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Italian Lament

By Cissy

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Oh, I could make a big splash as Cissy here in Florence but alas my female self needs to stay confined in the unhappy container I think of as a guy from the States. On vacation, a real vacation not a business trip, for the first time in over a year and alas my "real self" had to stay at home, spread across so many garment bags and nondescript suitcases and boxes.

"C'mon honey, we need to get a picture of the Piti Palace...", urges my sweet wife who hasn't left my side, not even for a moment, for the last three days. How devoted she is.

"Oh no, honey, you're the history efficianato. You go, I'll just stay here and wander the open market...you know, look for little trinkets for the kids. Take your time...lot and lots and lots of time...", I think to myself as I follow in tow.

If she weren't so disapproving of my "hobby" as she calls it, we could have a remarkable time together. In this crowd I could pass like crazy and we could be "girlfriends" touring and shopping and doing the other illicit things that I like to fantasize some girlfriends do.... alas.

Florence, Italy, along with many big cities in Europe and Scandinavia, is overrun with lovely looking co-eds, female tourists and young businesswomen who dress and move in the most sexually provocative manner.

They strut through crowded market streets and plazas and give you that all powerful "What are you looking at? I'm doing nothing to attract your attention, male pissant! " kind of glance if they see you starring.

And I did stare.

Between the remarkably tight black stretch pants, the 5 inch chunky heeled platform shoes and the navel exposing tops which seemed to be the folk costume of the under 40 set, I thought I'd go mad. How is it possible to assemble so many glorious looking women in one place? Gorgeous hair, pouting lips, creamy complexions, school girl hips and the most amazing little heart shaped bottoms I've ever seen.

"My god, look at her! And her! And HER!", went my endless internal narrative. My heart melting with each lovely vision...boom, boom, boom. I was witnessing a grand anatomical fireworks display. I became a feather that rolled and pitched on endless shock waves of delight and jealousy. Each exciting encounter teased my desire, not with unfulfilled lust but with my longing to be as they were, mysterious beautiful women.

If only...

Even though the three of the basic outfits, (the black stretch pants combo, the black mini-skirt ensemble, the tight jeans look), have a "uniform" quality about them, (p.s. the Italians are big on uniforms), the overall execution is the real test. In this part of Europe, women allow themselves to be more seductively feminine and dramatic than in the U.S. Their hair, make up, accessories, affectations, and of course their clothing often create a feeling of sexual electricity.

Were I to have a chance to succumb to my true desires I would become the lovely Franchesca, Italian Femme Fatal. I would wear one of the popular looks, sheer patterned black stockings, black suede platform boots, a skin tight lace trimmed black camisole and an impossibly short black mini skirt. For drama, I would add lots of gold jewelry including some large hoop earrings, a shocking orange waist-high sweater, a brown leather jacket that teasingly dips just below the skirt and imitation high style Versace shoulder bag. Oh yes, just imagine.......

Its early Friday evening and my lovely raven haired friend Tia and I meander through the Piazza de Doumo in Florence. The vast plaza is filled with Cathedral ogling tourists and local "kids" who have collected here to meet with friends and plan the myriad adventures that will take them to gelaterias, cafes, discos and possibly on to more steamy and intimate events.

The sun's blazing corona fills the azure sky with a flood of orange as it settles behind an ancient Renaissance wall.

We comb through the crowd, sifting past the groups of young and beautiful people that dominate the plaza. Dressed in everything form Disco chic to rock concert raunch, they emit a palpable force of anticipation.

"You have lipstick on your teeth", says Tia in Italian when we stop to primp seductively for some delicious looking guys who are attempting not to notice us. "Right, here", she demonstrates, pointing to her own front tooth which lies behind her perfect dark red lips.

I take a compact from my purse and use its small mirror to examine my teeth which gleam in the evening light. Fixing the problem creates other complications and soon I'm redoing the careful wash of berry lip liner and nude lipstick I've used make my lips look as voluptuous as possible.

I stop to admire my smoldering, darkly lined eyes and the way the warm swashes of blush round and open my face.

"I just love how your hair is tonight", she adds and lightly strokes the fall of red curls that flow across my shoulder, "so pretty".

Her admiring caress excites me unexpectedly sending a soft wave of erogenous tingles into motion.

"Gratsia", I say and put my arm, as woman friends do, in hers, practically cuddling her as we walk.

"I think those boys over there like you", she whispers, the warmth of her breath sending even more tingles down my neck.

"Nonsense!", I whisper and "accidentally" press my lips into her hair, "it's you they like. Look at you, you're like magic tonight!"

She laughs with delight letting go of my arm and performs a self-mocking runway turn. "Magic!", she laughs.

And she is. Long dark hair mixed with golden strands that reach for the middle of her back. Large round dark crimson lips, breathtaking brown eyes lined in vanilla and brown, cover girl cheek bones in ivory and pink. She spins in cinematic slow motion, the long rays of light painting her. The flesh colored bell bottomed stretch pants cling to her, revealing the length of her legs and almost every detail of her erotic derierre.

Inside the lapels of her short brown blazer a diminutive white halter flows across creamy athletic breasts offering an occasional peek at her supple tummy and splendid curves. My heart melts again.......

"HEY! Snap out of it.", beckons a fantasy shattering voice, "I was asking you if you wanted to have some lunch on the plaza....well?"

"Oh yeah honey, that's a good idea how about that pizza cafÈ over there?", I say with an acute 'don't be silly, I was paying attention',quickness.

"Are you okay?", my curious wife inquires

"Sure, ya know...maybe a little jet lagged or something"

"Uh, huh", she says with suspicious acceptance.

We pass stand after stand of women's clothing in the open market on the way to the open air cafÈ. Repeatedly, I spot all of the great clothes I won't get a chance to buy...unless I can lose her for an hour or two. Problem is, is that these are all sized differently than the US and I'd have a hell of a time guessing the right size...I think I'm a 36 in European sizes...but it's a long way to go for the return department if things don't fit.

My wife and settle down for lunch and begin to consume yet another bottle of wine...the present grows hazy...I'm Franchesca once more...

"I think you're making the boys crazy", I say, pointing to the stir of lovely men vigorously starring, laughing, and gesturing in our direction. "Ciao, bambini!", I say quietly, giving a subtle smile and wave.

"Lets look down at the Latteria, maybe Gabrielle and Ralphael will be there", she says taking my arm once more, snuggling me affectionately as she pulls us forward. I breathe in the scent of her as though I'm sipping at the scent of fresh cut roses.

I met Tia at Gabriella's last New Years party, we were drawn to each other, a bubbly explosion of giggles, fashion tips and flirty stories. Our friendship grew quickly, and with the exception of periodic outings with sundry boyfriends, most of our social time has been spent together dinning, shopping, making train trips to the country and enjoying the occasional platonic pajama party.

"Oh look, its Frederica and that new boy she's been seeing...look how she's standing with him, I think its gotten "close" ...you know how I mean."

"Si, si", I say and she wraps her fingers in mine and pulls us forward, her long dark nails tickling along the top my hand.

"Frederica...Que pasa?", she yells to the statuesque blonde girl in the form fitting black moderne, "Are you in love?", she whispers in her ear when we're close enough.

Frederica, gasps with mock surprise and faintly pushes Tia away, wrist bent, delicate painted finger nails outstretched. "Maybe, not yet but very, very close", she adds with a breathy laugh, "Ciao, Franchesca. What will you do tonight?"

"What ever I can get away with", I lustfully reply as I make eye contact with her yet unidentified beau. "Ciao, I'm Franchesca", I offer him my hand and give my most seductive gaze, causing Frederica to pull in closer to him.

"Alberto", he says, taking my hand in a display of old world debonair. He gazes back unabashedly, punctuating his short greeting with a handsome toothy smile and glinting blue eyes.

"Oh my, look Albi, we'll be late!", panics Frederica, pulling him away before he can let go of my hand. He resists her a little and then folds to her insistence. As they depart, Frederica turns toward us, flashing a pouty "Keep your lunch hooks off him, sister!" frown. We wave pleasantly and laugh when they're out of ear shot.

"What were you trying to do...kill the young love?", Tia asks sardonically.

"What?", I say innocently, "I was just saying hello."

"Oh, Franchesca, the games you play...remind me never to trust my heart to you."

"He was cute! And anyway, I'm already committed to you my love", my smile confuses her a little.

"You are so sweet", she caresses my cheek, "and so naughty", she lightly slaps the same place.

"Oooh, pleasure and pain. What would you do if I was really bad?"

"I would have to teach you to be good...spank your little bottom.", she giggles, "Would you like that?"

"Now you tease."

"Maybe, maybe not."

"Yo! Are you there??", my day dream explodes as my sweet traveling companion calls me back to reality. "Huh?", I grunt, the wine having taken its toll on my ability to articulate.

"...the David statues, you can only buy them in Florence, Carol told me that before we left, we have to buy them here if we're gonna get them." "It's hard to believe, everything has a David image on it. Plates, t-shirts, candles, post cards, boxer shorts, toilet paper, everything." "...well we won't be able to get them in Pisa so we should get them now..." "Sure" I agree, "as soon as I can stand up again. I'm a little drunk" "Well, if you want, you could stay here and I'll go get them..." "Oh, okay", I respond as flatly as I can, trying to hide my sudden enthusiasm, "I'll meet you by the fountain over there in what?....30 minutes?"

"....sounds good", she agrees and then quickly heads for the souvenir stands.

I counted down in my head 5,4,3,2,1. That will give her enough of a head start. I overpaid the bill and exited the restaurant in the opposite direction. If I hurried, I could find my way back to the one stand I'd spotted earlier.

My heart was pounding like crazy. Even if I managed to find the one vendor again, how would I get something that fits, there's no way to try it on.

Shit! I realized that I had walked past the little covered plaza where I'd seen it....yes, there it was, my last chance at a street side Junior's department in Florence....possibly all of Italy. I needed to move fast.

This was basically a carnival booth, except instead of hosting a Target Shoot or Ring Toss game, it gave shelter to hundreds of dresses, skirts, sweaters, blouses....all with that decidedly "continental" look. The game, if I chose to play, was to shop as quickly as possible and hopefully buy something I could use.

I was dying for some of the strecthy-tight black bell-bottoms I kept seeing or one of those hot little mini-skirts. Now I just had to be courageous enough to get it.

I walked past slowly, shopping out of the corner of my eye, the sexy little blonde proprietress watched me pass. If only there were some other shoppers in there to distract her. I hesitated momentarily and then... Yes!, another customer, and with questions too, great!

Now that she was busy with this other shopper, I had a chance to home in on something...time would be short so I went for the skirts. Ooooo, a really cute mini in grey and white. It would look great with white platforms or high white boots...I had to have it, but shit!, how would I get the right size.

At this point I could have just asked, "Which of these is a American size 8? That's my uh...daughter's size." But I wasn't thinking rationally, desperation had set in. I just started pawing at the rack of hangers. I looked inside the waist bands...dammit!...where was the size? There on inside seam, a tag...it probably had one of the goddamned metric numbers on it, if I could only see it...wait, what luck!, something I could work with.

The tag said..."M"...another tag on a different skirt said "S", yet another had an "L"....yes! I broke the code! Small, Medium and Large! I grabbed the medium, it was beautiful, unique, sexy. I turned my back to the street and quickly held it up to my waist...oh, yes, deliciously short. Now I finally needed some service so I could buy this and get out of here. Hopefully the girl was available.

I turned toward the street once more, skirt in hand, and realized that the sweet looking standkeeper had been watching me for some time....I must have turned a new color of red but she just smiled.

"It is a nice one, yes?", she commented with a thick accent.

"Yes, very nice?"

"Would you like a sweater to go with?", she was a pro and she knew her audience. "Here, this is a good color." she laid a cool beige sweater over the skirt, "Casmir.", she held it up careful not to hold it too close but she was clearly measuring me with her eye. "Here", she chose another one, "...this is best size.", she smiled again..."is good?"

"Oh yes, very good, thank you?"

"It will be very pretty, I'm sure", she said it warmly...if only I had a couple of hours instead of minutes, I had the feeling she might enjoy helping me try them on...unfortunately my favorite hair was 7000 miles away. Maybe she had a wig and some beard cover I could use...oh well.

I quickly paid, a good deal too, 70,000 lira, that was barely a song in US Dollars. Now I had to hide the evidence. I hit the next booth and bought some t-shirts (David t-shirts of course) the bag would provide enough cover until I got the stuff back to my suitcase.

T minus 28 minutes -- time to get back to the fountain. I rushed back to the Piazza and I waited at the fountain. No sign of my wife yet. Elated with my shopping victory and still a little drunk, I slipped once more into my fantasy...

Tia and I walked through the crowded plaza still giggling about my attempted seduction of Frederica's new love.

We walk close, Tia's arm swings at her side occasionally brushing the hem of my hot new little grey and white mini skirt. I find her "accidental" touches titillating.

"Did you change clothes? This is so pretty but I don't remember you having this?", she said touching the shoulder of the clingy beige casmir sweater which reveals a daring bustline view. "Casmir?", she asks as she lightly rubs the fabric, and me too of course.

"Yes", I say a little breathlessly, touching her hand as it falls away.

Initially, the connection between us was just innocent friendship. But, over the last few months there's been more and more flirting. Now, there was significant sexual tension building. I think we both want to "be together" but somehow we can't get past playful taunting and on to serious affection.

We arrive at the Latteria but none of the gang is there, so we decide to share a carafe of Chianti. We sit in a dark corner of the little cafÈ, sipping quietly. Tonight the wine seems especially intoxicating and I feel my usual restraint loosening. I'm not surprised when I find myself feeling extra tingly as I watch her lips gently touch the slender wine glass.

"You're starring so funny. What are you watching?", she asks curiously.

I feel my face flush with embarrassment..."Oh, nothing...j-just starring into space", I defend, a subtle slur working it's way into my speech.

"No, don't lie. You were starring at me, weren't you?"

"You? Why would I?"

"You don't have to hide it, I feel it too" My God, suddenly we're having the conversation!

"Feel what, you silly girl?"

"Come here", she commands, beckoning my face to her so she can tell me a secret. She speaks in my ear, "this...is what." And she gives me to softest, sweetest, most passionate kiss I've ever had.

"Oh, Tia I...", I tried to let her know how sweet she was making me feel

"Shhh..", she quiets me, "I hope I didn't scare you, I just couldn't help it anymore."

I lean in close and return her kiss, stopping to gaze into her beautiful eyes and then kiss some more. "scare me? No, I'm not scared, I'm so happy, just very happy." My eyes begin to tear.

She touches my tear, brings it to her lips and then kisses me again."I'm happy too, my sweet Franchesca"

My body tingles everywhere, there is an unmistakable warmth in my center and all I can think of is how I want her to consume me AND THEN the oddest thing happens... This strange American woman walks up to me and holds up a pair of boxer shorts with Michelangelo's David on them! What the...?

"Okay, I got the David stuff", she says, "...we can go now. Hey, are you okay? Still drunk? ", she takes my arm and pulls me off across the Piazza, "C'mon. One foot, then the other. That's the last time I let you drink in the middle of the day!"

"Ciao, Franchesca, Tia, avrevederci baby!", I mutter.

"God you're more gone than I thought", observes my wife as she tries to explain my bizarre comments.

"Really? Ya Think?"