Chapter One
My name is Joe and I am 25 years old.
I went on holiday recently, alone. I hadn't been out the country for what felt like years, so instead of waiting for my friends or family to get ready, I simply bought a train ticket to travel round Europe via train. It was the beginning of summer, so I decided to go in at the deep end and get a plane straight to Rome, stay there for a week or so, then continue to wherever I felt like going.
I had been to Rome before with my family when I was younger. Now that I was older, I eagerly anticipated the freedom and choice I would enjoy, being completely by myself. With very little ceremony, I said my goodbyes to those people I knew back home and headed for Italy.
I am an unpretentious sort of person, so my needs are easily catered for. I booked myself into a cheap but cheerful hostel near the centre of Rome. It was a no frills affair, providing only one bed in a shared room. But as I remembered it, Rome is beautiful whatever your status, so I was happy. I also had a better idea for spending my money.
Pulling out a little guide book I treated myself to at the airport, I followed the instructions to a little scooter shop, near the Coliseum. My plan was to hire a motor-scooter for the duration of my stay in Rome, giving me complete freedom to go where I pleased.
The place seemed friendly enough from the outside, and the clutter of tourists wearing helmets reassured me that this place was bona fide. Once the crowd dissipated, I poked my head around the door and called out, "Chao?" I said uncertainly, as I wasn't really sure when to use this word.
"Uno minuto!" I heard a young female voice answer from the back. Guessing the meaning, I passed the time looking at the range of scooters that were lined up, filling the shop. I wonder which one would suit me best?
"Chao," I heard a voice from behind me say. I turned to say hello. A girl, probably in her early twenties was standing there looking at me. She was wiping her oily hands on a rag and sweat glistened on her smooth olive skin. She had the classic Italian look. Petit, with long black hair and a straight fringe that framed her face. She wore a light coloured vest and a pair of men's overalls covered her legs – the arms had been tied around her waist. She was insanely fit – her braless breasts remained perfectly pert under her thin vest and as she breathed it raised it a little to reveal her bronzed, downy stomach. As I struggled to take all this in, she cocked her head to one side and looked at me inquisitively.
"American?"
"British," I replied, hoping that this meant she spoke English.
"OK. You want bike?" She indicated to the range surrounding us.
"Yes please," I replied, unable to think of anything else.
After a second or so, she realised, to my relief, that she was going to have to take control of this situation if any sort of transaction was going to take place. She led me over to the counter at the back and pulled out some paperwork. It was written in English fortunately, so I tried to bury myself into filling the form out correctly, desperately trying to keep my eyes from wondering helplessly over her body. Finally, the torment was over and I handed the form back to her, my palms all sweaty as I stood with my back to the counter.
"Thank you..." she glanced down the form "... Joe, from Britain." I chuckled nervously as her mouth gently spread into a smile of perfect white teeth. I could tell she sensed my discomfort at being unable to communicate properly with this goddess in front of me. She smiled again "OK" she said and leaned towards me. Just in time I realised she was not coming in for a kiss, but was reaching to grab a pair of keys that lay on the counter behind me. As her body brushed mine I caught a whiff of her feminine scent, mixed with the slight odour of her sweat from the days work. Glancing down, I managed captured a view of her cleavage that I immediately made a mental note to never forget. I felt my crotch stiffen. Facing me once more, she flicked her long hair over her shoulder then dangled the keys in front of my face.
"Now, Joe. You will be good boy and have good holiday, yes?" She said with a hint of laughter, her husky Italian voice laced with suggestion.
"Of course, of course," I said, in what I hoped was a confident voice and snatched the keys from her hand.
"Good boy. The keys are for blue Honda at the end, outside. I see you here in one week. Maybe sooner, if I lucky". I stared her hard in the eyes. Jesus, I've only just got here and women are making a pass at me! What's so different here that's not back home?
"Erm, OK... maybe you will," I said in an attempt at being sexy. She chuckled at my response, then turned to get back to work. I scuttled out of the shop, not really sure about what had happened and trying to disguise the hard on I had in my jeans.
It was late afternoon when I left the scooter shop and I was feeling tired. The afternoon air had made everything seem sticky, and the rush hour traffic was beginning to clog Rome's narrow streets. I decided to drive away from the city, to see where the roads took me, to check out the countryside. It seemed odd that I chose to do this, as there is so much to see in the city of Rome, but part of the novelty of having the bike, meant that I had that choice.
The breeze of the open road lifted my spirits and as I raced out of the city limits and felt happy and contented. The weather was still gorgeous and once I found myself in the countryside proper, I started looking for a place to stop and relax.
I pulled over when I saw an open field nestled between a copse of trees and what looked like a vineyard (they are not so common in Britain). It looked like a nice place to stop and enjoy the moment alone. After setting down my bike and wondered into the middle of the field and lay down on my back, looking forward to the solitude and quiet. After five minutes I heard some distant voices coming from the vineyard. I strained my neck to look behind me and saw three white figures, laughing and running about. I turned to lie on my front to watch them. I realised after a few moments what they were up to. They were young, probably late teens, maybe my age and they were picking and eating the grapes off the vines. The sight of them doing this reminded me of my own hunger, so I jumped up, wanting to join in.
My sudden movement towards the three figures caused two of them to panic ('scrumping' is clearly not legal in Italy either) and they ran off, leaving one behind. I began walking towards this last figure wanting to explain that I was not the farmer. As I got closer I could see that the figure was female who was wearing a white dress of thin, lightweight material that hugged her body in the summer breeze. She stood still, watching me as I approached.
"I am not the farmer," I said breathlessly, waving my arms in an attempt to show I didn't care.
"I know." She said carelessly before popping a grape into her mouth.
She was about 5'8" with long dark brown hair. Her skin was dark and smooth, which contrasted heavily with her piecing green eyes. They were hypnotic, as she stared at me nonchalantly, appraising me up and down while bursting grapes between her teeth, then licking the juice from her plump lips. She was slim, the curves of her windswept dress showed this and was bare-foot. The slight breeze easily penetrated the thin material of her dress so her nipples were visible.