The sex had been so good, I was still thinking about it almost a week later.
This was not like me, at all, and if someone had told me this would happen, I wouldn’t have believed them. And yet, here I am, thinking about The Unexpected Italian, days later, perhaps with no end in sight.
Let me rewind for a second: The Unexpected Italian is not my usual type. He’s not a pompous, literature-loving douchebag, for starters. He’s also younger than me–we all know I’m not too much into that. He’s taller than me, but not by much. He’s smart but maybe that doesn’t always show because he’s also a frat boy at heart.
Now, he’s not the typical frat boy. Deep down, I’m fairly certain he’s a good guy. He cares about trust and friendship and getting to know someone, not just getting some from them (but, of course, he’s not the type to turn that down). I also really enjoyed his company: just hanging out and chatting with him, the time goes by so quickly.
But I’m not thinking about the chats, or what we watched on television, or anything like that.
I’m still thinking about the sex. Continue reading