That is my flash fiction challenge for the 1st National / International Flash Fiction Day, this May 16th. For the unprisencolinensinainciusolified, I will explain. Prisencolinensinainciusol is officially recognized as “the greatest song ever,” and its accompanying video is officially recognized as “the all-time greatest artifact of human culture.”
The super sex-ay Italian responsible for this prompt is the insanely brilliant singer, songwriter, comedian, actor, film director, and TV host Adriano Celentano. He’s also unofficially recognized as the first internationally famous rapper.
See and hear for yourself:
Now that you’ve been prisencolinensinainciusolified, care to join me in the challenge? Write a flash fiction story inspired by prisencolinensinainciusolification, post it on your blog, and link back in the comments of this post. I will put my own tale in this post on the 16th. All right!
This story is PG.
“Buona sera, Signorina Misty.”
“Buona sera, Signor Celentano. Grazie per me tutoraggio per l’ultima volta.”
“Molto buono, Misty! Il tuo italiano sta migliorando,” Adriano says. “I almost decided to skip your last tutoring lesson.” He looks over his shoulder. “The snow is really coming down. But I wanted to say goodbye to you and your parents.” He stomps his shoes and shakes the snow from his coat.
Misty smiles and steps aside. Adriano walks into the house and hangs his coat on the coat rack.
Clicking across the floor in her high heels, Misty quickly checks her nail polish and plops down on the loveseat. She props her heels on the coffee table, smoothes the hem of her miniskirt, and adjusts the strap of her halter top.
“My mom and dad aren’t here,” she says, smiling.
“Will they be back soon?”
“They’re in America, looking for a house.” She bends her knees and flexes her calf muscles. “We have the whole house to ourselves, Adriano.” She leans back folds her arms behind her head, her blonde curls haloing her face.
“Oh. Well, maybe I should leave. I mean . . the snow. Don’t wanna get snowed in, you know.” Adriano shoves his hands in his pants pockets.
“And skip my last lesson? I believe my parents paid you to tutor me all semester.”
“But you’re graduating early, aren’t you?”
“Yes. My marks are high enough that Signor Stan gave me permission to finish my senior year early. He already signed the waiver.”
Misty jumps up. “So let’s dance.” She turns on the DVD player, grabs Adriano’s arms, and gyrates to the beat.
“Ah, but I already have a girlfriend.” Adriano breaks away and crosses his arms.
“Where is she? In your pocket?” Misty laughs.
Adriano grins. “Well, we should get started on our lesson.”
“I changed my mind. I’m through with lessons.”
“I thought you wanted to become fluent in Italian.”
“Sono in grado di parlare italiano cosi come si puo.” Misty winks.
“Da quando?” Adriano shakes his head.
“Dato che sempre.” She turns off the DVD player.
“Then why am I being paid to tutor you in Italian?”
Misty looks at the ceiling. “My parents think you’ve been tutoring me in calculus. Funny thing, I’m not even taking calculus.”
“Ah-ha. Very funny. Well, tell your parents I said good-bye.” He grabs his coat and the door knob. “Good luck in America, Misty. I wish you well.”
“I see the snow is really piling up. Look.” Misty points to the window.
Adriano takes a step toward the window and lets out a low whistle. He turns back to Misty. “Looks dangerous.”
“Looks like nearly ten centimeters so far,” Misty says. “And icy. You should stay here until you can at least see the road. My parents would kill me if they thought I sent you home in a blizzard. And I would just die if you slid off the road.” She scoots to the side of the loveseat. “It looks so cold out there. Come here and sit by me.”
Adriano hangs his coat back on the rack and sits on a chair across from Misty.
“It’s so cold in this house.” Misty gives an exaggerated shiver. “Could you hand me that blanket on your chair?”
Adriano turns and grabs the blanket. He gives her the blanket, and she grabs his hand, pulling him toward her. “We might have to bundle up tonight. But don’t worry, I don’t bite.” She bites her lip and giggles.
He breaks free and sits back down in his chair. The blanket falls to the floor. “Maybe you should put on a sweater. Put on some sweatpants.”
“I don’t have any. Besides, I- yikes! I felt something crawling on me!” She jumps up. “Get it off! Get it off!”
“What? What is it?”
“It’s an ant. We have ants in this house.” She lifts her skirt over her hips and stomps on the floor.
“There are no ants in the middle of winter.”
“Oh. Silly me.” She giggles again.
Adriano shakes his head and puts his hand over his face. “Misty, I’m too old for you. All right?”
She sticks out her lip. “How old are you?”
“Well I’m eighteen.”
Adriano looks at the floor.
“I just turned eighteen. My birthday is today. That’s only ten years difference.”
Adriano looks up. “Happy birthday.”
“Thank you. Aren’t you gonna ask me what I want for my birthday?”
He sighs. “I’m afraid to.”
“I want you to slip your shoes off.”
“You always slip your shoes off when you tutor me. Why don’t you slip your shoes off tonight?”
“I don’t know.”
Misty slides down onto the floor and crawls to Adriano’s feet. She unties his shoe laces and pulls his shoes off. She ties the laces together, climbs onto the table, and throws his shoes over the chandelier. They swing and twirl as the chandelier crystals clink.
“You may as well make yourself comfortable.” She jumps down. “You hungry? I’m starving. I hope you like store-bought pizza,” she calls from the kitchen. “It’s the only thing I know how to make.”
She turns on the oven, puts a frozen pizza in, and sets the timer. Back in the front room, she leans over the back of Adriano’s chair and lays her hand on his forehead. “You’re hot. It must be me. But if you pass out, I know mouth-to-mouth.”
Adriano pulls her hand away. “Misty, you can have any guy you want,” he says.
Misty sits on his lap and wraps her arm around his neck. “I want you.”
Adriano gently pushes her off, leans forward, and cradles his head in his hands.
“All right,” Misty says. “I get it. Wanna watch a movie?”
“Do I have a choice?”
“How about L’uomo che Guarda?”
“I’ve seen that one.”
“You like it?”
“Yes. But it’s mature.”
“You keep forgetting I’m eighteen.”
She turns off the lights, starts the movie, and sprawls out on the floor. Half an hour later, the timer rings, and she runs to the kitchen. She returns with the pizza, two wine glasses, and a bottle of Seghesio Dolcetto d’Alba Pajana. Adriano joins Misty on the floor, and she hands him the bottle.
“Open it please?”
Adriano pops the cork and pours the wine. “A giocherellona Misty,” he says, raising his glass.
“E afrodisiaci,” Misty adds.
“What are these leaves on the pizza?”
“Questi sono gli afrodisiaci,” she says, plucking a leaf and putting it in his mouth. “Basil.”
Misty licks her fingers and they take turns watching each other eat, and watching the people on the screen engage in flagrante delicto. An hour later, the movie is over, the pizza is gone, and the bottle is empty. Adriano lies on his back, his first few shirt buttons unbuttoned. Misty straddles his chest, her skirt hiked around her hips.
“The wine and the basil did me in, Misty. Perbacco, I don’t think I can sit up.”
Misty intertwines her fingers with Adriano’s. She leans forward, and her lips brush his ear.
“If you think I’m a virgin, I’m not,” she whispers. “You’re not my first.”
“I didn’t think that.”
“And if you think I can get pregnant, I can’t. I’ve been on the pill since I was sixteen. My parents are very permissive. So am I.” She kisses his neck, then his lips. “Bene?”
“Misty, you’re only eighteen. You’ll forget all about me. You’ll go to America and find yourself a nice American boyfriend. You’ll find yourself lots of American boyfriends. You won’t remember me.”
She trails her fingers over his face, down his neck, and down his chest. “So what’s stopping you? I’ll be on the other side of the world next week. You’ll never have to see me again. And now I think you would prefer that.”
He sits up. “That’s not true, Misty.” He cradles Misty’s head in his hands. “You don’t understand.” He kisses the top of her head and inhales deeply. “You smell so good. Like fresh, warm sugar cookies. With cinnamon.”
Misty pulls away and looks into his eyes. She grabs his hand and presses it against her breast. “And what do I feel like, Adriano?”
“Misty, per favore.”
“What do I feel like?”
“You feel . . Sento il tuo battito cardiaco.”
She presses her hand on his chest. “Just like yours.”
“Misty . . ”
“Just like yours, Adriano.”
She puts her hands on his shoulders, gently pushes him to the floor, and runs her fingers through his hair.
He slides his hands around her hips. “Misty. Ti amo. I’ve loved you from the first day I saw you. I just thought it was wrong. Avevo paura. I’m still afraid that you might still see me as your teacher. Then you would regret this.”
“I’m not a student anymore. Quit making excuses. Show me how much you’ll miss me.”
Misty slips off her shirt, then her bra.
“I need you to be the one to . . to initiate.” He closes his eyes. “I have to be sure you want this. That I’m not pressuring you. Misty, Io ve desiderare. Si prega di fare l’amore con me.”
Outside, a faint rumbling. A couple minutes later, the rumbling grows louder.
Misty jumps up and peeks out the window. A wall of snow and ice plows onto the lawn. Blushing, she grabs her clothes and turns to Adriano.
“What is it?” Adriano says.
“Rapidamente, il tuo scarpe!”