DIRT: the grunge diaries (𝒱𝒾𝒸𝓉𝑜𝓇𝒾𝒶'𝓈 𝓋𝑒𝓇𝓈𝒾𝑜𝓃)

entry #48 - all that she wants ?

So. We had a really nice dinner at the Italian restaurant, even though my plate of pasta was too, too big, and I couldn't finish it. I didn't have a single doubt that he would've, but Sean took care of the bill and left me whining in disappointment for a solid quarter an hour. If I only stopped to whine, it was because I put up a little show at the checkout, and I had the cashier believe I was Italian. The cashier was, big big surprise, the owner of the restaurant, he really did believe I was Italian, and gave us a reasonable discount on the bill. After all the wine that we drank, and after Sean ate thrice as much as I did, and even ate my leftovers, it was much appreciated to see the bill deflating of a solid fifty bucks. I am still a bit pissed at him now, but doing much better with my conscience than I was doing when Sean flashed the credit card.

The owner of the restaurant was very nice to us, and asked us to come over for a good food fix whenever we're in town. Sean didn't understand shit, but I did, and I appreciated the kindness of a full blooded Italian... to a not Italian Italian like me. I told Mario, the owner of the restaurant, to add fellatio to the menu. In a pretty neat Italian that I've picked up from Chrissie. He laughed in my face. Then got himself back up and nodded like he was intrigued by my suggestion. He told me I have a cute accent. And waved me goodbye with a 'Ciao bella ! Ciao fratello. Lui ha pagato il conto, adesso si merita un po' di fellatio'. My non Italian, Italian heart is happy. But also confused. What's 'he paid the bill, now he deserves his fellatio' mean? That you eat fellatio after a meal like it's ... dessert ?

Fellatio is probably ice cream, or cheesecake, I get it. And hopefully, once we're done drinking a beer, sitting in reverse on his Kawasaki in the middle of a darkened boulevard, I'll have my loverboy ride our asses to the nearest Italian ice cream shop, and I'll offer him a much deserved fellatio.

I spent the last few minutes swinging off my beer, cigarette between my lips, laughing my ass off and trying to tame my loverboy, oddly turned on by the fact that I can speak a little bit of Italian. I don't know why's that, but everytime I open my mouth and speak in a language that ain't English, he has that horny glimmer in his eyes. He looks at me with em little flirty eyes, grabs me by the waist, stands behind me and tells me he's hard as stone. Then smacks himself against me and proceeds to show me exactly how hard as stone. Not Stone Gossard. I think. We have a Stone Gossard inside joke, it doesn't really make sense, it gets pretty cringe when the stone thing we're talking about is Sean's peepee, and I can feel it against my butt cheeks, but does it matter ? No, it doesn't. As long as shit is funny and as long as I keep getting him up, one way or another, I don't mind it.

For the first time since I've known Sean, he's shown some bland interest about where in the world I hail from. But I kept it real vague, à la Victoria, and I didn't provide him with an actual answer. He kept asking me if I'm Italian, and convincing him that I ain't from the exotic, Mediterranean peninsula was hard... indeed harder than his peepee, after I showcased my Italian speaking skills at the restaurant. But convincing him that I ain't even European was a full fledged mission. He has no idea where I'm from, he's even more confused now than he was when he began to ask me question about it... and he's finally given up on his curiosity a while back. But we're still here, drinking and smoking, smoking and drinking, sitting in reverse on his Kawasaki Eliminator 900. A darkened boulevard of Salt Lake City is the place. 12:45 is the time on the clock. At least so says the clock of an open all night kinda supermarket.

I gasp with surprise, Sean just laughs into my ear and kisses my head. I thought it'd been just minutes, but in reality, we've been wasting away together for a solid hour here.Time flies when we're together, hours pass like mere minutes, and the flow of time is totally out of control. This guy and I have spent the last entire hour talking about pretty much everything, besides what are our plans for the rest of the night. We're sitting here, in the middle of nowhere on top of a fancy two wheeler, he's given me his jacket because mine wasn't enough to keep me warm from the fall breeze. We're drinking beer, matching Bud that I've somehow been able to pay for, at the open all night store of above. I'm smoking my usual nicotine, while he's smoking his usual weed. His arms are around me, and my head is thrown back on his shoulder. When we aren't taking a pull or puffing on our sticks of choice, we're smooching. I thought we had plans to head back to the hotel and make love, like he said while we were at the restaurant... but guess what? Reset. Change of the plans. Sean writes the rules, Cherry just follows them.