When I finished grad school, I went to Naples to teach English and study Italian. The school was in a small nearby town that I traveled to by train.

Before and after my classes, I’d hang out at a bar near the train station. Gina, a petite woman about my age, had a way of bending over to wipe the tables in the bar in her usually low-cut shirt. It was an act I obviously noticed, as did the Italian patrons. Her ample breasts hung there for all to enjoy. But, unlike the Italians, I was the one usually caught peeking.

The first time she noticed me looking, I quickly looked away. As she headed back to the bar, she bent down to grab my empty glass and whispered in my ear, “So you like Italian girls, eh?”

I felt my face flush. I followed her with my eyes, watching her ass shift in her tight... Read More