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Drinking then making reasonable decisions was never my strong suit so you can guess what happened next. I sidled up close, danced and propositioned her for a night of fun. She accepted but insisted we went back to her place. No worries, I never liked taking women back to the places I was staying, anyway.
So we get to her little flat and then… Well, then Gabriella came alive in the most terrifying of ways. I am no prude. I like to think I’m adventurous when it comes to sex. I don’t even mind a bit of Dom/Sub action, but Gabriella was on another level.
I’m not a small person, by that I mean I’m tall and have a decent amount of muscle, but Gabriella picked me up, like literally picked me up as if I weighed nothing and threw me on the bed. I remember looking into her eyes and seeing something more than lust. She was animalistic.
My clothes were ripped—literally—from my body. The tank I was wearing ended up being one long piece of fabric. Thank fuck jeans are hard to destroy. My knickers were not so lucky. Once she’d stripped me, she pounced—once again, literally! I’m not sure if you have ever had a grown woman roar at you. I’m not talking sexy, cute roar, like “it’s foreplay and things might get a bit rough” kind of thing. No, I mean full on realistic roar like an actual fucking lion. Let me tell you, it is unnerving.
I’m not embarrassed to admit that I laid there like a slab of meat. I was so shocked I kind of froze. Once she’d stopped roaring, she slipped off me momentarily. Naively I thought she was done with me, maybe I wasn’t doing it for her which I would have been happy with. Nope, I was so wrong. She grabbed me with one hand under my arse whilst the other shimmied a harness up my legs with the biggest dildo I had ever seen attached.
If you cast your mind back a few days, you’ll remember that I like strap-ons. I have my own in my duffle. I’ve messed about with plenty of women using one. All shapes and sizes, no worries. Hey, I love it when a woman goes a little nuts when I’m fucking her with one. With Gabriella, though, it was different.
Imagine a very sexually aggressive woman bouncing on a bouncy castle and that’s what it was like. She straddled me and bounced from her knees onto the toy. No lube! From then on she just bounced like fucking Tigger clawing at my chest, roaring again. I have to hand it to her, the lion impression was impressive. I can only surmise she’s a massive fan of NatGeo.
Once she was done riding me like a fucking mechanical bull, she ripped the harness off and sat on my face. We’d had no conversation about limits or consent since walking into her flat. I can only describe the experience as something akin to being waterboarded with a vag. Gabriella bounced her way through that as well.
As well as a great ass, Gabriella has very large breasts. I like boobs. I think they are a great gift to this world. When I first noticed Gabriella at the club, I saw her boobs first and was looking forward to having some alone time with them. I changed my mind about that when Gabriella slid down from my face, leaned down and almost suffocated me with her tits.
You’re being dramatic, I hear you say. I swear on my life I am not. For the first time since I ran away from my sociopathic nan, I feared for my life. If you polled a million lesbians and asked them if dying while being screwed was a fun way to go, I guarantee the results would be heavily on the side of yes. I am here to categorically tell you it would be a horrendous way to go. Boobs should be comforting and sensual, not a set of weapons that can inflict deadly force.
Before I passed out Gabriella released me. She climbed off my body, thanked me in Italian and threw my clothes at me. I think my brain registered then that I could escape, so I ran out that door like I was fucking Usain Bolt, and never looked back. That was the only time in my sexual history I felt used. I did not like it at all.
Let’s cut back to me and Daisy sitting at the table at the delightful café in Orvieto. Imagine my absolute shock and horror when I saw Gabriella. Then imagine my sheer panic when she came over to us. Grabbing my face and kissing me, running her hands over my body. God, even the memory sends shivers down my spine.
What must Daisy have thought? I froze when Gabriella was in front of me. I tried to stammer out a few words. I think I managed to tell her I was on holiday. I said Daisy’s name at one point, but my brain was scrambled. Gabriella was talking so fast I struggled to keep up. What I did translate was that she wanted me to go back to her hotel room with her for a repeat of that night.
To my absolute joy and relief, Daisy saved me. She told Gabriella I was her wife—which sent very pleasant feelings through my body—and then told her we were on our honeymoon. I remember seeing Gabriella’s eyes bulge and her vein pop out. Daisy didn’t seem scared of her though, and before long she had whisked me away.
Present moment in time, I’m sitting at a bar with a drink wondering how to explain all that to Daisy. When we planned to come to Orvieto, I’d been so happy. First because I could play tour guide to Daisy and second because I hadn’t slept with anyone here thus no risk of drama. Like I said, the universe is an asshole.
“Are you okay?” Daisy is looking at me, concerned. I imagine my face took on the pallor of a Victorian child sick with dysentery. I nod and take a sip of my drink. The alcohol burns my throat, and it feels good. Another sip and I’m starting to come out of my shock. “Cal, you don’t look okay. Who was that woman?”
“Someone I met in Rome.” Not a lie.
“Someone, huh?” Daisy isn’t going to let this drop. I sink the rest of my drink and signal the bartender for another. I sink that one too before spilling everything to Daisy. When I finish, I can’t look at her. I don’t want to see that look in her eye. As much as she’s tried to reassure me that my sexcapades aren’t an issue, I can’t help but worry she will see me in a less than favourable light. What woman would want to start something serious with a lesbian that’s fucked half of Europe?
“Jesus, Cal.” Yeah, what she said! “I hate predatory lesbians like that.” Her face is clouded over with anger.
“She wasn’t predatory,” I say. “Just enthusiastic.”
“No, Callie, she was a predator. At no point did she ask if you were comfortable. There was no consent. She took what she wanted from you. She’s a predator.” Okay, I don’t like this conversation anymore. I’m sure I can bring it up again when I’m home talking to a therapist that I most definitely need.
“Let’s change the subject, please.” Daisy nods and sips on her wine. “Should we go back to the hotel so you can sort out the ID for tomorrow?”
“Okay, it won’t take me long though,” she shrugs. Confidence is oozing off of her. I love it.
“You go back to the hotel and do that and I’ll go get a uniform.” My plan for tomorrow is simple, really. There are plenty of people who are not Italian that take groups of people on guided tours. It’s an easy way to make money. I plan to turn up tomorrow when they open, tell them I’m a summer employee and that I was told to shadow an experienced guide to get an idea of how it all works. I know there is room for it all to go tits up. At this stage I kind of expect it. We have no other choice, though.
With Daisy on her way back to the hotel, I stealthily make my way to the tour office. I do not want to run into Gabriella again. The tour office will close soon so I need to be quick. Thankfully, there are still plenty of tourists buying tickets so sneaking past the front desk should be easy. Finding a uniform is the hard part. Hmm, maybe sneaking is the wrong way to go.
I hedge my bets that the people who work at a tour office aren’t the most communicative of people. Looking at the staff here, I would bet that only one of them is a full-time employee and the rest are interns or just part-time. If I can get to an intern, they are more likely to buy my story.
I see my mark. A young lad, maybe early twenties. He’s spent more time looking at his phone than he has at the many people he is supposed to be helping.
“Excuse me.” I say in my sweetest voice. I flick my hair over my shoulder. Yes, I’m setting feminism back a few decades, but it’s tough shit. I need this clown to drool over me. I clear my throat and eventually he looks up. I almost laugh when he finally registers me. Bless him and his little red flush.
“Hi, yeah, hello.” He’s not Italian, I’d guess German. He’s also got a long way to go before he’s as smooth as he thinks he is.
“Hi, I’m Yolanda. I’m due to start here tomorrow, but I haven’t been given a uniform.” Note to self, call Daisy ASAP and tell her my name is Yolanda.
