Vacanza Erotica / Pt: 4 The Taste of Salt and Skin

“Buonasera. I’m Chef Tocci. Tonight, I cook for you here.”

I give a little “whoop!” And clap my hands, shaking the steamy energy loose. The table seems to liven up upon the arrival of this evening’s host.

“To begin… ostriche. From the coast this morning.”

Chef Tocci sets the oysters on ice, wraps one in a cloth, and works the knife into the hinge until it pops. He lifts the top shell, slides the blade underneath to loosen it, and sets it back down.

I’m entranced by the rhythm of his master; his control, the way he commands the room. He can’t be much older than us, his angular face focused, intense with each shuck. His quiet grunts, and the soft crack of shell are the soundtrack to the show. The table silent.

I glance around.

Rosalia watches him openly, curious, drawn in. James keeps stealing looks at her. Cara is already on her third drink, glass loose in her hand. Dallas stares at the oysters with a kind of hunger I've seen before.

I lift my gaze back to the chef, a sheen of sweat glints against his olive skin, his white button clinging to his wet skin where his muscles move.

It’s a hot humid night.

Once he’s finished shucking, he squeezes a lemon over each oyster, a light drizzle of olive oil follows.

“From the sea, straight to you. Best like this.” He slides us each a plate, making intense eye contact with each of us as he does.

Rosalia takes her oyster first. We all can't help but watch, as she gracefully tips it back into her mouth, and it glides down her throat. She lets out a deep moan, and leans forward towards Chef Tocci, smiling in appreciation, her breasts resting on the table. She's blissfully unaware of her sexiness.

I hold the oyster to my lips. Silky and salty. She slips free into my mouth in one smooth motion. I moan as I take it, and Dallas looks at me licking the residue of the oyster off his lips. He reaches over to me, takes his thumb and wipes my chin. We hold eye contact. My heart flutters.

James tosses his oyster back with a smacking noise. Cara looks at hers uneasily. She turns to James. “Do you want mine?”

“I’m good babe. But you should have it, it's an aphrodisiac. It might loosen you up." He winks, and then turns to face Rosalia. “So, Rosalia…” James rolls the “R” in her name. “What’s your story? Why are you here?”

Rosalia, lets out a surprised cough, and places her hand on her chest. She reaches for her Negroni and takes a sip before letting out an audible exhale. Then, as if aware of how dramatic that response was, she lets out a bit of laughter.

She has the whole table's attention. We lean in.

“I live a few towns down,“ she explains, “But I wanted to gift myself a staycation to celebrate making it through the worst of a breakup. Or really to force an end to my wallowing and get back out into the world. Feel alive again. Remember who I am. Sometimes you need to be reminded, you know?”

James is practically panting. “A breakup?? What a prick. What he’d do?”

I’m very sensitive to energy and I’m observing James to be a bit of a wildcard. He seems a little too interested in Rosalia...leaky energy. Cara has almost finished her drink and is giving James a dirty look.

Dallas turns to me with a face that reads “this is a wild.”

Rosalia, seemingly unfazed by the question, shakes her head softly “It wasn’t like that. No pricks involved actually.” She laughs to herself. “My ex bought a one way ticket out of here. She wanted to see the world.”

At the word she, James nearly loses his seat.

Rosalia doesn’t pay him any mind. She shifts her focus to Dallas and I.

“She had all these beautiful ambitions. That we would travel together; eat our way through Europe, and experience all the great wonders of the world. But she couldn’t wait any longer to do it…I had to let her go.”

Our eyes meet, and I see them more clearly now; conflict and pain behind the beauty.

“Did you not wish to travel with her?” I ask her gently.

“It’s complicated. I co-parent with my ex. Our kids are 3 and 5. Their father and I just started getting along again. It was pretty bad for a while. I couldn’t leave them and I couldn’t take them. My kids are the most important. I just couldn’t make it work.”

Dallas and I both nod in understanding.

“But I miss her.” she says looking right at me “I miss making love to her.”

I nearly spit out my drink. Dallas touches my thigh under the table and squeezes it. As if he’s daring me. As if he’s saying, “let’s see you flirt, my love.”

Him and I have talked about it. About showing up for the moment, being open to it when it presents itself...

One night not too long after I’d told Dallas of my desires to explore women, we lay naked in bed together watching videos of women licking and sucking one another. Videos of women sharing a cock together; making out as the girthy cock explodes on their mouths and faces. We pointed out what we liked, and what we'd want to try. Dallas twirled his fingers around my inner labia, and asked me both wryly and earnestly, how I felt about making moves on women. I laughed at the thought.

The idea of flirting to hook up took me back to my hormonal teen years before I’d ever even kissed a boy. When I first started to imagine what it would be like to have sex. I wanted it so bad, but had no idea how to go about getting it. Nor did I really even understand what it entailed. Daydreams were hot and heavy. And back then, the guys were always making the moves anyway. In fact, all my life I’ve never had to make a move.

“It's exciting but also a bit intimidating.” I tell Dallas. “First, I’d have to meet someone I found attractive, and then what? How does one flirt? Can you go right in for the kiss? What about courtship?”

Dallas is an attractive guy, and I intuitively know that before me he didn’t have much of a problem courting ladies and pleasing them in bed. He’s very handsome, tall and emotionally intelligent.

“Tease them a bit.” He says, “Women like to be teased.”

The irony is not lost on me that he’s teasing me about flirting while simultaneously teasing my pussy with his fingers.

Chef Tocci interrupts my thoughts to deliver our main course, Linguine Fra Diavolo.

James and Cara, now very drunk, have begun to chaotically fight and flirt with one another. The tension rising.

Cara swirling her pasta, leans in, her attention drifting, pointedly, to Chef Tocci. She lets a strand fall before drawing it into her mouth, slow and deliberate.

When the chef gives her nothing, she shifts, turning back to James, eyes sharp now, a hint of a smile playing at the edge of her lips.

“You like it when I flirt with other men?” she asks.

James lets out a short laugh, but there’s tension under it. “Is that what you’re doing?”

Cara tilts her head, studying him. “I don’t know… you seemed pretty entertained a minute ago.”

His jaw tightens, just slightly. “That’s different.”

“Mm,” she hums, unconvinced. “Doesn’t feel different.”

James reaches for his drink, downing it. And then turns to the rest of the table. “I don’t flirt with other women!” He exclaims, and Cara lets out a cackle.

The three of us remain silent. Entertained, but weary. The air has shifted and none of us are quite sure what comes next.

Cara looks at me, and then looks at Dallas. Her eyes narrow. “How long have the two of you been together?”

I shift in my seat, reminding myself to stay sovereign in my own energy.

“Four years.” I say. “We just got married a few days ago. We’re here on our honeymoon.” I smile at Dallas, and he smiles back and gives me a peck on my lips.

Cara nods, an expression of curiosity and innocence takes over her face, like she’s warmed by our affection.

“Babe, when do you think we’ll get married?” Her words slur, as she leans in to James, who's staring directly into Rosalia's cleavage.

Rosalia interrupts, unexpectedly. “I don’t think anyone should just get married. I think people are confused about what marriage means.”

James shifts towards her, he’s getting sloppy with his motions, and pasta sauce splatters on his shirt. “Listen, listen, listen.” he slurs. “We’re only 27. At what age do you think people start to find it weird if a guy isn’t married?”

Nobody answers.

Cara scrunches her nose. Despite her drunk havoc, she's quite adorable.

“I don’t think I’ll get married until I’m at least 35. That seems like the right age.” James nods, proud of his realization.

Cara begins to cry, and I’m pretty sure she’s so drunk at this point, she’s not in control of her emotions.

“Hey,” I say from across the table, gently. “Do you want to come with me to the bathroom?” I am realizing I have to pee, and I feel sympathy for Cara. In fact, I’ve been there.

I stand up. Dallas squeezes my hand and gives me a look of understanding admiration.

Cara pushes her chair out and stumbles towards me. She really is a beautiful, drunken mess. I take her hand in mine, her nails digging into my palms, as we walk down the winding path together towards the bathroom.

When we get to the bathroom, she runs to the mirror, and begins wiping at her mascara lined tears. I turn her around towards me, and I help her clean up.

“Hey.” I tell her. “You’re beautiful, and you’re okay. It’s just the alcohol, and probably the heat.”

“No no. It’s not the alcohol,” she says to me, shaking her head. “It’s James. We're so not good for each other.”

I nod, and take her hand.

She gets distracted by my wedding ring. And her expression shifts again to one of curiosity.

“Your rings are beautiful. You and Dallas are really cute.” She looks up at me, earnestly.

I smile and thank her. Our eyes meet. I see a younger version of myself in her. And my heart warms.

“I want to go to sleep.” She says.

“Ok, let’s go get James, and y’all can head back.”

“No, I don’t want him. I’ll go myself.”

The hotel is small, and the rooms are only about a 5 minute walk away, but I don’t trust her to go off on her own.

I take her hand, and I guide her out of the bathroom. She sways, like a drunken little doll.

“What room are y’all in?” I ask.

“107.” She slurs.

I can see the alcohol really starting to take over, and we make our way to her room quickly. She fumbles with the lock, one of those old beautiful antique keys. I help her with the door, and make sure she gets in alright.

Once inside, she immediately begins to take off her clothes, stumbling to the bed. She sits on the edge, pulling the strings of her top, and watching it fall to the ground.

She smiles at me. She's drunk and sexy. "Whoopsies." she laughs, rolling over. Her boobs are perky and dainty like mine. Her burned skin glowing, radiating heat from the sun, and the booze.

In only her tiny bikini bottoms, she crawls across the bed, and gets in.

"Will you lay with me?" She asks, with puppy dog eyes.

I think of Dallas and Rosalia back at the dinner table, and suddenly see Rosalia bent over the dinner table, her dress hiked up to her waist, and Dallas fucking her, her tits flopping out of her dress, as she moans again and again and again. Dallas shoving his fingers in her mouth to muffle her sounds, whispering "cum for me, before Ren gets back."

I shake my head. twisted fantasies. Dallas would never.

I bring a water bottle over to Cara, and place it on the side of the bed. I sit beside her and gently brush the hair from her face, tucking it back so I can see her clearly. Her blue eyes, hazy, dreamy and sleepy.

She looks up at me, and grabs my hand. “You're so beautiful.” She says, before closing her eyes, and turning over on her side.

I switch off the light nearest to her, leaving the rest of the room lit, and I tip toe out, taking the keys with me.

I walk slowly back to the cave. In another life, in another state, Cara and I could've made love. I would've pulled the string of her blue bikini bottom, and pushed my face into her ass, tonging her as she purred and arched her back like a kitten. Innocent and sexy all at once. I lean up against a tree, lifting my dress to enjoy a few moments to myself before returning to the group.

When I return without Cara, the table perks up in curiosity.

“Cara wanted to go to bed.” I announce, tossing James the hotel key.

Dallas and Rosalia nod, as James looks up at Chef Tocci.

“I guess that's my cue. Can I get a box for this?” He slurs.

Chef Tocci, busy preparing dessert, doesn't respond.

“Ah fuck it.” James says, throwing his napkin down on the table, and getting up hurriedly, his drunken footsteps fading into the distance.

With Cara and James gone, the energy at the table softens into something more intimate.

I look at Rosalia.

She’s already looking at me.

Dallas’s hand tightens around mine.

I let the tension sink in, slow and undeniable, with nothing left to interrupt it.