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When he visits his Mistress it turns out to be a special day. Porn Video

One woman's quest to change her life.

Capoliveri is without cars. Its stepped streets and narrow vicoli, impossible to navigate with anything larger than a motorbike, serve as art galleries, patios and dance floors in the summer months.

I gave each photograph due attention and asked Vittorio questions about the ones I found particularly intriguing. For his part, he accompanied me politely throughout the exhibit. I later joined the French couple at their table, and Vittorio went to tend to one of the three young girls; the one who seemed the least enthusiastic about my presence. I had, at this point, passed through various stages of exhaustion and come out on the other side. Getting off the ferry, I hadn't known how I would make it through an aperitivo. Now the interview in the office of the Prefettura seemed part of a distant past, and I was looking forward to the beach.

I was ready.

I wasn't ready.

"Daniele can do it without shoes," Vittorio boasted. My gaze fell upon the craggy landscape between where we stood and the cove below and then upon the wedge sandals I was wearing.

"Challenge accepted." I took them off.

The others went ahead in their sneakers. Vittorio followed. I was left with Patrick/Spencer, who shrugged, presumably at his best friend's utter lack of chivalry, before taking my hand. He knew this moonscape well, and brought me safely (if clumsily) to the water's edge. There, two of the girls were lighting candles in metal cups filled with pebbles. Daniele placed them around the base of the cliffs so that their light revealed the shapes and scars in the stone. Vittorio was perched above on an outcropping beside the third girl, the unhappy one. She had set up a tripod and he was helping her to frame the shot he would later send to me as a memento. I sat down on beside Patrick/Spencer on his blanket and helped him to pour the wine.

The moon was setting. It was like a dream.

I remember lying back on the blanket to look up at the stars while the others recounted the day's exploits. Daniele offered me his backpack as a pillow.

"America," he said, as if it were my name, "ti piace Star Wars?"

"Si, mi piace."

He spoke at length about the galaxy while I drifted. Then he was gone, and Vittorio was tugging insistently at my wrist.

"Come," he said.

While I got my bearings, he slipped out of his shoes and his green t-shirt. I watched him as, with unlikely agility, he climbed the rocks and dove into the sea. I wasn't about to dive. I wasn't even about to wade, but to bathe in the Mediterranean in the moon and candlelight was not an opportunity that had afforded itself in as many years as I'd been on earth. I supposed I might never have another chance. The girls, higher up on the beach with Simone, surely commented on my imperfections when I stood and let my sundress fall at my feet and, not quite as naked as Venus, stepped into the wine dark sea.

"Do you see the places that are... scuro?" Vittorio called out to me.

"Si."

"Don't step in those places."

"Buon consiglio."

The water was eerily warm when it lapped at my ankles, eerily calm as I moved through its depths to where he waited.

"Incredibile?" he asked when I reached him.

The droplets on our faces shone like quicksilver. "Surreal."

"Ah, si, surreale." We were looking at each other, but like any two people would. There was nothing there, nothing between us but the sea. And it wasn't a disappointment. There was no awkwardness. It was merely the mutual absence of allure.

"Not so many Americans see this side," he told me.

"Virgil's beach? Your uncle's bar? Your cousin's flat? Your childhood friends? This?"

"I don't know if it's Virgil's beach."

"It is."

"Okay, it is."

I looked back at the candles burning on the shore, at the five figures casting shadows.

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