The Pensione

Exhausted, I stood in front of the heavy wooden door holding the brass key the little old Italian mama in the café a few doors away had just handed me. Her grey hair was pulled back in a severe bun at the nape of her neck and she was wearing a loose black sack-like dress, cinched in a little at the waist by her blue and white striped apron. Her impatience at having to give directions to me was palpable, her floured hand stopped rolling rounded gnocchi parcels for a mere second to point out the door and to the right. And now here I was, standing outside the pensione that would be my home for the next three months.

Pushing open the door with my shoulder as I dragged my suitcase awkwardly behind me, I felt my shoulders drop as the spiral staircase came into view. I'd just dragged this case, with its broken wheel, all the way through the cobbled Florentine streets and piazzas from the train station. Now I was going to have to climb three flights of marble stairs to get to my room. So be it: I had always wanted the complete Italian experience, and modern elevators didn't fit that ideal.

Each grey marble step was worn in the middle, hundreds of shoes treading it and smoothing the stone. I soon forgot about my tiredness and started drinking in the scene: wrought iron balustrade spiralling upwards, edged by terracotta, forest green, Wedgwood blue and mustard yellow ceramic tiles to waist height along the walls. Above this border was a faded fresco that hinted at the sites the seasoned building had seen via generations of travellers.

Looking up as I reached the top of the stairs, my room - Trentacinque - came into view and I felt relief rush through my body. All I needed right now was a long bath and an even longer sleep. The brass key slid into the worn lock easily and a quick flick of my wrist and a gentle push saw the door swing open to reveal a bed - my bed - covered in a patchwork blanket with a towel folded neatly at the end, the floor tiled similarly to the staircase, drawers with a vase of fresh flowers on top and a porcelain basin. I'd momentarily forgotten I'd booked this place for its location in the beating heart of the city, not its modern amenities. My tired body slumped. I desperately wanted to curl up on that bed, but I knew I'd feel better after a bath.

Towel folded over my arm and toiletry bag in my hand, I lock the door to my new home and walk the few steps along the darkening hallway to the bathroom. That late afternoon light that bathed me minutes before while in my room was now blocked by my closed door. It took a little while for my eyes to adjust, but when they did I could see a sliver of subdued light seeping from underneath the bathroom door. Through a tiny crack in the doorway, a lit candle was visible and when I push the door softly it opens enough for me to see the curved arch of a woman's foot resting on the edge of the enamel bath, just to the left of the candle.

Another tentative push opens up the scene a fraction more - and as much as I am willing to dare - so I can take in an elongated calf, knee and part of a thigh, all of which are hooked over the side of the bath, creamy skin glowing in the candlelight. I realise I'm holding my breath and reposition my feet squarely towards the doorway so I can see more of the room - and this beauty. Now a string of tea light candles lining the far edge of the bath are revealed, the woman's left leg leaning against that same edge and her knee arched against the wall of the deep bath.

A thrill courses through my body when I see her hand slide from the top of her right thigh and dive down into the dark water, drips tracing the outline of the bath on the terracotta tiles. A sloshing sound signals she is moving into a more comfortable position in the bath and I hold my breath again, daring to exhale only once the water had quieted. As the air expels from my tense chest, I hear a tiny moan escape from inside the bathroom. My attention is instantly drawn back to what lies beneath the dark water as I see her wrist moving rhythmically next to her thigh.

I stifle a sharp intake of breath as my body starts to tingle with every movement of the water inside the bath. I watch, mesmerised by the hastening hand movements and the water sloshing around her, and am seized by an intense desire to see her face. As I clasp the edge of the door and push it gently I hear her moan, the water moving noisily again. I hold my breath and freeze, not daring to move and destroy the magic unfolding in front of me.

Finally plucking up the courage to look again, I see she is now almost sitting up, both knees now inside the bath, but bending away from each other. She sits higher in the bath now, in a position that makes her breasts visible. I stifle a moan as I gaze at the dark red skin of her areolas surrounding rigid nipples. A slight move of my head to my right satisfies my desire to see her face. Framed by dark curls tied loosely on top of her head and a dark, wet strand of hair falling across her forehead, her face is the picture of ecstasy. Dark red lips slightly parted, eyes closed and a brow lightly furrowed spells something so delicious.

Another moan brings me back from my reverie as I see she is slouching back in the bath slightly, her right foot now perched back on the enamel edge. As her toes start to curl I turn towards the left again in just enough time to see her nipples harden more and her head arc backwards, almost touching the edge of the bath. Her lips part to emit a low moan as her body starts to shake and the water splashes around her body.

Her limbs relax back into the water as she lowers her head to the edge of the bath again. Eyes still closed, she turns her head towards me and I freeze again, realising I've been holding my breath. Finally released from her thrall, I take a step backwards and breathe in deeply, edging away from the sliver of light that cuts me through the middle and threatens to reveal my secret.