My Life The Marco Years Ch 01

My name is Martina (this is true) I was born in northern-west Italy close to the French border in a small town in 1985.

I have the same small group of friends that I have always had and to this day we still speak openly and freely with each other.

There are things about me they do not know and here I will tell these stories.

We will begin in Bologna in 2003 when I first attend university and I have 18 years and met Marco, the love of my life who has 64 years.

I have always had a passion for tango dancing and theatre since I was a young age. My nonna and my mother would always be listening to tango influenced music at the home where we cooked and lived. My father he left when I was 4 years of age, and he was never to be seen again. This maybe will explain why I have always sought out older men to be in my life.

One such man was Marco. In the summer before I start at university I had found a small apartment in Ghetto Ebraico district. The apartment was old, dirty and cramped and in need of repair for a lot of things, but I was happy as it was my first time away from my town 3 hours away, and now I need a job.

I started working as a barmaid in a small bar located in the centre of Bolgona. It was for the local people not tourists and was a place where old men would openly grab at me as I delivered drinks or collected the used glasses. This was not a happy job for me, but it allowed me to have money on my 2 days off when I could explore and take a coffee and pay for phone credit to speak with friends back home.

On one of my days away from there I discovered a tango theatre that was newly formed. It was hosted in an old convent which still had remnants of the religious artefacts and architecture of its previous use. I sat at the side of the main floor area and watched and listened as the couples danced in the main area. At the end a silence fell, and chatter began. I had made conversation with several people and agreed we would go to a bar for coffee and small beers. Here I was making friends in a big city and happy.

When we arrived at the bar in Centro Storico, a man named Marco caught my attention and spoke with me. He was softly spoken but direct. The waitress arrived at our table, and he did not break eye contact with me and ordered another red wine for himself and a water for me, despite me enjoying a white wine at that moment.

He was intensely focused on who I was, where I was from, what I was doing for education and where I would be as a career. Midway through the conversation I allowed myself to use a word that was not pleasant. Marco looked at me and his large hand slipped onto mine that was gripping my knee and softly said 'you never will use such words '. My stomach turned at this moment, maybe from the touch of his hand, but more likely that I was scolded by him.

I agreed that I would meet with him again the next day and I could not hide my smile from my face. This time it would be in the afternoon, and we would eat lunch and take a walk in Giardini Margerita afterwards. Before leaving Marco took me by the wrist and we stepped to the side of the doorway as people came and went but paid us no attention. 'I would be pleased tomorrow to see you in a flat shoes, a plain colour pleated skirt and if you own such a thing as a knitted cardigan I would be happy for you to wear this' Marco said to me as he looked at me intently. Are we going to kiss now? Here? In front of these people? No; he stroked the side of my face, 'ciao Martina' turned and left and got into the back of a car that did not resemble a taxi but seemed to take off immediately as he entered.

The next morning, I woke and tore through my unpacked suitcases to find such an outfit. I wore as I was asked by Marco and included some white ankle socks as the flat shoes I had would rub against my heels otherwise. I entered my bathroom and stripped completely and looked at my 5'0 body. I am flat chested still to this day with olive skin. I looked down at my pubic area which boasted a thick bush of black pubic hair. This needed to be taken care of. I took some scissors that I would use for general use and carefully trimmed at my hair until it resembled a neat thick black triangle. The same scissors were used for shaping my eyebrows.

I wore yellow-colored cotton panties which were adorned with the words 'ti amo' and a small red heart on the front. Next were my slightly washed-out white ankle socks which sat neatly under my ankle bone. A bra which once was white but now more of a greyish white covered my 30a breasts. I slipped on my blue pleated skirt, a white vest which I tucked in and a pale blue soft woolen cardigan.

I walked the 20 minutes through the university district and back to centro storico area to the restaurant we agreed to meet. At exactly the time we agreed, Marco appeared from nowhere and placed his hand on the small of my back, his other taking my wrist and guided me safely to a waiting seat outside. 'Here we will sit' he said before catching the attention of the waiter. We ate, we sipped coffee, we drank water and walked in the park, all the time carefully crafted questions being asked of me and my development.

After our walk through the park Marco said confidently 'Now we will take in my apartment and we will talk more about you Martina, do you agree?' I nodded without a second regard for who this man was and agreed to walk the short distance back to his apartment.

Once we reached the door of his apartment on the top floor of a building in centro storico, he paused and said 'please, your shoes and the socks, take them off here'. I did as I was told without a second thought. I walked through into his apartment which was large, baroque in design and with a large square lounge area that was 4 maybe 5 times the size of my apartment in total and in the center of the room was a large, low square table which I would come to know very well. I stood like a fool holding my shoes with my socks tucked into them whilst Marco left before returning a few moments later.

He motioned for me to come to him and once I was before him, he placed both hands onto my hips and lifted me onto the large table. I stood unable to say anything, still holding my shoes and socks as he sat down in a large red wingback leather chair in front of me and looked up at me clutching my shoes in front of my chest.

'You walked into my theatre yesterday and I knew instantly that you were different from anyone I have seen before' he said softly. 'I had to take you Martina and get to know you and you have been compliant and willing from the minute we met'. ...wait your theatre? You own the entire building, I thought to myself.

He reached out his hands and I instantly handed him my shoes which were placed neatly next to his chair. Marco then stood, his hands cupped the back of my calves, and he looked up and into my eyes. My heart raced and my breathing I could not hide. His large hands slipped up onto the backs of my thighs and continued up over my panties which were quickly, but gently removed. He took hold of my ankles in turn and instinctively I stepped out of my panties. He held them up to read the writing 'ti amo'. I blushed red that I had worn such an item and was now allowing this man I had only met some hours ago to see my underwear. He folded them neatly and laid them next to my feet.

He took hold of both of my small hands and whispered 'slowly Martina, slowly lower yourself until the heel of your foot is nearly touching the cheeks of your butt. Be graceful Martina'. He guided me with his hands, and I began too slowly squat downwards. My legs trembled in this position as I got lower before finding a comfortable position perched upon his table. 'Good girl Martina, be still' he said looking at me intently. He placed both of his hands on my knees and began to separate my legs slowly until they stretched as wide as was possible. Next my hands were taken in his, 'like this Martina' he said as he placed the palms of my hand onto the top of my head.

Marco then turned his attention to the hem of my skirt and folded it back until it sat neatly on my thighs, completely exposing me. He sat back in his chair and crossed his legs. Looking up at me he said again softly 'Martina, behind me on the wall is a quote, and you will focus your gaze upon this while we speak'. I instinctively looked up and read the words 'mostrami chi sono' (show me who I am).

Leaning forwards, Marco took his pocket square from the jacket he wore, reached in between my legs and dabbed at my pussy softly. He then leaned back and examined what he saw on the cotton 'you have a very hungry pussy, it seems' he said softly. I died a little inside at his words. I could feel how wet I was and prayed that I would not drip onto this large walnut table. My legs trembled and Marco' hand reached out to my knees 'be steady for me that's a good girl Martina'

'Look at me now Martina', I glanced down still trembling with my hands on my head and my legs wide open. I felt humiliation like I have never felt before as I looked at Marco' kind face looking back at me. 'You are going to now imagine another chair is next to mine and sitting in that chair is your father'. I looked at him blushing red at his words, now noticing the sounds of the scooters and people outside the open windows, but in a world of my own. 'Look at him Martina and greet him'. I did not think twice to explain how I never remembered my father and uttered 'ciao papi'.

Marco leaned forwards and placed his hand upon my knee. 'Good girl Martina, now slowly let's bring these knees down onto the table, shall we?' Reaching up he took both of my hands and with a tight grip allowed me the relief from the burning in my thighs to rest my knees on the table. My hands were returned to the position on the top of my head, and slowly Marco stood.

His large hands reached down and picked at the buttons of my pale blue cardigan until all four were undone and it fell open. Reaching down further he tugged at the material of my thin vest and slowly pulled it up, taking the hem and pulling it over my head like a face covering. I felt the embarrassment of him seeing my worn out, padded t-shirt bra that covered my breasts, but was unable to see him clearly due to my face being covered.

My clasp was undone, and a single hand pulled down my bra exposing my flat chest and hardened nipples. Silence fell on the room. No touch was felt on my body, goose pimples filled my skin as I knelt spread, exposed, with my face covered and body on display. I heard Marco making movements, as if adjusting clothing. My eyes wide open I could clearly see the movements of a man masturbating through the thin white material of my vest. I stayed silent as the minutes passed, Marco also silent aside from the movement of his body, until he stepped in close to me, his hand on my shoulder gripping hard and then the warmth of his ejaculation hitting my chest and further drips onto my bare thighs. I breathed hard.

Marco left the room, and I did not move a muscle. I maintained my position on the table, feeling the liquid slowly making its way down to my navel and then the waistband of my skirt. I heard him return after some minutes and the peeling of packaging. 'Stay still Martina' he said softly as he applied tissue to my skin. Several tissues were used and discarded. Gently he took the bra that sat in my lap and pulled it up over my thin ribs and positioned it over my breasts before reaching around and fixing the clasp. My vest was then removed from covering my face and head, and tenderly he fixed this tucking it in at the front and back of my waistband. My cardigan was then neatly buttoned up, and Marco smiled at me kindly as our eyes met. 'Let's get you up Martina'. He took my hands, and I groaned as my aching legs came back to life and stood upright. With two hands on my hips, he lifted me off the table.

I left shortly afterwards for the short walk home, minus my panties. I had not been kissed, touched, groped or stimulated in anyway but I had never felt such wetness between my legs. Back inside my small apartment, which was a world away from the opulence of Marco' apartment, I squatted down next to my bed naked, held onto the frame of my bed and with 2 fingers inserted inside my vagina, I hard and rough brought myself to what is still to this day my most intense orgasm.

This was my first meeting with Marco, and I will try to make sense of what happened to me after this with him and write these things also. There are so many over a 3-year period ...

Ciao Martina.