Thee Random Words

03 - DOLOMITES, LAKE, GRASS

03 - DOLOMITES, LAKE, GRASS

“What’s the strangest place where you’ve had s*x?”

“What?” Natalie snapped her head to the left in the direction from where the question had come. Sitting at the other end of the bench was a boy, hardly much older than her own son – if she had to guess, she would not have believed him a day over nineteen.

She must have been completely lost in her thoughts not to have noticed someone sitting down almost next to her. She gave him a thorough look over. An ordinary, everyday teenage boy, of no distinguishable features. If on the morrow someone asked her to describe him, perhaps she could remember light brown hair and a fair complexion.

Other than that, the most fascinating thing about the boy was the question he had asked.

“Why would you ask that?” she demanded in a stern, somewhat scolding voice befitting a grownup lecturing a child.

“Why not?”

The response discomforted her. Well-educated and well-mannered boys did not go about asking complete strangers, who at that were old enough to be their parent, about their s*x life. It just wasn’t proper.

Instead of voicing an answer of maturity, as she believed her thinking to be, to her surprise, she simply responded: “Why not, indeed?”

“So?”

It seemed that after the jabbing opening question, the boy now preferred to keep firing rapid, open ones.

“So, what?” she reciprocated his ambiguity, blinking slightly as she felt a bit lost in this bizarre, uninvited conversation. All she had wanted had been to sit on the bench in the park and stare at the castle nestled in the hills, hoping that the serenity of the panorama would help her release her daily worries.

“Where was the strangest place where you’ve had s*x?” he repeated for clarification.

“Oh, that,” she chuckled at his obstinacy to stick to his initial enquiry. In spite of herself, she found his persistence rather endearing. And why not have a conversation with a completely foreign boy about her s****l experiences? It certainly promised a better entertainment than staring blankly at the castle had proven, while her thoughts, contrary to her expectations, kept turning back to her problems.

“Right,” she finally spoke with determination. “I’ll make you a deal. I’ll answer your question, but after that you must explain why you are going about asking unknown women about their s*x lives.”

She fixed her stare on the boy, challenging him with her unwavering gaze. A sense of satisfaction spread in her chest when he was the first to avert his eyes.

“You’ve got yourself a deal,” he accepted, and in a youthful boost of confidence, he offered her his hand to shake on it. Almost greedily, she accepted the proffered hand, excitement now thrumming through her veins.

“It was in the Dolomites,” she commenced her narration of what had been a singular experience in her life, long unvisited memories now rushing back into her consciousness.

“I was there during my summer break, after finishing my first year at the Uni. A group of us, great enthusiasts of everything Italian, had decided on a hiking holiday in the Italian mountains. Because none of us had had any previous knowledge of our designated location, we engaged the services of a local guide. His name was Michele. He was the embodiment of what any young girl expected from an Italian summer fling – sun-kissed tan, dark hair, a charming and slightly flirtatious smile doubled by equally engaging manners. All the girls in our group would have given anything for a summer romance with Michele. Me included.”

“So, one day, when we were camping in a camp next to a lake, I found myself sitting next to him in the evening when we had all gathered around the camp fire. We had been drinking, not that that is an excuse or a justification for any kind of behaviour, but it gave me that extra amount of courage and recklessness I needed. I had been really taken by him; I was desperate for him.”

“At one point, I put my hand on his exposed thigh and started rubbing it all the way up to the hem of his shorts. He tensed when he felt my hand on his skin, but eventually he relaxed and suddenly I felt him scooting closer to me, and his hand shot to my back, starting to caress it, travelling up and down my back, teasing me, until he finally pulled up my T-shirt to expose my lower back, and he slid his hand behind the waist of my trousers, and reaching the hem of my knickers, pushed his hand under them, sliding his hand over my bottom cheeks, first just stroking them gently, then at some point grabbing me roughly, making me yelp in surprise. And this brought us both back to the reality of our situation – that we were not alone and were surrounded by other people.”

“He withdrew his hand and pulled mine from his thigh, and pulling me up standing next to him, led me a few hundred yards away from the campfire, away from other people, to a stretch of grass behind wild shrubs with thickly growing stems that were able to seclude us from the rest. He reached for my T-shirt and pulled it over my head, and as he discarded it on the ground, he gently pushed me on it while his own T-shirt followed suit.”

“Maybe it was the uniqueness of the setting, mixed with the sense of threat of possible discovery and the slight chill of the night which made my skin crawl with electrifying tingles and expectations. The desire burning in his eyes made my blood rush and desire pooled inside me, making me desperate for him. He needed no great encouragement. When I reached my hand for him, he plunged himself on me, kissing me desperately as if he’d been starving kisses. Neither of us knew, or cared for that matter, how we were kissing. There was no need, no desire for perfection, there was just that primal urge for connection, for feeling the other’s lips, that we took everything that was given, and gave it all we had.”

“Without even understanding when we were both completely naked, our clothes discarded just mare inches away from our heated bodies, his demanding, exploring hands one moment on my breast, the next plummeting between my legs, making me arch for him brazenly, inviting him, luring him, while my fingernails dug in his back so that he could understand the forcefulness of my desire. And when he finally pushed himself inside me, I felt I was floating among the stars sparkling in the night sky, as if we were one of them, two singularly shining lights when brought together emanating starkly, our minds free to explore the worlds beyond.”

“Hmm, hmm,” a sound of clearing a throat came from her left as she had brought her story to the finish. Throughout the account she was staring in front of her, at nothing in particular. Telling a story of such a personal experience was made easier when one did not have to face the scrutiny of a stranger. Had she looked at him only once, she might have lost her courage.

But now, she ventured a look at him. Only to be met by an amused and, what could only be interpreted as, look of interest.

“You do know how to tell a good story,” he complimented her, making her smirk at his words, yet concurrently feeling a jolt of pleasure at having received such an accolade from someone so young and self-assured.

“Now is your turn to impress me with your story,” she reminded him.

He started laughing at her obstinance to stick to the deal.

“Right. Well, I’m afraid you are in for a bit of a disappointment because my story is by far not as exciting as yours.”

“Nevertheless,” she remained firm, her curiosity needing to be satisfied. “Promises must be kept.”

“Indeed, they must be,” he sighed, then blurted out the insipid explanation.

“I am a psychology student. For our half-term paper, we were given a task to approach complete strangers in different settings and ask them one uncomfortable question one would hardly ask a fleeting acquaintance let alone someone unknown. Then we are required to observe their reactions and analyse them in our paper in respect to our working hypothesis.”

“Oh,” she gasped, disappointment unmasked in her voice. “So, I’m a test subject. Just another in a line of many.”

She hardly knew herself if the latter referred to the boy sitting next to her or to all the other boys in her life who had left her wanting for, and needing, more.

He found her disappointment appealing and for some reason he wanted her to see the experience as interesting as that of her Italian summer fling.

“Yes, true. But for the record, and I might just put that in my paper, there is some hard evidence of the thrilling nature of our experience today.” He gave her a cheeky, flirtatious wink and a smile he hoped reinforced his insinuation.

The tell-tale sign of her cheeks acquiring a pinkish hue spoke of his success. His confidence boosted, he spoke on the spur of the moment: “We could make my research even more assiduous, and make some new memories in the process, if you invited me home. I’ve been told that I’m quite handy.”

The boldness of his proposal left her speechless. But it was not his daring proposition that was the most startling. It was the fact that for a moment she actually contemplated taking him on the offer. Astounded by her own brassiness, she chuckled nervously.

It was the expression of assured victory which appeared on his face at her reaction that sobered her up. Indeed, she was a recent divorcee with her own apartment and a kids-free week. But a craving for a physical contact with another human being which had been a persistent companion since her husband had announced his intentions of separation was not sufficient to justify, at forty-two, as it may at twenty-two, jumping blindly into a one-night adventure.

“Perhaps some other time,” she refused, standing up. If she had hoped for an expression of sorrowness to show itself on his face at being rejected, she would have been sorely disappointed. Thus, it only reaffirmed her in having taken the only sound decision. For him, it was all just an experiment, one way or another.

Taking one last look at him, she grabbed her handbag and walked away, the sane, adult part of her brain congratulating her on her firmness, while the other, more deeply hidden part, that which had been evoked that memorable summer night in Italy, urged her to turn back and grab the opportunity. Soon, any thought was drowned in the noise of the city traffic.

***

Not entirely sure who proposed these three words, it is possible that they were of my own invention because this story had been written in June 2022, just a few weeks before we had gone to the mountains in Italy for a weekend getaway, passing through Dolomites on our way. Which might have given rise to some, obviously interesting, expectations.

Not that this story has anything in common with our trip. We were just the two of us, my partner and I, staying at a nice mountain resort in Alto Adige, as we are certainly not the vagabond type to be camping under the stars. Although stars from our balcony were quite charming.

I really love going to the mountains, unfortunately, not often enough.

When you are in the mountains, looking over the vastness of the peaks, you sense things differently. Nature speaks to your “primitive”, natural urges. It makes you forget the societal norms, restrictions. That does not mean that the mountains make you ready and willing to throw yourself at the first pair of charming brown (or other coloured) eyes, but that it speaks to your primal sensations. That you enjoy the radiating blue, cloudless sky, and bask in the warmth of the sun. That you sit in the grass without worry or preoccupation if your favourite pair of jeans will end up having stains. That you breathe in the crisp, mountain air without the anxiety of the endless to-do tasks constricting your chest. That you sit for the simple enjoyment of sitting and being without the need for any particular action. And yes, that you have a steamy quicky behind the bushes if you so feel and like, without any judgment or expectations. That you are, just as you are.

The mountains are calling. And they are not judging.