Tag Archives: renaissance man

RIP – the Italian

It started just over a year ago, on an Easyjet flight to Italy. I had been up late the night before, a visit from older lover followed by a drinking session with three male friends, including the horny American. Needless to say, I was tired and hung over . All I could think about was getting on the plane and sleeping for the duration of the flight. I spotted a free seat in the first row and asked the guy sitting in the aisle seat if it was taken. He offered it to me and helped put my case and coat in the overhead locker.

He started talking to me and I had that sinking feeling. You know the one, when all you want to do is put your ipod on and close your eyes. Instead, to be polite I talked to him and it turned out to be one of the best flights I have ever taken. We talked about everything – life, being married, living in different countries, history, music, art. At one point he asked me to take off my glasses and strangely I did, blushing as I did so. Later he told me he had gotten an erection at this point. He gave me his business card and a hand-written note. I have kept that note. It reads:

Hope you can forgive my (unexpected for myself as much) verbosity. The only way to hope for your forgiveness is hoping you will consider as an option, next time you are passing alone or in company, through London, my flat at the Angel is a place to stay.

He has a rather floral way of expressing himself in English. I can only assume this is because he is Italian. I learned to love his unique expressions, particularly in the IM chats we had after our first meeting. They began innocently enough, though I think we both knew there was something else spurring us on. Within a few weeks, the conversations took a sexually explicit tone. I wish I’d saved some of them as he came up with some hilarious phrases – one was “my balls are like two dried prunes”. Perhaps that sounds better in Italian.

So, then we met again. I took the train to Pisa to meet him for lunch. It was raining cats and dogs. He picked me up at the station and we drove to a little cafe. From the beginning, everything was always such a rush with him. He offered to drive me home after he had finished work, so I spent the afternoon walking in the rain. I was fascinated by him. An engineer, he had been in the navy, directed an orchestra, had a PhD in mathematics and played the piano. I’m a sucker for a renaissance man. We kissed in his car, the rain pounding on the windscreen. It reminded me of that scene from “Un homme et une femme” when they are driving in the rain and he keeps looking over at her as he drives.

So that was the beginning. I went to see his band rehearse, taking photographs of them for their website and when the others had all left gave him a blow job in the dark studio. After that, I moved to a different country and we kept in touch via SMS and IM. The first time we fucked was in London. I met him for dinner and then we went back to his apartment. I suppose the first experience with someone usually gives you an inclination. He was rough, preferring to fuck me from behind, pulling my hair as he did it. Sometimes I like that, the carnal nature of it. So, I didn’t toss him aside initially, instead I decided he just needed a little more time and effort.

Then out of the blue he asked me if I would go to the Outer Hebrides with him. That was last May. I thought why the hell not. And so I flew to London, then to Stornoway. We spent two days there, driving around the islands, staying in a B&B. At night we fucked. Sex improved and he made me come. Though I found his need for verbal commentary rather distracting. It was a magical trip and one I will remember forever.

Since then, we have met in London a number of times – usually for dinner and then ending up at his place or mine. And last week we met in Scotland again. This time for three days. And that spelled the end of our affair (though I haven’t told him). I think it was a combination of lack of sleep, his incessant talking and my PMT. The first night in the hotel, we fucked. He was rough again, gratifying only himself, not using the condom I had given him and then falling asleep. He snored all night long, stealing the covers, hogging the bed, so I lay awake until 5am. I had a lot of time to think and worked myself into a fury at his behaviour. It was made worse the next day when he said the previous evening had been “magical, perfect”. For him maybe. I had already decided to end the affair before he awoke the next day. I just had to get through two more days with him and that would be it.

The bad sex, coupled with calls to his wife, work colleagues and terrible driving have resulted in my first “RIP lover”. ¬†There were some good times, but I am searching for sexual fulfillment. He just didn’t measure up and life’s too short to teach him the basics.

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