Monday, 18 May 2009

Crotches, Never Have I Ever and No Gentlemanly Qualities

May 1st is a public holiday in Italy and a BIG free concert in St Giovanni in Rome. In years past we’ve had big acts like Blur, this year it was croaking, decrepit, spaghetti rocker Vasco Rossi who was headlining. A prelude to this of a birthday party at a couchsurfer’s flat was a nice idea, but turned out to be more difficult than we’d imagined when, due to the downing of tools for the day off, no sodding buses were running and it was shank’s pony from the metro station, uphill to the gaff.

Still, the wine went down a treat and it was one of the few flats I’ve been in where the global, fascistic smoking ban hasn’t permeated private residences and the host didn’t mind at all if we sparked up in his lounge.

Finally managed to blag a lift to the gig from a couple of Italian lads, but as there were 8 of us in a car designed for 5, I had someone’s bum in my mouth for the entire journey and was praying that they weren’t so drunk as to fart in my face.

Had a very pleasant afternoon sat in a park facing the cathedral where the gig was. Only hiccups were when two friends of mine, (one of which is engaged to a girl in another country) began snogging on the grass and then got the areshole when we some of us started snapping photos. He jumps up screeching “NO FUCKING PHOTOS!!!” while I pondered the naivety of someone who cops off with a bird, in front of about 200 strangers in a public place and THEN takes offence to anyone else filming it.

Same guy then got completely drunk and turned up half an hour later with a 2 litre bottle of homemade wine that I knew he hadn’t had when we arrived.

“Where did you get that?”

“Found it”

“Did it occur to you that whoever that belongs to might be bigger than you?”

Still, no righteously indignant Sicilian came over with his brothers to teach the guy some manners so we necked his wine and then my female pal and her boyfriend start squabbling. They had been dating for about a month by this time and are constantly ding donging about everything from the weather to her talking to other blokes. She was trying to arrange to meet her ex boyfriend for a dinner, but unfortunately was doing it in front of her new beau. She looks over at me and says “Lance, what would you do if you were my boyfriend and I was trying to arrange to meet my ex?”, clearly expecting me to back her up.

“I’d stamp up and down on your fucking phone”.

She harrumphs and turns her back on me and carries on squabbling with her ludicrously patient new man.

I then pulled a rather yummy Italian girl whose arse and tits I’d been taking great delight in getting the odd surreptitious gawp at throughout the day. As I got up to leave I asked her if she wanted to come but pointed out it was a long walk from the Tube station to my house and there was no way I was going to pay for a taxi. Surprisingly she came, which meant a 45 minute walk home from EUR Palasport station and being an honest chap I had pointed out that I had imbued a lot of booze and it was highly unlikely I would be able get an erection, let alone sustain one. I also added, just to be gentlemanly, that that’s why God had been kind enough to bless me with a tongue and when she said she wasn’t sure about coming home with me and maybe we should just go out for a drink the following night, I whispered unspeakable filth in her ear about exactly what I wanted to do to her and how I would stay down there until she begged me to stop. That seemed to hit the spot and we got into bed about 4am while she lamented my lack of rigidity and I pointed out that I’d just spent the last half an hour on my knees with her up against the wardrobe door, pulling my hair as hard as she could and squealing.

Following night was a disco (what the Brits call a Night Club, and I wish Italians did as “disco” reminds me of those tortuous affairs we had at Secondary school when the wankers in the senior echelons of teaching staff would benevolently allow us to use the dining room as a platform for listening to someone’s dad playing Musical Youth’s “Pass the Dutchie” and Sister Sledge’s “Frankie” on a clapped out old turntable) where I was on a cocktail called Long Island.

Never tried this particular abomination before but it was 5 Euros and well strong and I vaguely remember stripping down to my jeans and prancing about on the dance floor, which later turned out to have been highly amusing for my friends, none of which had thankfully caught this display on camera.

On my way to the May 1st concert I had bought a couple of bottles of wine from the supermarket in Termini station and at the till spotted those collapsible travelling cups so handy if you are thirsty in the local airport. Two in a pack for 6 Euros which seemed reasonable enougth, but both bastards leaked as soon as you poured wine in them. I took them back the following week and true to Italian customer service the little cunt on the help desk was a belligerent little shit whose first statement was “you’ve used them” to which I replied:

“how else would I know if they leaked?”

He then spotted that the receipt was dated the 1st May and it was now the 9th and therefore the week’s grace period for returning unwanted items had expired and I could NOT get money back or a refund. I pointed out that it didn’t say that on the receipt. He stated that it was a general rule. He called someone and then told me that his boss had just told him that he was right and when I demanded to speak to his boss he turned his back on me and when I shouted it again he simply waved his hand at me and tried to talk to two Chinese backpackers. The ineffectual security guard had simply stood there the entire time, watching me get angrier and angrier and then casually said “why don’t you come back tomorrow morning?”.

I snapped and screamed “FIGLIO DI PUTTANA!!!” and smashed the packet on the floor (which made a lovely crashing, tinkling noise). Realising that if I stayed I would end up belting the twat I stormed out to find my friend Caroline looking visibly embarrassed, who’d been waiting for me just outside the door. I realised I’d freaked her out when we missed the flat we were heading to by about 10 doors. I turned to her and said “I’m not sorry about that, however I promise you that that kind of thing will never involve you unless I’m either defending you or sticking up for you, ok sweetheart”.

She looked at me thoughtfully and then replied quietly in a Northen Irish lilt “you fucking do that again and I’m walking away”.

Now the hot weather is back in Rome we are spending a lot of time picniccing (sp?) in two rather gorgeous parks, Villa Pamphilli in Trastevere and Villa Borghese. Lots of wine and a game of frisbee or two plus some cheese and sausage and four au pairs got chatting to me. One of them had a fairly dry sense of humour (such as telling me to fuck off and smoke my cigarette when I found it she was veggie and kept saying that the meat I was eating tasted well yummy and was probably a happy pig bouncing round a field a few short days ago). The same girl then found out I was bi-sexual and went in a broad German accent "HAVE YOU TRIED ZE BOOM SAX?" When I said "yes" she then got me to sit with her and her pals and suggested we play Never Have I Ever.

I spent a very pleasant two hours getting completely hammered, playing a filthy drinking game with four blonde, cute women aged between 20 and 22. As per usual with this game, it was the sweetest, cutest looking one who came out with the most depraved "Never Haves" including up the bum, on the bonnet of a car, with other people in the room and in an elevator.

A friend of theirs then noticed that the cute one was sitting cross legged and her shirt had ridden up so you could see her knickers. She turned to me and went "Gizzyour camera. I've warned her about sitting in that position" and gleefully took two snaps of her crotch, then wheeled around and took two of another pal adjusting her boobs over by the frisbee match.

When the wine was gone (most of which was mine) and they had smoked about 6 of my fags between them they got up to leave only for one of them (who doesn't like being told she looks like Avril Lavigne as EVERYONE says that!) to come back and try to ponse another ciggy.

"Gizza kiss then"

"I've got a boyfriend"

"I don't care"

"Well, I do"

"Well, you can't have a cigarette then".

Still, she put a Friend Request in on Facebook the next day so I can't have done too much wrong.

Without actually thinking about the potential ramifications I posted the photos on Facebook the following morning and within an hour got two emails saying in very snotty terms that I should delete the "breast adjustment" shot and the "one of me sitting in a position I shouldn't have been sitting in". I replied with a fairly sarcastic email to both and saying to crotch shot girl that I was a gentleman and would of course take it down. She wrote back a short time later to say "no gentleman would have posted a photo like THAT".

The "breast adjustment" girl then posted some patronising comment on my FB photo album "Couchsurfing in Rome 2009", in response to my album title about "drunken debauchery in the parks, flats and bars of Rome" with the line "beautiful people meeting and sharing time in Rome. Sorry if you thought it was a lot of drunken bad, behaved people".

This is the SAME woman who let me play with her pussy under the table in a bar not 200 yards from where the Pope was giving midnight mass on Easter Sunday and actually snogged me in St Peter's square while his Holiness was blessing the multitude via vast, plasma screen TVs.

I have come to the conclusion that the majority of people I meet at these do's regard me as a Guilty Pleasure that is fine to indulge in at a piss up in an apartment or bar or while tanking it up on red wine and playing rude drinking games BUT they don't like to be reminded of this when they get up for work with a hangover on Monday morning.

My pal has been dating a guy for just over 2 weeks now and his beard chafes her chin and lips (and presumably her labia). She told me that she's going to ask him to cut it off. I looked at her in disbelief and said "you can tell him from me that if he does that I'll NEVER speak to him again".

Last Friday my students from my 8.10pm to 9.25pm class (yes, you read that right) asked me to go see Angels and Demons with them in Original Language at the Warner cinema near the main train station in the centre. The last OL movie I got to see there was Quantum of Solace and the little bastards are meant to show one every week but don't bother most of the time. I sat through Saw 5 in Italian which sucked big time and was well impressed that this was going to be in English. Unfortunately I had made prior arrangements so I only stayed about 45 minutes but the movie was good and as it's set in areas I see every day (although how someone with a face like Ewan McGregor could rise the rank of Cardinal is a bit extreme) I will now have to download it off the Net to catch up. (It's not immoral, I already paid to get in so thhbbbppphhh!)

Saturday I was in bed most of it, detoxing and feeling sorry for myself. Sunday and I accompanied some pals for yet another picnic. I decided to go a bit Jack Sparrow and wore ripped jeans and a purple sash around my waist (purchased in New Delhi) and a yellow Buff bandana. The effect was as I'd hoped because about an hour into the picnic a VERY cute Spanish girl suggested we play Spin the Bottle which, as it wouldn't spin, soon became Never Have I Ever. Best line of the whole thing has to be two girls drinking a shot with the shared line "I didn't ASK him to cum on my face, I just said shoot wherever you want to. I only LET him!".

Other distraction was that the Spanish girl was wearing a short skirt and so was a German girl and yet again, me and the guy sitting next to me got wonderful views of their knick's. We eventuall moved and I had to say "I don't mind perving at your panties but my eye's coming out my fucking ear trying not to look AND I keep losing my train of thought".

Hee! Hee!

The Spanish girl then decided she was going to go but was still fussing some large mongrel, hound when I was trying to find a bush to go behind for a piss. I suggested she come back to the group and she appeared to like being missed and/ or appreciated as she came back and about half an hour later said she definitely had to go. I suggested I walk her home. She said that sounded like a splendid idea. I asked if I could come in, she said no as her family (another au pair) were in. She said to wait 15 minutes for her to come out again. I said she had exactly 15 minutes and then I was going back to the park. Ten mins later she came back and said she needed a shower and something "proper" to eat and to go on ahead. I started to kiss her. She pointed out that the family could probably see us. I pulled her behind a wall and had a pleasant few minutes and she gave me her number and said to go on without her and call her later. I didn't.

2am and knowing I had to get up for work at some point before midday I was in Campo dei Fiori with two other Couchsurfers. Me and an Argentinian girl had hooked up and gone for a beer near her Youth Hostel (14 Euros for a bastard pitcher!!!) and then met a rather eloquently, self absorbed player from the higher ranks of Couchsurfing. We met some quite delightful Americans who'd just arrived and were mainly under 21, so enjoying the delights of 18 years legal limit for alcohol. One girl kept flirting with the predatory Italian lads who kept hanging about like flies around shit (not joking, there's gangs of these little fuckers who just try to hit on foreign women all fucking night). A group of four lads were chatting to her and when one asked for her phone number she wrote down just the name of her hotel and "Rome". He kept asking for her phone number and she claimed she couldn't remember it and was quite clearly enjoying watching the guy flounder in embarrasment as she came out with lines like "if you come to the hotel I might be there".

He kept asking her while his mates stood next to him in silence and when I glanced up one of them tried staring me out so I snapped.

"I'm gettin confused here. I'm also getting bored. You've been told nicely 'no' so why don't all of you just FUCK OFF!"

They sloped off mumbling and she thought this was brilliant and continued to flirt with me, proclaiming that a 17 year age gap didn't matter to her and she'd call me in the week

Life eh?

No comments:

Post a Comment

Your turn to speak...
Feel free to disagree but insults and insinuations
will get your comment deleted.