A Tour in Italy

A Tour in Italy

By Simon Peter

"And this is the Prostitution Quarter," our guide to the ruins of Pompeii near Naples, Patricio, said, glancing at me.

Since the beginning of the tour around six hours earlier, I had been overjoyed with our guide. Patricio was a tall, slim, dark-skinned Italian in his mid-twenties. What more could I say to describe him? That he had a light beard? A pair of killer lips? A Grecian nose and wide-set eyes of indeterminate dark color? Frizzy hair? In a word, Patricio was my dream of a guy. I had immediately known that the day was going to be heavenly, listening to Patricio's Italian accent, watching him explain stuff on the bus, around Naples and now in Pompeii, gazing at his bubble butt in tight low-hung jeans as he walked ahead of us, fantasizing.

I had to admit that I hadn't had sex during the four previous days in Rome. I had been taken by the culture, the statues, the piazzas, the stores, the museums. Two days before today's trip, I had taken a train to Florence and visited a museum where I gawked at Michelangelo's David. I must have spent more than half an hour gazing at the beauty of the maleness sculpted in marble. Today, David's naked physique superimposed itself on our guide, Patricio.

Patricio pointed at some frescos on top of doors leading to what was supposed to be rooms for prostituting. The frescos depicted various fuck scenes.

Patricio pointed at one of the frescos, glanced at me, and said: "Even then-uh, boys slept with each other."

True enough, the fresco showed two men fucking. Patricio called them boys-uh. I just loved his accent. I took a photo of the fresco.

Since the beginning of the tour, I had been fantasizing about Patricio. I maintained a semi-erection throughout. But I realized that my fantasies would remain just that: fantasies.

That was why I was taken aback when at the end of the Pompeii tour, when I was standing near our bus next to Patricio, both smoking, waiting for the other members of the group to arrive, Patricio said to me in a low voice: "So you liked-uh the frescos, Simon?"

First, he called me by my first name although he had a list of all our full names. Second, he remembered my name. Third, there was this very slight smile on his face when he asked me. Fourth, he lowered his voice so no one could hear him but me. All of this could be my fantasies fucking with my brain but, well, it could be something else, couldn't it?

"Oh, yes," I answered in a similar low voice.

Patricio laughed. "I saw-a-you taking the pictures."

I might have flushed red at this. But Patricio continued, still in a low voice: "Can I see?"

Without a word, numb, I handed him my cell phone. He fumbled with it and found the gallery, located the picture. I didn't dare look at his face. My heart raced. I had only shot the fresco of the men, the one I have attached above.

Patricio handed me back the phone without saying anything as the other members of the group reached the coach and started to board. I followed, not knowing what Patricio thought about the picture I had taken.

I sat three rows behind and watched the back of Patricio's head, his neck, his shoulders. I tried reading the book I had brought with me, a crime novel by P. D. James, but I couldn't concentrate. I kept glancing at Patricio, sitting in the front, and I kept fantasizing. Like me slipping on a stone in the ruins of Pompeii and Patricio picking me up and holding me asking if I was hurt. Or like me brushing by his front as I climbed off the bus. Or me walking into the men's room in the rest area on the road back to Rome and finding Patricio at a urinal with a hard-on, waiting for my mouth. The erection I had throughout the three-hour trip hurt like hell. I didn't dare touch myself for fear of exploding in my jeans.

I kept thinking: why had Patricio asked me about the fresco. Why had he glanced at me when he was explaining the image of the two men fucking? Why hadn't he said anything when he saw the photo I shot?

When we got to Rome and I was delirious with lust for this unattainable stud, we disembarked from the coach. I didn't know what to do. Going back to the hotel and masturbating to the image of Patricio did not feel such an enticing option. But there was nothing I could do. I hitched my backpack and got ready to start my solitary trek back to my hotel when Patricio came out of the agency office and called after me.

"Hey, Simon."

I froze. What would Patricio want from me? I knew what I wanted from him: his lips, his naked body, his hard cock, his firm ass.

"Do you feel-a-like going on another tour-uh?" he asked as he approached me.

Ah, I thought, the guy wanted to make some extra money. After all, being a guide was his job. And who was I? Not a pretty movie-star material. And who said that this guy was gay in the first place? That he wanted to have sex with me?

"Another tour?" I asked stupidly.

"Si," he said, smiling. "I can show you Rome-uh by night-uh."

I succumbed. How could I refuse? Even though I knew that the guy was looking for extra money, I nodded.

"Fantastico," he said. "Wait-uh for me here."

I waited. A few minutes later, Patricio appeared on a Vespa. My God! I almost fainted, he looked so cute. He got off the bike and took out a helmet from the box in the back.

"Put this on and lets-a go."

I donned the helmet and climbed onto the seat behind him. He started the bike and we moved. I didn't know where to put my hands. I clutched at the sides of my seat, feeling the rush of air as Patricio picked up speed.

"Hold onto me," he shouted over the noise of his bike, slightly turning his head. "I don't-a-want you to fall off-uh!"

What? The guy wanted me to hug him? My cock instantly reacted by starting to erect. I gingerly placed my hands on the sides of his hips. I heard him laugh as he grabbed one of my hands and placed it around his waist. I was shivering all over and I felt myself slide the few inches toward him as I wrapped my other hand around him. My crotch was now flush with his lower back. And of course I erected painfully.

I felt the heat emanating from Patricio's body against mine as my hands pressed on his belly, inches away from his crotch. As he sped through the winding and narrow alleys of Rome, I couldn't resist sliding my hands down.

Patricio was erect.

My cock throbbed when I felt his erection. I couldn't tell if his cock was big or not, but I could tell that it was rock hard.

I was going to get laid! I shook all over. It was incredible. Nothing like this had been planned. Even my fantasies had been just fantasies. But now I felt my body plastered onto the back of this beautiful specimen of a man and my hand was cupping his crotch, feeling his hardness. Yes, I was going to be laid.

Patricio stopped the bike and parked in one of the narrow alleyways near a rustic restaurant.

"This is where-a-da- best pizza in Rome is made-uh," he announced in his sexy accent as he took off his helmet. Now I saw him even more exotic, more erotic, now that I knew we were going to fuck. I didn't really want pizza or pasta. I was dying for his lips around my mouth, for his tongue probing my throat, for his hands on my naked skin, for his cock prodding me. But Patricio wanted me to taste Rome first.

I followed him into the warmth of the bistro, the smells of pasta and pizza overwhelming. Was it a dream? I felt as if I were in a haze, walking like a zombie, being led by an irresistible siren.

"Well-uh?" Patricio asked as he took another bite of the pizza. "The best-a in Rome, not for tourists." He licked his lower lip and I almost fainted!

"Delicious," I had to admit. And it was actually quite delicious. With my thoughts and feelings centered on Patricio, I hadn't realized how hungry I was.

"Simon," Patricio stared straight into my eyes. "I like-uh you very, very much."

"I like you, too, Patricio," I gulped. "I more than like you," I added and knew that he could translate this simple statement into much deeper meaning.

"If you don't have any plans for this evening," he said in a low voice, "I'd like-a to spend some time-uh with you, in my place."

Oh, my God! Oh, God, yes! Yes!

I must have blushed for he quickly continued: "I'm-a sorry, Simon, if I'm pushing-uh, but I really like-a you."

What had Patricio seen in me? I am a few years older, perhaps 3 or 4 inches shorter, with plain looks.

"Thank you," I managed to say, my heart beating fast, my stomach fluttering, my balls and ass twitching. "Yes, Patricio, I would like that a lot."

Patricio's "place" was a second-story loft, open space with corners for a small kitchen and a bathroom and the rest cluttered with two couches and a couple of arm chairs. What struck me most was the masculinity of the loft. There were no flowers or paintings or knick-knacks. But the place, with its wood-covered floor, looked and felt warm and comfortable.

Before taking off our coats and scarves, Patricio pulled me to him and planted his lips on mine. He tasted a mixture of tobacco and tomato, the most delicious taste I had ever had experienced. I heard myself moan, felt my knees weaken. I held onto him in a tight embrace, his arms holding me around the waist. I was simply turning into jelly.

We broke and Patricio smiled at me.

"I knew you were going-uh to be hot, Simon," he teased, "right-a-after I saw the fresco picture you took. Tell-a-me, where do you want-a-to be?"

At first, I didn't understand what he meant. But then I quickly realized that he was referring to the fresco.

"Riding your cock," I said, not believing myself. I had fantasized about him lying naked on the couch with me straddling him, his cock buried deep inside me.

Patricio laughed out loud. "Yes-uh," he said. "Oh, Simon, yessss-uh."

We kissed some more and then took the time to shed off our clothes. Patricio naked looked even more delicious than how I had fantasized him to be. His chest and belly were flat with his abs chiseled around the patch of hair in the middle and the trail going down.

On the couch I made him lie on his back and I fished out his cock out from his thermal underwear. I had already taken off all of my clothes and was naked and hard.

Patricio's cock was unbelievingly long. Uncut, veined, and thin. I loved it. Going down on what must have been at least ten inches by my estimation wasn't as difficult as I had experienced with thicker but shorter dicks. It was amazing. I kept swallowing for what seemed like ages and there was no end to the beautifully hard shaft slowly sliding through my throat. I finally felt the beginning of his pubes tickling my nose and I kept going until my lips pursed around the very base of his manhood.

Patricio made me turn around and he went hungrily on my cock. We 69-ed for a while but I craved for this fantastic Italian cock to be inside me.

I straddled him, just like in the fresco. I am not loose. It usually takes some work on my rim muscle to relax enough to be able to take a man cock. But with Patricio, it was totally different. My lust loosened me. With just some spit, without condom protection, he penetrated and I sat all the way down on his crotch. Miles of bare cock went into me.

When I finally settled onto him, my balls deep in his thick pubes, I felt as if the length of his cock passed through my insides and the head was going to emerge from my mouth. I closed my eyes for a few seconds and reveled in the fullness in my body. Patricio lay under me, not moving, staring into my eyes. He reached up and fondled my nipples, increasing the sensations flooding me.

Ever so slowly, I supported myself onto his fairly hairy chest and started to fuck myself. The whole length out, the whole length in. Patricio was breathing hard, his hands all over my chest, down to my balls, around my cock shaft, teasing my nipples, pushing his middle finger into my mouth. Amazingly, I didn't lose my erection, which had usually been the case whenever I had a hard cock up my ass. Actually, I was harder than I had ever been before.

Without losing contact, Patricio flipped me onto the couch on my back and started his fucking. He fucked hard and long. I rocked under him, my legs wrapped tightly around his slim waist, my arms around on his muscled and rippling thighs. He bent down and kissed me, never losing his tempo. Cock deep, tongue deep. Without warning, I shot my load between our naked and sweating bodies. Strings of cum exploded out of my cock, as if forever. My usual load would be around 4 or 5 squirts. If I was really excited, maybe 6 squirts and some drippings. But I had never shot a load with a cock in my ass. Now I felt as if I was never going to stop coming. On and on, I squirted, squeezing my rim muscle around his invading cock.

With a loud grunt, Patricio thrust deep and started his own ejaculation. I hadn't finished coming, and my ass squeezing on his cock must have made him go crazy with his shooting. We were both beyond reason or rationality. We were two men experiencing the most fantastic explosions, the emptying of balls, which two men could have.

I said ciao and took a cab back to the hotel. I showered and masturbated. I climbed into my bed and masturbated some more. I woke up in the middle of the night, took a piss and masturbated. I woke up in the morning with a rock hard cock and masturbated. All the while, there was the image of Patricio topping me, his cock filling me, bringing me to the edge. The image was more vivid each time I jerked off.

On the flight back home, I maintained a semi-erection throughout. Even now, writing about it, I have had to stop more than once, run to the bathroom and masturbate, the image of Patricio topping me.

How often could one get so lucky? My only regret is that I hadn't gone on tour to Pompeii the first day of my week-long trip. But, then again, I wouldn't have been able to visit all the places I visited. I would have had Patricio's cock inside me, wouldn't I?