Free Erotic Stories

Short – Sweet – Italian

I was traveling through Europe, on the cheap. No planes, only trains. Now the trains in Europe are far better than the trains in the US, but you can’t get away from the exhausting waits in train depots waiting for connections. But I was very experienced with this kind of thing, so it didn’t weigh on me too much. I was schooled in how to position myself in relation to my luggage (who am I kidding – my backpack) so that I could let myself slip into naps without risking theft.

But who really sleeps in a train station? Rather, it’s a matter of nodding off for a few minutes at a time, then bolting awake and quickly scanning around to remind yourself where you are.

That’s how I spied her …

A young woman … jet black hair … a bit of a bob … neither long nor short … olive skin … flawless skin … brown eyes … probably a native … we were in Italy, after all.

Oddly enough, it was not those features that drew my attention. She was strolling around the station, with that body language that radiates boredom. She wore a simple sheath of knit fabric that flowed beautifully over her body like water. Her shoes … simple sandals … almost barefoot.

She was beautiful. Not in an in-your-face way. A very natural way.

So? So what? Did my mind start spinning fantasies of fucking this young lady?

Not at all … I’m very married and not by constraint … I love my wife above all and when I fell entranced by this young woman, my thought was not sexual, but that that dress was very much my wife’s kind of style … she would look beautiful in it, and what’s more important, she would FEEL beautiful in it.

So, for quite some time I followed this young lady with my eyes until I gave into temptation. I stood up – fuck my backpack – and strolled across the station to her.

“Scuse?”

She turned.

“Do you speak English?”

“A little.”

“Your dress … I think it is something my wife would like. Can you tell me where you bought it? What brand it is?”

She stood thinking for a while. Clearly unsure. Then she replied in the most unexpected way …

“You may look.”

The words hit me strangely, not sure what she meant … but then she turned around and gestured toward the tag that all garments have at the back of the neck ... okay ... I get it …

So, with her back to me, I took the back of the neck of the dress and pulled it slightly outward, flipping it up to try to read the brand.

I almost failed to read the tag, because in pulling the neck back this way, looking down this way, I could look down her back all the way to the sandals on her feet. Beautiful, olive skin, unmarred by undergarments … naked … a flawless flow of bare skin from the nape of her neck to the soles of her sandals. The nape of her neck … her spine … her shoulder blades … the scoop of her lower back as it cascaded into … my God … an absolutely flawless ass … perched upon – how many ways can I say “flawless” – perfect stems. I was mere inches from this goddess’s nakedness … I was caught in a stitch of time. I really don’t know how long I stared.

I’ve long wondered if she knew what she was doing. I think not, which adds to the beauty of that situation. An innocent question from me. An innocent answer from her. A moment when a random intersection of lifelines creates something unforgettable.

Epilogue: Back home, I did try to find that dress. Nope. Nothing left but a beautiful memory.