How I Learned Italian (extract)

(This is a sample from one of my longer stories, with illustrations of Aria Giovanni).

There’s a knock at the door. Must be room service, I think. Or maybe a porter about my check-in.

‘I’m getting changed,’ I call out. ‘Come back in half an hour.’ I’ve only just gotten into the room, and I’m in the middle of getting undressed to take a shower.

Another knock, louder.

‘I said, can you come back later, please?’

‘Sai parlare Italiano?’ says a woman’s voice.

‘I’m sorry, I don’t speak Italian. Come back later.’ I thought all the staff here spoke English.

The woman giggles. ‘Fammi entrare, per favore.’

‘I’m sorry. I have only just gotten in. Will you go away?’

‘No. Mi piace il modo in cui si guarda,’ she says, firmly. ‘Voglio entrare.’

‘Um…All right, all right, hold on.’ I put my pants and shirt back on, buttons still undone, and go over to open the door.

The woman from the lobby is standing there. The one who was checking in at the same time as me. The one in the black dress, with the sly smile.

1‘Lasciami entrare voglio fare sesso con te,’ she says, and looking at my torso, before coming back up for full eye contact. She takes a step forward.

‘Sorry. Do you work at the hotel?’ I ask. If she does, she must be pretty high up. All the rest of the staff are in livery.

She just smiles, and makes to walk past me into the room. I smell her perfume and the shampoo from her hair, and I notice for the first time the fine, delicate lines around her eyes. I let her past.

‘La vostra camera è più grande del mio,’ she says, sounding slightly aggreived, and takes off her shoes with her toes. Her legs are shapely, but not too slender, and I spy traces of stubble around an ankle. Another bright tattoo hides inside her left calf, a rose.

‘Well, hello. My name’s Adam. I’ve come from London, and I got held over in Frankfurt so I’m feeling a bit…’

‘Penso che tu sia così attraente,’ she interrupts, and goes to sit on the bed. ‘Ti ho visto al piano di sotto e ho deciso che volevo sposarti!’ She laughs as she crosses her legs.

‘So…what do you want exactly? I can’t speak Italian. I don’t mean to be rude, but…’

She is still laughing. ‘Dico sul serio!’ she says. ‘Non credo che abbia mai visto un uomo più bello.’

Her eyes are large and dark brown, and she has long, arched eyebrows and firm but delicate lips that purse when she has finished speaking, while she awaits a response.

‘Right. Look, I really need to take a shower. Do you want to meet me later? I just need to…’

‘Più tardi,’ she replies, now serious. ‘Voglio che si spogliano e venire a letto con me.’

2With this, she starts taking her dress off, by pulling down the shoulder straps one at a time so they fall around her waist, then standing up so the dress slips over her hips and onto to the floor, leaving her in delicate underwear. She does this deftly, and calmly.

Then she looks at me, and steps forward to place her hands on my shirt collar.


She giggles again as she takes off my shirt, and kisses me gently on the chest. Then she puts her hand on my cock.

‘Scommetto che sei davvero bravo, non è vero?’ she asks.

‘What’s your name?’ I ask.

She does not aswer. She has a ripe, womanly body, with warm brown skin and large soft breasts, and there is something about the set of her hips and shoulders that says, sex. Lots of it, and with lots of men over the years. She must be about forty, a few years older than me, perhaps.

‘Lo non sono una prostituta…’ she says, and I feel awkward. I’m only here for four days so I didn’t even bother buying a phasebook. But I’m pretty sure she just said she wasn’t a…

‘Ho appena piacciono gli uomini,’ she finishes, and kisses me. Her lips are soft and she tastes like wine, and oranges, and she makes me hungry.

Then she kneels down, and starts to undo my belt buckle.

(Download the full story here – not illustrated).

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