Fifty Steps

The events in this story took place about 3 years ago. Names have obviously been changed to protect our identities.

My husband Alan and I were at one of his business conferences in Rome. That is, I was in Rome while he spent the days in a conference room at the hotel in which we were staying, and the evenings at one corporate cocktail/dinner event or the other. Both of us travel independently quite a bit in our individual careers, but we seldom get to take a 'work vacation.' So when he came home one day in April and told me he had to go to Rome for an entire week to attend some sort of damn Association conference, and I had plenty of vacation days piled up at my job, I decided that I would take some time off and join him on this trip. I knew he wouldn't be able to get out much during the day, but I had always seen myself as an enterprising explorer of foreign lands so I had visions of myself exploring the Roman byways and alleyways during the day, stumbling upon sights rarely seen by the package-tour tourist.

I would like to say that those visions came true, and that I spent the days traipsing about the streets of Rome, flirting with many-an Italian stud along the way. Truth is, I spent most of the days exploring the magnificent spa of the Hotel de Russia, although I did find the time to go on a city tour with a bus full of random tourists, walk around the magnificent piazza nearby, and take in a couple of shopping expeditions. But the spa was bliss and although pricey, I felt I had earned its luxury after working like a dog over the past few months.

Knowing that we wouldn't get much time together during the week, Alan had also taken a few of days off from work, and so we were staying on till Wednesday morning after the conference ended on Friday afternoon. This was the time I had been waiting for, when our actual holiday in Rome would begin and true to Alan, he had a whole itinerary of events planned out which he planned to reveal only on Friday evening. Well to be honest, I'm too lazy to do the research and he's always been much more of an actual explorer than I am, ready at the drop of a hat to put on his backpack and go walking around a city. I prefer motorized vehicles. So I was a little worried that he may be planning something involving a day-long walk around central Rome, stopping at various places of interest along the way. This was also because places of interest along the way for him are mostly old buildings, whereas for me they tend to be more along the lines of interesting bars I see. Especially, when they have Guinness on tap. That's the Irish in me speaking. But I digress.

I enjoyed the time I had to myself while Alan was at the conferences. The room was luxurious, and as I said earlier, the spa magnificent. But when Friday evening came around I was ready for our vacation to begin. The closing cocktail party the night before had a great live band who made everyone get up and dance around, so the party had gone on long into the night. I had decided to sleep in till late in the morning, had a leisurely breakfast-in-bed and then headed to the spa for my afternoon of being massaged, scrubbed and polished. By the time they finished at six p.m., I felt as if I was walking on air while simultaneously springing up with every step. I was a bundle of energy as I headed up to our suite.

Alan was already in the room when I arrived, pouring himself vodka and topping it up with soda.

"You started the party without me." I said.

He came towards me with his glass in his hand, put the other arm around my waist and kissed me softly.

"Hello sexy," he said. "I'll make one for you just as soon as you give me a proper kiss."

"That was a proper kiss."

"No it wasn't. There was no tongue involved.

"Shut up. This is all you get for now," I said as I put my bag down on the sofa in the living room. My afternoon at the spa had ended with an oil massage after which I had decided I would shower in my own room since it was already quite late, so I was just wearing the short robe they had given me in the spa with a towel wrapped around my waist. Needless to say, I had attracted a few curious glances in the elevator up to my floor, but the suite entrance was quite close to the elevator so the public exposure had been brief.

"Well, this is an interesting outfit you are wearing," he had sidled up behind me and was now attempting to stroke my breasts through the slit in front of the silk robe while at the same time attempting to pull it out of the towel wrapped around me. The drink, I noticed, had now been put down.

"Hey, no touching the merchandise," I said as I pulled his hands away, "And where's my drink?"

"Coming up." He drew away. Sometimes even Alan can figure out when he's not going to get any, "What would you like?"

"I'll have a vodka with coke. And I'd also like to know what our plan is for tonight."

"Party, pretty baby, party. We're painting the town red, starting with dinner, so you've gotta shower and then I can shower while you're getting ready, so we can head out by 8."

"It's only a quarter past six. What's the rush?"

"Well, one of the two people getting ready is you," he grinned.

I threw a pillow at him as I gathered my bag, my drink and headed off to the bedroom.

He was sitting watching TV, finishing his drink when I came out after half an hour during which I completed a languid, sensual shower wrapped up in one of the huge, fluffy towels in the bathroom. My hair wrapped in another, smaller version.

"Your turn."

He came out in about 5 minutes, wrapped up in another towel and proceeded to towel dry his short hair vigorously, and put up a pair of grey fitted slacks and a white shirt. I sat back and enjoyed the sight of him getting dressed. At 39, he's seven years older than me, and while he's not the in the same shape he was in his soccer-playing college years, no one can accuse of him of being hideously out-of-shape. I actually like him with the slight belly he has now than I did when we first met ten years ago when his stomach was actually pretty flat.

It wasn't until he was buttoning his shirtsleeves after he had put his socks on that he noticed I was still sitting there wrapped in my towel. I had managed to blow-dry my hair. Since I had now started wearing it in a short, straight bob it actually takes only five minutes to dry.

"You're not dressed yet?" he said.

Is he serious? I thought. "I have nothing to wear." I declared.

"What? You brought so many clothes."

"Not that many, and anyway as you may have noticed, we have been going out every evening, and I didn't bring that many going out in the evening clothes." I thought I had a pretty good point there.

"You can't have worn everything," he looked unconvinced.

"Well, I've worn everything I would want to wear."

"Then just wear something again."

I was aghast at this suggestion, "I can't wear something again."

He tried again, "Well, there must be something you can wear in your closet or suitcase"

"You try," I suggested, "and there's nothing. I already looked."

He walked over to the closet, rummaged through it and came out with a blue sleeveless dress on a hanger. "How's this?"

"Worn it."

"I know what you can wear," he said, and started going through my suitcase, turning around to pull out a small crumpled black garment. "This."

He shook it out and it was the black dress I had bought on a whim last summer but never worn. I had seen it on a mannequin, tried it on in the changing room and bought it all in the space of ten minutes, but I had never worn it since the time I had put it on for Alan when he got home later and I showed him my shopping. The dress was not too short; it was down to about mid-thigh. Well, upper mid-thigh, and it was figure-hugging without being slutty. It had funky little sleeves, a little front on the neckline that went down low enough to show slightly more than a hint of cleavage, and a plunging backline which had a filmy material covering hit so I could still wear a bra. The fabric of the dress was some sort of amazing blend, which was extremely thin and slightly elastic. When I wore it, Alan got off the chair and came over to see if he could just roll it up over my hips and stroke my ass. It turned out that even though the fabric clung to my body, it stretched enough to roll up quite easily. The cut of the front was such that I would have to put on a push-up bra, and when I did my tits looked much larger than my 34Cs normally do. Even though Alan had asked me to wear it a couple of times when we were going out at home in Chicago, I felt it was too risqué for our normal haunts and crowds and so had never worn it. I had, however, packed it in at the last moment when shoving in a few things and Alan had remarked on it at the time, and had obviously remembered.

After I had showered, I looked at the dress laid out on the bed. Well, I thought, let's do it and let's do it properly.

I put on a flesh colored push up bra. Alan walked in and whistled as he saw me standing in front of the mirror.

"Shhh...," I said, "can you get me some panties out of the suitcase?"

Alan rummaged through and pulled out a black micro g-string he had got me from Victoria's Secret last month. I still hadn't worn it. And when I say, "micro" I mean "micro." I mean, this thing was barely large enough to cover my crotch and the backside was just a tiny string.

"I might not as well be bearing any panties," I had told Alan when he had given them to me.

"That's the idea, baby," he smiled.

He held them out to me, "Here, these will do nicely."

"Those with this dress," I chuckled, "why, some may say you are wanting easy access."

"Well, some would be right."

"I'm not an easy girl," I admonished him.

"Yes, that I know all too well."

I shooed him out, telling him he wasn't allowed to be in here till I got ready and proceeded to do that as quickly as I could. Finished, I stood in front of the long mirror on the wall and admired my handiwork.

"Not bad for 32," I thought. At 32, I was fitter now than I had ever been before and back to the 120 lbs. I had not been since I was 23, thanks to the diet and exercise regimen I had adopted a year ago. Nothing too intense, but my body was toned and my calves looked amazing (even if I do say so myself) in heels. At the moment I was wearing heels which added 4 inches to my five feet six inches. I can never tan much due to my Irish genes but thankfully I'm not deathly pale, and my bobbed hair was its natural dark brown. And my tits in that bra and that dress definitely looked larger than 34c, I could swear. I didn't wear a lot of heavy make-up, just a basic smoky, evening look and topped it off with a generous application of my favorite red, MAC's "Rebel."

As I stepped out of the room, Alan looked up from the TV. "Well, looks like I'm going to have a tough time keeping the boys away."

"Honestly, can you see my ass through the dress, or not? Cause there sure as hell ain't no underwear there," I was still nervous about this.

Alan swore he couldn't and so we set out.

We started the evening off at a place near our hotel, the Vicini Bistrot, a restaurant that serves only ham, cheese and wine. Neither of us is a fan of ham, but the cheese platter was amazing and came with this lovely truffle honey and we downed a bottle of prosecco in about forty minutes. I was ready to order another one, but Alan had made reservations at Ristorante Musa (which he had read about on tripadvisor, of course), which was near the San Giovvani area and so we had to head out. Dinner was awesome, and I can't remember whether we had one bottle of wine or two so I guess there was a good buzz going. I was definitely having a great time with Alan as we always do whenever we manage to get away together.

It was around midnight when we stepped out to hail a cab. I slid my arm under his jacket and rubbed his back as we walked. We had been giggling a lot the last half hour and we were definitely both tipsy by now.

"Where to now?"

"Ok, there are two choices," he said in typical Alan style, "we either go on a pub crawl or we go to this place at the Waldorf, which is basically across the street from us. They have a live band there every night, it's supposed to be a place where you can hang out for a couple of hours, chill and dance."

"That sounds good to me," I grabbed his arm as he hailed a cab. After all this wine and food, I wasn't in the mood for darting in and out of bars and I liked the thought of being able to walk across the street into my hotel room whenever I felt like I'd had enough.

The bar was already pretty packed when we got there and we got one of the last few tables near the bar itself. We sat back, ordered our drinks and I had time to check out the place. The bar was in an enclosed terrace pretty close to the rooftop with stunning views of the Coliseum. No wonder all the table next to the full-length windows were either taken or had Reserved signs on them.

The dance floor was already half-full, and the band was playing a very dancey blues-rock number and I noticed with approval that they had a brass section as well.

This is going to be fun, I thought.

And it was. Over the next hour and a half, we got up and danced a few times, really getting into the groove of the band.

When the band finally wrapped up around 2 am, we ordered another round of rums and coke to wet our parched throats. Alan guzzled his, and I was only halfway through mine when his phone rang.

"Shit, it's Neil," he groaned.

"Don't answer it," I told him.

"I can't ignore it," he winced

"Seriously, don't answer it," I told him.

"He's probably still working on the submission he has to make before tomorrow morning."

"It's Friday night."

"Yep, he has to send it in today. There's still time back home."

"Whatever, man," I finally gave up.

He answered the phone and spoke for a few minutes. I couldn't hear the whole thing, but from whatever I could make out, he seemed to be reluctantly agreeing to do something.

He hung up, "Well, he needs me to look at something he's just emailing. It's a pretty complicated spreadsheet, so I have to look at it on my laptop to make any sense of it. And then I have to call him and tell him what I think."

"You have to do this now?" I was in disbelief.

"Yeah. I'm sorry," he did look ashamed, "you can either come with me and chill in the room, or you can just hang out here and finish your drink. The hotel's just across, so I should be there, look at it, and be back in like half an hour, tops."

I was annoyed like hell at this point, and felt the happy buzz rapidly disappearing as my irritation set in. I was also really angry that he had ignored me and answered the phone when I had specifically asked him not to. I was hurt that he had answered the phone when he should have known that the only reason Neil would be calling him at this hour was for help which would then lead him to fuck up this evening with me. Idiot.

"I'm certainly in no mood to come back to the hotel and have you yapping over spreadsheets in the background," I snapped.

"Ok then, you just chill here and finish your drink," he actually looked relieved, "I'll run across, look at it, and run back. 30 minutes. Probably less. Time me."

"Oh yeah? And what if someone asks me to dance? Can I say yes?" I looked at him wickedly.

"If he asks politely and if you like," he grinned in answer, then leaned forward to kiss me on the cheek as he got up to leave.

After he left, I sat for a couple of minutes sipping my drink quietly, checking out the people still in the bar. There were a bunch of couples, probably tourists, two large groups of what seemed like locals and a number of smaller groups plus a few singles. The bar was still more than half full. A number of people had left after the band had finished but more were still coming in. The DJ had started laying down a pretty funky groove and a few people had made their way back to the floor.

Screw it; I thought to myself, I'm sitting in the Waldorf in Rome. I've had a great evening, and I'm just going to sit back and enjoy myself and not let this ruin my night.

The table next to us had been occupied by a trio consisting of two men and a woman. They all looked to be in their early thirties and clearly knew each other well. Now though, the only one sitting at the table was the man I had secretly been eyeing a bit since he was in my line of sight. He was wearing a fitted blue suit with a white shirt which had the top couple of buttons open so I could see the hint of a smooth chest. When he had stood, I had noticed that he was pretty tall, about six feet two with a very athletic build. His chest, shoulders and arms looked muscular even through the jacket, and the close cut of his clothes also showed off a narrow waist and strong thighs. He had short dark hair with a bit of grey at the temples, and the unshaven look only Italian men can carry well. In short, he was hot and I had enjoyed my bit of eye-candy while I had been sitting there. I had even mentioned him to Alan and he had made some sort of joke about it.

He looked up and saw me looking at him. I tried to look away but it was too late. He caught my eye and smiled. Helplessly, I smiled back.

"Hi," he raised his glass, "I'm Marco."

"Lucy," I said and smiled again.

Stop grinning, you idiot, I told myself, you must look like a dolt.

I sat back as he got up and stepped across to my table.

"Do you mind?" he motioned to the chair to my left where Alan had been sitting a few minutes ago.

Well, this is getting interesting, I thought to myself.

"Sure, has a seat," I gestured.

"A beautiful woman like you should not be drinking alone. I noticed your companion had left, so I thought I would ask if I could keep you company." His English was flawless, in fact had a strong American accent.

Damn, these Italians are fast. And good. Despite myself, I smiled.

"He's my husband, and he's just gone back to our hotel across the street for a few minutes. He'll be back soon."

"Ah, you're staying at the Hotel de Russia? That's a really nice place."

"Yep, tell me about it," I said, "I've been living at the spa."

He laughed. "Well, he's a brave man to abandon you like this in this city full of vultures."

"And are you a vulture?" I asked, playing along with him.

"Far from it," he said, "I'm here to protect you from them until his return," he had a really sexy smile, and I was digging his deep baritone.

"And your friends?" I asked him, "How come you were abandoned?"

"Well my sister and her husband had to leave because their baby woke up and the babysitter called. I was just going to finish my drink and head up to my room before duty called."

"Duty called?"

"Vulture-protection duty," he grinned.

I couldn't help it and burst out laughing, and suddenly we were chatting away. In just a few minutes, I filled him in on my trip to Rome. He told me he was from Milan, worked for a textile house and was in Rome for a couple of weeks for some conventions and meetings with buyers. After a few minutes, Marco noticed that both our drinks were almost finished so ordered us another round, rum and Coke for me, gin and tonic for him. Just then, the DJ put on a record with a very jazzy beat. Marco stood up suddenly, grabbed my hand and said, "Come on, would you like to dance for a bit, this is a great song."

I hesitated for a second, then remembered my little parting conversation with Alan. He had said I could dance if I liked and if the guy asked politely. Well, I did like, and the guy did ask politely. Two ticks. And did I mention, I love to dance and am a good dancer. Alan, despite the fact that he's taken dancing lessons (both salsa and jive) dances fairly mechanically which I tease him about mercilessly.