Mr. Rome

I was in Rome for the weekend. I didn’t know his name at first. He offered me a beer. And then he kept buying me drinks. And I kept accepting them.

We walked the streets of Rome, laughing, taking pictures… He was funny, I was charming, and we were both in Rome. Drunk.

And then we had a bonding moment a few hours later by a trashcan.

Classy, I know.

I had been in a relationship for the previous 3 years. I was in a different country, for various reasons, but one of them to run away from my feelings. To forget. To heal.

But that night I felt that I was ready to rebel.

What had love gotten me? Nothing but a broken heart. Why did I keep myself pure for so long to just give it up to someone who broke my heart in the end? I decided then that I was done thinking that love and fairytales and all those other things were actually true. Or that they were at least worth all the effort. I was done trying to be good, trying to find love. I wanted to have fun. I wanted to have a lot of fun.

So I decided I would have my first one nightstand. When in Rome…

On our way to the hotel, he bought me a rose. He invited me in his room and ran us a bubble bath- rose petals, candles and all… I wondered if all one-night stands started this way? This was better than what I had the previous 3 years.

So we fucked. All night. Until eventually one of us passed out.

I woke up and he was still asleep. There was a box of condoms on the bedside table. The sheets were wrapped around half of his body. He was a boxers kinda guy. I didn’t mind.

For the first time I noticed where I really was- this was an incredible room. Spacious with beautiful furniture and big windows with heavy curtains blocking out the sunlight- I pushed them to the side and peeked to see Rome before me. The sun was already up but it was early. The streets were busy, you could see a few vespas zooming by, and in the distance, a sliver of the Coliseum stood out, as if to remind me where I was. That’s right, fucking Rome.

I always imagine I would feel weird after sleeping with someone I barely knew. I used to think sex was something so sacred, so intimate. My theory was that when you had sex with someone, both of your spirits combined and a deeper connection between both people took place.

It’s not that I still didn’t believe that when I woke up that morning in Rome. It’s just that I learned that sex could just be sex- raw and dirty and lustful. That is, if you wanted it to be that way. If you instilled it in your mind that it was all it was. And I could do that. I was great at pretending.

Because certainly that is what you do when you have sex with someone you barely know. You kiss them like you love them, you look into their eyes like you can actually see them, really see them. You hold them, you caress them, you do all the little things you would with someone you love. The only difference is that you don’t actually love them. You don’t even really care about them. You use them for your pleasure, and they use you for theirs.

Still, I had a good time.

Once he woke up, Mr. Rome ordered room service and later walked me out to a taxi. I was going back to Paris that morning.

He kept in touch with me for a long time- calling me long distance when I was still in Paris, texting and emailing me often. We used to talk on the phone, sometimes for a long time. He actually listened to what I had to say. He actually cared.

A few months went by. I had come to see him as a great friend, while he had fallen in love with me. We kept in touch for years after. But he was always trying to whisk me away, to make me his, and I never wanted to belong to him.

One day, not too long ago, actually, I had to tell him that I never thought we could have a relationship.

He disappeared from my life.

Wherever you are, Mr. Rome, I thank you for giving me an experience that I will never forget. You were gentle and kind, too much for your own good, and you treated me like a princess.

I wish I had learned how to love you. I wish it had been that easy. We would have had a good story to tell our kids and grandkids (except for all the drinking we did that night- and we would have to censor the sex part too and maybe change it to a kiss). Someday I still wonder what would’ve happened if I had let you whisk me away… or if I never let you buy me a drink at the bar.

I learned more with you than a lot of other people that have tried to teach me about life. So here’s to you- I hope you find someone with an enormous heart to love and take care of you. You deserve it.

And, of course, thank you for helping me rebel. It was awesome.

Love,

Gia.