If you know me at all, you know that I will usually only permit body contact upon satisfaction of one or both of the following conditions: 1) that it is Friday; and 2) that you have bought me drink and/or dinner.
Clearly I need to practice how to communicate these conditions into Italian. After we completed a 2 hours (plus) hike from Monterosso to Vernazza, we collapsed into café chairs and ordered the biggest beers the barista could bring us.
It was then that the barista regaled us with stories about the services he provided to exhausted tourists at his bar. To name but a few, he was bartender, psychologist, and masseur.
It was then that he put down his tray to grab my shoulders and then plunge each thumb right into the knots in my base of my shoulder blades. Kneading for about three seconds, I was feeling a mix of shock horror and absolute bliss. I was feeling violated and bloody fantastic at the same time. Mum confided that she felt pretty nervous that she might be next.
Too tired to protest, I let him have his grope and then sent him back to the kitchen for bruschetta. And I didn’t tell anyone just how good it felt either.
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