Page 70 of Italy Can Bite Me

I groan in frustration.How can I still want to jump a man’s bones when every other bone on the beach is swinging freely in the breeze?

I spot our ever-silent bus driver perched on a rock(clothed, thank God),peeling a banana with the same level of intensity most people reserve for defusing bombs. The motion is oddly hypnotic but also deeply unsettling.

“Hey, Lorenzo.” I sigh, slumping next to him. “I need to talk to someone, and you don’t speak English, so congratulations, you’re my new therapist.”

He grunts, barely acknowledging my existence. God, I wish I had his zen. Instead, I’ve got an ache between my thighs that won’t quit, even in the midst of this geriatric fever dream.

“Okay, so last night was monumental. I mean it, truly. You know how some people say they’ve had a religious experience? Well, I had one. In a wine cellar. With Matteo’s tongue.” I hide my blushing face in my hands.

I steal a glance at Lorenzo, still nothing. Just chewing his banana as he flicks a glance toward the volleyball game where Aunt Deb is now leading some sort of impromptu huddle.

“It’s like he uncovered this whole other side of me that was hiding under all my binders with one flick of his stupidly talented tongue. Let me tell you something, Lorenzo—that orgasm, it was life-altering. Six years of scheduled intimacy with Jared and not once did I soak the sheets. But Matteo? One night and he’s completely rewired my body.”

Lorenzo starts peeling another banana.Where is he even getting these?

“The thing is… I’ve never wanted anyone like this before. Never felt this out of control, this desperate, this… horny. But he’s definitely not on the same page because afterward he… straight-up left. Put my panties back in place like a gentleman and disappeared. Who does that?”

Lorenzo grunts—a low, almost pitying sound—as he gives a subtle shake of his head. I’m not sure if he’s agreeing or feeling bad that Chester just took a volleyball straight to the nuts.

“But now,” I continue, “I’m in panic mode. Because Matteo has this rule—this no-tourist hookups rule—and I’m worried he made it up to avoid me. He said it’s to keep things professional, to avoid drama. But it could be his polite way of saying I’m too uptight, too… boring? What if I’m too much? Not sexy enough?”

The banana peel joins its compadre on the sand, and Lorenzo folds his arms across his chest. I swear his eyebrow twitches, as if he’s finally paying attention.

“Or worse—what if last night was nothing but… customer service? Like, ‘Hey, better give the uptight American a mind-blowing orgasm so she doesn’t tank my Yelp reviews.’”

I stare at Matteo as he serves the volleyball. “God, that’s it, isn’t it?”

Lorenzo sighs deeply, his gaze fixed on the horizon.

“You’re right, Matteo wouldn’t do that.” I sigh. “But how do I bethatwoman? The one who confidently goes after what she wants? Because… I want him. All of him. I want to know what else those hands can do, what other sounds he can draw from my body. I want—”

Lorenzo stands suddenly, his movement cutting off my rambling. Then, with military precision, he starts stripping.

“What are you…?” The words die in my throat as he tosses his clothes aside.

First the cap comes off, revealing his wispy silver combover. Followed by the shirt. Then, sweet merciful heavens, the pants. He turns to face me, stark naked and unapologetic.

“Piccola,” he says, his voice rough as gravel. “When man make woman feel like that? He not thinking about reviews. He thinking about her. Only her.” He picks up his cap and plops it on my head like some sort of surreal mic drop. “Matteo’s rule? It’s for himself. To keep people out. But you?” He smiles. “You are worth breaking it.”

Without another word, he jogs toward the naked volleyball game, everything swinging and bobbing with the chaotic energy of a bag of marbles in a tumble dryer.

I’m frozen. Mortified. Beyond embarrassed. Everything I blabbed was out loud… to a stranger.

I just trauma-dumped my sexual crisis on our secretly-English-speaking bus driver.

And the worst part? I’m still clueless about what to do.

***

Ineedacondom!Like, pronto. Not tomorrow, not in an hour—NOW. Because once Lorenzo finishes his naked volleyball game and tells Matteo about my complete mental breakdown, I’ll never get my chance to experience his full Italian package. He’ll take one look at me and run.Hell, I’d run too.

I scan the cove with the desperation of someone tracking down the last roll of toilet paper during a pandemic. But unless there’s a secret 7-Eleven hiding behind all these glistening senior citizen bodies(oh God, so much glistening), I’m screwed.

Think, Katie, think!

That’s when I spot it—Aunt Deb’s beach bag. She probably has a Costco-sized pack of condoms in there. But asking her for protection? Absolutely not. She’d organize aKatie’s Finally Doing the Nasty With an Italian Studflash mob with the seniors.

Nope, sneaky purse burglary it is.

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