Chapter 8: Don't Touch
We loved Rome. George made us take the historic tour first; the Ancient Romans sure did build a lot of stuff that fell apart. We also ate some great food and drank lots of wine. I took twenty pictures of her making faces in front of Roman fountains and statues.
Then we went to the Spanish Stairs, which apparently is like the ass pinch capital of Italy. Ow! But the stores are down the street. We bought so many things; George made us chose only 6 pairs of shoes apiece. So Mean! But I got a pair of calf length boots in black, and they don't really count as shoes. And this to-die-for skirt in black, it only barely covers my kootch... oh, ok. Focus.
George had to go overnight to Milan. We had this cute apartment off the Campo de' Fiori, and we rented it for the whole week, and he told us we could stay in Rome by ourselves. OMG! But, he said, use condoms.
We love to do the Argentine Tango. It is the sexist dance in the world. You should look it up on You Tube if you don't know. So we wanted to Tango, and there is this club called "Snakes" that is at #32 Via de Serpenti in Rome. The door is a hole in the wall, but in back there's a nice dance floor.
Jessica and I went in and right away I saw the picture. It is about 3' x 3' and it says "Don't Touch." It is a painting of a cute girl who is naked except for a wisp of blouse that is open anyway, her tits jut out and she is squatting with her fingers in her pussy!! I saw it and just about died!
"Jess!" I hissed. "Look at that!" I attempted to direct her to the painting without pointing. I pulled her arm. "No, the picture. On the wall!"
She looked, but seemed blasé. "So?"
"Jess, don't you see? They have public service announcements about the dangers of self-abuse! It's a warning to not make yourself cum, because you may go crazy! That woman has gone insane from masturbation addiction!"
This is all true, it's not made up. You can call Snakes if you don't believe me!
I love Jessica to death, she is my soul mate, but sometimes I have no idea what she's thinking. She looked at the warning, then at me, and then rolled her eyes and said, "What-ever."
She better not be touching herself; if I catch her I'll whip her ass.
We danced. In a milonga everybody changes partners, so we tangoed with lots of guys, old and young. These two cute Italian guys kept circling back and getting us again. By the third parada I could feel a bulge in one of them's pants, so I knew we were doing ok. I rubbed thighs with him, and stroked his legs with my foot, and pushed my boobs into him. I told you, it's a sexy dance.
When we were taking a break we sat at a tiny table and they fed us shit. They said in Europe people were so sophisticated that fucking is practically like shaking hands. We didn't mind, we were looking for some sack time, after all.
They never realized we could understand Italian. Mario winked at Lorenzo and said "These American cunts are so stupid. I'll bet you €20 that I can trick the redhead into sucking my cock."
Lorenzo passed up a chance to be noble, and replied, "The blond is dumber than the redhead. I'm going to fuck her ass."
Now we have no objection to a little sexual play time. But we are not stupid! Or dumb! They would pay for those remarks.
"Say, we've got our apartment to ourselves tonight. Ya'll want to come back there with us for a drink?" Jess took the invitation right out of my mouth.
In short order, we were all back at the apartment. I was in Mario's lap, tongue kissing him heartily, while Jess kept Lorenzo occupied.
"So in Europe, sex is casual, is that right?" I asked.
"Oh, si, everyone does it all the time!" lied Mario.
