Innocence Abroad

I thought of the title for this after remembering Mark Twain's Innocence Abroad. I was a 20 year old, introverted, self centered, religious, virgin college kid. My grandmother, a world traveler insisted I go on a semester abroad. I was singed up for and sent to Florence, Italy. The flight, the small apartment, my three roommates, the food, the school, all made me uncomfortable. I was so anxious I asked to return home. My grandmother would have none of it, and I had to stay.

I was alone, I wasn't interested in making friends. On one of the tours the school arranged I saw David's statue, I stood at the foot of the statue, entranced by the detail of the sculpture, and particularly the penis. I memorized it, went back on my own. I started to focus on my roommates, on their penis, on my penis. Looking at men, boys, thinking about kissing them, about their penis. But David was my favorite, I spent a lot of my free time there, focused on David's penis.

A man, an artist also hung out there, he sketched the statue over and over again. He had seen me, he brought over a charcoal sketch of David's penis, in its glorious detail. He was from Prague, he asked me a few questions, insisting on giving me the sketch. With the crowd around us, he rubbed his hand across my penis, just a light touch and asked if I wanted to get a coffee.

We walked to a small shop, he told me of his life, he told me he had seen me many times. He asked if I needed a friend. After the coffee he convinced me to go with him to his apartment, a bus ride, a walk, I was lost, a walk up, a small studio. He showed me his sketches, of all sorts, details of bricks, sketches of tourist girls, and boys. He asked if I wanted a kiss. With his hand on my penis he kissed me on the lips. He unzipped and undid my pants and sucked on my penis. He undid his pants, already erect he offered me his penis. There I was, with unknown man, in an apartment I could never find again, with his penis in my mouth.

He took me step by step, until in a final act of lust he penetrated me in a glorious finali. In the morning he took me back to the museum, with my sketch under my arm and I went back to my apartment, my roommates were worried, I lay on my bed feeling him still inside me. The rest of my stay in Florence went by fast, I went back to the statue but never saw the sketch artist again. I returned to Philadelphia, I sucked a couple of men, I let a man fuck me. I got braver and braver until I had enough self confidence to talk to, approach, be approached, have sex with men.

I graduated on time, I moved to the anonymity of New York, met a man and moved in, broke up, played around, until I grew up enough to control my sex drive. I had my sketch framed and it hangs in my living room. A reminder of Florence, David, and the sketch artist. And the loss of my innocence abroad.