Renaissance of the Heart - Part 3 - Sex Stories

Renaissance of the Heart - Part 3

... that the painting was out of my hands. All I could do was wait. The evening brought both entertainment and an encouraging development. I took a taxi to the address that Elanora gave me. It was in a kind of wine bar that was attached to an old hall that had polished floors and intricately carved wooden gargoyles around the interior. She was just tuning up as a few people were arranging chairs and others were mingling at the bar. Elanora came towards me with a look on her face that said she had something important to say. “Cindy! I’m pleased you could make it. I’ll introduce you to the others in a second. Anyway I have some news!” “What is it?” “My friend Giuseppe is a cartographer at the La Comune di Roma and he did some digging. It turns out Via Azzo Gardino changed in 1960 when they did some restructuring of some crumbled buildings. For some reason it was renamed Via dei Greci and the auction house is still there!” “Wow! Thank you so much. I’ll go there in the morning!” “No worries. And they open at ten.” I ordered a white wine and blackcurrant before taking a seat as Elanora and her cohorts struck up a series of Baroque numbers. The acoustics in the hall were amazing. The bouncy, vivacious cords of the harpsichord morphed into the dancing notes of the violins and cello. It was beautiful and relaxing. I was enchanted by the music and totally impressed by how talented Elanora was, having both scientific and artistic leanings. Afterwards I was introduced to two of Elanora’s ...

... closest friends, including Mima. Mima was a petite and cute mousy-haired girl of 21 or so. She had a distinctly impish smile and sparkling blue-green eyes. She was lovely in every way and seemed to take an immediate fancy to me. She was dressed in a brown suede jacket and black leather skirt. Mima was from Venice but attending university in Rome. She began by competing for my attention with some of Elanora’s circle, who were keen to practice their English but she succeeded in corralling me into the corner by the wooden struts of a staircase. “You are very blonde,” she said. “You find much attention from the guys in Rome?” “Nothing I can’t deal with, but I guess there aren’t many Italian girls like me?” “You don’t look typically Italian,” said Mima. “But fair hair is not so rare.” She twizzled her own sandy brown locks as she spoke and gave me a look, which was quite overtly flirtatious. “Are you taking vacation?” she asked. I explained the purpose of the trip, but gave a sketched run down of the sights I had seen. It was clear I had barely scratched the surface. “I will give you a private tour if you like,” she said, becoming a little giggly. She was one of those people who had a habit of tapping your wrist or elbows she spoke. She insisted on buying me another drink and as she drank she talked more and as she talked, she became more touchy feely, the taps turning into delicate strokes of my hand. I think I must have reacted in some way and Mima noticed. “Ha don’t mind me, ...