January 19, 2015 § 6 Comments
WARNING: content may make readers want to vomit profusely
The day is here, folks. It’s been a hell of a ride (pun absolutely intended) and extraordinary fun… but I have to admit I’m more excited for what’s coming.
It’s been a few weeks, and it’s almost impossible to sum up the absolute ecstasy that’s occurred. After Skyping like mad whilst separated, Klaus and I finally managed to see each other in London, technically our first date and fuck… if all first dates were like that I’d never settle down, ever. But I think the reason it was so perfect is because I know that is coming, and weirdly it doesn’t scare me (much…).
We couldn’t keep our hands off each other the entire day. I’m not usually one for PDA, though I’ve recently had the mind-blowing epiphany that that’s probably only when I wasn’t a part of it. Funnily enough it’s not so repulsive when you’re on the receiving end of the affection. And yes I do realise I’ve become the couple I hate. It’s just a shame I’m absolutely loving it (ffs).
I used to pride myself on not wanting to be in a relationship, on being independent and not needing to rely on men (all dem single ladies). But now I wonder if that was simply my fear of rejection. Yeah I don’t need no man, cos then it doesn’t matter whether or not they want me. It’s all very well asserting your independence, but the thing is I don’t feel like I’ve lost any. If anything, Klaus makes me a better person. In fact he definitely does. Making all sorts of emotional breakthroughs, me. I haven’t drunk since being back in Bristol. Maybe cos I’m drunk in loooooooove (Yeah it’s fine, I hate me too).
It’s incredibly annoying and absolutely fantastic. I’m so ridiculously happy. And Klaus, if you’re reading this, thank you. I don’t need to tell you how bloody great you are. Here’s to an exciting start to whatever the hell comes next. I don’t really care as long as you’re involved.
*I won’t say it’s gone forever, but for now there will be no more sexual exploits outside of Klaus. For that reason I can’t say when the next post will be, if there ever will be one. I’m eternally grateful to all my loyal and fantastic followers. I’ve loved having this blog and reading everyone else’s experiences has made me feel less alone. I’m so appreciative of all of you, especially those of you who’ve made it through this particularly sickening post. Y’all can always send me a message for anything. Sending all my randy love.
April 17, 2014 § 1 Comment
I’m never sure if these count as dates, but I met up with another Italian today for a ‘conversation exchange’. We met in the pouring rain, a romantic start if ever there was one, and ran for shelter in a nearby bar, sopping wet.
It soon became evident that this language swap would be beneficial for me, as The Actor (we’ll call him) spoke almost no English. Perhaps that’s exaggerating, but we definitely spoke more in Italian than we did my native tongue, and my Italian is seriously basic.
Though somehow, this sexy piece of Dominican ass had me in stitches from the offset. I suppose hilarity was bound to ensue given that neither of us really spoke each other’s language. Well, either that or two hours of awkward silence. I’m immensely glad it was the former.
We somehow managed to recount one another’s back stories, and I heard all about how he was training in the best drama school in Rome, and about all his famous friends. Not displeased thus far, it must be said.
Unfortunately The Actor is off back to Veneto for two weeks (why does this always happen as soon as I start to like someone?) so our next encounter may not be until then, although he expressed desire for us to do something tomorrow morning before he goes. A bit keen perhaps, but I’m glad he wants to see me again.
The thing that struck me most about The Actor was his normalness. All the Italians I’ve met and dated so far have been creepy or weird in some way, but The Actor could have been a good friend from home. And despite the language barrier, we seemed to get on like a house on fire.
Watch this space…
April 14, 2014 § 7 Comments
I can’t stop smiling. This boy and his penis make me molto molto contento.
We both had plans for Saturday night, but Sunday being my only day off, and Frank being so infrequently around on the weekends we felt it’d be a serious waste not to make the most of this opportunity. So after I’d finished drinking and dancing with some friends, I hopped in a taxi headed to his part of town.
He was fast asleep when I turned up, his evening having not been quite as lively as he’d hoped, but upon my arrival his bleary eyes soon perked up with the realisation that he was about to get laid. For the first time ever we were able to conclude our passionate session with sleep, without having to worry about whisking me home. There was even cuddling involved, rather than the usual too-exhausted-to-move, bed-sheet-entangled heap. A pleasant substitution.
Frank was meant to work in the morning, but we were woken by a call from his boss saying that he wasn’t needed until later that afternoon. Bellissimo!
What ensued after was possibly the best Sunday morning of my entire life. Lazily draped over his large double bed, our peaceful dozing was only interrupted to engage in further coitus, back massages and other similar activities. After several hours of this bliss we paused to make pancakes whilst blasting the radio into the sunny afternoon, also occasionally disrupted by our energetic pursuits.
Full from breakfast and immensely satisfied, the time for him to work came around far too quickly. Though somehow we still managed to fit in a quicky and yet another cup of tea after his boss called him to come in. I’m sure it only made him slightly late…
This is what Italy is all about for me. Weekends spent partying followed by spending the entire day naked in bed, emerging only for food and the occasional tea brake. I don’t think I’ve ever been more content.
April 10, 2014 § 5 Comments
Date night with Frank last night. Wednesday nights had become somewhat of a routine for us, though I feel that may no longer be an option. I shall explain.
We went for drinks near his place again, and had a really good night. Part of me was concerned that our relationship would descend into less and less spending time together clothed and in public, not that that’s a problem of course, but I do enjoy his company as well as his penis. We started in this little medieval themed bar where conversation flowed extremely naturally. Usually Frank takes up most of the air-time with his hyperactive brain, but last night felt like more of a dialogue and I actually managed to divulge a little information about myself (shock, horror!). This scene ended on a high when the friendly bar staff offered us a free limoncello shot as we were leaving (but as we all know, shots ruin lives).
Destination 2 was a lively little beer shop where we went last time, so I saw some familiar faces and we had a good ol’ chat with some Italians. Though things really livened up when we reached our final location: a pool and ping pong bar. We rented a ping pong table and headed downstairs with our beers to this vast, but completely deserted room (think we all know where this is going, don’t we?). Suffice to say the actual sporting activity didn’t last very long.
It was clear Frank had done this before as he scouted for security cameras and we settled on a table by the back corner, facing the stairs in case anyone came down. Sure enough we’d just got going, when a couple of Italian teens ventured down in search of a bathroom, wherein we quickly pulled up our trousers and tried desperately to act nonchalant, with my hair all over the place and his flies undone.
Once they’d finished we resumed our business, but were stopped short again with a shrill cry of “Ragazzi, non c’e possibile!” (“guys, this is not possible” or “you can’t do that here”) from upstairs. At that point we returned to the actual ping pong, but didn’t stay for long. Frank was a little concerned as he was planning to take his kids (he’s a nanny, not a father) there next week, and would most probably be recognised as that kid who was fucking on a ping pong table.
We made a swift exit and power walked to casa della Frank, where we didn’t even make it to the bed before picking up where we’d left off. The delayed finish made it all the more gratifying, and we were compelled to have a few more goes before the night was over.
Unfortunately we made the exact same mistake as a previous time, in that we exhausted ourselves into semi-comas, and were only woken by my alarm to start work. Suffice to say my employment is hanging dangerously in the balance, but on the other hand my sex-life is going swimmingly.
I really want to keep this up, but I’m not sure my bosses will tolerate much more bad behaviour… should I quit while I’m ahead? Or just plough on through hoping against all hope that I manage to remain employed for the next few months?
April 7, 2014 § 2 Comments
There’s a website that some of the other au pairs use called ‘Conversation Exchange’, where you tell them your name, location and the language you want to learn, and you can send and receive messages from people to meet up and ‘exchange conversation’ in your various mother tongues to help improve each other’s understanding. A great concept, but here, unfortunately, it’s slightly morphed into a site where Italian men perve on young English and American girls.
So naturally I signed up.
In my defence, all of the stories I’d heard of people meeting off the site had been good(ish). Plus I wanted to practise my Italian of course. And was in no way looking for an incredibly handsome Italian to buy me nice food and serenade me on walks through Roman ruins. None of that at all.
Last night was a ‘conversation exchange’ with a young (by my standard) Italian man by the name of Davide. Davide is extremely short, blonde and talks incessantly fast. Not an incredible start when sleepy from a day at the beach (life in Italy’s hard, ok?) with little ability to remember how to talk competently in English, let alone a foreign language. However we soon established my lack of linguistic skill and compromised accordingly, using English and more straightforward Italian (consisting of ‘ciao’ and a series of hand gestures) from then on.
He took me to this fancy restaurant (I call it fancy, it was probably middle range, but being an impoverished au pair the fact that it wasn’t pizza al taglio was more than impressive) where we discussed a range of classic first date topics, only slightly stunted by the language barrier.
I find the biggest difference between Italian and British guys is the sense of humour. Italian’s are perfectly pleasant, very open and honest, generally better looking and in many ways superior to the males of the UK. But they don’t have a sense of humour. This is a pretty big downfall in my opinion. I like to come away from a date having had a decent chuckle, but they take everything so seriously here, I come away not knowing whether it was any good, because although it was an enjoyable affair, there was not a chortle in sight. That’s important when establishing a connection, I feel. If you can’t laugh at a man, what on earth are you meant to do with him?
He paid for everything of course, which I’ve no idea how much it was (one never looks at the prices of things when with an Italian gent), but it included two very delicious courses and some damn classy tasting wine. The icing on the cake, however, was the ride home.
Up until this point, I hadn’t really felt like Davide was trying to impress me, which was both refreshing and slightly disconcerting. Am I not worthy of your sordid attempts to woo me? Or perhaps my mind had been sullied into thinking all Italians were like that from my previous successful experiences. I digress.
He insisted on driving me home, having gotten myself there on foot, and his car… I am so unused to dating men with money so I really hadn’t expected anything. Now, I know nothing about cars, but I know he paid some ridiculous sum for this little beauty. He was adamant on taking the roof off, which was very cool. Having fresh Italian night air whip through you air as you break speed limits is pretty darn fun. I sorta get the sugar daddy appeal now.
He asked to see me again for drinks sometime, which of course I will. In honesty there wasn’t really a spark with Davide, but I did enjoy his company. And yeah, it might be nice to be taken to a few posh places now again… I wouldn’t complain. I’m only here for a few more months, and I bloody well intend to make the most of it.
April 4, 2014 § 10 Comments
Last night was another date with Frank, and I think we all knew how this was going to go.
I must say I had an incredibly wonderful evening, despite my assumptions. I think after our last awkward encounter I was slightly nervous as to how our second ‘date’ would go. As mentioned before, I was feeling still slightly vulnerable in having already given up the sex card, but I was pleasantly surprised.
We went to a jazz bar which Frank frequents (I think he rather likes taking me to places where everybody knows him), where he made a bit of a show with the barman about choosing a whisky, going on about brewery age or something. It felt a little ostentatious, which was putting me off slightly, but after a ‘Saskia special’ and a glass of red, I’d forgotten all about it. (Should I start to worry about how often alcohol dictates my love life?)
We were then serenaded by a group very smooth musicians, our enjoyment accentuated by our intoxication, and whispered pretentious comments to each other about the use of rhythm and instrumental technique. After the show, we continued drinking and hung out with some of the staff, me being drunk enough to reel off a number or two on the piano before we hopped in a taxi headed to casa del Frank.
What ensued next was another rather spectacular affair, although I feel it was somewhat diminished by the fact I think we both knew it was going to happen. Even so, I had a bloody good time. Between sessions we drank lemon tea, read Keat’s poetry and ate expensive cheese. You can’t make this shit up.
The series of emergency alarms which had been set to ensure my return home well before work the next day worked like a treat, and I was tucked up at home by 4am, immensely satisfied. The question slightly begs now, however, what is this? I hate having to define the relationship, preferring just to enjoy things for what they are, but sometimes I think it’s an unfortunate necessity.
I’ve been told that ‘fuck buddies’ are meant to keep things strictly sex, which isn’t really what we’re doing. This is like dating, but without the commitment. Does that make us friends with benefits? I remember him specifically telling me that we “couldn’t be friends”. So are we dating? That implies there’s a commitment in the future, but given the circumstances (the fact that we’re both only here a few more months) I don’t feel like that’s the case either. I’m thoroughly enjoying our little affair, and it’s helping me retain my sanity a little in this ridiculous, albeit amazing, country, so maybe we can just enjoy a nice casual fling, without having to put a label on it.
What do you think, is this a bad idea? Do we need to define exactly what we’re doing, or is it possible to simply enjoy ourselves without having to explain it?
March 21, 2014 § 3 Comments
Last night. Mamma mia. I have bruises on my thighs and bite marks on my breasts.
Frank invited me for a drink ‘in his area’, which is code for ‘I don’t want you doing a runner on me again on the journey home, so I’ll reduce the risk by taking you out on the same road as my house’. I was fully expecting it. And hey, it’s been a while, I was not gonna complain if the night ended sans clothes.
Sure enough, after a few drinks at his local, he just wanted to pop back to his to ‘drop off some things’, and we ended up drinking £1 wine and smoking a joint on his bed. Our classiness knows no bounds. A few of these later and I was slurrily asking him for a massage, my thinly veiled attempt to get things moving, which worked like a charm.
The sex. Oh, the sex. Never have I ever clicked with someone physically so quickly before. Biggest I’ve ever encountered and me-oh-my is that a game-changer. Wow.
3 times it happened, each more exhausting and exhilarating than the last, interspersed with some deep and meaningful weed and alcohol fuelled conversations, possibly a little too honest for a first time, but heck, when it’s this good, anything goes. He asked me if I’d ever been in love, and what my greatest fears were, my sexual fantasies… pretty much any personal topic you could think of. Although amongst the soul-sharing he mentioned that I shouldn’t ‘fall for him’, and kept slipping in little anecdotes about the other girls he was(/is?) seeing in Rome. I get it, this isn’t serious.
Our amorous exploits ended with a bang, and both of us were so worn out after three rounds that we immediately fell asleep. Several hours later I woke with a start, finding myself and hour and a half after my work day had started, completely naked and on the other side of the city… Woops.
Scrambling worriedly for my belongings, I ended up leaving several things behind (including my panties, lucky boy), and not even kissing my lover goodbye as he hastened to get me in a taxi. Unsurprisingly my bosses were not best pleased, and I had to endure a stern talking to over the dinner table, no doubt with weeks of grovelling on my part to follow. Maybe my days of Wednesday night sexploits are behind me. Although I received a text not long after I left, detailing our next encounter with “less booze, more emergency alarms”, so perhaps all is not lost.
I undoubtedly plan to see him again. No way is a gal missing out on that sort of passion on a regular basis, but I realise I have to be careful. His clarity in our casualness eases the matter somewhat, because I know exactly what I’m getting into. However I can’t help but think I don’t particularly want to see anyone else at the moment.
Hell, might as well give it a shot. There’s little I wouldn’t do at this point to ride that piston again. (Am I making a horrible mistake?!)
10/10 (not taking into account the jeopardising of my job)