.
“That’s exactly who I’m going to use it on! Hold her tight Jimmy,” she had said with an evil grin.
She put the head of that nasty toy against my opening, gently forcing it in. God was it big! It felt like I was splitting in two.
Getting into the memories, I slipped two fingers of my other hand into my pussy while I stroked my clit. Inch by inch she had worked it in while I groaned and squirmed. It hurt, it felt good, it drove me nuts. The helplessness, the pure nastiness of the whole scene had me going crazy with lust. She continued fucking me with that thick dildo while Jimmy held my hands down.
“Come on, cum. Cum, you know you want to,” she had crooned, pushing that huge toy into my tight hole even deeper. “Look at her Jimmy, look at her squirm. You love this, don’t you, you little slut?” Gloria loved to talk, she never shut up, even while making love. Actually her narration turned me on even more. “You love a big fat cock in you. C’mon bitch, c’mon,” she had teased. “Cum for me, cum for Gloria. I’m gonna fuck you with this thing all night long!”
“Ungh!” I cried out, water slopping in the tub as I arched my back and came. “Oh!” I spasmed in relief twisting in the tub. “ Mmmm. Whew!” I said, laughing a little. “You bad girl!” I admonished myself, chuckling. “You’ve been celibate WAY too long. You gotta find you a man!”
I quickly washed, shaved the legs and pits and pulled the drain plug. Once the water was low enough, I turned on the shower wand and washed my hair, kneeling in the tub. I rinsed, conditioned, rinsed again and got out, wrapping myself in a fluffy towel.
“Ow!” I yelped, drying off. I opened my towel and looked at my boobs. BRIGHT pink. “Ooops!”
I put some lotion on them and tried a bra. Ouch! Nope. No bra tonight. Thank God I’m a little girl, don’t need to worry about ‘em flopping around. I grabbed a pair of panties from my suitcase and slipped them on. Looking in the closet, I tried to pick something that would be comfortable on my burn. I tried a few. Nope. Ouch. That left me with a fairly soft white cotton shift dress. I tried it on and….hey! Minimal pain! Looked good too! It set off my merged freckles pretty well. It was a little low in the front, without a bra I’d have to be careful bending over but no big deal. Have to change the panties though, the cobalt blue showed right through.
Digging through my case, I tried to find something in white. Shit! Yep, there they were, both pair of whities in the dirty clothes bag. Well, I did have a white thong, but I was saving that for under slacks. Oh well. I put it on and adjusted the wedgie strip so it was as close to comfortable as those things get. Well, maybe the thong would distract me from the sunburn and vice versa. I put on a thin, gold chain, slipped on a pair of comfortable sandals, grabbed my purse and was out the door.
“Bon soir Mmslle!” the desk clerk greeted as I strode through the lobby.
“Bon Soir!” I waived.
I strode through the streets, down to the waterfront and to Antonio’s restaurant. I was a few minutes early, but Carla was there waiting for me by the entrance.
“Ciao bella!” she waived.
“Hi!” I replied, brightly. Well, you could tell she was a fashion designer, she looked stunning. Her full hair was elegantly slicked back in a twist. She wore a very Italiano short black dress with a square neck. No necklace but a thick – banded, gold watch adorned her left wrist. I’m no expert, but I’m sure it was a Cartier. Made me feel like El Cheapo with my little Fossil watch.
“Ah, you look so sweet! We will be black and white tonight! Let’s go in, I’m dying for a drink!”
“Me too,” I agreed as she took my arm and lead me to the door.
“Carla! Che sei dice!” the man at the door greeted her, arms open. He held her lightly by her upper arms and kissed her on both cheeks.
“Antonio mi amore! Come estai?” She replied smiling.
“Bene! Bene! Grazie!”
“Antonio, this is my friend, Jill,” she introduced me.
“Hallo Jill,” Antonio greeted me in accented English, “Welcome to my resturante!”
Antonio whisked us to a table near the window, overlooking the ocean. Pulling our chairs out and fussing with our napkins. He didn’t leave any menus.
I raised my eyebrow at Carla.
“I have known Antonio a long time,” she replied. “I always let him surprise me.”
“Sounds good to me,” I agreed.
Antonio reappeared with a bottle of Valpollicella in an ice bucket. He uncorked it and poured a little bit into Carla’s glass. She went through the tasting ritual and pronounced it ‘belle’. Antonio poured for us both and left.
“Wow, I’m going to be spoiled after this.” I laughed.
“I come here a lot, my apartment is only a few meters away and I get tired of cooking for myself.”
“So, I come here for dinner,” she smiled. “Antonio is a good friend.”
Antonio returned with a plate of oysters. “To give you the appetite,” he proclaimed.
“Do you eat oysters?” Carla asked.
In reply I grabbed one off the plate, put a little cocktail sauce on it and slurped it down with a wink.
“I guess you do!” she laughed.
A little zuppa followed the oysters. The main course was lamb with a definite French/Moroccan twist and a bottle of Merlot. The salad followed the main course and Antonio wrapped it up with expresso and a plate of little cookies.
“God, I’m stuffed!” I announced. “I’m afraid to see the bill on that meal.”
“Please, the dinner is my treat,” Carla said.
“No, that’s not fair. I asked you!” I replied.
“And you got me out of my house for the night so I didn’t sit at home and brood over Paolo. This is my treat,” she insisted.
“Well, thank you,” I said, a little uncomfortably.
“Prego,” she replied with a dismissive waive.
“Let’s take a walk,” I suggested.
“Va bene!” she agreed. “let’s walk by the water.”
We left the restaurant and strolled down to the beach, talking. It had become overcast while we were in the restaurant so there were no stars or moon, but the streets were well lit and crowded. I had no fear of being out and about.
We talked and strolled, strolled and talked and I found myself having more fun then I could remember having in a long time. Abruptly, it began to rain. The shower turned quickly into a deluge and we ran back the way we had come.
“Come to my apartmento!” Carla shouted. “It’s right around the corner here.”
We sprinted to her building and ducked under the awning panting and laughing. A passing taxi honked his horn and the driver shouted out, “Manifique!” with a wave and a laugh. I wondered what that was all about when Carla looked at me and cracked up
“Bella, we need to get you inside and dried off!”
I looked down. My soaking wet dress was plastered to me and the white cotton had become transparent. There was absolutely nothing left to the imagination.
I shrieked laughter and pulled the dress away from my body, but as soon as I let go it just molded itself to me once again.
“Come with me, and you can dry off,” Carla said, opening the door.
I followed her up the stairs to her second floor flat. She had a small, tastefully furnished apartment; galley kitchen, living/dining area and a door that I assumed went to a bedroom and another to a bath. Carla led me over to the bathroom, got me a big fluffy towel and said, “Just hang your dress over the shower rod. I’ll go and change myself. Do you like tea? I’ll make some.”
“Yes, that would be fine, thanks,” I replied.
Carla shut the door and I shucked off my dress, wringing it out over the tub. My panties were damp, but not soaked so I left them on. I patted myself dry and, not knowing what to put on, I wrapped the big towel around myself.
Carla knocked on the door, “Bella, can I come in?”
“Sure,” I replied.
Carla opened the door wearing the briefest of terrycloth robes, it barely covered her butt. She had spectacular legs, I noted in passing and was a lot better endowed then I was. She filled out that robe very well. Jill, you are DRUNK I thought! with a smile.
“ ‘Scusi,” she said, squeezing by with her dripping black dress in her hand. “I want to put this in the tub before it ruins my floor.”
The bathroom was small and she brushed chest with her back in passing. It dislodged the towel and scraped painfully across my sunburn.
“Yeowch!” I gasped involuntarily while grasping for (and missing) my towel.
Carla turned, “Bella, you got the sunburn good! That looks painful! Let me see,” she ordered.
“Um, it’s not that bad,” I temporized, uncomfortable.
“Come here,” she ordered, pulling me near the sink and by the lights framing the mirror. “Mmm,” she hissed, shaking her head. “You are red all over, are your nipples usually this bright?”
Now I was really uncomfortable, “Um, no, usually they’re pretty pale.”