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I was dating a history professor. I wanted to impress her.
Why are you so drawn to women in academia? I asked, hearing a hint of
jealousy in my voice.
I like teachers. If you do something wrong, they make you do it over again.
I laughed, recognizing the Rodney Dangerfield line from the eighties movie Back
to School.
See? he said with a wink. I like it when you laugh. You re much sweeter.
David may not be Devin anymore, but he could still melt me like butter in a
matter of seconds.
Where to next? I asked.
Pranzo, he replied. Lunch. His pronunciation, rather than its meaning, made my
mouth water.
***
The next day was fountains, fountains, fountains. We went to every fountain in
Rome, and David was in true docent form. He lectured me on their history, gave an
analysis of their aesthetic qualities, recalled their folklore, and simply gawked and gazed
as he always does. He saved Fontana di Trevi for last the most famous as well as
magnificent fountain in Rome, if not Italy, and his favorite. I was running out of words
for breathtaking, astounding, wonderment& the sheer magnitude was enough to render
me speechless, let alone the intricacy of each sculpted figure, alive and practically
speaking to me, beckoning me to jump in.
The story is that if you throw a coin over your left shoulder into the fountain and
make a wish, you will return to Rome and your wish will be fulfilled. Some say it s three
coins; some say it s not over your shoulder.
He then reached into the pocket of his jeans and pulled out a handful of Euros,
paused, and tossed three over his left shoulder. They made a barely audible plinking
sound. The water rippled and bobbed, sunlight dappling on its surface and reflecting
other coin-tosses and wish-makers and the blue sky.
Your turn, he said.
I looked at the fountain and the water, the hundreds of coins at its bottom, naively
waiting for nothing. Then I looked at David, as if he d just told me a cruel joke, and
walked away.
Later that evening, I changed into one of the new dresses and met David at his
hotel room. He opened the door dressed in a new Versace suit. Ciao. I had to turn away,
lest I rip the suit right off his body. David was an appropriate name indeed; he was a
work of art. Molto bello.
He told me that the stars would be jealous of me tonight.
We dined and danced late into the night. The tensions of the previous days
evaporated into the moonlit sky and I felt lighter with each hour that passed. A memory
of Sam and me at a wedding appeared before my mind s eye:
Sam, in his charcoal gray suit and silk tie. The one that brings out his eyes. His
deep, big, ocean blue eyes. Me, in a salsa dress, ruffled just below the knees, hugging my
hips. My hair in a French twist, my lips full and bright red and puckering. Sam s arms
touching my hips, us dancing without a trace of inhibition, the crowd clearing the floor
for us&
In the present moment, I felt free and light and unburdened, just as I had then.
And horny.
Later still, we went back to David s hotel room and came out onto the balcony,
where he handed me a flute of ginger ale.
Per te, he said.
I put the flute to my lips and drank slowly and provocatively, not taking my eyes
off him. God, I d forgotten how incredible those sienna eyes are. They actually looked
fiery in the moonlight.
He fed me a strawberry. I chewed slowly, letting its juice fill my mouth and slide
down as I swallowed, closing my eyes as I did so. When I opened them, I stood still for a
moment.
First I took his hand, and then I hugged him.
We let go and locked into a gaze. Then we kissed.
I swear, I heard something like pots and pans banging together. Or cowbells. Or
gongs and triangles and whistles. He stopped and practically bore a hole into me with his
eyes. Hot flashes overtook me. My breathing increased as my chest heaved, cleavage
peeking out of the dress.
I m sorry, he said with uncharacteristic shyness. I didn t mean to I m not
trying to take advantage.
He picked up another strawberry, and I knocked it out of his hand, where it flew
off the balcony. I kissed him again, hard and messily, like one might eat a loaf of bread
after months of starvation.
We somehow navigated ourselves back into the room with the lights off, pulling
off each other s clothes and kissing wildly, until we blindly hit the edge of the bed and
fell over, laughing at our clumsiness. He hoisted me up and dropped me on the bed before
climbing onto me. When he unhooked and slid off my bra, my muscles tightened in an
old, involuntary reflex of self-consciousness, and he instantly set my mind at ease.
Your body is fine, he whispered, and went right to work nibbling my neck.
Just like I remember it.
And that was all I needed to hear.
We made love into the early hours, and I thought I might actually die from the
dizzying heights of ecstasy he was bringing me to. I had an orgasm that could ve waken
up the Pope. Had he done this with his clients while he was an escort, he could ve
charged double and the women would be committing bank heists just to get ten minutes
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