His next proposal was communicated by the thrusting of his pelvis toward her face

We spent two days total in Firenze while backpacking during our semester in London, and on the evening of the second day we were ready to head back to our pension. That second day was a full one, including exploration of El Duomo and the Uffizi Gallery. There’s a plethora of armed forces boys, (with few real men), all over Italia. They flock to the major cities on weekend leave and Firenze was no exception. As Kelly and I proceeded down the Via, four such boys approached us.

Two seemed particularly more anxious than the others and they were quick to contain us with arms around our shoulders. Kelly seemed a bit nervous, probably flustered, too. She never gets much attention from guys because in their preliminary assessments they don’t ever seem to get past her 220+ pounds. I wasn’t initially very attracted to either one, but I was up for an adventure and the accents complementing their rudimentary English skille, were definitely turn-ons.

They motioned with a pack of Marlboro lights, offering us a smoke. I expanded our meager dialogue by charading the motion of hauling on a joint. Much like the middle finger fairs almost everywhere, the index finger and thumb grasping an invisible smoke seems to universally distinguish puffing marijuana from the smoke-resting-in-between-your-index-and-middle-finger pose that seems to communicate dragging on a cigarette. Sandro’s eyes widened with laughter, perhaps thinking of a wilder night than he had, at first appraisal, felt it safe to bank upon. They had some herb, though it was the type of the two most commonly found in Europe that I did not prefer. Less dense and buddy in nature, this type illustrates the etiology behind weed being called grass. It is drier and lighter; it looks quite like shriveled leaves. Not nearly as potent and its high loses even more oomph as most Europeans smoke their bang as a combo rollie with a tobacco base, weed sprinkled atop. We agreed in mime and broken English to go back to our pension.

We mounted the flights of stairs and entered our room. Sandro and Carlo worked on the joint while intermittently trying for some action. I was willing to kiss them both, but it soon became clear that Sandro and I would pair off for the night. Though Carlo would get a few smooches from me, too, he was kissing Kelly more now and concentrating his efforts, but in a way that seemed like an attempt to make the most of the situation. He would focus on one perk as he gawked at her huge tits with ravenous eyes. He made a few tries for the precious booty and Kelly was reluctant and clearly becoming uncomfortable. Up until now, Kelly had never even kissed a boy and she didn’t seem ready to start running the bases with two other people in the room. The boys were definitely growing friskier by the minute and we were fortunate to be rescued by the concierge, who called our room to enforce the “ten minute guest policy.” Kelly and I were relieved while Sandro and Carlo seemed annoyed that their plan had been foiled. As we proceeded back down the stairs and past the front desk, the guys insisted upon twenty minutes of what amounted to fruitless arguing with the employee in charge. Kelly and I would later apologize to him and thank him for his intervention to which he only replied, “Italian men don’t want to listen or take no for an answer.”

So now we were out on the town and oddly, the boys had to ask for directions to make our way back towards the Duomo and the River Arno, which was where we had found one another in the first place. They were speaking to each other animatedly and solely in Italian now and it was obvious they were figuring out their scam. Kelly and I walked on obediently, I, playfully, and Kelly, perhaps unknowingly, taking on our roles as the stupid American easy girls. As to what Kelly was thinking I don’t know, but I was sure these boys were determined to get exactly what they wanted. Finally they let us in on the plan – Kelly and Carlo will go to Duomo bar while Sandro and I will continue walking. This is somewhere between 8:30 and 9:00 at night and we are to reconvene at Duomo bar at 10:00. Now I am very aware of Sandro’s intentions and I’m wondering why the tight schedule. I assume his wingman doesn’t really want to be with Kelly and he’s going to help his buddy go for his by entertaining, but only briefly.

Sandro and I stop at the river and we continue kissing in front of the concrete wall above the shore. As more and more people wander by, he thinks it better to move further down the embankment towards the water and the shield of the tall grasses. We pass by the other side of the aforementioned wall where I spot four syringes stuck into some of the vesicles. “How romantic,” I thought to myself and I was surprised by the filthiness of the River Arno since I had assumed any body of water in gorgeous Italia would be enchanting. Quite the contrary and the rest of our experience would prove equally tepid.

We ended up on the moist ground and the sex was not impressive – either time. The most memorable part was trying not to laugh when Sandro asked me with hopeful brown eyes, “Tawnya, will you give to me a sit-down?” Translation: “Will you ride me?” We finished – well he did - and had to make our rendez-vous time.

Outside of the Duomo bar, we found Kelly sitting in a mini-piazza on a concrete bench. Sandro excused himself to use a nearby payphone, which I found conspicuous since earlier he had produced a mobile when he needed to make a call. I kept my eye on him, my suspicion multiplying, while Kelly explained that she had lost Carlo. My first thought when I saw her had been, “Oh God, something awful happened; he violated her or something and she ran off.” I never expected to hear the tale she began to recount.

Carlo and she were doing some mild fooling around at the bar, kissing and a little groping, when he suggested they head for the bathroom. Once inside this one-stall, unisex toilet, the playing became more intense. He suggested they take it up a notch. Kelly refused because she had her period. She couldn’t get this across to him and she thinks he surmised she must be a virgin, which was also true. His next proposal was communicated by the thrusting of his pelvis toward her face. She describes how she went on to blow him, after which he decides they should exit the toilet separately, him first, to avoid embarrassment.

He leaves and she follows, mortified by the presence of several other people waiting outside the lone stall. She flees the bar with Carlo nowhere in sight. “About the nicest thing he did for me was line the seat with toilet paper.” I looked at her, feeling incensed and saddened simultaneously as she whimpered out the end of her tale of woe. I badly wanted to find that a**hole and kneecap him for making my friend’s first sexual experience so vile and one-sided. I wondered if she even knew what to do – did she literally purse her lips and just blow on his dick or did she actually understand the act would involve taking him into her mouth? She wasn’t done shocking me, though.

She was actually proud they had “hooked up” as she put it and went on to say, “if I had not been on the rag, I probably would’ve f**ked him, too.” I was in disbelief, uncertain if I should rant about the jerk, which would surely demolish her quasi-after-sex glow, or if I should just congratulate her and salvage some of her self-esteem and self-respect.

Sandro came jogging back and announced he would have to leave on the next bus back to military school in order to make curfew. The steam was slowing receding from the edges of the mirror – a baton pass of the cell phone, Sandro to call for the real rendez-vous - the one only discussed in Italian. I had Kelly take a quick photo of Sandro and me and we kissed ciao. She slouched lower and lower against a brick façade as shame set in for us both. I watched him swagger up to a bus stop about 100 yards away - I told Kelly Carlo wasn’t there - where he joined his eager clan of military buddies, surely to confirm in short-order that yes, their reputations precede them precisely – American girls are easy!