Lavacious Lotharios – A town somewhere in Italy

I caught her fist about an inch away from his jaw – just before it connected.  Admittedly he deserved to be hit.  After all they had been following us for over an hour up and down the market streets , pestering us with requests to go out with them, trying to touch us up and blocking our way so we couldn’t move along.  No definitely meant a yes in their minds so no matter how many times we told them to buzz off,  like the irritating insects they were, they ignored us.

My friend and myself were on  two-week, two centred holiday, having left work and the boyfriends at home for bit of relaxation and respite.   We had already explored Austria and eaten so much chocolate that when melted we could have bathed in it .  It was not the skiing season but it was still bloody cold at night and our remote hotel was pretty much deserted apart from the staff who we soon developed firm friendships with (they had nothing to do either) over the bar.   After dinner which always seemed to be sauerkraut based  (not a culinary delight in my eyes!) we would repair to the open fire with a drink and play cards (as you can see a real happening place).  My mate decided to teach me how to play ‘Spit’ a  completely inane card game that seems to be based on Snap – only more violent.  Fueled by the local fire water and on cocoa highs these games had a habit of turning loud, competitive and dangerous  (you could lose a hand and at the best be raked by sharp nails the way that girl played!) .  Needless to say I lost a lot – mainly from the fear of my blood being let.

Having survived  high blood sugar levels, a women with a strike quicker than a snake and potent home-made hooch we boarded the bus for Italy.   Now I’ve had worse rides since then but let’s just say that careering down that mountain road, swerving to the side  where the sheer drop was to avoid a car driving around the blind bend in the middle of said road and being hit by the luggage falling out of the overhead compartments as the bus tilted out into the abyss before righting itself,  was the closest I’d ever come to meeting my maker at that point in my life.   I could not have been happier when I arrived at the Italian beach resort where we were staying for the next week.  Unfortunately,  the local men felt the same way about our arrival and were way too friendly for our, and probably their wives, liking.

The incident took place on a Friday night  (ladies you know what I mean about Friday night because I can hear you groaning in sympathy).   Now for those of you who are new to travelling or have never experienced the mating rituals of the local village ‘boys’ coming into town after a week’s work with a little bit of cash to splash…………..fortune has smiled upon you.    The joys of being sexually harassed by dozens of budding lotharios is something to be avoided at all possible costs.    After roaring into town on their bikes, trikes, or souped up cars,  fueled up with totesterone and alcohol they proceed to stalk the ladies, usually tourists, in the belief that we are all gagging for it and will be unable to resist their smooth patter,  irresistible charm and handsome looks.

After an hour of being followed in and out of shops, invading our personal space, refusing to “piss off ,  trying to steal kisses and making ‘accidental’ body contact,  my friend had had enough.  Out of the corner of my eye  I saw her fist arc towards the main pain’s’s  jaw and,  with the image of a police cell flashing in my mind, fielded it into my palm before any damage was done.  It was a close call and I saw the shock in his eyes as that clenched fanged hand hit out for the punch.   Thwarted my friend decided to shout at him instead thus drawing the attention of the locals and causing him to back off spitting abuse at us as he went.     After she had calmed down we went back to our the hotel for an alcoholic pick me up (purely medicinal) where we could relax and be free from the attentions of the local Romeos.    Emboldened by my lightening reflexes and a couple of glasses of brandy I challenged  her to a game of ‘spit’, after all  my reaction time had obviously been honed from all that practice in Austria and I figured that I had a pretty good chance of winning for once!


8 thoughts on “Lavacious Lotharios – A town somewhere in Italy

  1. Great writting … Italian men are what they are .. and they never give up. Know it from my stay in Rome .. going to be a post one day. They think they are gods gift to us, women *smile .. glad you’re came out good: Thought Greek man was “bad” – Italian, different breed. Great story.

  2. You paint a very vivid picture. While this sort of harassment should never be condoned or tolerated, you have at lease turned the lemon of it into a interesting lemonade. Just one question, did you win?

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