I looked away, but I saw her reflection in the window as I quickly closed the curtains. For a brief moment she bent, back arched, as she pushed out of her shoes, then stood up. Everything about her was perfectly sculpted, supple and curvy and feminine but strong at the same time, her blocky, almost angular shoulders complimenting the sweeping curves of her tight waist, bubble butt and muscular thighs. She glanced over her shoulder.
“You alright?”
“F-fine,” I stammered.
“Oh come on, nothing you haven’t seen before. I’m taking a shower before we go out.”
“Go out?”
“Of course. Aren’t you hungry?”
“Oh. Right.”
“You should take one, too. You smell like airplane.”
By the time she came out, I was sitting on my bed wrapped in a towel, trying but failing to be so at ease and calm in my own skin. She was no more modest when she emerged from the shower, happily drying her hair with a towel while making absolutely no effort to cover myself. I struggled between looking openly and turning away, but there was no hiding from her. She was in the window, in the dark screen of the television set, her unbelievably beautiful body everywhere at once. So I looked over and took a good look. Her stomach was flat but soft at the same time, hinting at muscles when she moved, the most prominent being those little channels around her belt-line that runners get. Every muscle in her legs was sculpted out perfectly. Even her feet were pretty. I managed to force myself not to look as she moved, but stole glances between her legs anyway. When she bent to pull up a fresh pair of underwear her breasts swayed under her, big pink nipples tightening in the cool air of the hotel room. She didn’t bother with a bra and put on a light camisole top that showed a lot of cleavage and hung down over her tights, and finished it all with a pair of sandals.
“What are you waiting for? Shower up,” she said.
I squeaked in alarm and rushed into the bathroom and under the hot water, and leaned on the wall, trying to catch my breath. I couldn’t stop thinking about her body, her soft lips and warm smile, and I was thinking about her in ways that didn’t make any sense. I was thinking about her the way a boy might, imagining what it would feel like to hold those big breasts in my hands or slide my fingers between her legs along the smooth, delicate outer lips. Even her pussy was beautiful. Before I realized it I had my hand between my legs, rubbing at my clit. I twisted the knobs until the water went cold and forced everything else out of my mind. When I threw the curtain back I yelped and almost fell as I threw my arms everywhere to cover myself. Sheila was standing in front of the sink, brushing her teeth.
“What?” she said.
I inched past her, shivering, and ran out into the room. I dried off and dressed quickly.
She leaned out the door. “You’re wearing that?”
“What’s wrong with it?”
She shrugged.
Once I was dressed, we left the room. I kept rubbing my arms and looking at the floor. I was beet red and I knew it.
“Never had any sisters?”
I jumped. “Oh, no, I’m an only child.”
“Tragic. I didn’t know I’d make you uncomfortable. I’ll cover up next time.”
“That’s o-okay,” I said. “Don’t worry about it.”
She smiled and flicked her loose hair over her shoulder. When she cocked her hip and thrust out her chest, my heart sped up.
“Ready to hit the town?”
I nodded.
“Good. Come on.”
She grabbed my hand and led me out. I was starting to wonder where everyone else was. Probably spending their meal allowance on their own. Rome was a pretty safe city, and the others were assigned to groups. Sheila led me outside, got us a cab, and bantered with the driver in Italian too fast for me to follow. The driver looked back me and laughed. By the time he stopped, he was calling Sheila bella, bella, beautiful. He said something to me and she pushed me out of the cab and paid him before I had a chance to piece it all together. Taking my hand, she led me inside and again my ‘conversational italian’ was all but useless in keeping up with her. She spoke like a native.
“You’re really good,” I said, as she pulled out my chair.
“I spent summers in Italy when I was a child,” she said. “My grandmother was Italian. Immersion is the fastest way to learn.”
When the waitress came, Sheila ordered for me.
“What am I having?”
“Veal,” she said, absently.
Then the wine came. I wasn’t old enough to drink for another six months, at least in America. Sheila drank it like it was nothing, and I hesitated before tasting. Wine was a little strong for my tastes and I winced.