Characters: Joe Bradley and Ann / Anya “Smitty” Smith
Media: Roman Holiday (1953)
Played by: Gregory Peck and Audrey Hepburn
Setting: 1950s, Rome
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Joe Bradley is a down-on-his luck news reporter stuck in Rome until he can get out of debt, or at least until he can break a story that’s big enough to get his name in lights.
Princess Ann is on a continental tour visiting every high-profile city in Europe, but she is increasingly dissatisfied with the way her life is controlled by those who take care of her.
Sick of her rushed schedule, Ann is given a sedative and sneaks out of the Coliseum where she is staying during her visit in Rome, and she is mistaken for a drunk by Joe, who reluctantly brings her back to his apartment. However, upon realizing that he’s in possession of the runaway princess, Joe decides to keep her secret and spend the day showing her the city, knowing that he has found the story of a lifetime. However, as Joe and his photographer friend Irving escort Ann around Rome, Joe begins to grow fond of her innocence and charm and wonders how he will ever be able to betray her confidence in him and publish her story to the world.
The house was empty and made its usual noises... that it made because it was old and huge.
Noises that it probably had already made since years, but noises you only notice once you live alone in a place like this.
When you sit in silence over tests, and flinch at the crick-cracking of the cellar door, because the wood is reacting to the temperature change.
Not like I was scared or anything.
The house was weird like this, but I grew up in it. It was fully furnitured and a much better option than paying rent for a shabby small flat.
It was just weird living here without my parents.
When you're the child of two French people, you dislike the rosbifs.
When you're born and raised in Britain, you dislike the frogs.
When you're both, you probably have a difficult childhood.
The positiv thing is: If you're both and Jewish, you at least have a reason to be excentric and a little self-hating.
No matter how hard my parents tried, I am British.
I speak French and I know their customs, but I've never been too France.
British is more easy on my tongue.
Like bloody hell I'd be moving to France with them!
Even if the war was almost two decades ago, we had a non-bombed house here. I could understand them, wanting to see who was still there, still alive. But I had no ties to France.
I had just started studying when they decided to move back.
There was really no reason for me to go with them, except them. And they knew I was a grown up man by then, ready to start my own life, my own family...
They at least waited until I had finished university, but that was a good 4 years ago now.
The house was still creepy, sometimes, with only me inside.
No wonder I flinched when the doorbell rang, I hadn't expected anyone this evening.
To my surprise I immediately recognised my late night guest though.
Himanya Smith...
Family changed their name from Shrivastava for easier intergration...
She preferred to be called Anya as well, wasn't much for tradition.
I would have recognised her anywhere.
Not because she had been as punk-rebell-difficult as one would have thought.
She hadn't. Well, she was always very punk-y dressed, spikey hair, eyeshadow, ripped clothes, quite the sight.
But a punk lady like her is a rare sight on my doorstep.
And an even rarer one in a course about old testamental Hebrew.
To be fair, it did turn out to be not her cup of tea. I could understand that, she seemed more like a coffee person.
Her smirk conjured up memories of when I last saw her.
A sweat soaked shirt, a stuffy nose from dust, a comfy old sofa, the taste of red wine, her warm body.
She had needed a pair of strong arms to help her move out of the student home and into her new flat.
Had asked me and opened a bottle of wine to celebrate afterwards.
I spent the night there, and a substantial amount of time in her.
Anya...
A nickname sticks to your head after you moan it a few dozen times...
She had dropped out, so it was, if not exactly okay, at least not illegal.
She shrugged it off, when I invited her in and asked if it was... still... okay to call her by her first name.
I wondered if she was here because she remembered that night too.
She probably had better sex before and afterwards, considering the wine had both helped and impaired me.
Turns out she did remember it. I had left a very substantial memento behind.
Oh.
I know we used a condom, I distinctly remember fumbling with it...
But not to the extent of failing to properly apply it...
I'm mean I didn't exactly ask her whether she was on the pill, but she liked sex, she wasn't the kind of woman to risk getting pregnant from having fun.
Yet here she was. Flat out telling me that I fathered a child with her.
So this time, we sat down on my sofa.
No wine for either of us though. Just tea.
I was the only one she had been with in the respective time frame.
She made it clear, that there was no doubt to be had.
She smiled, was 'pretty chill' about it.
For me it was pretty clear what had to happen next.
"So do you want to marry before or after?"
"Huh?" she is still smiling, though not knowing what I'm talking about.
"Marriage. Do you want to marry before the child is born or after? I'd suggest before, for legal convenience..."
Her eyes go wide, then she starts laughing, falling back and laughing some more.
She refuses to marry me. Can't blame her, she's a free spirit.
And I'm thankful she gives her personal and sexual freedom as a reason she wont marry someone who'd prefer a monogamous marriage, rather than making it about my person.
She is however more than fine with me seeing the child though, if I pay support, naturally.
That doesn't feel enough, doesn't feel right. Some urge is gnawing on me. Something has woken.
It's my child too, I want to be a responsible and reliable father, even if it wasn't planned and we are not a couple madly in love.
"How about you move in with me...?" Anya tilts her head at me and looks thoughtful for a moment.
"You think that'd be wise, you and me? We don't have much in common. Wont we like---" she stirrs the air with her hands.
"Yeah, I know we are very, uh different, with different interests, but we wont constantly hang on each other, naturally. And it'd be easier on the child than to live in two homes, with shared custody and such. Also my place is closer to campus and the tattoo studio isn't far either."
"So you say I would have it even shorter to work?" That seems to please her. "I want my own room though!" A forefinger pointed at me.
"This house is huge, more rooms than I have use for.” I nodd enthusiastically. “Of course you'll have your own room, like a work room, an office aside from our bedroom." Awkward pause as I realise what I insinuated.
"I mean... uh, your bedroom. Uh, whatever you... prefer." Too blunt. Great.
"Heh hehe. I see." she grins deviously, then changes the topic as if nothing happened... "And you have regular hours, you'd be at home when I have night shift." She scratches her chin, stretching herself a bit.
"I have an iguana though." an expectant pokerface, waiting for my reaction.
Confusion on my part. "So?" I ask carefully, lizards are not exactly the perfect pet for children, but it would be out of reach for the little one.
"It roams free in my flat. In all rooms."
I cringe, almost unwilling to ask... almost.
"... and it... poops everywhere, I suppose?"
She shruggs and nods. "Yeah? Naturally?"
I think she may be testing me.
"... okay... compromise. It doesn't walk around freely, but it gets its own room. All with rocks and succulents and sand, expertly crafted desert habitat... instead of a small terrarium?" my voice is hopeful and nervous. She grins.
"Iguana room." She noods.
"Iguana room." I nodd. "What's its name?"
"Charley."
"Sounds nice." I relax a bit again. Important hurdle successfully mastered.
"What about the bathroom?" apparently another thing of her 'things that speak against her moving in'-list.
"Which one...?" The fluffy caterpillars that are her eyebrows go up, she sits up a bit more straight.
"That sounds good." and leans back again.
Then sits up again. "Bathtub or shower?
"... Uh... bathtub with shower?" I motion how it looks. I am not good at sharading shower bathtubs.
"Eh, that wont do! I need a shower." the mother of my child is greatly displeased.
"But it is a shower?" What's so different about it?
"No it's a bathtub."
"Are you serious? It's the same thing!" I am aghast. She looks at me like I just said a tomato is a vegetable. Generally accepted I'd be right, but... factually there... is a difference.
I rub my face. Grinding my brain. This is too important to fuck it up over sanitary furniture. And she holds all the cards, in her belly. She calls the shots.
"... okay, maybe... " I'm trying to come up with something.
"Okay... I could put an extra drain in the bathroom floor, so you can shower outside the tub?"
"That's not a real shower. That's a mess! I want a separate shower!"
Why?! And why can't the bathtub be a shower then? Are the walls too high? She isn't that petit, that she wont make it out on her own.
"... you gotta be kidding me!" Ruffling my hair, throwing my head back, I groan. Resign.
"This is ridiculous... Alright, the guest bathroom has a cabinet next to the tub, if I move that out, I could install a shower cubicle there. Right next to the bathtub... with the shower..." Ugh!
"Good." Accpetance. She's playing me for a fool.
I think she wasn't taking my offer all too serious to begin with...
"Okay, that's that for the bathroom, but I'm not going to change anything in the kitchen to your preferences, I like my kitchen the way it is. You'll have to make due with what's there as it is." I cross my arms in front of my chest, a challenging look on my face. She eyes me, almost bored.
"Is it good enough for noodles?"
Oh she likes pasta, I can make lots of pasta. I love pasta, it's filling!
"Yeah, naturally. It's equipped for pretty much whatever you want to cook."
"Noodles. I only cook noodles."
"Well, they are... tasty. We can have---"
"It's the only thing I can make." She admits looking only for a moment a bit embarrassed. I stare at her. What? That...
"How the bloody hell did you plan on raising a child on spaghetti!?"
She shrugs and smiles.
"So you can cook? That'll solve that problem. You cook for us!" Well I yes. Of course I could, but. Well I should be glad she accepted this so easily. I suppose she really couldn't cook anything else.
"Alright, I'll cook for us, whatever you want. And I'll prepare meals for you to reheat if you come home late from the tattoo shop." I pat her thigh and smile, she raises an eyebrow.
"Whatever I want? Even bacon?" A challenging grin, Anya knew exactly what she was asking for.
"Well... for you? Yes... for the child... mh..." I scrunch my nose, she glares.
"They are not going to be raised jewish! My child will be able to consume bacon to its heart's content!" She prods her forefinger against my crossed arms. I huff indignantly, like the stubborn child I can be. It stung somewhere. My first... probably my only child and I wouldn't be able to raise him... or her... according to my religion. It feels wrong, made my heart a bit heavy, sad.
"... but if they want to know, want to learn about their heritage, you wont forbid it, right?" Perhaps she has pitty with me. She gives me a very strange look. Like when someone looks at a puppy. So she gets puppy eyes from me!
"Of course. They can chose their own believes, whether Christian, Jewish or anything else. We wont force anything on them, okay?" I nod. This was acceptable. Surely my child would grow interested in their heritage.
"Good, because not eating bacon is stupid."
"True."
We both grin, laugh. Her laugh reaches her eyes, it's honest. She's very beautiful actually, not just superficially.
"You sure you don't want to marry me? Wouldn't need to be a Jewish wedding at all." Anya shakes her head, still smirking, punching my arm.
"But Professor, have you already forgotten the great amounts of sex with various people I am planning to have?" In fact I had, yes. And it gave me a weird possessive feeling of jealousy. What in the name of the Lord was going on with me!?
"Can you like, not have those orgies in my house though?" I grumble hesitantly. She punches my arm once more.
"I never bring those kind of things to my home, don't worry." A short moment of silence results from the fact, that she called my house her home.
A real chance that it will be our home. Hers, mine, our child's.
"That's very cautious of you. Thank you very much."
Hearing her laugh is making me strangely happy. Her breasts bouncing lightly, her almost flat belly following her breathing rhythm.
That's where my child is... right there. I wanna touch her belly.
I'm positively giddy about becoming a father. It's like the sun is shining in my chest and I wouldn't be surprised if I was smiling like an idiot the whole time already.
If I was, she doesn't let me know. I'm glad she's so open with me. I'm glad she lets me partake in this.
I'm thankful.
Her smell is hanging in the air, a very pleasant smell. Her body emits warmth.
I remember her dark caramel skin stretching over her shoulderblades, the dimples above her butt, sweat running down the groove of her spine.
She is a very attractive human being. I had felt very proud of myself for some days after that one night and kind of like a creep, because I was her older professor.
But she had chosen me. I remember her neck stretching as she threw her head back, gasping for air.
I let my fingers walk over her thigh, growing bold, growing nervous, growing maybe impatient.
It's not really horniness... yet. It's just the whole situation. I want this to work out, and she's already pregnant. We might both enjoy it. It seems very logical.
"You know... maybe I can make another argument that could convince you to move in with me..."
"Oh? And what would that be?" she moves closer, looking curious but also very much in the know. She is playing, teasing me. That's hot.
"Well, only if you are okay with it of course, but I think you did like it last time and... supposedly pregnant women have a greater need for it... supposedly."
I feel stupid and then I feel her hand on my thigh, moving up, to my crotch.
"Dear Lord..." I gasp, my stomach tingles. My mind plays out a scene in a flash. She pulls down my zipper, reaches into my shorts, all the way down, cups my balls, presses her body against mine and her lips against my neck... That would be too good.
"And what does 'it' be?" she coos, her palm pressing down on my still very clothed bulge, sending pain and tingling into my loins. Like an electric shock.
I laugh out nervously.
"S- sex... you could have it without having to leave the house and...ha... you wont have to go home afterwards, since... you'd be home already..." I lick my lips, swallow excess saliva like a dog. How needy am I!?
"Oh, you're offering yourself, professor?" she almost leans on me, my belly tenses, her brown eyes sparkle dangerously, I feel my heart beating in my throat, I can barely nod.
"Twice a day, that's mandatory. I wont do with less. In the morning and in the evening." the pressure is alleviated, she just rubs now. I am worried about my health and lecture quality if she is serious. That's a lot of sex, no way she's serious.
"... is... is that only penetrative or does... oral count too?" She smirks and pulls down my zipper, I'm considering to stop her out of courteousness. She wriggles her hand into my boxers and wraps her fingers around me. My ears burn. I'm so tense my back aches.
"Counts." she says, than cups her lips around me.
Fuck. This is wrong.
She bops her head up and down, sucking, licking... the pull runs through my whole body. I want to give in.
I didn't ask her, she decided this. She does this out of her own volition. It's okay. It's fine.
It's mighty fine.
Relax... relax. My hands search for her shoulders, rubbing them, caressing them. I listen to my breathing, gnaw on my lips to stiffle the sounds. Apparently that's not what she wants. It seems her efforts are only increasing, a displeased frown on her forehead.
She presses her lips tightly against the skin, almost massaging on the way back up. One hand clasping into the jeans fabric of the thigh, the other, not needing to hold anything due to the short length, goes straight for something that would make everyone training with baoding balls go pale.
Goal reached. I gasp and moan and whine, head pressed all the way back into the pillows. Eyes squeezed shut.
This is very unfair of her, I'm entirely helpless and at her mercy. And I can't do anything for her, hands have become rigid, clutching the sofa cushions for support.
For a moment I contemplate again whether this is right or wrong. But even if, what would I possibly do? Push her off? With her teeth so close to my important bits?! No way.
I couldn't focus anymore, my field of vision getting blurred at the sides. She must have felt me tightening in her hand, getting ready, because she stopped, let cold air touch me, making me shudder. I almost came from that.
Head going blank for a moment.
And then she plunges down again, giving me the final death blow, licking her lips, swallowing, then gently, seductively cleaning me off.
She couldn't complain that I didn't warn her before I came in her mouth. She knew exactly what she was doing. Grinning as she sorted my pants again and nuzzles herself a little closer to me, head on my shoulder, looking up at me.
"I... uhm... that was really... Anya, you sure there's no chance for marriage?..." she shakes her head and chortles.
"That's the third time, you're not that old yet, Professor Loew."
"Right, sorry... " I do not dare asking whether that's the only reason, it might make me question my principles on marriage. But I asked three times now. And she insisted, three times. She doesn't know it, but that's how we do it. I wont bother her about it again.
Alright.
"You know you can call me Enoch, right?"
She snuggles up a bit more. Her warmth is pleasant. I wrap my arm around her, daringly place my hand on her butt.
No reaction.
At least not a negative one.
"It's pretty late already, you could stay the night?" my hand slips lower, slightly tugging at the skirt, nothing.
"... get accustomed to the house... that would help with the decision, no?" enough fabric pulled away, between her legs.
She stirrs lightly, and looks up at me. A smirk like a cat on the prowl. No wrong move now, lest I get my face scratched off.
"... may I..." a meaningful rub against her panty, "- repay the favour?"
She goes in for the kill, before I can even react. Pressing her lips on mine, her tongue quickly working it's way into my mouth.
I'm taken by surprise but immediately reply and slip my fingers under her slip.
She wriggles closer, making access easier. Her tongue goes wild in my mouth. I try to contain her, so I can concentrate on my task down there.
Why does she move so much, I have an honestly hard time to get her clit between my fingers.
Her breasts are pressing against my chest. She flinches as I manage to get a hold of her. I'd love to sleep with her, but not tonight. Hopefully later... if I'm lucky.
“Oh yes... mhmm.” Right I forgot, she definitely wasn't the quiet type. That might become interesting in the future.
Her breathing is much faster now, gasping, moaning between sucking on my lips and trying to deepthroat my tongue... or such. It feels like it at least. Like she's trying to rip it out, a bit desperate. I got to know her as a very free spirit, enjoing life to its fullest.
But now it feels like she didn't have sex since me and was aching to get a fix.
Wow. Well if she really has sex twice a day, she was behind schedule...
Two fingers slipping into her moistness, she clenches. Certainly has strong muscles, probably little need for Kegel excercise after the child is born.
She could break my fingers, now that she was riding them, better be careful in the future. I still pull them out again after a bit, she was going to have more fun with my fingers on the outside. And her reactions confirm that. Eyelids flickering, my ears ringing almost painfully with her moans.
She urges me not to stop, I did not plan on doing so. Her nails drag along the back of my neck, the other hand digs into my hair, pulling at it, jerking my head back as she bites my shoulder.
I've invited a vampire into my house!
She doesn't draw blood, at least not her teeth, I might need to wear my hair open at university for a few days though.
When she comes, she almost blows out my eardrums. I slip my fingers back in to let her ride it out, hoping to get my fingers back later. She slackens against me, caressing the bitten area with her lips and tongue. She sighs and recovers her breathing.
“That was gooood...” a soft slurr to her voice. I clean my fingers on one of the napkins and straigten her skirt and panty.
“You know...” she whispers, seemingly satisfied and a bit tired now.
“... I only came here to give you a bit of a scare, Professor.” I couldn't help caressing her hair, nuzzling my nose into it.
“... wanted to see your reaction...” she chuckles, now breathing much calmer than before, eyes half lid. So that's why she didn't take me serious? She didn't even plan to talk about this in ernest.
“Old fuddy duddy Professor Doctor Loew couldn't keep his lusty dick in check. Fucked his young, dependent and most of all very sexy student. And now she's knocked up. Oh my. So scandalous.” More chuckling, then a sigh.
“Didn't expect you to take it so serious, Professor...” She sounds serious.
“... or so responsible and inviting.” What?
“... didn't strike me as the charitable type, thought you'd care more about your reputation. Would have been more fun.”
Now that was a bit hurtful. I huff.
“Well, raising a child isn't only fun. It's a lot of responsibility. Should have thought about that before you told this old fashioned family man that he's going to be a father. And I'm not that much older than you...” She stares at me as I smile down at her and kiss her nose.
“... hmpf, fine. I'll move in with you. But don't think you'll get anything out of this!” she looks really tired and very comfortable in my arms now.
“Except for a child and possibly sex twice a day?” she only slightly huffs at me and very unenthusiastically punches my arm.
I rub it and smirk. So much smiling tonight.
“Even on the danger of repeating myself, like old people do... It's late, would you like to stay here for the night? Get accustomed to the place? I'll get the guestroom ready.”
“Nah.”
Oh okay. I will try to get her a taxi then.
“I'll just sleep in your bed.”
“Oh... okay! I'll get the guestroom ready for me then...”
“Nah.” What? Uh. She probably saw my confusion. Punches me again.
“Ouw, why do you keep doing that?” She sits up, stretches and yawns and taps my forehead.
“You're being stupid. An eye for an eye, Professor.” she gets up and rubs her belly.
“I don't think I understand.” but I get up as well, apparently it's time to end the evening.
“Stupidity hurts the people around you. So you need to get hurt back.” she sticks out her tongue and heads towards the stairs.
“Bedroom's up there, I s'ppose?” I'm just bewildered, slowly bringing the tea cups to the sink.
“Hurry up, I have cold feet that need warming!” She calls out and skips up to the first floor.
The next few years will be quite an endeavour...
