A Summer in Southern Italy

“How was Italy?” my mother asks when she picks me up at the airport.

Visiting the south of Italy had been my dream since before I could remember, and this year I finally fulfilled it. It was supposed to be a fun girls’ trip with three of my friends, but they all dropped like flies and I was forced to go alone. One of them broke her leg ice skating, another got accepted into medical school and no longer had a moment to spare between studies, and another began dating a control freak. Everyone told me I was crazy for going by myself, but I couldn’t wait another year. After taking five years of Italian lessons and saving up every extra penny I made at my soulless job for what seemed like an eternity, I was determined to visit Italy no matter what. And I did just that. I booked a room in a charming hotel in Sardinia for two weeks and bought a plane ticket.

Sardinia was everything I hoped it would be. With its rocky cliffs, blue green water, and mouth watering food, it was the perfect mediterranean paradise. I spent my days exploring the streets of Cagliari, eating my weight in seafood, pasta, and gelato. Every evening I would catch the sunset at a local restaurant, enjoying a glass of wine as I watched the sun’s gold and orange hues descend into the oceanic horizon until nothing of them remained. The beach, however, was my favorite.

Part of my obsession with Italy stemmed from my obsession with Italian men.

Having a reputation for being both devilishly handsome and utterly romantic, I have fantasized about them since I first laid eyes on Raoul Bova when he starred in Under the Tuscan Sun. I was only a child then, but I hoped that one day, I too, would meet a beautiful, strange man on the streets of Italy and fall in love.

I was utterly disappointed when none of the handsome men in Cagliari approached me, despite there being an abundance of them. It took me a whole two days to get over the fact, after which I finally accepted my fate and decided to enjoy the rest of my non-romantic vacation. 

Still, no romance didn’t mean I couldn’t spice things up. Instead of going to a regular beach, I opted for Cala Fighera, one of Cagliari’s most famous nudist beaches. I lathered myself in sunscreen and headed straight to its rocky cliffs. The beach was far more secluded than I had imagined, and for a nudist beach, there wasn’t a lot of nudity. There was nobody around me—I could be alone for all I knew. Comforted by this, I laid out a towel and took my clothes off.

I sunbathed for a while, thankful to finally get an even tan. Then I took a dip in the ocean. Being nude in such a beautiful place felt so freeing, and a sudden urge took hold of me. I picked up my belongings and found a hidden cove for even more privacy. I laid my towel down again and sat to face the ocean, watching its waves crash against the white rocks below.

I touched my bare breasts, massaging them and squeezing my nipples.

I ran my hands down to my thighs, rubbing them and running my nails along my now tan skin. Then I opened my legs as wide as I could, laid back, and started playing with myself.

I ran my index and middle fingers up and down my labia over and over again. I got so wet, I slid my one finger in and started thrusting it inside me. With my other hand, I rubbed my clit. I did this over and over, switching hands, and keeping a consistent pace. The sensation was delicious. But right before I got myself off, I heard footsteps nearby. I immediately stopped and tried to use my towel for coverage, but it was too late. A tall, muscular Italian man was staring directly at me.

“Scusa!” he exclaimed after catching me red handed.

“Ahhh!” I exclaimed, completely mortified. I began rummaging through my bag to find my clothes, desperate to run away and put an end to the humiliation.

“You don’t have to leave,” the man said in Italian. “You were here first. I can leave.”

 “No, no. It’s okay, I need to get home now,” I replied, thankful I had bothered to learn Italian before visiting the country.

“Or I can join you. If you want,” the man added, his voice husky.

I stopped searching for my things and looked up at him. In my panic I had forgotten I was at a nudist beach—he, too, was completely naked. He had wavy hair, gorgeous dark eyes rimmed with long eyelashes, and a big dick hanging between his legs. This was not exactly the innocent street encounter I had imagined, but I was still getting to meet a handsome Italian man. What would happen if I agreed to let him stay?

I laid back down on my towel. “Fine. You can join me,” I replied, my voice wavering.

The man walked slowly into the cove, his dick swinging with every step he took. He knelt down near my feet and looked me in the eyes. “Wise choice,” he whispered. Then, he put one hand on each of my thighs, and in one swift motion, spread them wide.

He kissed the inside of my thighs at first, inching closer and closer to my pelvis but not yet daring to touch it.

Then, he spread my labia open to expose my clit and blew on it. The anticipation and the light, tickling sensation of his breath made my eyes roll back. 

The handsome stranger then put the tip of his tongue on my clitoris, and slowly started to flick it. He was gentle at first, then increased the pressure and used more and more of his tongue with every stroke. He took his time tracing circles around my clit with his tongue, and then started moving it up and down.

Just when I thought it couldn’t get any better, he shoved his face deep into my pelvis, forcing his tongue inside my vagina. He slightly shook his face, changing the pace at which his tongue flicked in and out inside me. The stubble of his beard grazed against my labia as he moved his jaw up and down, sending a deep wave of pleasure all the way down to my toes.

“Mmmmm….” I moaned deeply, grabbing and massaging my own breasts. I couldn’t believe this was my life. I was in Italy, and a beautiful Italian man was eating my pussy like his life depended on it. If this wasn’t a dream come true, I didn’t know what was.

He continued pleasuring me, driving me wild until I could no longer contain myself and I climaxed. My back arched and my legs tightened around him involuntarily until the last wave of ecstasy left my body.

“You taste fantastic,” he said in Italian. Then he finally looked up at me from between my legs and grinned. 

I blushed. What was I supposed to say? I sat upright for a moment and composed myself. Then I reached for his thick cock, ready to return the favor. 

His cock was hard and ready. I moved my hand up and down its shaft, rubbing the head with my thumb in between. I had never felt more powerful than in this moment, giving a stranger a very intense handjob. I felt sexy, wild, and fierce. 

“Would you like to meet me tomorrow for dinner?” the sexy man asked after he had climaxed. “Then we can head to my place and do this all again.”

I was tempted to decline at first. He was still a stranger, even if we had just been intimate. Then I realized it would only prevent me from experiencing his tongue again, and I agreed. 

“What’s your name?” I asked before we parted ways. 

“Lorenzo,” he replied with a wicked smile. 

Lorenzo was already waiting for me when I arrived at the restaurant. It was a tiny stone building on the corner of the last block before reaching the ocean. Like most places in Sardinia, it had outdoor seating from which to enjoy the breeze. We were seated outside, and like a true gentleman, Lorenzo pulled out a chair for me to sit.

“Tell me about yourself,” Lorenzo said after the waiter finished taking our order. He was wearing a linen blazer that highlighted the broadness of his shoulders. His matching pants showed off his very tight ass. I couldn’t wait to tear it all off. 

This was the first time I had ever been on a first date where I had already seen the other person naked before we sat down.  

“I’m an associate attorney,” replied, knowing very well nothing about me would clue someone in to my profession. Most people I encountered in my daily life always seemed utterly surprised. “I studied financial law at Georgetown and now I live in Chicago. What about you?”

“My family is in the fishing industry and we own a few small boats. I have lived here all my life and I hope to never leave,” he grinned. “Your Italian is very good, I’m impressed.”

“I’ve been studying for five years now. I’ve always wanted to visit Italy.”

“Why is that?” he asked, putting his hand on my thigh.

I felt myself blush. “Everything about it. The food. The history. The coast. The people, too,” I winked.

Lorenzo leaned over and gave me a quick kiss on the lips. “I hope we don’t disappoint.”

After dinner, we walked hand in hand back to Lorenzo’s apartment. He lived in a beautiful second story loft. I was hoping for a grand tour, but once the door was closed behind him, he pushed me against the wall and pressed his body against mine.

I could feel his erection start to grow, and I started to rub it over his pants.

Lorenzo stroked my nipples over the thin fabric of my dress. He showered my shoulders with light kisses as he worked his way up to my neck. While he worked his way up to explore my tongue with his mouth, his hands moved down to roam the rest of my body. His strong hands trailed my thighs and then massaged my ass. He kneaded my flesh over the fabric of my dress as I pressed myself closer against him.

I undid the button of his linen pants and pulled them down, revealing his rock hard cock. The sight of it made me wet, and after learning what he could do with his tongue, I was dying to know what he could do with his dick. “I want you inside me,” I whispered in his ear.

A deep, primal sound came out of Lorenzo’s mouth. He immediately grabbed me and lifted me up to his waist, sliding me onto his shaft. 

The fullness of his cock inside me released a ripple of pleasure through my body.

I wrapped my legs around his waist and rocked my pelvis back and forth as he thrusted inside me. Each thrust was faster and more needy. I used my legs to pull him closer to me still, at which point he put his hands under my ass and lifted me. The new angle changed everything. Lorenzo was able to reach deeper and deeper inside me until the intensity of the pleasure was too much to bear. 

“I’m gonna cum,” I half whispered, half moaned. 

“No, not yet,” Lorenzo responded, his voice hoarse. He thrust into me one more time and then, still inside me, carried me to his bed. 

Lorenzo let our bodies roughly fall into his mattress, where he pulled himself out. Then, without missing a beat, he turned me around and spanked me. Hard. 

“Get on your hands and knees,” he ordered. I obeyed. Lorenzo then reached under me and felt the wetness between my legs. “Perfect.” 

I was frantic with anticipation. What was this man going to do to me?

Before I had the chance to ask, his cock was inside my pussy again. From the behind this time. He bent over me, pressing his chest against my back as he pumped in and out. Then he wrapped his arms around me and squeezed my boobs. 

The sensation made my back arch, and Lorenzo met me halfway and nibbled on my ear. He pumped and pumped, in and out. In and out. My legs started to shake and I felt my stomach tense up.

The pleasure continued to build and build until my body could no longer contain it, and I came so hard I almost fell forward.

After that, Lorenzo and I met up every day for the remainder of my trip. And every day would end in the same fashion—with me having the most powerful orgasm imaginable.

“You haven’t answered my question,” my mother presses, bringing me back to reality. “How was your trip?”

I look down at my hands and smile to myself. I don’t think I will ever share the truth about my trip with anyone, especially not my mother. “It was alright,” I respond flatly.