Rendezvous with My First Lover

Why is that you always hear from a past lover in those times when you least expect it? Today, I was minding my own business, when I received the unexpected call. I recognized his voice immediately.

There was a bit of uneasiness in his words that followed after he identified himself: “How are you? How is work? Have you found a job?”

He was my first lover, but neither of us has actually been in love with the other; we had always kept our attraction for each other low key and secret, since he has a family and a “wife” (to understand why wife is in quotes, please read my former post Runaway Love about how unions between a man and a women are recognized by some Sicilians). In fact, I have never given him my number, he obviously received it from one of my cousins giu (down South; literally means down or below, and is a way to refer to Southern Italy).

Years ago, after a theatrical chase and purposely created sexual tensions (I was saying “no” and he was insisting on “yes”), he and I had spent an unforgettable, drama and emotion filled night together — I would angrily slap his face every time he said my name wrong and he in turn would aggressively rip off another piece of my clothing. I did not know if he was saying my name wrong on purpose, but either way his reaction heightned my excitment. We consummated our desire for each other in a vineyard on a cold winter night, with a full moon spotlighting our shameless act.

I think back to that night, and know that any man from any other background, would never act with such intensity for the sake of being dramatic nor would they find my purposely disobedient non-submissive conduct so attractive. An American man would never find drama, fighting and lust that borderlines hate or my antics magnetic. An American man does not have the edge to pull off up-front crudeness with sex appeal.  

But regardless of the attraction between us, today I feel differently about him. At that time I was not fully aware of his circumstances. Now that I know his situation I feel a responsibility to keep my feelings capped, and to recognize him truly for what he is, furbo (sly). Being that we have relatives in common, we have always been cordial to each other the few times we have seen each other since that night, and I avoid being alone with him, while he avoids direct eye contact with me.

I feel that he is like all the other Sicilian men I have encountered since living here:  Always thinking of themselves first, married or single, they are constantly trying to conquer a pretty woman in order to upkeep and assure themselves of their raw Southern machismo. Just like furbo, as soon as their female companion turns her back, or as soon as she is out of sight, they take their chances and go out on the prowl for a one-time thrill.

So when he said he was passing through Firenze and he wanted to meet for a caffè, I accepted, but I was not sure if caffè equaled sex. I called one of my good male friends, who I thought would give me a straight male opinion.

“Well maybe he just wants to meet with his old lover for coffee, there is nothing wrong with that,” my American male friend said.

“But do you think he is calling me to have sex?” I asked.

“This is a question for Christine,” he said reminding me that he was not one of my girlfriends.

Well my friend Christine and I gave furbo the benefit of the doubt. I met him.

I waited for him; he walked towards me with that walk, that Sicilian unrefined walk where their male organs go first and the rest confidently follows.

We talked for a good 20 minutes. Small talk. Then I said I should be getting back. Somehow, someway, he got me into his vehicle. He said he would bring me back to the bus stop. I could not say no. I mean what do I say, “no I cannot be alone with you because I am afraid I’ll start tearing off your clothes.” That’s ridiculous.

So we waited for the bus. It came and went without notice. I said “there’s my bus,” but he ignored it. So I had to ask if this meeting was a secret, if anyone knew he was visiting me.

Those questions opened the door.

We talked about that night — if there was regret, if there was a tie between us. He asked if I ever wanted to repeat it. That is when I started thinking about how much it hurt me, when I found out that my ex, the Albanian, was cheating on me. I do not want to do that to another woman, especially when I know that I am not in love with furbo. If I was in love with him, I would take the risk, I would fight for him, and he vice-versa; but our feelings for each other can only go so deep.

We are from two completely different worlds. He could never fully understand me, just because of the way he was brought up to view a woman’s role in society. And I could never be what his “wife” is to him and his children. Sometimes, it makes me sad, but I am happy that we both can recognize that it could never be. He is the only man that I have had relations with and I can truly say I have no hatred or negative feelings towards him.

“Of course I would [like to do that again], but you are not free, you have a family. And in the end, I will be left with nothing. So no,” I said.

He understood and made it clear that he did not call me to sleep with me. Sure of course not. I tried to probe deeper to understand how he could have a family yet, look for other women.

“I do not look for other women, you are the only one that, that has happened with,” he said. “And it never happens to me … I am happy; I have my kids … giu we have a saying that it is okay to have an  avventura (adventure) once in a while.”

I wonder if his “wife” knows that.