Chapter Ten- Dior #3
“Yeahhh, this is my fuckinggg pussy,” Buddha said, before sinking his teeth into my shoulder. A single drop of water rolled out of my eye as I orgasmed. Grabbing Buddha’s waist as my body convulsed.
Buddha kissed me deeply as his strokes picked up. I could tell he was about to cum. This man right here was exactly where I wanted to be.
*****
“This cheese tastes like ass,” I wrote the caption as I sent Buddha the picture of a cheese called Puzzone.
“We need to have a talk about whose ass you ate because it sure wasn’t mine.” The text I received from Buddha made me laugh. I placed my phone in my jeans pocket as I listened to the tour guide.
The tour had been so much fun. There were only five of us, other Americans, and we were having the time of our lives with our tour guides named Marcelo and Enzo.
Marcelo was older, maybe in his late forties, and Enzo was a younger man, maybe in his early twenties, very handsome, with smooth caramel skin, which made me realize he was biracial.
One thing was certain: Italian men sure loved black women.
Enzo’s English was good enough; he did most of the talking, and he spoke with a heavy Italian accent.
Marcelo, I could tell his English wasn’t very good, which was why Enzo gave the history lessons.
Next up was the vineyard, and then we would go to Florence, where Buddha planned on meeting me.
He said he would take me to a famous pizza restaurant.
Even though I was looking forward to it, I was very tired from last night.
Buddha kept me up late, and I was low-key looking forward to getting back to the hotel so I could sleep.
At the vineyard, we participated in something called vendemmia, a famous grape harvest where you can crush grapes with your bare feet. Enzo encouraged each of us to climb in barefoot and dance around, making good use of our soles to crush the grapes.
By the time we made it to Florence in a very colorful tour bus, I couldn’t wait to meet up with Buddha.
He told me he was already in town waiting for me.
His father, Francesco, and Luca had gone back to the hotel.
Buddha said he would be waiting at the front of the famous cathedral.
Of course, I had no clue where that was, so I asked Enzo to direct me.
He alerted everyone in the group that they had to meet where we stood and gave a time, so that everyone except me would be back at this spot.
The visit to Florence was the only time everyone was allowed to split up and go in different directions to do their own thing.
“Come, I’ll take you to the cathedral,” Enzo said, with his usual warm, friendly smile. I followed him as he led the way, taking in all the sights as I did. Florence was a beautiful city filled with a shitload of tourists like me.
“Thank you for taking this tour. It was nice meeting you,” Enzo made small conversation as he walked me to the cathedral.
“It was so much fun. You and Marcelo are great tour guides. Have you lived in Italy all your life?”
“Si, but my mamma lived in America once,” Enzo said. I was surprised by this, but I guess that explains his English, even though it wasn’t perfect.
“Oh wow, that’s pretty dope,” I said, keeping an eye out for Buddha as we got closer to the cathedral.
“Dope,” Enzo repeated and then laughed. “My mamma has a small cafe not far from the cathedral, maybe you can go in and have a pastry.”
“I would love that. I see Buddha, he’s right there,” I pointed out Buddha to Enzo.
Buddha stood out like a sore thumb. His tall frame was dressed in a light-blue shirt and slim-fit black jeans, with sunglasses on his face to protect his eyes from the sun.
I waved him as I got closer. I could tell he was sizing up Enzo, making sure I had been in good hands all day.
“Hey,” I said, greeting Buddha, who bent and kissed me. “This is Enzo, he was my tour guide for the day. Once he was done sizing Enzo up, he stretched his hand out in greeting.
“Nice to meet you, Enzo. I hope she wasn’t too much trouble,” Buddha said, hugging me protectively at his side.
“No, Dior is a very nice lady.”
“Enzo was telling me that his mother owns a small cafe around here. Why don’t you take me to get a bomboloni?” Buddha lifted his eyebrow at my pronunciation of the pastry.
“Your Italian is getting better, I see. Enzo, why don’t you lead the way?” Hand in hand, Buddha and I followed Enzo. I filled him in on everything we did on our tour, and he listened attentively.
“This way,” Enzo said, walking up to the door that led to his mother’s cafe. Holding it open for us, Buddha and I walked inside. The first thing I noticed was the smell. It was like heaven in here, with the sweet smell of chocolate and confectionery sugar.
The showcase displayed so many different types of Italian pastries that I wanted to try them all.
“I see that greedy spark in your eyes, Dior. Take as many as you like,” Buddha said, highlighting that I loved my belly.
“Enzo, which do you suggest? Does your mother make these from scratch?” I turned to Enzo as I asked my question.
“Yes, she does. Let me go get her, she’s probably at the back in the cucina (kitchen),” Enzo quickly disappeared to the back of the cafe.
“I think he has a crush on you,” Buddha said, looking in the direction Enzo went. I laughed at what he said because that was ridiculous. I was way too old for Enzo to be crushing on me.
“Do I look like a cougar to you?” I asked Buddha. He was about to answer me when Enzo spoke up behind me.
“Dior, please meet my mamma.”
I frowned not at what Enzo said but at the expression on Buddha’s face as he looked behind me. It was almost as though he’d seen a ghost.
“What’s wrong with you?” I asked. Buddha muttered something under his breath. I had no idea what he said, so I turned around to see what had him so spooked.
Enzo was standing next to a woman, a very, very beautiful woman.
Even though she was his mother, she seemed very young.
She had a rich caramel complexion and a bob hairstyle with bangs.
She was on the slender side, and she just stood there staring not at me but at Buddha.
Enzo and I exchanged curious glances because we had no clue what was happening.
“Phillipe?” The woman said his name, and then it was obvious that they knew each other.
“Catalina. What the fuck…” Buddha said, stepping forward, and then he stopped suddenly. It was almost as if a light bulb went off in his head.
“Wait, this is your son?” He asked, pointing at Enzo. Buddha took a step back. It took me a couple of seconds, but then I realized who I was looking at. This was Edwardo’s wife, with whom Buddha had an affair all those years ago. What the fuck was she doing here?
Then, I paid closer attention to Enzo. Wait, just a fucking minute. How old was Enzo?
“You had a son? H-how old is he?” Buddha asked exactly what I was thinking.
“I’ll be fifteen next month. How do you know my mother?” Enzo asked with his chest sticking out as though he was ready to drop Buddha on his back.
“Catalina, you had a son?” Buddha repeated again, meanwhile, Catalina just stood there.
Judging by the way she stayed quiet, this could only mean one thing.
I did the calculations in my head at least three times.
Enzo was the right age; I thought he was older because of his height and build.
Plus, what kind of country allows an almost fifteen-year-old to be a tour assistant?
I turned to Buddha, searching his face for answers to one question. He looked at me, and I knew his face alone told me what I needed to know. I pulled my hand away from his.
It was obvious that Enzo was his. This woman, whom Buddha had clearly never gotten over, had his secret child.
To be continued…