Your lips said “Ciao bella,” but your eyes penetrated me, licking every inch of my skin with your leer. Your sultry silhouette catches the corner of my eye before moving on… yet you linger. I briefly see the sides of your mouth curl up as you pass, a reaction to my soft and supple curves. Though I don’t turn back, I exhale with the usual disgust. You keep walking, not surprised by another social transaction with no profit in it for you. I also realize in a secret place I won’t ever admit, I savor that your attention is mine.
In your mind, you want to grab my perky, round ass and stick your tongue down my throat. Underneath my steely gaze, I dare you to try. Dai italiano, mostrami l’uomo che tu sei1. I’m not the American girl who will fall into your bed with just a flash of your easy smile or the melodic words dancing out of it. I’m the Mexican-American girl who understands everything you say and wants no part of it. I don’t need to ride an Italian stallion like you to make the most of my time in your country.
You’re not unattractive. Hell, you could even be cute if not for your blatant, unraveling stare.
Photo by Larm Rmah on Unsplash
