Rome Antics

While I didn’t get up to much kinky while I was away, I did pick up a fair bit of leather, including a gorgeous butterscotch leather jacket, a belted, black vest, and a really cool pair of black leather gloves that fit snugly to the hand and wrist, only to puff all the way to the elbow.

Funny thing, gloves. I love the idea of them and I have several pair, including custom made La Crasias of the thinnest, softest leather that come up nearly to my elbows and have that fetishizable, three button closure at the wrist. I have “past the elbow” gauntlets that sleeve my arm quite sexily. Two or three pairs of lined, wrist length leather gloves for winter. And a gorgeous, cheek-soft, Italian pair I got in Venice last year whose wrists fold back to reveal a red, red leather contrast lining.

I love wearing gloves to keep my hands warm, but wearing leather gloves in session is a little counterintuitive. It’s like sense deprivation for me. Touch is such a part of my play that covering up my hands removes, like, 30% of my sensory input. Maybe more. And all the gloves I have are seamed on the inside, so my fingers feel thick and dull when I wear them. If I ever was to offer some sort of paraphilia session, though, I think it’d be for the gloves. Heck, I derailed my own blog post to talk about them!

Where was I? Oh, yes. Rome. Prego.

So I didn’t get up to much kinky. Mostly I ate. “When in Rome” and all meant I was doing the multi-course primi piatti e secondi piatti at every meal. I’d gotten recommendations from my food friends and done a lot of Internet research on where to go. At Maccheroni, my first night in Roma, I sat in the “kitchen room” with a prime view of the cooks (I have a chef fetish, of all things. I do.) as well as a glimpse of the tables full of animated Italians on the cobblestoned street outside. My hunky, handsome waiter asks, “Where are you from?” “New York,” I tell him. “Oh, I am going to LOVE you!” he promised, his tongue unfurling dramatically over Love.

Tucking into my carbonara and carpaccio, I fantasized about pinning his shoulders under my knees and …

At the end of the meal, I told him I wanted just a taste of something sweet. He brought a shot glass brimming with lemon sorbetto and a card with his contact info on it. “Lovely Pirate” it said.

Dining alone’s not always a bad thing.