Love In Venice

story by Paul Ciotti

"Even Bob Greenfield's best friends never tried to defend him on the grounds that he wasn't a madman—he had wild, electric-blue eyes, a satyr's visage, a habit at parties of going up to women and asking them "Let's fuck."
       "And yet, desperate as he was for the company of women, he had little luck—he was too needy and intense. He'd gone years without sexual intercourse. He didn't understand the ordinary social conventions. He hit on women in front of their boyfriends. He dashed off erotic poems and handed them to strangers. Once in a restaurant, he saw two waitresses being hugged and patted on their backsides by old friends and then couldn't understand why they took such offense when he tried to pat their backsides too . . . "