Somewhere end of the 70s, I lived in London working on an antique bus trying to get Punters (possible buyers) to the Army and Navy stores in Victoria. We used to go along Trafalquar Square and have lunch at the Whitehall Theater.
One of the first days I was there, I was looking at the window display, the driver, a bit of a Jack the Lad was somewhat smirking so I knew something was up, even though I really did not have a clue.
You see at that time, that theater had a sexy kind of nude show going on and of course if you looked in their windows you could see it.
The thing the driver did not know was that I had already seen Turkish Fruit and Frank & Eva (both some what sexmovies) at the tender age of 15/16 with permission of my parents, so I knew who everything worked before I ever fell seriously in love at 18 with my first hubby to be.
And this was already quite a couple of years later, so quite frankly I was not all that fascinated by the display.
“Nice isn’t it”; he asked while sauntering over, “mwah”; I said: “most of them are naked, a bit boring, what is it all about??”
Before he could answer I was picked up in a huge bear hug: “Dahling how are you??”
An absolute gorgeous lean but muscly looking Rhodesian hugged me rather intense while I was somehow trying to get out of his grip.
And me being utterly useless at recognising even my nearest and dearest at the best of times, all of a sudden realised that I got cuddled by my former upstairs neighbour Wally from Sussex Gardens.
He was a weird but sweet guy, who had been in some war, msut have lost the little brain he started off with and since lived and worked in London.
I had almost slept with him, but I was not terribly impressed with his compliments and admiration for my childbearing hips during our almost lovemaking. It somehow turns a girl off especially if she weighs only 57 kg.
Quite frankly there are precious few things less sexy and it had been enough to stop all of it and move downstairs back into my own bed.
The end of a very short almost love affair, but that had been at least two years back, if not longer and now he was hugging me like there was no tomorrow.
“How have you been? What are you doing here…” I looked him down once more and said “well actually, what are you doing here??”
He blustered somewhat and said he was dancing in this show, the girls next to him, somewhat laughed and I said: “yeahhh”, like I understood, totally.
“Listen, I have to work, how come you are here, can we meet up later, where do you live??”
I explained my job, told him I would probably come in most lunchtimes and lived somewhere around Notting Hill with 8 Italian boys, which sounded a lot more interesting than it actually was.
“Hmmm” said my driver who was at least 20 years older than I was: “so you live with 8 Italian boys hey…?” I gave him my best snare and said: “yeah and you happen to be married and we have to work quite a long time together…”
Anyway if someone would have asked a couple of weeks earlier, I could have told them in all honesty that I lived with 10 Italian boys, instead of just 8.
That I had possibly the smallest room with the exception of the toilet with just a little leg room around my single bed in order to leave my suitcases standing up and that room was off limits to all of them.
Never was I ever accosted or bothered.
Living with so many men means that you have 10 brothers all Italians and in case you do not know, are very strictly protective with their female family members, not always a pleasure, quite often a bother
But somehow always my karma!
I will tell you more about it tomorrow
Have a great day !