I should disclose up front that for a semi-tall, green eyed blonde like me, handsome Italian men in particular have always been my kryptonite. I can offer little resistance and if they are also assertive men who can be a little dominant and insistent in the bedroom, well, forget about it… I could offer about as much resistance as if someone with stubble was nuzzling my highly ticklish neck. Wet putty.
In my late 20s early 30s I took a rather unconventional professional job overseas that had me working alongside mostly Italian men, where me, being a female with same credentials was both a definite minority as well as highly unusual amongst what are slightly chauvinist, traditional Italian colleagues. To add to that, I consider myself highly intelligent, with a very sharp wit and love of mirth and bawdiness where I can get away with it. A most unexpected combination if you factor in my typical blonde reputation. Being striking and physically attractive only added to my female advantage, and in this particular role I’m not ashamed to say that I milked my femininity for all it was worth to assist where necessary in my male-dominated workplace. Sometimes my role involved taking apart complex electronics and subsequently transporting them off for further repair or back to our US home-base, so heavy boxes. This is an example where I would make the initial effort but gladly hand off said heavy box to whatever gentlemanly, strapping Italian offered to do so. Usually I’d just have to pick it up to put it on a trolley and one would come running, “Ciao bella!” Like clockwork. *smirk* Wearing somewhat mandated short skirts, having well groomed and toned legs that I often clad in heels didn’t hurt either. I have a flair for style and definitely dressed and smelled better than the job required, I am quite appearance conscious. But I digress!