I have a confession to make.
You see, I've been engaged to a beautiful young Italian woman named Anna for almost a year. The problem is that she lives overseas, finishing up a master's degree in architecture in Italy. Her program ends this coming May, after which we'll be having a traditional Italian wedding in her family's hometown of Torino (famous for its Baroque architecture and the Turin shroud), honeymoon in Bali and then settle down in Wisconsin, where I teach part-time at the local university while finishing up a PhD in the rise of the love lyric among Sicilian poets. I know I know, I'm just a romantic at heart...
So what's the problem? Well, I haven't seen my sweet baby Anna for almost a year, since I proposed on one knee in front of the Antonelliana Mole. I've been pretty much snowbound the past few months here in the good ol' northern USA. Needless to say, I've been lonely, longing for some female companionship. I figured there's no way I would ever want to cheat on my Italian angel, so I've been fooling around on-line, making certain I never chat with anyone within a 1000-mile radius. That way I'll never be tempted to meet someone face to face.
Maryse (rhymes with 'Oh please!' ) is certainly a sweetheart. We've been chatting on-line for a couple of months, exchanged digital pictures (bra and panties shots for her, "most-muscular" shots for me), and done some major flirting. Only 20, she's originally from Eastern Canada, from one of those French areas I know nothing about except it gets colder there than here! She's managed to find her way down to Florida, where she's studying to become a journalist at a junior college somewhere near Fort Lauderdale. She wants to perfect her English so she can work around the world, an admirable goal.
Anyhow, one evening we were chatting innocently on-line when she asked what my Spring Break plans were.
"Well, some friends and I were planning to go down to Fort Lauderdale for some beach time... you know, to get away from the cold and all," I answered, oblivious as always.
"Jason, you know I live a half hour from Fort Lauderdale."
Oh shit! While my friends Ben and Dean had been planning our trip, it hadn't crossed my mind Maryse lived in Florida. Moreover, Ben's uncle owned a beach-house in Fort Lauderdale, so that was our destination by default.
"Yeah, I knew that," I lied, wondering what the hell excuse I could make for not meeting Maryse. "Well, we're only going to be there a few days."
"That sounds great. You know, I've been working part-time at a hotel. I could get you a very cheap room for a couple of nights. Then you can be with your friends the rest of the time," Maryse stated casually, as if it had already been decided.
"Yeah, that sounds perfect!" I lied again, my heart beating faster and my palms starting to sweat. On the one hand, Maryse was certainly a cute little package, and I'd surely enjoy spending time with her naked, but... Sigh. Resignedly, I agreed to spend my first 2 nights down south at Maryse's hotel, and then scoot on over to Ben's uncle's beach house for the remainder of my stay.
As Spring Break approached, my mind was swimming with excuses. I kept trying to figure out a way out of this. At the same time, every evening when I lay down to sleep, images of Maryse's naked body hovering above mine floated into my mind, and I would powerfully squirt out my sexual frustration with visions of her lips on my cock. A true dilemma, one which many men would be more than happy to deal with, but I was at a loss, wishing I'd never heard of the Internet, and longing to pack my bags and head to Italy instead of Florida.
On the flight down to the Sunshine State, I was a nervous wreck. Ben and Dean wondered why on earth I couldn't go directly to the beach-house. I invented some story about a great-aunt my mother wanted me to visit in a retirement home. As the plane touched down, I realized there was no turning back. Ben and Dean got into one cab, and I got into another. It took about 25 minutes to get to the hotel.
Since Maryse's classes finished late, I checked into the room by myself at about 4. I opened the door, kicked off my shoes, and jumped on the bed. Flicking on the TV, I thought about what I was about to do. Questions ran through my mind: What if she doesn't look like her pictures? What if she isn't attracted to me in real life? What if she's a 55-year-old fat Nigerian man who wants to kidnap me and extort money from our government? What if... what if...? I was honestly hoping for something, anything to pop into my head that would allow me to preempt any immoral behavior other parts of me were dying to enact.
At about 5:30, I did some pushups and situps, and then hopped in the shower. I expected Maryse shortly after 6, and wanted to at least be clean. I dried my hair with a towel, put on some decent clothes for a nice dinner out, and sat back down on the edge of the bed, trying not to sweat, tense with anticipation.
