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By (user no longer on site) OP
over a year ago
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Chapter 1: L’Incontro
The beautiful city of Rome is a city of contrasts and of contradictions. The bustling streets, full of students and workers moving purposefully past each other. The noisy cars and “motorini” weaving dangerously to a thousand destinations. And yet still there were the young lovers, strolling happily together, the middle aged couples talking with an intensity only Italians can generate over a morning coffee.
Rome, the eternal city, once the home of ancient dalliances between powerful men and their seductive mistresses, now a city of romance, of honeymooning couples taking selfies, and of well dressed women pretending they don’t intend to draw the eyes of the men.
Walking through the crowd, Madison was oblivious to the social dynamics all around her. She felt strangely confident, and yet nervous to the core. Her heels suggested a bravado that she didn’t feel inside. Her mind whirled between reality and fantasy, between history and the immediate.
The reality was that she was no longer a student. The five years of study had come to an end, and unlike so many Italian students, she had actually finished her course. Lawyer Madison, it sounded so satisfying.
The fantasy was that she was no longer anonymous, no longer just a girlfriend, no longer worried about the complex dynamics of romance. She was now a successful and newly minted legal graduate, and she felt empowered by the connection she had formed with a stranger online. It wasn’t about romance. It was about power, a deeper attraction, exploring, and for Madison, it was all about her being turned on.
The reality and the fantasy were coming together. Weeks of emails, helpful distractions during the final push for her degree, had led to this point. She was going to meet her mysterious online writer. The Author had come to Rome, to read her The Story.
Her mind jumped to history. Her mother’s story was strangely similar, but so different. A hotel in Rome, an older man, long distance connection before finally coming together. The Author was older, also successful, but without intention of marriage. He seemed intent on one thing - learning to make Madison wet. Surely this could not be a first for Rome? Somewhere back in history there must be an author and a younger lady meeting to hear a story told? Surely Madison could not be the first so turned on by words now going to meet the man who seemed to stir her so deep inside?
Madison snapped back to the immediate. This was the street. She stopped and looked at her reflection in the window of a clothing store. Was this the right outfit? Were the heels too much? Should she have put her blonde hair up instead? What would he think?
She took a deep breath and exhaled slowly. I can always walk away, she thought to herself. She turned and continued slowly, hearing nothing now except her heels rhythmically punctuating her breaths.
The bar wasn’t too busy, but Madison had clear instructions. So she entered, ordered an espresso and brought it back outside. She sat down at the corner table, wondering when The Author would arrive.
Would he arrive? All she knew was that he was tall, and that he could write. She knew he was married too, but somehow that only intensified her anticipation. She checked her skirt hadn’t ridden too high on her thigh. Her shirt was open, but subtly so. She sipped her coffee and looked around, trying to look more relaxed than she felt.
Her mind wandered back to the book. It felt surreal to be living out what she had so enjoyed reading. How many times had she checked her inbox, re-reading sections waiting for the next to arrive. That tingling feeling as her wetness thrilled her again and again. Sometimes she had sat distracted through lectures or meals. Other times she had enjoyed The Story in private. She blushed.
The encounter, the mystery, the flirtation, the reading...would it be exactly like the Story she had read, or would it deviate? Would she want it to deviate, or remain exactly on script?
She felt herself growing wetter as she waited, but the nerves weren’t dissipating. She concentrated on breathing slowly, trying to look calm for The Author.
She felt a hand on her shoulder... |
