Bella prided herself on being what she thought was a 'real woman.' She had curves, body fat, body hair, and a loud voice that flaunted her many very strong opinions, very often. She grew up in Naples, Italy but was born in Rome. And currently stayed in Venice with her Immigrant boyfriend Pierre. Three guesses on where he's from, and the first two don't count.
If you didn't guess Belgium. I don't blame you. A lot of people forget it exists and that French speakers live there as well. Pierre was the epitome of everything stereotypically European while being quintessentially Belgian at the same time. His blasé attitude made apathy look sexy.
His dark skin and strong cheekbones spoke to the long ancestry of his parents migrating north from Sub-Saharan East Africa that gave him smooth skin that was nearly hairless everywhere. His eyes were milk-water gray like the dark of his everything tried to capture something pale and light for itself. It just made his eyes look haunted, full of frail light of the mutated rods and cones inherited from his albino mother, who had no pigment in her eyes at all, and was barely 5 foot tall. Pierre was six foot seven and was always looking for inspiration which is how he met Bella at a visiting Van Gogh exhibit at the Venice Art Museum.
This young couple would soon put in an ad online to be a host family for awkward American exchange students studying abroad. I was one of those students. My name is Paul Michaels. Bella ended up calling me Paolo or just Paulino, when she would pinch my cheeks and kiss me hello. And sometimes when she was feeling playful, she'd call me Michelangelo, as if my being an art history major didn't set me up for that one as well.
She was always so excited and so outgoing and upbeat. Pierre not so much.
He was dissociated nearly 90% of the time. He was either scrolling on his phone or staring at something as if in a trance. Bella's round squishy body was so often giving me kisses and talking my ear off about the latest things all the time. Or asking me to taste something, or helping me practice my Italian that I barely got any time to talk to Pierre one x one the first few weeks I stayed with them.
Pierre spent most of the day painting something or going on long walks to take photos to use in some other art project.
So if I wasn't doing my homework, I was spending time with Bella, with her loud voice, and boisterous laughter and energy. And her very strange cooking. I asked her why she didn't take the bones out of her food when she cooked the dish, she gave me this very sultry expression as she said, "It's garnish. I am a modern woman but I like to pretend I went out and hunted all of this for you and killed it with my bare hands before I prepared it for you with spices and sauces and bread."
Then she tore a piece of meat from one of the bones and sucked on it long and slow, winking at me when I blushed. I quickly finished my meal and went to take a shower.
That night, I had my first orgasm. I couldn't stop thinking about Bella in some tribal outfit killing game for her family. I didn't realize my hands were on my dick until it was spitting all over my chest, and I felt this wave of relief and pleasure.
I'm asexual, I've never had sexual attraction toward anyone. And while I was born with a penis, I don't masturbate as often as someone with one usually does. I just sort of exist with it and when it gets hard out of the blue - well I hide in the bathroom and listen to NPR podcasts til it feels soft again.
I never really understood the point of sexuality until that night. I know it seems so bizarre for a man to not have his first orgasm until adulthood, but I know I am probably not the only one. It is not necessarily something that is easy to talk about.
Most people would not understand.
After I came, I realized I could hear the sound of moaning through the walls, and I got up to go see what was going on. The sounds were coming from Pierre and Bella's room.
Their door was cracked so curiosity got the best of me and I peeked inside. He was kneeling on the bed - arms bound to the bed post with bright orange rope and Bella was behind him, wearing only a corset and a strap on dick, fucking him in the ass. Hard.
The moans were coming form Pierre, as Bella just fucked the sense out of him. He came hard and his arms pulled on the ropes, only then did Bella stop. She pulled out of his ass slowly,
"Do you want to clean yourself off my dick, Pipi Pierre?"
He mumbled some sort of noise, and she was walking around to the side of the bed. The new angle would mean if she looked in this direction she'd notice me - so, trying not to and failing - I stepped on a creaky floor board as I tried to quietly bolt for my room.
I stayed there doing homework for three days barely interacting with either of them. One day I woke up - and nearly had a heart attack- because Pierre was in my room, staring at me, watching me sleep. I had never interacted with this man - barely said more than hello to him and now he was standing in my room watching me. "Pierre?"
He turned those foggy eyes to look at me. He was eating a banana, slowly chewing. "You saw something you did not mean to the other night and now you feel so much shame you are hiding in here," he said.
It was a statement like he knew. He wasn't asking to verify, he knew I had been watching them that night. I stammered awkwardly. "Y-Yes. I'm sorry for violating your privacy. I heard the moaning sounds and I was concerned that something was wrong, that one of you was hurt."
Pierre didn't make any facial expressions when he spoke. "She cracked the door on purpose," he said simply as he took the final bite of the banana, folded the peel in his hands, and put it in his pants pocket. I twitched.
"She wanted me to see you two having sex?"
"The last persons we hosted here were so promiscuous and slovenly, I think she was concerned for your dick not getting any play and wanted to help you out."
"She was concerned about my - Why? That is odd for her to be concerned about."
Pierre smirked. "You Americans can be so prudish and you think it's modesty. It's not. Sex Negative Culture does nothing but stifle the libido from its natural creative expression."
"My dick is fine."
"Is it?"
Pierre's gaze looked at me up and down slowly like a seduction. I felt awkward because I just woke up and my body was still hard the way it normally is when I wake up until I pee. I tried to make sure I wasn't bulging too much and gathered the blankets around my lap.
"Does my interest offend you?"
"I'm not offended. I just have never ... done anything with anyone."
Those water puddle eyes went wide, "You're a virgin?"
"Yes."
"You've never done ... anything, with anyone? Ever?"
"No."
