Date: Wed, 16 Aug 2000 18:45:42 GMT
From: Ganymede
Subject: Prego. (PART 2) A Story by Ganymede

WARNING:

This story contains a graphic description of sexual
acts between a man and a MINOR boy. If the subject of man/boy sex
offends you, if this material is illegal in your place of resi-
dence, or if you are under the legal age for such material, do not
read further! The author has no intention of causing harm, or
inciting other to harmful acts against minors. You have been
warned! Read at your own risk!

The story is copyrighted under the pseudonym,
Ganymede. Copies been submitted ro the Nifty archive and the ASSGM
newsgroup/archive. Feel free to post it to other newsgroups or
send it to your friends. If you enjoy my story, please contribute
funds to a charitable organization providing services for boys.

For those of you who wish to see what Riccardi Guarini
looks like, the author recommends mem57. The similarity is simply
amazing. However, any other resemblance to any individual, alive
or dead, is unfortunate.

TO WISHUS:

I would like to give my special thanks to another author,
one who continues to dedicate his story to me, "Three Weeks to
Heaven." Without his encouragement, I might not have written Part 2.
If he continues, I might even write a third part, a fourth part,....



FINAL WARNING:



If you are under the age of 18, if this material is
illegal in your place of residence, or if man-boy relationships
aren't your thing, then exit now and save yourself from a life of
sin!



Prego. (PART 2) A Story by Ganymede.



Chapter 6.



The next morning I was awakened by the most delightful
sensation imaginable. A hand, softer than silk and as light as a
feather stroked slowly along the length of my blood-engorged
penis. A thumb rubbed gently, grazing with careful curiosity
around the brown smudge of my circumcision scar, tracing the bulge
of a twisting vein, scratching lightly on the flared rim of my
glans. Was it possible that a human hand could be so sensitive,
its owner so receptive to another's feelings that he anticipated
every desire? It moved without guidance from me, yet it always
touched where I wanted it to touch. Fingers slid back and forth
along the length of my throbbing erection, brushed against my
furry groin, stroked the inside of my thighs, then after seeking
the flaccid softness of my scrotum, caused it to contract by
manipulating my testicles with firm yet tenderly administered
fondling. The caresses became increasingly evasive as they
explored erogenous zones that had not been touched in years. I
communicated my desire in silence, yet increasingly desperate to
have my unspoken longing fulfilled. It had been too long since
another person's mouth had touched my penis.

Images of Bryce drifted lazily through my semi-con-
scious mind. More often than not we sucked each other at the same
time, performing a child's version of an adult game. At least, I
was a still a child when I started sucking my half-brother's
penis. It immediately became a habit of mutual enjoyment. Bryce
frequently wanted oral satisfaction from me, preferring the deli-
cate softness of my mouth nearly as often as he took me from
behind. In that one thing at least, we were equals, for I refused
to co-operate unless he reciprocated. The warm wetness came like a
lover's first tentative kiss. Little lips pressed to the tip of my
penis, stimulating the nerves in a way that sent a shiver through
my body. A tongue crept out to try to press within the gaping
mouth of my rigid penis. My organ throbbed mercilessly, wanting
more. The mouth opened, taking my penis inside, deeper, hotter,
wetter, until sharp teeth closed behind the helmeted head. Four
strong fingers and a small thumb kneaded my testicles relent-
lessly. I writhed, my knees parting to lie against the sheets, my
heels pulling higher. The head bobbed, sucking fearlessly. The
heat flowed along the shaft of my erection, reached the mid-point
and stopped momentarily before progressing a fraction further.
The pleasure intensified as the suction increased. It was exquis-
ite.

My penis twitched, threatening to discharge a pent-up
store of semen. I felt it rising, stimulated as much by the almost
unbearable pleasure it was receiving as by the face that finally
came into my view. Ricci looked up from between my legs. His proud
face beamed, difficult enough that his head was moving with rhyth-
mic nods, but truly remarkable given that his lips were stretched
wide around my swollen shaft. There was a bulge in his right
cheek, showing where my glans was located, saliva glistening on
his lips as he sought to provide a slippery film. Only a few more
seconds and I would need to push him away before I ejaculated into
his throat.

I awoke with a hangover and an erection. While one was a
normal occurrence, I should not have been so surprised at the
other after consuming two bottles of red wine and a glass of Cam-
pari during the previous afternoon and evening. Normally when I
traveled, I minimized my intake of liquor so that my effectiveness
the next day was not impaired. Some of my best photographs were
taken during the early morning before people were up and about.
That morning, I was still groggy at 8.00 a.m. I lay still, the
threat of a headache lingering in the back of my mind as a con-
stant reminder of the consequences of drinking too much. If that
was not enough, my stomach was also upset. I put that down more to
the consumption of too much of Cecilia's excellent food rather
than an excess of wine. Between stomach and head, it was unlikely
that I would feel in good shape before the middle of the day. My
erection was wasted. As much as I hated to waste valuable time, I
was not about to masturbate alone. The memory of my dream was
ever-present and almost real. So real that I wanted Ricci beside
me, to run my hand through his tousled hair, hear his sing-song
voice raised in laughter.

So thinking, I stumbled from the bed and walked hesi-
tantly to the balcony. Outside the sun was shining, but there was
a slight chill to the air that made me go back inside to find
something warmer than a pair of underpants. With my jacket over my
shoulders, Italian-style, I went forth. The air was fresh and
invigorating. I breathed deeply and caught the scent of oven-
fresh bread amid the salty smell of the sea. On the distant hori-
zon there was a line of clouds, barely visible but there nonethe-
less. A front was moving eastward. For no reason other than a
sudden sense of loneliness, I wondered where Ricci was at that
moment. It was Saturday, and although I had no knowledge of the
school calendar in Sardinia, it was unlikely that he would be at
school. Downstairs was far more likely. That thought alone was
enough to get me dressed and ready for breakfast. If Ricci ran
true to form, he would still be serving in the restaurant.

I hurried to get dressed, selecting clothes that were
not as pretentious as the slacks and button-down shirt I wore the
first day in Trinita. Given what had happened after dinner, I rea-
soned that the proper attire was less likely to draw attention to
me as a tourist and cause further problems for Ricci. I remembered
Julia's words, "Tomorrow, all of Trinita will know he's yours." A
pair of well-worn blue jeans that I had worn on assignment in Tur-
key and a sweatshirt emblazoned with the logo of the French soccer
team were not ideal, but they were all I had that could be consid-
ered suitable attire in the small village. I rushed through my
bathroom ritual, pausing to examine my day-old stubble in the mir-
ror. By my estimation, which was necessarily biased, I was not
unattractive. My forty years had been relatively kind to me, cer-
tainly kinder than bryce's forty-four years. Yet, I still won-
dered how Ricci saw me. I decided that the gods must be
predisposed to boy-lovers, or that boys like Ricci were looking
for a certain fatherly charm that I possessed. I grinned and
shaved quickly.

Downstairs, there were only a few people in the dining
room. However, there was no sign of Ricci and I felt very disap-
pointed. I caught myself thinking that I might never be able to
survive if I did not see him until later in the day. The young
woman, a cleaning maid who spoke little or no English, served me.
However, she was certainly polite and attentive to my needs as she
returned with coffee and a plate of bread so fresh that it was
still warm from the oven. I smothered a slice of bread with slabs
of chilled butter and a dollop of strawberry jam and began to eat,
sipping my coffee with considerable appreciation that life was
very good indeed, even without Ricci's presence. Minutes passed.
I finished one cup of strong coffee and started on the next. I
looked around frequently, hoping for a glimpse of the boy who
should have been there. I finished the bread, and most of another
cup of coffee. And still there was no sign of Ricci. I was begin-
ning to worry. The only reason I could think of, why he had not
returned to my table to say good night, why he was so obviously
avoiding me that morning, was that I had embarassed him with my
gift. It also bothered me that Ricci had seen me speaking with
Father Pietro.

Finally, unable to drink even another teaspoon of cof-
fee or eat another morsel of Cecilia's wonderful bread, I stood
up. I smiled wryly, thinking of the amount of food I had eaten,
not only at breakfast, but at lunch and dinner of the previous
day. If I kept eating in that fashion I would be out of shape and
overweight in no time. I needed exercise. I considered getting
into a pair of shorts and running, but the only place I had seen
where running any distance that did not involve torturous hills
was on the 'corniche' road that led into Trinita. The thought of
jogging beside that precipitous cliff was very disturbing.

Convincing myself that Cecilia knew where to find a
place to run, I headed off in search of the proprietress. That she
also knew where Ricci was, was also a remote possibility. She was,
of course, hard at work preparing the lunch to be served in the
restaurant in a few more hours. Cecilia looked up and immediately
smiled as soon as I appeared in her doorway.

"Bon giorno," I said enthusiastically.

"Hello. Ricci tell me to say, good morning." Her
response was heart warming. "He go to your room early but you
still asleep," she added.

Her hand moved to cover her mouth in a somewhat point-
less attempt to prevent me from seeing her amusement.

"Was I snoring?"

"Snoring? Ah,- no,- not that." She smirked knowingly.
"Ricci tell me, ah,... he think it all very funny."

"He thinks what is very funny," I asked with some con-
sternation.

Perhaps the memory of the gentle hand and the lush heat
of a mouth had not been a dream after all. Cecilia smiled again
and shrugged with her characteristic vagueness. For an Italian, a
simple shrug communicated everything from complete affirmation to
outright rejection. It was also as simple as dismissing something
to be of no importance or interest. Whatever she intended, it was
obvious that she had no intention of expanding on the source of
either her's or her son's amusement.

"Where is he?" I asked awkwardly.

"Ah, yes. He work today. There!" Cecilia gestured
toward the adjoining vineyard and olive trees.

"Oh, that's him over there near the wall, isn't it?" I
said as I followed her direction.

On the side of the hill, amid waist-high grapevines,
there were two people working. Even at that distance I could make
out Ricci's small lean body.

"He promise Luigi to pull the weeds from winter. Before
spring growth starts," Cecilia explained. I nodded. "He start
early so he can be with you later."

"Oh!"

I watched the two figures with interest. The old man who
I had observed the previous day was more than likely the man
referred to as Luigi. Had he been a younger man, no doubt I would
have felt the pangs of envy.

"The wine I use to cook, Mr. Gardner, it come from here.
The olio, ah, olive oil too. Is very wonderful. The best in all
Italy. Very,- ah,- you and Ricci must teach me more English I
think. It is extra virgino," she laughed. "The taste of Trinita
oil is a very speciale."

"The farm is part of the Pensione?" I asked.

"Si, Mr. Gardner. Years ago my papa buy it. It belong
once before, long ago when the palazzo was here."

"Cecilia?" I began.

"Yes?"

"Nothing-. I was wondering, would it be okay if I helped
out a bit while I stay here?"

"Help? Work?" She laughed. "No! You have holiday, very
good holiday. And you own too," she added. "So no work, Mr. Gard-
ner, and no pay for room and meals."

I shook my head resolutely. "You own too, Cecilia. And
you work very hard. I must help, otherwise,... Heck, I need to do
something. I need exercise after all your magnificent food. I
don't know what else I can do."

She regarded me quizzically. Slowly she smiled. It was
a familiar smile, of knowing more than I did about something that
was very important to both of us.

"Yes, I understand now. I think you work with Ricci.
Good for you and good for him, okay? Maybe I teach you how to
cook. And like Ricci, you help in kitchen, okay?"

"Yes. Very much okay."

"Prego. But not work too hard."

I was almost oblivious to her words as I hurried out the
door. She said something that sounded a lot like `rain soon', but
I was too far gone to hear or care.

I left the Pensione using the path that led down the
cliff, strangely grateful that the sun was warm on my back. The
path branched a short distance beyond the terrace and followed the
cliff, one side prickly with thorns, the other protected by a
wavering line of irregular stones that were spotted with white
gull droppings and grey-green lichen that seemed ageless. I
walked quickly, until it was time to leave the path, then care-
fully picking my way through a field of gnarled olive trees that
were probably as old as the palazzo. After every few rows of olive
trees there were several rows of grape vines. It was still early
in the season and the only sign of grapes were tiny sprays of lime
buds. I made a mental note to return again when the grapes were
harvested in late summer. The color of the grapes against the rich
earth and distant ocean would be well worth photographing.

I found Ricci at the far end of a row of grapes. Actu-
ally, he saw me first the instant he straightened up from digging
in the nearly black earth. He had been hidden from sight by the
grape vines. He waved and shouted simultaneously. His face was
radiant, a broad welcoming smile greeting me as I approached
nearly breathless from my walk. Momentarily, I wondered where the
old man had disappeared to. Then I caught a glimpse of his checked
shirt moving slowly through the olive trees in a direction that
would take him back towards the village.

"Bon giorno, Ricci," I said as I came close enough not
to have to shout.

Ricci grinned. His hand, dirtied by digging in the
soil, wiped at his brow. "You sleep late, David," he chided.

I smiled back at him, still wondering whether my dream
was real. "I had a strange dream this morning," I said slowly to
test his reaction.

Ricci regarded me curiously. "A dream?" he repeated. A
slight smile appeared, dimpling his tanned cheeks.

"Yes, a nice dream as a matter of fact."

I thought about what I could still remember. Was it pos-
sible that a boy who was not even ten years old would now how to
do such things? Had he learned them from Bryce? Was it real or
imaginary?

"What did you dream?" he inquired seriously. "You say
it was a nice dream?"

"It was a very nice dream," I answered pointedly,
barely able to hold back from laughing.

"Sometimes, I have dreams like that." Ricci grinned.
"It makes my thing get hard," he added. He winked conspiratori-
ally.

"I expect so. It was a pity my dream ended when it did.
I was really starting to enjoy it."

He grinned and shrugged like his mother. "Perhaps you
hear some noise in the street, David, or maybe I wake you up when
I come to say good morning," he suggested playfully.

Again he wiped his brow, smearing away beads of glis-
tening perspiration that had appeared despite the cool tempera-
ture. Clearly, he had been working very hard.

"I came to help," I said, changing the topic to one that
would make me feel less `hot'. "I need some exercise or I'll start
getting fat," I added. I could not tell Ricci that I wanted to
work just so that I could be side by side with him. "What should I
do?"

Making Ricci responsible for giving direction was the
best thing I could have done to win his trust and affection. He
beamed proudly and promptly delivered a brief lecture on how to
take care of the grape vines by carefully digging around the roots
to remove weeds and loosen the soil. It sounded as though he had
only recently heard the same talk from Luigi. For him to explain
to an adult how to tend the vine was a boost to his self-esteem.
He demonstrated technique, critiqued my approach with the hoe and
fork until I could be trusted by myself, and then we went to work.
Side by side. It was all I could do not to hum with happiness at
being so close to him.

He worked effortlessly, or so it seemed. I grunted and
panted, inexpertly expending twice the effort to remove weeds.
After an hour, Ricci removed his tee-shirt. Dressed only in shorts
and his decrepit sneakers, he was the absolute essence of a 'farm
boy'. He was lithe-bodied. His golden-brown chest was nicely mus-
cled, his waist girlishly thin with a small navel. He was wearing
the two necklaces and they added a delicate charm that belied the
sweaty grime that streaked his limbs. His arms were slender, yet
wiry, concealing strength and endurance. What I could see of his
legs was very attractive, lean suntanned calves, bony knees, mus-
cular thighs. There was a small bulge in his crotch, emphasized in
shape and size by the loose folds of his dirt-stained shorts. With
a grin that made my heart leap, he went back to work with the hoe.
I stood still, leaning on the rake, watching his graceful body.
Beneath his lustrous skin, muscles rippled every time he moved.
His back arched, showing a perfect line of vertebrae. After a few
seconds he stopped, glanced up at me, shyly aware that I was
watching. I smiled and wondered whether he could even begin to
understand how I felt about him. He was not even ten years old. It
seemed impossible that a boy of that age could accept that a man
loved him. Slowly he straightened up.

"Is hard, yes?"

"Yes, it's very hard work."

Ricci glared at me. His dark eyes met mine and he held
my gaze with unwavering silent nerve that was both disconcerting
and arrogant. He was angry. Yet, I felt a thrill, a sense of grow-
ing excitement that we were on the verge of discovering something
we shared.

"Last night you talk with him," Ricci said cruelly. He
spit out. "I hate him."

"You mean Father Pietro, don't you?"

Ricci ignored my question as if it deserved no answer.
He swallowed, and spit again. His hands clenched, his face tight-
ening with juvenile anger.

"He told me to stay away from you, Ricci. What happened
with him?"

"Nothing!" Ricci replied hotly. He gave me a sullen
look. "He didn't like me being friends with Mr. Alison either."

"Well, I didn't much care for him myself," I said. I
smiled. "There's nothing to worry about, Ricci. I don't think
he'll bother us."

Ricci nodded slowly, thoughtfully. "I like you, David."

"I like you too, Ricci," I responded immediately.

"It's hard to talk about,...." he began awkwardly.

I waited for him to continue, focusing my gaze on the
strands of gold-mahogany curls that crossed his forehead. His
eyes met mine again, a brooding penetrating look. It suddenly
struck me that the color of his eyes and his mood was no different
to the storm approaching from the leaden sea. Whatever had hap-
pened with Father Pietro had made him very unhappy. I knew that he
would tell me in his own time. He picked up the handle of the hoe,
listlessly swinging it from side to side before he swung it high
into the air. Again and again, mindlessly swinging, sending clods
of dirt flying, his arms tensing, his face on the verge of tears.
For several minutes I watched the slender boy drive the steel
point all the way into the ground, expending his frustration. His
anger was very apparent. Then, he stopped. He smiled shyly and
shrugged. His eyes brightened like his mood.

"You don't have to tell me, Ricci," I said gently.

We worked together, furiously picking out weeds until
lunchtime. It was early afternoon. We stopped, putting our tools
to the side and taking seats on the pile of weeds. There was a
momentary silence as we regarded each other. I felt very close to
the dark-haired boy. It was more than physical proximity. We were
sharing more than just his lunch and both of us knew it. Ricci
opened a paper bag and spread out hunks of Julia's fresh-baked
bread, thick slabs of provolone cheese, greasy salami that he
sliced with his penknife, and small black olives that were the
best I had ever eaten. All that was needed for a perfect meal was
a bottle of red wine. Instead, I settled for half of Ricci's bot-
tle of Orangina.

I lay back on the tangled weeds we had dug from the
ground and watched Ricci eat. He smiled as he gnawed on crusty
piece of bread, oblivious to the flakes that littered his belly
and crotch. He slurped his drink, playfully winking at me as he
pretended to drink more than his share. I grinned at him with
growing affection. I was enjoying a boy's company in a way that I
had never imagined. There was nothing sexual, just enduring
friendship. Ricci handed me the bottle just as the first drops of
rain splattered onto the ground. Sometime during the last few min-
utes the sky had turned to violet and become very dark.

"We hurry," Ricci said. "The storm is almost here."

By the time we gathered up our clothes, the drops were
falling with increasing speed. What was just as disturbing was the
size. They were huge, splashing across our bare backs as we has-
tened to leave. Thunder rolled a few seconds after the sea sky was
fractured by a brilliant flash. In haste, Ricci reverted to his
mother-tongue when I started jogging towards the Pensione. I
stopped and turned around.

"Come on," I shouted.

More Italian was shouted back at me. He pointed down the
hill. He started to run, leaping across long lines of rock that
had been culled from the fields. Clearly, he expected me to follow
him. After a hundred meters, he turned at right angles, following
the path that ran beside the cliff. I pursued him, aware that my
clothes were already drenched. Another hundred meters, and he
slowed, beckoning wildly, then running even faster as the thunder
roared. I saw where he was headed.

A few moments later we reached the building. It was a
low hut, its walls of rubble, a door made out of wooden slabs
roughly nailed together. There was no lock and Ricci shove it
aside and darted inside. I followed him. Perhaps at one time it
had been a small farmhouse, but years ago it had stopped fulfill-
ing its original function. It was a barn of a sort, although very
different to anything I had seen before. The smell was strong,
although not of animals. It was certainly not unpleasant. I was
reminded of the smell of fermenting wine. It was dry, that was the
main thing. Outside the storm was building in intensity and showed
no sign of letting up for several hours. I glanced around me, tak-
ing in the primitive condition with gratitude that at least we
were not outside, and I was alone with Ricci.

The walls were mostly unplastered, yet white-washed
sections were dispersed at random. Here and there were bales of
straw, large wooden boxes holding huge glass bottles, smaller
crates holding wine bottles. In the back of the hut I could see
shelving with still more bottles, all of them covered in grey
dust. There was a wine press and another kind of press I could not
identify at first until I realized it was for olives. In the cor-
ner adjacent to the door was a pile of cloth bundles. And there
was a fireplace complete with a neat stack of wood.

I glanced back at Ricci. He was shivering, holding his
arms around his chest. I realized that I was also cold. After the
hard exertions during the morning, the rain and sudden drop in
temperature was chilling.

"Do you think we could start a fire?" I asked.

He nodded. However, instead of taking the initiative,
he stood there silently, appraising me with his big innocent eyes.
I felt his eyes on me, a constant gaze that told me he was curi-
ous, fascinated. He looked at me the same way I looked at him.
Beads of water sprinkled his chest and shoulders, his hair a tan-
gled wet mess. Slowly he stepped forward. My heart leaped like I'd
received an electric shock. My arms lifted up. He stopped just
short of my hands. He looked nervous. His feet shuffled self-con-
sciously. He smiled shyly, looking at me uncertainly.

"I'm cold too," I grinned. "It looks like we'll be here
for a while."

Ricci nodded. His teeth chattered. His arms were cov-
ered with gooseflesh. His nipples stood out like tiny purple
points. He shuddered with cold. He stared at me nervously.

"Look Ricci, you'd better get your clothes off and get
dry," I suggested.

He smiled again, and glanced around. As I bent to place
sticks and paper in the fireplace he went off. A moment later he
was back beside me, with one of the musty white-linen bundles
opened up and draped around his body. The sheet was perhaps twenty
feet wide and thirty feet long. It dragged behind him like a wed-
ding gown. He was beautiful. He seemed like he did not belong in
the mundane hut, surrounded by the accroutrements of a rustic
life. He gazed down at me.

"Feel better?" I asked as I scratched a match across the
box I held in my other hand.

Ricci didn't answer. He breathed out. At least he was no
longer shivering with cold. The match flared and I held it to the
paper until it ignited. Ricci moved closer until I felt the linen
brush my side. I trembled with the contact, wondering I would last
until the storm had passed. But I wouldn't last, and both of us
knew what would happen. I felt Ricci's hand touch my shoulder, his
fingers brushing my neck. I swallowed, feeling a strange, fright-
ening anticipation.

"I love you," I mumbled as I lifted a log onto the small
blaze I had started.

"Me too," Ricci murmured softly. "I love you back."

"Ricci," I began.

I moved away slightly so that I could look up at him. My
heart was pounding, my brain sending messages that were all but
overpowering. It was all I could do not to sweep him from his feet
and lay him down on the hearth beside me. I knew what would happen
if I did. I knew Ricci would not try to stop me. I had known it
since,... since when? Since the first time he had entered my room?
How long had that been? Not much more than twenty-four hours, but
it seemed like a lifetime ago. Since Bryce has first shown me his
photograph? Was it possible to fall in love with a photograph?

"Mama said I must decide for myself, so I decide,
David."

"Oh! Um,... Jeez!"

Ricci grinned. "You're so funny."

"Huh?

"You're frightened. Like I should be, only there's
really nothing to be frightened about."

"Uh?"

Ricci giggled, sounding more like a young child than a
boy who was intent on seducing an adult. "Do you want to see me
naked, David?"

"Do I,..." I glanced to the side away from the glowing
fire.

The wood crackled and the flames began to rise, leaping
from the dry wood. His tee-shirt was lying on the floor near the
door. His shorts were next to the pile of linen. There was a red
splash of color that could only be his underpants. I could see his
sneakers. He was naked under the linen shroud. I swallowed. I nod-
ded. The cloth dropped away as he shrugged his shoulders deliber-
ately. Nothing could have prepared me for the sight. He was built
like a boy-god, perfect in every way. He was brown-skinned,
slightly paler in the middle section. He was still limp, or almost
so for there was a slight fullness in his hidden glans that sug-
gested arousal had started. His curving penis was lifted up by his
rounded, compact scrotum. He was uncircumcised with more than
enough skin to completely enclose the head and leave a little
puckered nozzle at the end.

"You're beautiful," I whispered in awe.

And he was beautiful, more beautiful than anything
thing or any person I had ever seen. My hand reached up, found
his, clasped gently, then increasingly tightly. I felt him pull-
ing. I resisted the pressure. Instead I pulled him down to his
knees. We faced each other before the flickering fire. I was still
dressed, Ricci was totally nude. I was old, he was young. I was an
adult, he was a boy. Yet we both gazed into each other's eyes and
felt something that was overpowering. A need to be loved, to give
love, to make love. Ricci's other hands slipped into my free hand
and we rested on our knees. There was no need to say anything.
Gently I drew him closer and he leaned into me, closer and closer
until our lips touched slightly. There we stopped again for only a
few short seconds until Ricci eased back. His eyes flashed.

"I thought you were going to kiss me," he said uncer-
tainly.

"I thought you might not want me to."

"I,... You can if you want to."

"I wasn't sure you wanted to.... I mean, well,... you
know,... we're guys,..."

Ricci wrinkled his nose. "We can always pretend I'm a
girl."

"I don't want you to pretend to be something you aren't.
It isn't that, anyway."

"What then?"

"I don't know."

"Are you ashamed, because I'm a boy?" he asked ner-
vously.

"No. I,... It's because you are a boy. You could have
kissed me first."

"It's because we're both male, isn't it? Boys aren't
supposed kiss other boys," he added adamantly.

"What's that got to do with it?" I asked quickly.

"Nothing. I guess you can kiss me if you want."

I laughed. "I need to get out of these wet clothes
first."

I settled back onto my haunches and removed my sweat-
shirt. I had to stand up to take off my jeans and briefs. Ricci's
eyes stayed on my the entire time, widening noticeably when my
genitals came into view. Compared to my half-brother, my penis was
somewhat smaller, but if Ricci noticed he showed no sign of it. He
grinned gleefully and turned away to lie down on the cloth.

"Your's is like Mr. Alison's," he observed. "It's not
the same as mine."

I smiled. "Do you mind us being different?"

"No!"

I lay down next to him, tugging the linen cloth across
the dusty floor until it was over us. I rolled onto my side and
smiled at him. Ricci smiled back. He wriggled closer until his
belly was only an a hand's breadth from me. I could feel his
warmth. His breath played across my cheek every time he breathed
out.

"Now we can kiss," I said softly. "That is if you want
to."

"Hm,..." Ricci teased. "I have to think."

"Don't think too long."

"Why?"

"I might do something and I won't be able to stop
myself," I confided. "You know what I'm talking about?"

"Yes," Ricci giggled. "I don't mind."

His cool hand closed around my hot penis, squeezing
slightly. "He's big."

"Yes, he is."

"He's nice and hard."

"That too."

"So is mine."

"I'm not surprised."

It was clearly an invitation and I slipped my hand down
his bare flank and lovingly brushed my fingertips against the
short shaft that stuck out from his soft groin. It was incredibly
hard and silky soft at the same time. My hand brushed against
Ricci's hand, his being in the same vicinity that mine was. It was
only natural to bring our penises into contact. His fingers
slipped between mine, holding our male organs simultaneously.

"You feel good."

"So do you."

"I don't feel cold any more."

"Neither do I."

"This is fun. He's so hot."

"Uh huh."

"Do you want to rub them together?"

"Do you?"

"If you do."

We both laughed. I guided Ricci's hand so that it
clasped with mine to form a sleeve of intertwined fingers. I felt
his hot hardness, like a silk-smooth finger of skin and bone
pressed against the length of my penis. We held our male parts
tightly together sharing the specialness of that intimate bond.
His hips undulated, moving back and forth, rubbing slowly. His
other hand glided across my hips, pulling us closer together, then
slowly sliding up my back to my shoulders. I felt his breath on my
cheek, his lips against mine. We kissed. It was sweet, soft, ten-
der. I felt his thighs strain, his hips pushing forward, beginning
a slow rhythm that made me tremble like a leaf. My other hand
clasped Ricci's buttocks, easily covering both cheeks. I pulled
him hard against me, sucking to bring his tongue forward. His
heart was beating quickly as he began to move against me with
increasing urgency. His mouth pulled away, leaving my lips cov-
ered with his saliva.

"I love you," he said urgently. "You feel so good."

"Keep doing that and I'll cream all over you in a few
seconds," I teased.

"Cream?" Ricci giggled. "That's what Mr. Alison called
it as well sometimes. I don't know why you call it that. It
doesn't even taste anything like cream."

"Are you sure?" I teased.

Ricci gave me a look that said everything, yet nothing.
It left me confused. "I already told you I don't want to talk
about what I did with him," he said abruptly.

"I'll never tell anyone what we do either."

He moved suddenly so that our penises were rubbed vig-
orously.

"Oh! Jesus, Ricci, don't! I don't want to do it yet," I
complained.

Ricci grinned. "I know how to make you do it lots of
times if you want."

"I'm sure you can. Only not right away. I want to enjoy
this."

"Okay." He grinned again. "Can I suck him?"

"If you want. You have to promise to stop when I tell
you."

"I want!"

"If I get to suck yours at the same time," I replied
with amusement.

He grinned sheepishly. Without saying a word, Ricci
twisted around and lay down. I placed my lower leg at angle to
form a pillow for his head. His face was next to my groin. By
bending forward, I could similarly reach Ricci's penis. What I saw
was both vibrant and perfect, a boy's small genitals so close that
it made me tremble with desire. It bobbed invitingly before my
eyes, both inflexible and flexing at the same time. The aroma of
that part of his young body, both slightly musky and sweaty from
working in the field, was very arousing. He smelt good. His squat
penis was unyielding, the foreskin pulled back so that the dark
tip of his glans was just visible. The shaft was rippled slightly,
not like mine for it was still boyishly smooth, but reflecting the
engorgement of the erectile tissue underneath. Unlike my penis,
the tip was still dry. Even up close there was no hair to be seen
any where. There was not even a faint fuzz on his pubis.

>From his silence and inactivity, I knew that Ricci was
similarly engaged in a study of my sex organs. There similarity
ended, for my penis was adult in size and capability. I did not
understand why a boy like Ricci would find a man's penis exciting
when his own organ was so beautiful that words could not even
begin to describe it. I was just very glad that he did.

It was nearly a minute later when I felt the hot soft-
ness of his tongue tentatively brush across the swollen knob at
the end of my penis. I groaned and began to suckle the boy, lick-
ing first to taste what little taste there was. Sweet, slightly
sour, not unpleasant by any stretch of the imagination. Soft,
hard, hot, melting into my mouth as I brought my lips over the
rim. I played with his foreskin, pressing my tongue into the open-
ing to push it back. I felt Ricci doing similar things, trying to
force the tip of his tongue into the slit at the end of my penis.
I felt his hands, both of them cradling my testicles, quiet
breathing, the nip of his teeth behind my glans. Was it that far
inside his moth already? I sucked him into me, prepared to match
him inch for inch until he gagged. Then I would take all of him
into my mouth, all of his penis, and both testicles, and suck
until he begged for mercy.

I felt him writhe, twisting to reposition himself,
lifting his upper leg until it was at right angles to his other,
giving me unfettered access. I nibbled on the end of his penis, no
longer anything to savor except the heat that emanated from him.
His penis throbbed and I sucked urgently. I felt him tremble,
wriggling, sucking on mine. I felt his thighs pushing, instinct
taking over, hungry for even greater pleasure. I felt his groin,
so smooth and utterly hairless touch my lips. All of his penis was
inside me and he was barely halfway down on mine. But he was game
for more, not unlike I had been after a month or so of sucking
Bryce off. Each time, he went a little further, opened a little
wider, breathed through his nose a little longer. He was very
eager.

With one hand, I reached behind him to stroke his small
buttocks. With the fingers of the other hand, I guided his imma-
ture testicles towards their destiny with my mouth. He began to
thrust, rapidly and so erratically that it seemed as if he no con-
trol over his body's motions. I felt his teeth graze the sensitive
skin of my penis, his movement become even faster and more urgent.
His penis was like a little steel spike that was insistent on
knocking out all my teeth. Then, without warning I felt his penis
pulsing between my lips. A dozen little jerks, like bursts of ner-
vous energy that had nowhere to go except through his penis. Ricci
shuddered, started pumping frantically, pushing his penis deeply
into my mouth until he could go no further. I felt him twitching
and then the unmistakable jerking of his penis.

He slowed, quaking, his buttocks clenching tightly as
he strained hard trying to push his crotch. He gasped for each of
the next few breaths, gave a low groan that ended with a whimper.
Was it possible he achieved orgasm so quickly? I wondered whether
I should back off and give him time to recover. Sometimes, partic-
ularly when I had become sexually mature, after Bryce had sucked
me to orgasm, my penis was so sore I did not want him to touch it.
Even the slightest touch was unpleasant. It was not so for Ricci.

He lay there quietly, basking in his lethargy, a
drained orgasmic bliss that continued for more than a minute. His
penis remained fully embedded in my mouth. Slowly the pulses of
his heart faded. Although he still held my penis in his mouth, he
did not move it past his lips. He held my hips in his hands, let-
ting me know that being in my mouth was all he wanted. He wanted
nothing more than that. A wonderful feeling of contentment swept
over me. I wanted to hug him, tell him how much I loved him, but I
dared not move. I understood how sensitive he was even while I
savored the taste of his still-erect penis. It was sweet, not like
sugar but fresh and vibrant with his youth.

It took me a long while to realize that his ecstasy had
culminated in a climax that was unlike any that I was used to. I
had nearly forgotten what it was like to be a young boy. At first,
I had a feeling that his excitement had abated only temporarily,
then came the slow realization as much from the absence of taste
as anything else, that his penis had not expelled its juice in my
mouth. Nothing had been ejaculated for the simple reason that
Ricci was much too young to ejaculate even a trace of fluid. Had
it been that way with me when Bryce first started me down the
road? I could barely remember a time when I could not ejaculate as
much as a single droplet. Perhaps that was the reason why his
erection had not gone down. Was it as simple as being incapable of
ejaculation meant that he did not need to recover afterwards?

All I could remember from my own childhood was how sen-
sitive my penis was afterwards. Sometimes it was a tingle, but
more often than not, it was just plain sore. And then, while I
wondered whether I should retrieve my penis from the hot wet home
it had discovered inside Ricci's mouth, his hips started moving
again. This time his rhythm was slower, more deliberate, as if he
was confident he could do it again if he wanted so there was no
reason to prove anything. However, now the little rascal seemed to
be concentrating more on giving me pleasure than on feeling good
himself.

I lifted my mouth away when I felt the urgency of
approaching orgasm. I groaned, flexing my penis in the hot succu-
lent depths of his mouth. Ricci grasped my testicles between his
fingers, squeezing gently yet firmly enough for me to feel his
young strength. If he had wanted to hurt me, I had no doubt that
he would have been able to.

"I'm going to make a mess in your mouth in a few sec-
onds," I warned as I felt my body suddenly become very tense.

However, Ricci stayed with me all the way to the end. He
was engrossed, barely aware that I was writhing and twitching. He
had heard my warning, yet he went on, his head pumping furiously,
his mouth sucking, his tongue performing indescribable antics. No
longer content with merely sucking the glans of my penis, the
movement of his lips stopped on my penis shaft just before where
my pubic hair started. I gazed down in admiration. It was impossi-
ble for him to take more of my penis. If this was what it felt
like to be 'deep-throated', I wanted more, much more. I was a long
way from wanting it to end but Ricci was intent in sending me over
the edge any moment.

I gave in, feeling an overwhelming sense of power as my
body shuddered with impending relief. I strained against his head
as my penis began to pulse. I held him behind his ears so tightly
and pushed so hard that my penis skewered into the back of his
mouth, jerking frantically to get it all out before he gagged. For
an instant I felt him struggling, experiencing the frantic need to
escape the inevitable. The feeling of power was all but foreign to
me for it was very different with Bryce. yet I was triumphant.
Ricci held me, all of me, not even a dribble that I could see. He
held my juice, some in his mouth, some in his throat, most in his
belly. He belonged to me.

"Oh God," I gasped. "I love you!"

He pulled away, his small brown hand instinctively mov-
ing to his lips. For a long while his lips had been stretched to
thin pale lines. They had recovered the instant he had pulled
away. Ricci looked at me uncertainly. It was a look that conveyed
a deep fear of rejection. I remembered the feeling of being hurt
when Bryce had finished with me. After his body had been drained
and his urge diminished, he lost interest at the one time that I
needed him the most. I resented his inability to understand my
needs, even though I was unable to express what I wanted to him.

We looked at each other without saying anything. It was
impossible to deny what had happened. Our relationship had
changed forever. Ricci's cheeks moved, forming concave hollows
and he pooled the fluids I had deposited in his mouth. And then he
gulped, his tiny Adam's apple bobbing as he swallowed and passed
the seminal oyster into his stomach. I was impressed.

"Come here," I whispered.

I held my hands out. Ricci's fingers slipped between
mine. For a few seconds he did not move, except for the slightest
movement of his cheeks as he continued to absorb the taste within
his mouth. He still breathed through his nose. With each breath
his nostrils flared slightly. His eyes flickered warily. Slowly I
smiled at him.

"Was I okay?" "You were very good," I said softly. "You
didn't have to swallow," I said guiltily.

"I wanted to. I don't mind the taste."

I looked at him with growing admiration and Ricci gazed
back at me. There was just a hint of a smile on his face, a know-
ing smile, a proud smile, a smile that said that he knew he had
done something very special. I drew him gently towards me, letting
him reposition his body as he needed until we were face to face
again. Playfully I licked his forehead, fondling the silky hair
behind his ears.

"You made a lot of spunk," Ricci said softly as he nuz-
zled my cheek.

'Spunk' was Bryce's word. It was a word that every boy
with a British heritage knew, whether from England, or New
Zealand. It made me feel slightly uncomfortable. However, jealous
I felt, I knew that Ricci needed me more than ever now that Bryce
was dead.

"Was it better than wanking by yourself, Ricci?" I
teased, lifting his shoulders up so that I could see his face.

Ricci grinned again, remembering the first time I had
seen him on the cliff. Any shame he felt had long since disap-
peared. Had it only been a day ago? It seemed like years had
passed since I had surprised him in his private pleasure.

"Much better," he giggled. Playfully he licked his
lips, exaggerating his pleasure. "You taste good."

"Do I?" I sighed languidly. I could not remember ever
feeling as satisfied. It was as if some inner longing had finally
been fulfilled. For some reason I was suddenly very sleepy. "Kiss
me."

Ricci complied. He leaned forward over me, still smil-
ing. His lips formed a perfect pucker. I brushed his lips with
mine, lingering longer than seemed appropriate when I discovered
the moistness there, the incredible tenderness of youth. Some
boys simply do not like to be kissed. For them, it is a demand on
their imminent manhood, an undeniable acceptance that they are
what they are. I did not want to upset Ricci by taking such a lib-
erty with him, yet he did not try to pull away. It was like I had
tasted a delicacy to be savored, my own sensitivity increasing
with every moment that our lips were together. I mused how seldom
Bryce and I had kissed. I could count the times on my fingers. He
was never one to display much emotion or affection for me. He
showed his love in other ways. But Ricci? It seemed that the kiss
we shared was all that was needed to confirm our love. As our
tongues became active, dueling first between our lips, and then
exchanged in a mutual engagement of writhing wetness, I realized
what I had been missing all those years ago. This was love. This
was what love was meant to be.

I felt Ricci sucking with an urgency that took my breath
away. Indeed, he drew the air from my lungs, his tongue searching
the remote corners of my mouth, sweeping over my teeth. And how I
kissed him back. I was inside him, becoming an undeniable and
inseparable part of him. We were both breathless when that kiss
ended. I had tasted myself inside Ricci's sweet mouth. We had
shared our juices. He lifted away until we could see each other's
face and he gazed at me with his big dark eyes.

"I love you," we said in unison.

He inclined his head, regarding me with deliberate
thoughtfulness. I gently drew Ricci's head back, drawing my
tongue across his soft sensuous lips, then touching the end of his
nose with the tip of my tongue. He grinned and laid his head on my
shoulder and moved even closer so that we were pressed together.
His hand slipped into my grasp. My other hand stroked his back,
flowing down his lean flank until I cupped his buttocks. The
rounded flesh was ever so slightly pinched, yet small and firm
globes fitted into the palm of my hand like they had been created
for that single purpose. His skin was so incredibly soft and
smooth that it felt like that of a baby. We were as united as we
could be, even had we joined our bodies in another way, a way
which suddenly seemed no longer necessary to prove our love. Just
lying together was enough.

Yet, as the hour passed, the urge grew stronger, not
only for me but Ricci as well. My fingers increasingly ventured
into his crevice, penetrating the split between the halves of his
buttocks. He did not resist me. If anything he pressed into me,
yielding that special place for my discovery. I was cautious,
probing, caressing, but always withdrawing from the sweaty depth
before my lust overtook my reason. Finally, when my courage would
not let me retreat, I pressed that last half-inch and my fingertip
did more than touch his anus. I stopped there, feeling the ripples
of his tiny pucker, like lips around the first joint of my finger.
That was where intimacy existed for a man and a boy.

I felt my heart pounding and recognized that he had not
pulled away. Ricci curled his body up against mine, drawing his
knees higher and parting his buttocks in the process. He sighed,
caressing my penis with his fingers with the intention of bringing
it to full erection. His thumb rubbed over my glans, extracting a
shiver from me. I felt his breath, hot and moist flowing across my
breast. My finger remained still, barely contained within his
warmth yet deep enough to stake my claim on him.

I knew what he was thinking. I was thinking the same
thing. The decision he faced, to give one's self completely to
another, is among the hardest decisions a person must make. For
me, the decision was always made for me. Not that Bryce forced
himself upon me. He never raped me, far from it. Instead, I never
knew there was an alternative until it was too late. Perhaps it
had always been too late for me. I never questioned that Bryce's
penis would go inside me. He never asked, and I never denied him
what he wanted. It was where it belonged. I sighed.

"What's wrong?" Ricci asked. His voice was soft. "Don't
you want to?"

"Ricci, I,..."

"You can, if you want," he offered with surprising
calm. He swallowed, becoming nervous almost as soon as the words
were said.

"Ricci, do you know what you're saying,... You don't
have to."

"It's okay. I know what guys do. Don't you want to?"

"Of course I want to," I answered. "You don't have to.
It isn't that important to me. I'm so incredibly happy right now."

"So am I, but,... you can, if you want. I don't mind.
Really, I don't."

"You want to, don't you?"

He shrugged ambiguously. "It's what men and boys do,
isn't it?"

"Yes, except,... I couldn't do that to you,... not
unless you wanted me."

"Okay, I want you to," he said grudgingly. "Are you
afraid it'll hurt me?"

"Yes," I answered. I sighed. "No, not really. I'd be
very careful. It's just that,..."

"What?" Ricci asked quickly.

"I love you so much. I don't want to spoil it by doing
something you're not ready for, Ricci." There I had said it.

"Spoil it?" Ricci queried, his eyebrows raised. Slowly,
he smiled. "Why do you think I'm not ready? Is it because I'm not
old enough? Do I have to be able to spunk first?"

"No, of course not. It isn't that." I sighed. It was
hard to explain to myself let alone Ricci. "Doing that, well, it's
very special. It's about being in love. We've only known each
other for such a short time. I want to know everything about you.
I want you to know me the same way."

"So, we have sex?" Ricci giggled. "Then we both know
more."

I laughed. "Well, okay, I guess that's true. But even if
we wanted to we couldn't."

"Why?"

"Because,... well for one thing we need something for
lubrication if we're going to do it back there."

"Lubrication?" Ricci asked impishly.

"You know, to make it slippery. Otherwise it will hurt
something awful."

"Like oil?" he suggested gleefully.

"Yes, oil would be all right. There's other stuff too,
but oil should work."

"If we had oil, could we do it?" he asked.

He tilted his head to one side, the picture of innocent
curiosity. I wondered what he knew that I didn't. Still, I nodded.
"We could try,... if you really wanted to,... It still might hurt
a lot. I know I hurt pretty bad until I got used to it. I wasn't
much older than you when I did it the first time."

"With Mr. Alison," Ricci taunted. "Then you liked hav-
ing his cock in you."

I shrugged, again wondering whether both of us had
experienced the same exquisite combination of pain and pleasure
with Bryce.

"Well," I said glumly, "It really doesn't matter
because we don't have any oil, do we?"

Ricci winked. He hesitated a moment then slid away from
me. His face beamed with a smile that informed me that I was about
to have sex with him. He stretched his arms out gesturing openly.

"Everywhere there is oil. Trinita Olive Oil. See?"

He was right. The far walls of the hut were lined with
shelves, most of them full of green-glass re-cycled wine bottles.
This was where they pressed the olives from the groves outside and
stored the oil until it was needed in the restaurant or sold in
the village. There were hundreds of one liter bottles of extra-
virgin olive oil.

Ricci darted to the nearest shelf and picked out one
thin-necked bottle before scurrying back to the warmth of the
fire. His slim brown body danced in the flickering light before he
settled back beside me. He turned onto his back and began to
remove the partially-inserted cork. And then he stopped. He
breathed out slowly, suddenly very nervous. Several seconds
passed, a long silence when I was very aware of my pounding heart,
of the certain knowledge that I was going to be making love to him
within a matter of a few minutes. I was also nervous, yet I was
also more excited that I could remember being during my life.

"I have to tell you this, okay,... He,..." Ricci began
shyly, awkwardly.

"Yes," I prompted.

"About what happened with Mr. Alison," he admitted
self-consciously.

"It doesn't matter."

"Him and me,..." Ricci gazed down at his feet. "I wanted
him so bad. I wanted to do it so much."

"It's okay Ricci. I don't care."

"But he said no!"

"Huh?"

"He wouldn't let me." Ricci's lips pressed tightly
together and his hands balled and clenched. "He said I was too
small. He wouldn't do that, at least not with a boy."

"What?" It did not sound like the Bryce I remembered. I
was confused, expecting to hear the worst. "What wouldn't he do?"

"You know," Ricci said softly. "I wanted to do it,...
what men do. In the bum. That's all."

"Um,... well, I,... I don't know. I guess I'm really
surprised Bryce wouldn't want to. I thought he'd want to fuck
you?" I asked uncertainly.

Ricci gave me an impatient look. "No, not that!"

"Uh? Now I'm really confused."

Ricci rolled his eyes, ever the maccho boy. "I wanted to
fuck him!"

"Oh!" I started to laugh.

"What's so funny?" Ricci demanded.

"You are! All of this! hell, I don't know. I guess I'm
pretty dense at times."

"Dense?"

"You know, dumb! I don't know the way Italians say dumb.
Stupido? I didn't understand. I'm sorry. Okay,... So you wanted to
be the man and Bryce,... He wouldn't let you?"

Ricci nodded slightly, now more than a little bit
embarassed.

"I'm not surprised. He was always the top. The man, you
know. For Bryce and me, he was always the one on top," I explained
as I saw his confusion. "He didn't get into swapping, at least not
while he was with me. Some men are like that. They only like being
on the top, especially when they're with a boy."

"I know Mr. Alison was like that. Are you?" Ricci asked
uncomfortably.

I smiled. Was I like that? I really did not know. Cer-
tainly, I had not been in the past although the idea held a cer-
tain fascination. I had never played a passive role with a boy,
either above or behind me, despite the fact that some of them were
very aggressive in other ways. Indeed, the only time I had truly
enjoyed being the recipient of another male's penis was when I was
with Bryce. Was I the same as Bryce? There was only one way to
find out.

"Do you want to fuck me?" I offered with a smirk.

Ricci nodded slowly, a smile spreading across his face
as the idea took hold of him.

"Now?" he asked self-consciously.

"Of course now," I replied. "That is if you want to. You
don't have to if you don't want to. You should never do anything
you don't want to do."

"I want to," Ricci answered swiftly, honestly, shame-
lessly. Then he paused thoughtfully. "If you want to?" he added as
an after-thought.

I grinned at the anxious boy, and promptly confirmed
what I suspected with a quick downward glance. His penis was
standing straight out, pushing against his foreskin so that it was
pulled back to reveal the burnished tip of purple crown within. He
was rock-hard and all but quivering with excitement. It was possi-
ble he had done this with boys his own age, and I would not have
been surprised if he had, but somehow I knew he had not. He was a
virgin in one way, and it pleased me. I would be his first. It was
enough. I took the natural position, respecting his lack of expe-
rience and adjusting for the difference in our sizes. I knelt
down, legs apart, and leaned forward so that my shoulders and head
were against the hard floor if separated by a thin layer of linen
cloth. With my head turned to the side, I was able to watch Ricci.
He seemed to know what he was doing as he uncorked the top from
the bottle of oil. He poured some of the yellow-green fluid into
the palm of his hand. It was a lot more than he needed, more than
a tablespoon. Grinning, he slathered it on his short erection and
moved into position.

His face suddenly bore a serious expression. This was
no time to be amused. He was awkward as he slowly guided his penis
forward, but that was no surprise. What boy would not be nervous
on his first time, on either end? I felt his penis prodding like a
thumb that was trying to find a soft spot, a way inside. He was
way too high.

"Lower," I instructed patiently.

"Lower?" Ricci asked in surprise.

"I think I know where my arse hole is by now."

Ricci giggled. "It's in your crack, isn't it?"

It was my turn to laugh. "So at least you're in the
right area. You're supposed to put it in the hole if you want to
go inside."

I reached behind, slipping my hand between us. My fin-
gers brushed his lower belly, so soft and warm, so alive. He trem-
bled, backing away slightly when he felt my touch. His male part
was hot and throbbing, not just hard but so stiff that it was com-
pletely inflexible. His arousal was enhanced even further as I
gently stroked its short length, grazing the oil-slicked flesh
along the underlying metal-like rod that lay within. Ricci
groaned, urgently pumping through my fist as I carefully reposi-
tioned the tip where it needed to be. Ricci squeezed against me,
driving the head hard into my anus. The fleshy knob bulged into
me, but without the benefit of lubrication, my opening was
unyielding for a few seconds.

"Take it easy," I growled. "You're not fucking a girl,
you know. You're supposed to go in slowly with a guy. Ease it in."

"Huh? How?"

"Well, first you probably need to put some oil in me so
its slippery in there."

"Oh," Ricci said apologetically. "I'm sorry."

"I don't mind."

"Why?"

"Why do you think?"

"Because mine isn't big yet?" Ricci asked warily.

"Something like that. You're not big enough yet to hurt
me, but you're plenty big enough to feel real good."

Ricci hugged me from behind, bringing his penis back
into contact again. I wriggled slightly, pushing back and relax-
ing my sphincter to assist him. He grunted, jerking slightly as if
he was already getting off and his orgasm was a done deal. He
tensed when he felt my heat and strength enclose his glans.

"Oooaaahhh," I sighed. "Okay, lover-boy. In you go."

"What do I do now?" Ricci asked nervously.

"Just push when you feel me pushing back at you. Pull
back when you want to. Don't worry about it coming out. It should
go back in easily," I said over my shoulder.

"Shouldn't I put some of the oil on you as well?" Ricci
asked with concern.

"Let's try it first without it. I think your little
grease-monkey will be fine without it," I teased.

"Huh?"

"Don't worry about it. Just stick it in. It won't hurt
very much, Ricci."

He did. He pushed hard, gasping noticeably when he felt
his glans penetrate the tight band of my anus. I felt him sink
into my heat far enough that his glans had penetrated. I squeezed,
then relaxing my sphincter, pushed back firmly, absorbing his
hard projectile. He gasped again and after a sudden intake of
breath, let out a long sigh.

"Feels good, huh?" I said softly.

"So hot."

"And tight?"

"Yes. I can feel you squeezing on me," Ricci murmured.

"So you do the same to me."

"How?"

"Flex it. Try to lift it higher. Yes. Just do that for a
while."

"Okay." Ricci giggled. "Is this what you call butt-
fucking?"

"Yeah, you're fucking my bum aren't you? Americans call
it a butt. It's the same thing. What did you think you were
doing?"

"Hm,... don't know. It feels nice."

"I hope so."

"Is it nice for you too?" Ricci asked.

He eased back and slowly pushed forward until he could
go no further. The less-than-three-inches of thin boy-penis
inside me was nowhere near long enough to give me serious prostate
stimulation, yet it still felt very good. I sighed contentedly,
remembering what it was like to be on the receiving end of Bryce's
thick penis. Then, it was hard to breath and my heart pounded
relentlessly. Each deep prolonged thrust filled my abdomen with
his hard spike, an invasion that I could not stop no matter how
much I tried to hold him back. He called it 'deep-dicking' and he
did it to me at every opportunity. It seemed a long time ago.

"It's great," I answered. "Keep doing that, just keep
going back and forth, until you want to go faster."

"Okay. Man, this is so good."

Immediately, Ricci started to increase the pace, find-
ing a natural rhythm that was more like a masonry drill than a
jack-hammer. I guessed young boys were like that. Even when they
masturbated they did it quickly, taking their pleasure at a rate
that was nearly a blur. There were no lingering or gentle caresses
while Ricci was thrusting into me, just a furious hurry to satisfy
an inner need before the moment was gone. Still, it was enjoyable
just knowing that he was having the time of his life. I heard him
grunting, his fingers clawing at my back and hips as he slammed
hard and fast against my buttocks. Every dozen jabs, his penis
slipped out of my quickly dilating anus. Then, in a frantic effort
to return, he poked along the depth of my crack until he found the
opening again. Each time he whimpered, finding relief only when
his penis slid into me and found the now familiar wet heat surging
within my bowels.

His breathing was frenzied. Between uttering incoherent
exclamations of pleasure, I heard him call my name. He was almost
coming, or what was an orgasm for a nine-year-old boy. I tightened
against his slick frenzied shaft, and he squealed in ecstasy. His
penis jerked vigorously, ejecting nothing but the heightened
thrill of orgasm. He stopped moving suddenly, his penis still
deeply embedded and throbbing mercilessly. It felt like it was
jumping up and down with each beat of his excited heart.

"Don't move, okay?" Ricci whined.

"What's wrong?"

"It hurts."

"What hurts?" I asked.

"My thing. I think I broke it."

"Don't worry, you didn't break it, Ricci. You just had a
really good orgasm, that's all."

"It was incredible. I thought I was going to die."

"Pretty good, huh?"

"It was,... different."

I laughed, lovingly stroking the side of Ricci's lean
brown thigh. "Yeah, I bet it was different being on the other end.
Did you like it?"

"Uh huh! It feels,... funny. You keep squeezing on it.
It feels itchy too."

"Sometimes a boy's dick gets very sensitive afterwards,
especially when he does it for the first time. You'll get used to
it after a few more times. Right now, you probably should take it
out."

"Okay," Ricci said without hesitation. His eagerness
was matched only by his haste in extracting his penis, still
stiff. He moved away, resting on his haunches. "It isn't dirty,"
he observed.

"What a pity, I was looking forward to cleaning him
off," I laughed.

"You're disgusting!" he retorted swiftly.

"Not really. It's just a matter of getting used to the
smell," I teased. "And the taste isn't half-bad either."

"Gross," Ricci said, wrinkling his button nose in a
show of distaste.

Laughing, I rolled onto my side and pulled Ricci on top
of me, before flipping him over and onto his back. I pressed him
against the floor, using just enough weight so that he could not
get out from underneath me, even if he wanted to. I licked my
lips, pretending extreme hunger, which was not far from the truth.
He struggled for a few seconds when he realized what I was going
to do to him, and then he stopped, grinning up at me with shame-
less desire, his eyes eager and wide open. Playfully I gripped his
head and pressed my lips against his, then as soon as he opened
his mouth, I slid my tongue between his teeth. It was a multi-
national kiss; a New Zealander who had lived most of his life in
England, French-kissing an Italian boy who now lived in Sardinia.
I felt him sucking back, drawing my tongue deeper inside him. He
was no foreigner when it came to kissing. A moment later I felt
Ricci's tongue squeeze past mine. At the same time, his arms
reached behind my back, pulling us close together. My hands held
his smooth face, completing the hug. We kissed wildly and without
restraint, exchanging saliva without any concern for the germs we
shared.

After a few minutes, Ricci's hand clasped my shoulders
and he pushed me away. Grinning from ear to ear, he reached beside
me and picked up the bottle of oil.

"Now me!"

"Huh?"

"My turn."

"Huh?"

"Don't you want to?"

"Want to what?"

"I think you want me,... I am wrong?"

"Um,... Well,..."

"You tease." He grinned. "I know you're like him. You
want to fuck me! I know you do."

"Oh that! There's no rush."

"No. You do me now!" he instructed. "It's your turn."

"Are you sure? I don't want to hurt you."

"You're not that big," he smirked. "I'll get you ready,
then you do me."

So saying, he uncorked the bottle and slopped some of
the yellow-green oil into his cupped hand. There was enough to
lubricate three or four men. He slathered it over my penis, pro-
ducing and instant erection which he promptly proceeded to tor-
ment as only a boy can. Where do they learn the trick of rubbing a
man's penis so lightly that it can barely be felt?

His hand glided up and down on the flim of oil, catching
the fluid as it flowed downward and restoring it to the top. There
was no movement of my skin, just his skin against mine. Long
strokes, from base to glans, each time, grazing the swollen bulb
at the end with his thumb before sliding back down again. Within a
few seconds, my penis was straining, veins bulging, throbbing
with uncontrollable lust. All I wanted to do was sink deeply
between his perfect brown globes and make long passionate love to
him. He grinned from ear to ear, very aware of his power over me.
For the moment at least, I was under his complete control, to tor-
ture or tease, or whatever else he wanted to do.

"Now he's ready," Ricci crooned.

He glanced up at me, barely diverting his attention.
His hand kept moving. "Now you," I said urgently.

He smirked gleefully. His hand tightened, exerting more
pressure, swelling the glans to a darker purple, excreting a drop-
let of fluid through the parted lips. His head lowered reverently
and his tongue, so precious and pink, dabbed delicately. It barely
touched the surface, but it was enough to lift away the droplet. A
sideways glance allowed me to see his lips close, then open as his
tongue wiped away the residual. A shy smile confirmed his delight
it was not otherwise obvious.

I took his hand firmly in mine, holding tightly because
it glistened with an oily sheen, as did the area surrounding by
crotch. It reached high up my belly and covered the insides of my
thighs. He came forward willingly, as I pulled. Instinctively, he
adopted the position of supplicant. Passive. Head down, knees
splayed, buttocks lifted up. His cheeks were far enough apart that
I could just see his anus. Small, dark, curiously peering at me.
Winking.

"God!" I said in awe.

"What's wrong?"

"Nothing," I said softly.

So beautiful. Did it really matter that he wasn't a vir-
gin? My hands molded to the curvature of his buttocks, my thumbs
stroking the line of his crevice, moving inexorably to the verge
of his anus, one hand covering both small, firm cheeks.My fingers
and thumb parted, splitting him, exposing his opening. Now puck-
ered, so tiny, so perfect. So perfect that my mind reeled and I
sighed aloud. This boy was offering his treasure to me.

With my other hand I reached out and picked up the bot-
tle of oil. My hand was shaking as I brought the bottle closer,
knowing what I was going to do as soon as I had realized how thin
the bottle neck was. I placed the cool glass between Ricci's
cheeks, holding it directly over his anus as I lifted it higher,
pressing firmly so that none could escape.

"Its cold," Ricci complained. He would not said another
word for nearly five minutes.

"Sorry. It won't be cold for very long," I teased.

Inverted, the viscous oil embraced his anus and lubri-
cated the opening so that only the slightest effort would be
needed to actually penetrate. Ricci's eyes widened with disbe-
lief, his muted lips encouraging me to try a little harder. I
pushed ever so gently. He blinked, compressed his lips, antici-
pating pain. His rectum pulsed, anus tightening instinctively
before he willed control over a reluctant muscle.

And then, the rim of the bottle slipped through another
rim, into the flesh to disappear from sight. He swallowed, blink-
ing rapidly, breathing out slowly as he recognized the sensation.
Different this time--hard, cold, unyielding. Unable to stop its
slow encroachment, he shuddered and shifted and tried to accommo-
date the gradually increasing girth. Thicker than a boy, but thin-
ner than a man, still enough to stretch Ricci wide. Once the glass
rim had progressed beyond the boy's sphincter, the oil began to
drain, but very slowly. I kept it there patiently, hoping that
more would find a way to escape when he relaxed. A minute passed,
and then another. Slowly I eased the bottle back, dropping the
level nearly a centimeter before it stopped. When the rim finally
pulled free of the little anal-mouth, I tilted it down quickly but
not before a trickle ran down Ricci's thigh.

As I placed the bottle back on the floor, I breathed
deeply.

"Are you sure?" I asked gently.

Ricci nodded slightly. His head rested on his forearm,
the other underneath his chest. It was only natural to assume that
he was playing with himself. He was ready. I was ready. I leaned
forward, holding my curving penis in line with his crack. The sud-
denly very tiny target was revealed between the thumb and fingers
of my other hand. I edged closer. We touched and Ricci trembled.
There was no mistaking the point of contact. The resilient inden-
tation of his small anus embraced my hot hard flesh and we both
gasped with the sheer joy of what we were about to do. It felt
like a mouth with tightly compressed lips holding me back, pro-
tecting lubricious softness just inside. I stopped there, wait-
ing, knowing that Bryce had done this to him already, that he had
taken Ricci's virginity, that my brother's sperm had flowed into
the beautiful boy kneeling before me.

Without warning, Ricci wriggled back against me, push-
ing deliberately in an effort to impale himself before I had sec-
ond thoughts. He grunted and then gasped. In fact, we gasped
together, both surprised at the sudden ingress. I was inside him.
Joined together, united as one. I glowed with excitement, discov-
ering the wonder of actually being inside him for the first time,
even if it was only two centimeters. His anus tightened reflex-
ively, nipping on the swollen end of my penis like it was trying
to bite it off. Alternatively, his muscular contractions were
intended to force me out. I was having none of that, and I pushed
up against him, holding his hip steady. Not too hard, just hard
enough. I eased back after a few seconds, realizing that it was
going to go in deeper if I kept the pressure on. The only problem
was that Ricci winced and instantly looked more than uncomfort-
able. His jaws tightened, his lips compressed, eyes closed to mere
slits. He was trying not to cry but tears still formed in his
eyes. His nose wrinkled as he sniffed.

I met his eyes, guiltily aware that I was hurting him.

"Sorry," I mumbled.

He nodded slightly, bravely accepting that some pain
was necessary in order to achieve what he wanted. He could not
help the whimper that escaped from his lips. He sounded like an
animal in pain.

"Hurts?"

Ricci nodded again, moved so that his head was lying on
the side. There was no need to say anything more. We both knew the
thoughts that were running through his mind. I eased back until
only the rounded tip of my penis was lodged between his cheeks. A
full minute passed before I dared to try again. Another slow care-
ful push inserted my glans through his outer sphincter. Again, the
pressure increased as his muscle responded. A glorious shiver ran
through me, again the triumphant joy of knowing I was joining with
him. He swallowed dryly, took a deep breath, closed his eyes com-
pletely and pushed back at me. I wanted to shout with joy. Ricci
was forcing his body to accept me, willingly, wantonly assisting.
My penis penetrated slowly, stopping as his inner sphincter
tightened and squeezed resolutely. I groaned.

For the first time in my life I realized that anal sex
with a boy as young as Ricci was both intensely pleasurable and
unquestionably frustrating. Bryce had not been patient with me.
He had taken care the first time with me, but after that there was
a hurried urgency in our coupling that always caused me to feel as
if my 'ass' was more important to him than I was. I resolved not
to do the same with Ricci. I wanted him to know that I loved him.

So there I stopped, my glans hidden within his anus,
gazing down as him. By virtue of his age, he was fragile and inno-
cent. His delicate features were distorted with lust. He breathed
obscenely, his chest rising and falling erratically with every
anxious gasp, clamping his anus around my shaft, and pulling me
deeper. I kissed him. My lips brushed his forehead, caressing his
hair. My hand stroked his cheek, moved to the side and fondled his
ear, soothed his longing. I could feel his anus twitching and
pulsing and full of desire. I longed to be inside him, to fill his
beautiful brown body with my manhood.

A quick exploration with my hand confirmed that Ricci's
erection had vanished. His limp penis had pulled in against his
scrotum, his tiny testicles all but indistinguishable. Like this,
he was barely male, I thought to myself.

"Tell me if it hurts," I whispered.

Ricci nodded slightly. We pushed simultaneously. My
movement consisted of a series of cautious pushes, withdrawing
just enough that he felt the pressure easing. It seemed like slow
motion, always forward, always backward, never so far that I got
beyond the tight muscular band that lay within him. In contrast,
Ricci's endeavor was aggressive and intended to have my penis pen-
etrate all the way into his rectum. His pelvis wriggled back and
forth, working against my penis as if it was an immovable object.
He pushed harder, grimaced and suddenly clutched my arm. I was
astounded as I felt the miracle of entry. The taut tube that had
previously enclosed my glans was slowly, inexorably creeping down
the length of my penis. It was being sheathed in hot flesh. Our
bodies throbbed with merciless mutual joy. His sphincter girdled
me. It was impossible not to cry out with happiness. The boy I
loved held me inside him, and as I was making love to him, he was
making love to me. I had never been as happy as I was at that
moment.

Without warning, my joy was interrupted. Ricci shoved
at me, jerking away until he was able to turn onto his back. He
grinned up at me, a look that was unbelievably wanton and some-
thing I might have expected from a much older boy. Then shame-
lessly, his small hands grabbed his legs behind his knees, drawing
them upward all the way to his chest. I took over, holding his
feet and positioning him so that his head was cradled between his
ankles. It did not look to be very comfortable, but from my own
experience, I knew otherwise. We exchanged a smile. He was in the
classic position for man-boy sex, completely defenseless. I
leaned over him, pointing my penis downward, bringing it closer,
slipping through his slick smooth buttocks, burrowing into his
oily crevice to find an entry again. He grinned and wriggled
against my prodding sex. Slowly, sensuously, his thin brown arms
lifted up behind my shoulders to enfold me. He dragged me down,
meeting my pursed lips with his tongue. So firm, yet so incredibly
soft, it swirled freely, embracing, pushing past my teeth. As my
hardness regained possession of Ricci, so his tongue claimed my
mouth.

I wanted so badly to tell him how much I loved him, yet
with my rigid penis sinking into his lush heat and his lips and
tongue moving frantically, there was nothing I could do except
kneel over him and enjoy it. My excitement surged when my penis
met and conquered the resistance of his inner sphincter. In this
position, his muscle seemed weaker. Certainly, it did very little
to hold me back from the inner sanctum. Then, as Ricci tightened
against me, if felt as if his bowels gulped and swallowed my jut-
ting organ. Down, deeper, growing fuller, until nothing was left.
We were joined completely. For a while we stopped kissing, concen-
trating all our thoughts on the wonderful pleasure of our mid-sec-
tions.

Any man who has had anal sex with another male knows the
incredible satisfaction that comes with deep penetration. With a
young boy, the sensations are magnified a hundred-fold and the joy
is nothing but overpowering. The source of my elation far more
than the inherent tightness of a smaller body, the illicit nature
of the act, or the tantalizing innocence of youth. I was consumed
by Ricci, realizing that he was giving me the most precious gift
of all. It no longer mattered to me that he was not a virgin. That
was not absolutely true, had it been someone other than Bryce, I
would be envious. However, given that my brother had also taught
me how to love, it seemed only appropriate that Ricci's first
experience be no different.

Ricci's lips sought mine again, finding immediate
euphoria as we licked and sucked at each other's lips and tongues.
Within moments of moving in that slow rhythm, wet, hot, rapture
enveloped us. His anus clutched at me, tightening, pulsing, shar-
ing his life and energy, not raping him but gently making love
deep within his beautiful body.

Beyond the invigorating constriction afforded by that
inner muscle of his rectum, the tube expanded into a looser hotter
chamber with velvet-slick walls. I could feel the lubricious suc-
tion of the olive oil being churned to oleaginous fluids that
seeped alongside my thrusting hardness. A downward glance became
a steady gaze as I watched between us and observed the wonder of
what we were doing. Each forward movement pushed his anus inward
as it grasped my shaft. Then, far enough inside him that his eyes
widened, though not in pain as much as shock that anything could
feel so marvellous. His anus all but disappeared before the heated
friction was overcome and my flesh slipped through his dilated
opening. Then out! He breathed on the outward stroke, sucking air
as my penis sucked through his slimy bowels. Usually I stopped
only when my glans met the taut constriction, but often enough I
withdrew until it was lodged at his anus. Each thrust extracted
more of the yellowish slime. It collected in a bead behind his
stretched anus, not unlike a rubber seal.

His eyes closed as I began to move faster, timing my
thrusts to his breathing, the erratic motions of his pelvis, to
the muscular contractions within him. Sometimes slower, sometimes
faster, sometimes jabbing when he least expected, always building
and then breaking the rhythm so that he was constantly aware of
what was happening. After a few minutes he began to gasp for air.
Knowing what was afoot, I increased speed, depth, and force. of
course, that made him gasp all the louder, but only for another
minute.

While I pounded away, I remembered being pounded by
Bryce. I could feel and hear Ricci's bowels suctioning my penis as
it pumped back and forth. The constriction had all but vanished as
his anus dilated fully and his muscle relaxed in the oblivion of
ecstasy. He shook with the immediacy of orgasm, grunting animal-
like, swearing words of Italian that had much the same meaning in
any language. It was a plea for more, deeper, harder, faster,
more. The smell rose up around us, the lush, fertile scent of his
bowels, the ultimate aphrodisiac. Suddenly lust took over as my
scrotum grew tight. Unable to stop myself, I gave way to my urgent
need, skewering him, slamming in, yanking out, gripping his
ankles and shoulders to hold him in position. The seed rose
through my penis and gushed into him. One spurt followed another,
then as my organ pulled free, the final jerks of my penis produce
one last splash on his shrivelled pouch.

Ricci shook uncontrollably. I had brought him to the
very edge, but my timing was off by a few very important seconds.
He looked up at me, aware of what had transpired, realizing he had
been cheated as my erection diminished before his eyes. I could
not do that, not to Ricci. I lifted away, sliding back until I lay
on my belly, prostate before him, silently worshipping his
uplifted rear end. Frantically, I began to kiss his smooth but-
tocks, then working my nose between his cheeks, I started to lick
across his puffed out anus. My tongue swept into his vacant hole,
swirling through the accumulated juices, tasting the tangy sweet-
ness of his bowels, stabbing through the quivering opening. His
hands moved quickly to his buttocks, pulling them wide apart as my
tongue lapped at his dilated orifice.

No matter how hard I tried, giving Ricci an orgasm from
tonguing his anus was next to impossible. It was fun if a little
oily to start off with. Finally, when my jaw was aching, I slid
two fingers through his anus and began to massage the tiny gland
within him. That provoked an immediate a reaction. He bounced his
heels off my back and lifted his buttocks off the floor. He stayed
there, arched up, his sinewy muscles taut and straining as he suf-
fered through prolonged yet dry spasms. Breathless, he collapsed
and curled into a ball.

I had to admit to myself that his mother was very right
when she said that the olive oil of Trinita was `very speciale'.
Only then, in a silence broken only by his ragged breathing, did I
notice that the storm had passed. There was a beam of sunlight
coming through the shutters that fell across Ricci's small bare
shoulder. It was like magic. He was asleep, and I watched his
chest rise and fall for more than an hour before he woke and wrig-
gled in my arms.

"I love you," I said.

"And I love you," Ricci replied with a sleepy soft
voice.


End Part 2.