Most people I like call me Anna. My mother actually named me Annabelle, which I hated her for until just about two months ago.

I was going to graduate. Big deal. Then my mother came into my room one day and sat down on my bed and told me I was a big girl now and needed to hear this story about Venice. It was about making love in a gondola. She said she couldn't have settled down to raise me and my sister June unless she did something both romantic and crazy first.

Now she wanted me to do it. And she'd pay for it. I thought she was nuts. Mothers don't do this. Not in this age.

She told me about Eduardo. He was an Italian who hung around all alone in the Piazza San Marco watching the pigeons and drinking espresso. She liked him for his ability to seem lost in his own little world while the tourists all around him flashed their cameras and argued over the wads of lire they dumped on the table to pay for their coffee. One day she approached him. He asked her point blank what she wanted. "Dinner," she said, "and let's get a gondola afterwards."

And they fucked. Right in front of the guy who steers the boat. She honestly used the word fuck. She said they were like animals in heat. She said it was dead wrong to tell you that you should ignore your animal instincts. You should come to grips with them, resolve them. "And most of all, drink deeply," she said.

So I'm in Italy. I've got plenty of money and a large, economy size pack of condoms, compliments of mom. I've fucked in a gondola with people watching.

A woman watched from her balcony. So did the gondola guy. I felt the same thing as mom. Power, lightness, like a weight had been lifted off my chest.

The woman I had seen before, at customs. There was a scuffle and a bunch of Italians in uniforms waving their hands. They finally stopped yapping and eyed her bag suspiciously. She threw up her hands and reached in and pulled out a vibrator. It was enormous. They yelled at her some more, but they were smiling, and then she turned it on. It had gotten so quiet you could hear the thing whirring away all the way across the customs room. Then when it didn't explode everyone burst out laughing.

She held the thing triumphantly, then drew it up her thigh and wedged it between her legs for just a moment. The men stopped laughing and looked embarrassed. Then she started a long, solitary laugh that echoed through the room.

I don't know what happened in the gondola. I was drunk, but I wanted her the moment I saw her again, her full breast dangling over the railing, eyes sucked into my cunt. I really felt that: she couldn't move her eyes from my pussy if she wanted to. I've never felt that way about a woman. I wanted to feel a woman's tongue, her tongue, licking me all over. I knew she hungered for me. When I sucked Antonio's cock into my mouth I did it for her. I've never taken one that deep before. I almost gagged. All I though about was pleasing her, making her pussy all wet and stuff.

When I handed the condom to Antonio, I was sad that I wouldn't be able to lie back afterwards with his come dribbling out of me. I figured she'd like that. I figured if she was with me she'd have a great deal of fun licking me clean. I imagine her like a cat, her little rough tongue cleansing me of the sticky mess and stimulating me at the same time. But she's more like a big cat, a tigress, viciously passionate. I saw her being fucked hard from behind while I masturbated in the bottom of the tiny boat. She liked it hard.

Right now I can't help touching my clit. Wait while I inch the chair toward the window. Behind the gauzy curtain I touch myself. My clit pops out all angry and fired up to meet my fingers. I reach for the railing with my left foot, looping my toes around the iron bar and with my right foot I kick the curtain away so that it whips around behind me, exposing me suddenly to the street and apartments across.

You can see me, no? I never wear panties. Remember that when you see me in a cafe. Don't forget to look between my legs. I like it when you don't give up, when you glare in the direction of my pussy for a long time. My legs will snap open for you. You'll see my cunt if you wait. Honest.

Jeez I'm hot. My fingers slide along my pussy slit like it's greased velvet. If I feel you watching I'll not only come but I'll wet the chair. I feel the breeze on my legs, cooling the wetness of my cunt. Mike, a friend, said I rub myself like I'm trying to start a fire. He liked to watch me get myself off. He liked me to orgasm in restaurants, at the ballgame. And I did. With my secret skirt, the one with the bottomless pockets, I'd slide my hand in and rub. Once a waiter caught me and watched until he had to sit down to hide his erection under the table. I squeezed it and he was surprised but happy. Then I finished. It rocked the table for a second but I don't think anyone else knew what I was doing. Except Mike, who'd always ask me to let him kiss my hand when what he really wanted was a whiff of my pussy juices.

That night in the parking lot Mike laid me across the trunk of his car and "layed some hose," as his gross friends liked to describe it. He just lifted my skirt and fucked me from behind. I liked it a lot but he hadn't touched my clit so when he finished I had to turn around and prop myself up with my elbow on the trunk lid and finger myself until his soupy come started running down to the trunk of the 'vette. I couldn't stop, not even when people came out of the restaurant all bloated and excited and gossipy. I guess I've always liked to have people around when my cunt is exposed. It makes me hot. I come so hard it's like I've been shot. Guess that's where they get Cupid's arrow from.

Now, watch me take my clit between my thumb and forefinger and gently twirl. The tiny motion is weird, because inside I'm about to explode. I'll have to get a towel because the seat is gonna be sopping when I come. Yes, I feel it. Do you see it? My cunt getting all frothy wet? My hand making squishy noises as I flatten it out on my hot little pussy in preparation for the final lap, the spasms that will rock me? You see it? You must--you are part of it. I feel your eyes like a cock wedge my cunt lips apart. Please make me come. Please?

Venice I - Love in a Gondola
Venice III - The story from Vincenzo's point of view.

Italian Story Index

(c) 1998 by James Martin. All rights reserved.