The Mediterranean coast rolled along in the heart-tugging light of a late summer evening. Pinks, oranges and a red that flushed like blood bounced off the waves and heaved into the sky above. Her curls stretched in the warm wind, eyes weeping harmless tears in the rush. The motorcycle snaked along an ancient road curling into harbors and ripping along beaches. As the engine responded to the challenge of shifting gears, it seemed as if each revolution sent a beckoning call to the part of her pressed and burning against the leather saddle.

Two months ago, she’d kissed her parents at the airport and stepped into the adventure that was now reaching its bittersweet end. A college graduate with a fresh diploma just placed on her childhood bedroom wall, her family’s largesse had afforded her a massive getaway through Europe. She and her best friend Pia had landed in Berlin and raced their way through the Old World with Euro passes and a drive for knocking off items on a long-contemplated bucket list. Conceived in late-night dorm room discussions and Sunday brunches in the dining hall, their itinerary consisted of all the places they’d like to go, the things they thought they should do. Every item had been diligently crossed off, all according to plan.

They rocked in a sweaty frenzy until late morning in a techno dance hall in Berlin. Had leapt off a mountain in Switzerland and paraglided down into a chewy green valley with black and white cows and straw-thatched farmhouses. In London, they packed into a soccer stadium, fueled on beer and dressed in home team colors to sing and cheer along with tens of thousands of anonymous friends. In Brussels, they ate Chateauriand followed by Dame Blanches in the Grand Place. Spain brought them to the Basilica de la Sagrada Familia, where their necks hurt from staring into the tangled celebration of the vaulted ceilings well over a century in the making. Wine tasting, shopping and long days in the Louvre matched with long nights at Le Madam overloaded their senses in France. To Santorini they went for sun and sand. Then it was a boat ride to the Italian portion of the trip with its jaw-dropping coastline, sumptuous meals and decided lack of seriousness.

Every stop along the way was chronicled in handwritten letters home. Packed with detail and nuance, the perceptive recipient might have sensed a hint of desperation in the prose, a sense that everything conveyed was tinged with a disappointment for the time and opportunities quickly fading behind the prominence of what came next. The price of their degrees was the course their lives charted upon returning home. Jobs, programs, offices, business suits and relationships that looked attractive but threw a shadow of predictability that was not awful or exciting.

Whipping against her thighs, the white mini skirt was not ideal for the ride or protecting any of her usual modesty. The very fact that she’d accepted to get on the bike was a surprise even to her. Without a helmet, without knowing the young man she now hugged for her safety, without any idea of where they were going, she’d just nodded her head when “Claudio” pointed at the bike. It was impulse, the likes of which she never responded to.

On this roller coaster of pocked cement, day was quickly slipping into night. Each corner they took, every rise in the road led to some place and some thing farther from her certainty. She loved everything she was feeling. What she was thinking, in the brief moments that she gave over to her thoughts, was more conflicted. But the stars were shining and they were coming into a small town of time-worn buildings splashed with brightly painted shudders and doors. A stone’s throw from the beach, antique fishing boats with collapsed spider web nets rocked to the chronic rhythm of the sea.  A couple of downshifts and the motorcycle and its two passengers leaned into a turn, then another, sending them down an impossibly narrow street before easing in front of a beaten door up three dusty steps. For a moment, she forgot to let go of the firm body she held to her chest. When she did, Claudio was off the bike, removing his helmet and presenting himself: all sparkly eyes and white teeth just as when they’d danced together earlier in the evening.

“Buonasera. Welcome,” he said in cautious English and held out his hand for an assist as she lifted herself off the warm saddle and stood next to him in the dark. They looked at each other with nothing to say. In a froth of supple bodies and pounding bass, they’d banged into each other in front of a stage along the beach. For the rest of the show, they’d stayed in close proximity to each other. Moving with screaming, shaking boys and girls and regularly coming to face again. It was plain that they were attracted to each other but he could not speak English. She, no Italian.

He turned for the door to the apartment building.

“Wait”

“Que?”  

She let out a heavy, embarrassed sigh and started to laugh. What was she thinking?

“Un… Ooo NO mo… uno momento.” It came out in a gush. She was over her head, caught up in the evening, in the trip, the Mediterranean breezes, the thick, smoky hash and a little too much Brunello.

He smiled. No words were necessary to understand the hesitancy. Dark eyes dropped for a moment, leading his head in the same direction. In the moonlight, Claudio shifted the weight on his feet then looked up and right back into her eyes.

“Si, Si, Si.” The smile never left his lips as his fingers tapped along to his words on the helmet he carried. He understood and kindly did not seem to judge.

A flock of butterflies busied themselves up and down her torso but a heaviness lingered just below. The war pitting her head against her sex battled in the space in between. She didn’t do “one night stands” and she’d certainly never fucked a stranger. But, my God, if she was going to say, “no,” why didn’t she do it thirty minutes and fifteen miles ago?

Pia’s reaction when told what she was doing rang in her ears. “Vicky, you really shouldn’t do this.”

They’d been together the entire two months and on the last night, she left her best friend for a stranger. Albeit, a really handsome one with a positively silky way of dancing.

He reached out a tanned hand and tucked a curl behind her ear. Claudio’s fingers rested there for just a moment. Salt air and motorcycle rides wreaked havoc on the jumble of her Coke-colored mane. A self-critical appraisal in the moment assured her the frizz factor must be on full display.

“Nice,” he ventured.

“Nice? Really?”

“Si, bellissima.”

The butterflies morphed into a hammer now thudding in her chest. She wanted so badly to turn to his door. To lose herself in the evening, in the moment before her. High cheekbones, lips a weather-worn red and green flecked eyes, this was a fantasy right before her if she could just give herself over to it. Close enough to feel his breath, her legs felt slightly unsteady. This scene, the situation was everything she was not. There was no plan, it made no sense, she would regret it. But would she regret fulfilling what she actually wanted to do or would she be haunted by the rational choice of finding a way back to the hotel and giving up all that would be left behind.

His hand slid to the back of her head, fingers furrowing through her tresses. With a half step, he closed the distance between them to almost nothing, if she took a deep breath, he’d feel her breasts against him. The heat under her skirt could not have been more obvious.

“I really should…” the sentence wouldn’t finish for her. What an oppressive word, “should” seemed to be. And yet, it ruled her life. Just once…

Her phone buzzed, she took a step back digging in her purse for it, the tension between her and her unlikely lover eased. As she answered, she turned from him and took a step up the street and away from him.

“Pia?”

“Where are you?”

“I’m just, I don’t know, down the coast a little bit.”

“Are you okay?”

Turning to her motorcycle driver, she found Claudio on the top of his stoop, waiting at the door. Again, he smiled.

“I’m fine. Don’t worry.”

“This is a little out of character, that’s all I’m saying.”

“I know.” Vicky paused as a rippling breeze caressed the hot skin on her neck and naked thighs. “I’ll text you when I’m heading back.” She hung up and put the phone in her purse. The light spilled out of the open door, Claudio was silhouetted against it. Again, her heart pounded with both desire and fear. What was up those steps and inside the man at the top of them, was a mystery. She wanted to go to him to solve it but she didn’t trust her legs to carry her to this unfamiliar place. She knew this was not the way she behaved but adrift in the Old World charm of this evening, it was excruciating not to simply surrender to it.

From above, like an old friend showing up in an unlikely place, the opening bars of Carmen drifted down into the street. Her favorite opera suddenly appearing in this storybook town, in this moon-kissed night seemed simply too perfect for even her stubborn mind to ignore. As the chorus swelled, her struggle with the sensible slid into the rising tide of sensuality.  Whatever she “should” do would have to wait this one night. With a smile, she mounted the stairs, threw her arms around her man and put her mouth on his.

The momentum of their union carried them inside, the door closing behind with a thud. Her tongue ran along his teeth, over his thick lips. Pulling him close to her, she thrilled at the hardness she found against her. A surge of power built in her as she turned aside and placed her hand on him giving his thickness a rewarding appraisal. If she was hesitant at first, she felt unstoppable now. That’s what happened when she made up her mind. Through his jeans, she rubbed his cock looking boldly into his eyes. The language barrier gave her the courage to say things she’d sometimes wanted to but never felt she had the license to.

“You like that, don’t you. Claudio, that’s going to feel so good inside me.”

Overwhelmed by the transformation in her, Claudio backed against the wall and raised his hands in the air, a minor surrender.

Laughing sheepishly, he said, “Lentamente, lentamente,” and pointed up the stairs. She loved that she’d put him on his back foot, that she was just in much in charge of this situation as one of the stops on her European agenda.

“Upstairs? Okay, let’s go.” She took his hand and trotted up the stairs, knowing full well that at the given distance he was getting an eyeful up her mini-skirt. She loved being on display, giving his eyes an appetizer for what was to come. In another few minutes, she hoped he would be buried back there.

At the landing for his apartment door, the opera music played louder. It was coming from inside. With a little smile and what she thought seemed like an explanation, he said, “Il mio campagno di stanza.” Whatever he meant, she did not care. Her mind was made up on what she wanted to do and it did not involve much talking.

The apartment door opened and he let her pass inside. The room was cozy, candlelit with family photos, concert posters, and tapestries on the wall. Thin French doors opened to a walkout balcony overlooking the harbor below and a stunning young woman with short, dyed blonde hair stood in the middle of it all. She seemed just as surprised as the newcomers because she was mid-verse singing along with Carmen. A generous glass of red wine sloshed in her hand and almost spilled as she recovered from their entrance.

“Oh my God, I’m sorry.” They all shared a nervous, slightly confused laugh. “I’m Vicky”

“Sono, Isabella”

“Sono Claudio,” he said with a playful grin.

“Yes, I remember that.”

“Vino?” Isabella offered. Vicky shook her head, her eyes scanning for the space she needed to finish what she’d started out in the hall.

“No grazie,” Claudio said, looking at Isabella with an understanding that confirmed a familiarity with each other. Vicky recognized it and wondered for a breath if there was anything more to it than friendship. As she entertained the idea, she found it intriguingly Bohemian. But that thought ran from her mind as Claudio grabbed her wrist and led her down a cramped hallway to his room. As she walked away from the young woman and the opera music, Vicky felt the tiniest pang of what felt like curiosity.

His room was mostly dark but for the slash of blue light, the window offered perfectly framing his neatly made bed. Vicky got right down to it. Sucking his tongue into her mouth, her hands reached for and unbuckled his belt and jeans. Claudio’s breath was heavy and knowing she was turning him on inflamed the achiever in her. If she was going to have a one-night stand, she was going to make it just as good as it could possibly be.

With his fat cock released, she pushed him onto the bed and crawled up between his legs. Her fingers wrapped around him and on her knees, she slowly moved her hand up and down urging on his arousal. In the moonlight, she watched his face for clues to what he liked.

“This is some kind of cock you have, Claudio. You want me to suck it? Wanna shove it down my throat?”

There was no doubt he was enjoying himself, he groaned and chuckled a bit at not understanding her questions. It made her happy to talk like this, she felt liberated, like a suitcase she’d always carried could now be left behind.

“You are going to fill me with this thing, aren’t you? It might even hurt a little bit, you’re so big.”

She dropped her shoulders and ran her tongue around the deliciously smooth salty skin of his helmet. As his hips reflexively lifted off the bed, she snuck a hand under his ass and marveled at its tightness. Her other hand held his cock like a microphone and from behind it, her naughty talk continued.

“Claudio” she teased, “I can feel you’re very excited. Promise me that you’re going to fuck me like I want to be fucked.” He opened his eyes and looked down at her.

“Promise me!”

“Si,” he mumbled.  

In a quick decisive move, she took him all the way in. Fighting off the gag, her lips kissed the base of his erection and she felt an internal smile at her skill.

A big Italian groan in the night. Thrilling at her effect on him, she began a decadent feast between his open thighs. The pressure and the release in her throat, the feeling of her ass sticking up in the air, the high of all this craziness on the last night of her trip brought her to a swollen state of want.

Cupping Claudio’s heavy balls she dipped her head again but froze when she felt her miniskirt getting pushed up to her waist. Just making sure, she looked up and saw that her lover’s hands were up by his head on the pillow. The hands now sliding down her little g-string were too small and delicate to be a man’s anyway, she could feel that. Pulling the dick out of her mouth and licking her lips, Vicky looked over her shoulder and found Isabella staring like a wolf at the ass before her. Their eyes met, the Italian didn’t smile, just nodded her head in appreciation.

This was new, like the entire evening.

Well, not totally new. Vicky occasionally thought about situations very much like this back home. On more than one Saturday night, she’d come back to her dorm room from the bars and sent herself to sleep thinking of hands and mouths and sex parts of both men and women all over her. But in the morning, she’d always written the tantalizing idea off as a bit of alcohol-fueled ridiculousness.

Isabella lifted her chin in the direction of Claudio, encouraging the American to get back to what she was doing. It would be tough, her sex hummed with the anticipation of what was about to happen.

On her knees and elbows, she looked up to Claudio. Eyes half-closed, his lips were pursed, like he was thinking over a question, maybe wondering what happened to the blow job he’d been so enjoying. A pang of guilt hit Vicky, she’d gotten off task and she didn’t want to disappoint the man. But before she could get back to the cock in front of her, she had to take a deep breath and settle the avalanche of sensation that rumbled over her as Isabella started to gently suck her clit. Twisting her hips and shoulders in a vain attempt to get herself under control, Vicky now felt Claudio’s hands behind her head, guiding it back to his hardness. With no predictable rhythm, behind Vicky, the tongue fluttered over her electric knob providing the most delicious sensations. It made her feel a little crazy and the only thing she could think to do was to take that dick down her throat. She did it with zeal, bobbing frantically as spit built in the corner of her mouth and her own tongue slid back and forth over the flexing shaft. As she lifted her mouth and the seeping head broke contact with her lips, her hands squeezed the length of it before giving way to another dive.

Behind her, Isabella was simply magical. Her sucking mouth was now on to Vicky’s willing crack, the tender kisses there getting alternated regularly with an adventurous tongue. Vicky burned to have her clit rubbed but Isabella seemed to know that would mean a quick end to the fire that was starting to roar. She touched it but only to tease.

As smooth as he was on the dance floor, Claudio seemed to be losing his cool now. Rising to meet this girl’s hunger, his breathing came out in bigger and bigger gulps. Sensing the fast-rising urgency, Vicky let go of him and spun around planting her heavy quim on the length of his masterpiece. Giving him a good look at her backside, she slid up and down on Claudio, not letting him inside, while staving off anything premature.

Isabella stood, her panties were halfway down her thighs and she slid them all the way off. Her blouse was next and Vicky cooed at the rounded heft of her tits. Like a child reaching for a present, her hands mashed into the soft, warm flesh. The two women leaned in, found eager mouths and shared the flavors of where they’d been.

Burning to go all the way, lost in the moment of this unbridled departure, Vicky’s hand reached between Isabella’s legs and found a slick place like her own. She knew what to do. Her girl’s lips vibrated with a low moan inspired by the searching fingers. For what felt like ages, the two women explored each other’s bodies and wants, each move driving them into a more lawless state.

Again, Vicky found herself on knees and elbows but now between Isabella’s legs. Claudio had made his way behind her. Feeling his approach, Vicky turned, “Claudio, please REALLY fuck me. Hard”

Her mouth returned to Isabella’s tufted mound and delicate scent. As directed, Claudio grabbed Vicky’s hips and in one measured push, buried himself all the way in. The shock of the entry caused a muffled cry from the American, then lifting her head she screamed, “Yes!” Trying to catch her breath as tears rolled down her cheeks, she let the saltiness from her eyes mix with the cum building on the pussy before her. Now, it was Isabella’s turn to hold the back of Vicky’s head. The new graduate whipped her tongue back and forth as Claudio rocked her like a rag doll. She gave up and just sucked the woman to her. This was going to be the end.

Isabella went first. Her breathing stopped, her body curled up and over Vicky’s head, and then, with a high-pitched keening, she slammed back down on the mattress, her legs shaking out the wave of pleasure.

Getting fucked harder than she ever thought possible, Vicky asked for more. “Bene, bene, bene, Claudio. Please, make me cum.” With a shout, Claudio somehow went even harder. It was like having something not entirely human inside her. Every inch of him felt alive, solid and furious. She reached back with both her hands to make herself more open to his efforts and she pushed back to meet his thrusting. “Make me sticky, Claudio. Oh God, make me filthy. Please do it now.”

With a shove that drove her flat on the bed, Claudio erupted. He held on to her shoulders and let his cock twitch and pump away in spasms of relief. She could hear nothing, she squeezed her eyes shut and before the last drop left him, pushed back, so his balls slapped against her clit and she was gone. Pulse after pulse of her orgasm rolled up and down her heaving body. She could feel his seed slathered against her insides. It ran down her thighs carried along by her own liberal juices.

They fell into a pile of beautiful youth: sexy, exhausted and entangled. Vicky opened her eyes. Isabella’s face was perfectly serene, a smile played at her lips. On Vicky’s back, Claudio fought to catch his breath. “Bellisima,” he whispered in her ear when he did.

The night found its quiet time. The room was still and all that moved outside were the fishing boats tinkling and creaking on the water.

Close to the bed, Vicky’s phone buzzed in her bag. She rolled out from under Claudio and stood up. As the phone called her again, Vicky looked at her Italian lovers and they at her.

“I should get that,” she said.

She watched as Claudio pulled himself up along Isabella and kissed her deeply. The phone vibrated again and the two Italians unwrapped their arms and extended their hands to their guest, beckoning her to join them.

“Maybe I shouldn’t.”

[JT1]