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  • The vacation was idyllic, a two week trip to Italy. Every morning I would load up on fresh food at the Sant'Ambrose Market in Florence. Laid out before me, all the splendors of Italy: fruits that burst with juice and intense flavor; vegetables with unique beauty which graced every meal.

    I was looking for some special cheeses to accompany our feast. I went to a cheesemonger and asked for a sample of his buratta. Creamy. Some smoked mozzarella? Fabulous! We bantered about a bit and exchanged pleasantries. I asked to take his picture. He proudly stood next to a picture of himself on the winning soccer team of his youth. In exchange for the picture he wanted a kiss. I laughed and proffered a quick brush on his cheek. He grabbed my face in a harsh grip and plunged his waiting tongue into my mouth. He groped my breast simultaneously. I pulled away in horror and gagged. I payed him, laughed and walked off shaken to my very core. I felt repulsed and invaded. I wanted to scrub my mouth out with antiseptic. How can an experienced lady like me be assailed by such a creep? How could I let myself into such a situation? I can't shake that repulsion and grotesque feeling of invasion weeks later. I look at his face and think what else has he done to women?
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