A full moon and 24-hours less ordinary: Part 2

The post-massage conversation between myself and ‘Traveler’ went something like this:

“OK, all done. You feel ok?

“Yeah, that was great. I feel much better!”

He got up a minute later, and sat behind me on my bed while I was checking my email…

“Here, I’ll give you a sample massage, but I’ll give you one later-on tonight. I don’t have any training and I’m probably not very good.”

“It feels great. A lot of  this work is instinctual. So this is like a sample?… and I can get a longer one later?!”

After a couple of minutes I became suspect – This is familiar… Is this going somewhere? He then put his arms around me, we smiled, I thanked him and hugged him back. “That’s so nice” he says. He pushed my hair back from around my face and began to massage my scalp then my forehead, with his fingertips. My head was back and my eyes closed. I didn’t really know what to do, so I didn’t move. I felt like I was 14.

OK, so what are you supposed to do when you’re caught in an embrace with your face  3 inches away from the poster-man of hotness?…

Kissing  seemed like the natural thing to do. I thought it would be over in a moment (then I could go back to feeling like an adult), but it wasn’t and  I was so completely blindsided by all of it, at one point still in shock I broke it off: “This is like so completely unexpected, I mean, I wasn’t even thinking this, at ALL!” (Hello, déjà vu? Cakes McCain calling again.) I needed to stake claim to some innocence on my part. It’s not like I was some single desperado looking for a man-whore to service me, or expecting restitution for his and his partner’s accommodation. Regardless, after that grand, futile declaration – we continued. He moved his hands up my thighs, taking my skirt up along with them.

The great tragedy was that I was all but dead from the neck down…
I couldn’t get the running dialogue in my head to shut the f’ck up:

“WTF is wrong with you???!!!

I don’t know! What just happened here? Why am I always paranoid at the WRONG times? Why don’t I ever expect these things to happen! Where the hell is my third eye?

You expect nothing because you do legit therapy and you’re just NAIVE! Never mind! This guy is HOT! Look at him, he’s ripped! Juice up, baby!!!”

“I can’t! There wasn’t enough build-up, you know – anticipation! It’s not like it was with Clark Kent!  I feel like I’m on Prozac and trying to bend a spoon with my mind! Fuuuck! This isn’t fair!”

I went through the motions best I could while trying to silence this incessant internal dialogue. We never had sex, but did pretty much everything else that wasn’t illegal in some countries. The Traveler, so it seems, has a particular sexual repertoire which doesn’t include getting off with ‘P in V.’

How rudimentary! Damn! Why didn’t I think of that before?!

Art by Yasmina Alaoui and Marco Guerra

Maybe because I fallen into the abyss of my Italian lovers’ pad-locked sexual creativity, due to them watching far too much low-grade pile-driving porn and chronic masturbation. (CK was pretty good though.) In spite of the sheer randomness – There was nothing sordid or sleazy about it. It was what it was – Acting on impulse for a simple human experience, in the moment. I told myself: “I’ll ace it next time – if there is a next time.”

We later spoke of freedom and doing what you want, what makes you feel good, as opposed to forcing yourself to do what doesn’t and dealing with the negativity and post-action residual crap.  I took this morsel of this philosophy to comfort my ego as I would hate to think he felt obliged to me in any way, for my hospitality.

I love his energy. He is so easy to be with. Damn, he’d make a great wing-man.

That evening after dinner in Cava, we did the ‘passeggiata’ with my dogs (Mr. Traveler insisted we bring them). As we walked along the corso amongst the meandering locals and patrons sitting on patios outside the many cafés and eateries, my thoughts once again wandered to Clark Kent, and if perhaps he was out and about. If so, would he see us? Would he do a double take and wonder who I was with? Would he even care?

Later we returned to the house, as I sat with my laptop he came in. I can’t recall exactly how, but we started up again. It was somewhat of a relief as I was hoping he didn’t think I totally sucked earlier (no pun intended). This time I was more prepared and able to gag the internal dialogue and appreciate everything that was offered to me – his hands, lips, tongue, that beautiful dick. (Including his request to give me a “butt -massage.” Of all butts – my butt? It was by request so could I deny him? Why not let him appreciate it? He seemed to marvel at how soft it was.) I said very little during our escapade, I wanted to be silent in the moment, to listen to him breathe, hear his random whispers while we feasted on each other. He came shortly after me, then left my room to take a shower. I pondered whether or not I should offer him a place in my bed, but somehow it didn’t seem right – for either of us, and I drifted off before I had the opportunity to analyze it to a pulp.

The next day he we ate breakfast together and his traveling partner worked on their route into Eastern Europe. It was early afternoon when he asked me:

“Hey Cakes, It’s gonna be a long drive can you give me a short massage before I go? ”

“Yeah, sure no problem. You want me to do it now?”

“Yeah .”

We sat in by bedroom facing one another he started to rub my shoulders, and I his.

  “Wait,” he says. “Who’s massaging who?”

“I thought you said you had a long drive ahead?”

We looked at each other, laughed and in unison came together for one last encore…

Shortly after they departed to begin the next leg of their journey driving through Eastern Europe. I was a little sad to see them leave so soon. They were a little gift from the universe and a break from my reality where most of the time I feel like an outsider, and don’t quite belong. Maybe certain people appear so briefly in our lives for a reason –  to simply offer friendship… to bless us with a reminder of something  we forgot or inadvertently buried within ourselves, or maybe to show us what we are missing. I suppose in my case – losing myself, and the struggle of suffocating under others’ baggage, and invasive idealistic self-serving bullshit, and self-limiting beliefs.  I needed to be with my own, and people with whom I could identify. People with a broad spectrum and vision…

I needed to realize I have to stop letting this place influence me, and just really be who I am 24-7, no façades, no holes barred, with no apologies and no regrets – just my own rules, on my own terms.


About Cakes McCain

Aka. 'Oliver Twist with Furniture and Diamonds' Ex-pat, lunatic, survivor - A Bridget Jones/Shirley Valentine hybrid, epically flawed, neurotic literary ‘dirty apple’ with a penchant for broad shoulders, epic orgasms, & lazy Sunday mornings eating cake in bed. Almost always broken-hearted, forever analysing everything to a bloody pulp and eternally obessing over 'Pasta for One - The Manuscript' a chick-lit memoir about living single in fabulous Italy, while trying not to throw yourself in front of a speeding bus.
This entry was posted in casual sex, dating, depression, European men, Friends with benefits, friendship, guilt, hook-ups, humour, internet dating, Italian life, Italian men, Italy, Italy living, Life in Italy, Living in Italy, love, one night stand, online dating, relationships, self examination, sex, single girl, social misfit, trust, Uncategorized, x-pat, x-pats and tagged , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , . Bookmark the permalink.

2 Responses to A full moon and 24-hours less ordinary: Part 2

  1. V.V. Wolf says:

    “far too much low-grade pile-driving porn and chronic masturbation” LOLOLOL….don’t I know it! and oh how I hate to remember that!!! better to get them much younger so you can train them ;-P
    I also feel ya sister re: doing what you want from here on out. I used to have those freedom cries every week there!!! I still always did what I wanted, but I guess in the long run, it’s boring doing it all by yourself!

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