The Seduction of Venice Ch. 01

She sat in the shaded courtyard watching the reflective light off the water dance on the concrete ground and the walls of the Galleria dell'Accademia. She loved Venice. It was that simple. It was bursting with tourists, with high prices, and with vendors peddling inferior goods, but she still loved Venice. It was elegant and vibrant in its decay. The light in Venice was truly spectacular. She looked for a moment at one vista and if she returned the next day, to the very same spot, she was greeted with another picture. This was simply because the light never stood still for Venice. The generous waters surrounding her guaranteed Venice would glimmer, as much as it guaranteed her slow descent into the waters.

She truly was a woman in love.

She sat at a simple metal table in an elegant if uncomfortable chair sipping her limoncello. She was obsessed with limoncellos—anything that got her access to ice in August in Venice. Shadows came across her table and slid on as she spent time deciding where she wanted to go next. She looked up for the long shadow that slid resolutely and unfaltering across her map.

He was perfect, utterly perfect to her. She instantly thought, "tall, dark, and handsome." Casual, quality clothing molded along his defined frame. His light olive skin glowed in the Venice light. But his silvery eyes were it for her. It was all over. She was in very heady lust. And with the lightest of accents, a beautiful voice spoke to her.

"Scusi, the rest of the tables are filled, may I sit here with you?" She nodded and said, "of course, please". He sat easily. He had his newspaper and espresso before him. He neither leaned back nor away, but seemed intent on studying the woman before him. She became uncomfortable and smiled at him half out of embarrassment.

"I saw you in the gallery before. You seemed to be very much...interested in the Canaletto paintings of Venezia. You did give the Titians and Tintorettos a good glance too." He smiled as he spoke, and she could hear it in his voice.

"Yes, I glided right past the large galleries," she said laughingly. "I came only for the visions of Venice—those are some of my favorite paintings anywhere. I love Venice. I love how he captures this city dancing in the light. There is such beauty."

He murmured straight back, "such beauty". He was keenly observing blue green eyes that benefited from the Venetian light themselves—though they hardly needed it. Those eyes had startled more than one dreary worker in Mexico, Poland, Russia... They looked up from behind a cash register in their tiendas or tabaks to the next customer. And they were stunned by green/ blue eyes set in a pale white face. The young woman had received more than a few hasty complements on her eyes. The young woman also had no idea how captivating and contagious her broad, large smile was. She looked young for her mid twenties, very girlish and innocent.

"Are you taking a holiday in Venice?" she asked.

"Yes, a short one. And Venice is always a favorite haunt of mine. And you, I assume this is a return visit?"

"My third. I came here during my university years while backpacking and a second occasion with my mother. And now I'm enjoying traveling on my own. Where are you from?"

"I live in Roma but my family and where I spent time as a child is from a town called Caserta in the Campania region. The Amalfi coast and Naples is somewhat near."

"I've been to Naples and to Pompeii."

"Yes? And you did not go to the Amalfi coast?"

"No, we were backpacking and we immediately left for Brindisi to.."

"To catch the ferry to Patras" he interjected. "Yes, I know—how typical tourist of you." He grinned a perfect devastating smile. This man is an aphrodisiac in human form she thought. I'm melting away...

"You're Italian and in Venice—possibly the most tourist filled of all cities," she countered.

"Possibly, I agree signorina. And you are from?"

"A northern suburb of Dallas, Texas. Don't say one word about the television show Dallas, I beg you."

"I would never." He had yet to look away. His eyes held hers the moment he sat down. He neither moved closer or fell back in a relaxed stance. He remained as he was, confident as he was, and entirely the dominant comfortable male the whole time.

"And why exactly does a man from Roma notice an American staring at Canaletto paintings?"

"Naturally, you were in my way. I could not view them." He held a straight face then smirked.

"Right, ok, I kept you from viewing them."

"Actually, signorina, I was admiring the view I liked best." His eyes remained locked with hers and his tone even. Venice's morning gave way to the warm sultry colors of the afternoon, and she fell pray to the seduction of Venice and this man before her.

"Do you have plans on where else you are going today? I assume there is no must-see list since you have been here before?" he asked quietly and as evenly as ever. And in three sips he finished his espresso while she said, "I had thought to return to Murano. I did not spend as much time as I wanted previously."

"And Burano, have you been there?"

"The lace island? Yes I have, but I have also barely explored there."

"I like the colorful homes."

"So do I—that's part of why I want to go. I want to get better photos."

"May I accompany you, signorina?"

"Sure," she smiled giving him his first experience of her face completely aglow, "if I'm not keeping you from anything else."

"There is nothing else that would be so enjoyable." She kept thinking how on earth did I attract such a man? He's just going with you she thought. Maybe he's bored.

As she gathered her things off the table, a hand lightly stopped her arm, "Signorina, I think we should introduce ourselves," he suggested with a laugh. "I'm Alessandro Giordano."

"I'm Chris Whitman." "Isn't that a man's name?"

"Yes, I'm named for my father. It's actually Christine, but no one ever calls me that. If you can't handle Chris, then call me Christine—no biggie to me." They stood up and walked over to the vaporetto stop.

"Can I ask something else that might irritate you?" Alessandro asked with a very wry again. "Just to get all awkwardness and uncomfortable social silences out of the way?"

"Sure, but I have a question: where did you learn English? Everyone speaks it, but your ability is a higher level."

He grinned showing his perfect teeth—a complete requirement Chris had for European men. "I spent some time in Cambridge studying. Now for my question: what happened to your hand?"

"I was born that way. The circulation was cut off in utero to my left hand. It probably dissolved away. I've always had one had."

"So you had two hands but then lost it when you were born"

"Yes, they guessed 7-9 weeks after I was conceived. And yes I SCUBA dive and everything else, and no I do not wear a prosthetic."

"I just wanted to ask, so you were not wondering if I was wondering."

"Thanks," she said laughing. I am having an absurd and embarrassing conversation with a god for a man in Venice. I love travel, she thought.

"It's like your creator took an eraser to your hand after you were drawn. I mean you're perfect."

"I'm definitely not perfect. I have a temper, I'm sarcastic, I have freckles on my arms." She looked down at her arms. He looked too. They got on the vaporetto.

He never stopped looking. "You are perfect." he announced. And that was it, after a man like that has spoken, how can a woman disagree?

She followed Alessandro off the vaporetto up the street in Murano thinking that man sure knows women. Hmmmm. That means one thing. He's probably been with hundreds of women. And he looks older.

"Alessandro?"

"Yes?" a very solicitous and very delicious Alessandro turned to Chris.

"How old are you?"

"39. And I'm guessing early twenties for you?"

"25." He nodded agreeing with his previous assessment—she looked younger than 25.

"Do we want to watch an exhibition of glass blowing or see a 'museum'?"

"I really just want to walk around."

They strolled up and down the streets. He frequently took her arm. He would brush up against her in hardly innocent ways, but by the time she looked up or reacted he was properly a foot away again. Italians!! And to think of all the men who'd pinched her ass in the 36 hours she'd been here!

"What are you thinking about?"

"What? Oh that I'm sick of having my ass pinched by random strangers, old men... It's the one awful thing about Italy."

"It's a complement."

"It's sexual harassment."

He looked at her very incredulously.

"Don't you dare say 'you Americans'—it really is very wro..." She stared at him. She could not finish her statement, and it seemed starting one was beyond her as well.

"Yes?" a very smug and arrogant Alessandro asked.

"You pinched me."

"mmm, I did. It was a complement."

"But I just said..."

"You just said random strangers, old men got to, what you will not let me have the same privilege?" And now he was in her face, voice lowered, and intimately he placed a lock of hair behind her ear.

"Shall we go?" "Yes" They moved on. When he pinched her, her body immediately responded. She couldn't remember ever being so wet, couldn't remember her breasts aching like this, and she knew she had never felt the currents in her body jolt like that from a man's touch. He's like a wine, a heady deeply intoxicating wine. And he knew what he was doing, dammit.

They finally ate a small late lunch of sandwiches taken from a vendor. They picnicked and watched the waves. They moved onto Burano. Their conversation never let up—mainly because Chris was terrified to let it. If the conversation waned down, Alessandro's eyes darken and he stared at her or her body. He drank her in. She felt like a virtually eaten dessert and she was afraid of him, she became a chatterbox. Nor was he a fool, he realized what she was doing. If all he had wanted was an easy conquest, he would have been slightly annoyed. But he had decided the moment he saw her he wanted to romance her and then have her. And then the moment he saw her eyes he was not sure just at what point he intended to let her go. She was on holiday after having dropped her son off at her exhusband's. She'd been married to an Austrian—a weakness for Europeans it seemed. She was finishing a bachelor's in European history. He smiled at that. He already knew she was very intelligent. She spoke Spanish fluently; she spoke a little Italian due to two courses in college. She was up on current events and well-versed on general world politics and other shenanigans. She was very well traveled for a single mother who hailed from Texas. Her parents made sure she was. If she had been a man, they would have been buddies and talked politics and general American and European affairs all night just as they spending the day doing. But she was definitely not a man (thank God). Very importantly, she had unbelievably full, round breasts. He could not wait to get his mouth on them.

They were on the vaporetto headed back for the main islands. He leaned in to his beautiful companion and turned her face to his. "Would you... care to join me for dinner, Christine?"

"I'd love to, but I need to change clothes."

"Not a problem".

He dropped her off at her hostel. When he looked at it, he plainly asked, "How many roommates?"

"3"

"I see."

"You see what just exactly?"

"I see you have three roommates. I think when you are twenty-five and older hostels become less fun"

"You do, well I wanted to save money for shopping and Venice is astronomical in terms of accommodations."

"No, I understand, I was lamenting roommates." he said smiling at her. I bet he was "lamenting" roommates.

"I just need an hour."

"Fine, I will meet you here in one hour."

Venice had cooled into a mellow, humid night. The lights went on, and the people came out to parade refreshed after siesta. Music started swimming through the air as groups performed for diners. Venice glitters at night.

During her hour, Chris reshaved her legs. And then studied her available wardrobe. Chris travels very lightly. She is a huge supporter of one carry-on bag traveling. And her poor Patagonia bag had only a pair of pants and a 'on the shorter side' knit black skirt. Dresses are not practical for the money belt wearing set. She had a few shirts, nothing amazingly dressy or sexy. She was a practical nomad. She envisaged her closet. This does not compare with the shoes issue nor the fact she never carries a blow dryer. Two of her roommates walk in. They are both 19 and backpacking this month. They are apparently best friends since "forever". She would have bet $200 they were cheerleaders or dance squad girls in high school. But they had big internal frame backpacks. And a blow dryer.

What greeted Alessandro was not as stunning a portrait as could be created in optimal circumstances, but it was damn good for the situation. Not only did they blow dry out Chris's hair, but the two girls had a curling iron and used it. The front half of her hair was done in large curls pinned up to the top of her head. She had done her make-up. She wore her skirt, one of the girls' tops that was at least somewhat sexy. She still had her shoes. Low, backless Børn Mary Janes. They were for walking, not seduction.

Alessandro enjoyed the vision anyways. He nodded his approval and told her she looked beautiful.

"May I?" He held out his hand to her.

She took it.