By Chris Z.
The author claims all copyrights to this story and no duplication or
publication of this story is allowed, except by the web sites to which it has
been posted, without the consent of the author.
This story is purely a work of fiction and any resemblance to person's
or dead, or to events that may have occurred, is purely coincidental.
Moreover, none of the actions of the characters in this story is meant to
condone, approve, or sanction their behavior.
All comments are welcome and if you wish to contact me, please feel
free to email me at email@example.com
"I am enough of an artist to draw freely upon my imagination."
-- Albert Einstein (1879 - 1955) --
A little background history to set the story into motion. I was born in the town of San Remo, Italy in 1973. My mother was born and raised in Nice, France and my father was Italian from the city of Genoa. As far as love stories, my mother met my father while she was on a vacation trip with my grandparents in San Remo in 1962, when she had just turned 18.
San Remo, is one of the most popular tourist resorts in the Mediterranean. It's famous for it's flower festival and casino and it's importance as a resort goes back to the 19th century when the town was favoured by Aristocracy and eminent figures of the time. Thanks to it's mild climate, San Remo has a tropical look to it and it's flowers are in bloom year round.
It was here in 1962 where my parents met at the beach and so the love story goes, was love at first sight. When I see the photo of my parents at the time that they met, it was no wonder that they both fell madly in love. My mother was quite the beauty at the ripe age of eighteen, she was 5'9 and had the most beautiful green eyes, dark brown hair, rosy cheeks and red lips with a very slim figure and voluptuous buxom. My father looked very tall, strong, fit, very handsome and with a captivating smile. When my mother's vacation ended, both of my parents knew that they had found something special and kept in contact with each other, through letters and phone calls and met again the following year and eventually after alot of courting, married three years later.
It was shortly after that, my father landed a nice job in the town's water treatment plant where he was in charge of quality & control. He was the technician and in charge of purifying and checking the town's drinking water. Mom worked in the hospital as a nurse, where she worked in the elderly care dept. With the nice income that both of them were earning, they were able to purchase a 5 bedroom hillside home that overlooked the ocean in the upscale part of town.
It was in the seventies when my parents were ready to start a family, unfortunately my mother had three miscarriages during the first two years, but eventually and in good time, she soon got pregnant again and in the month of march of '73, I arrived into the world. My father was overjoyed when he heard that he had a fine and healthy son, but his joy soon turned unpleasant, when the doctor told my parents that there had been complications with my birth and would be very dangerous for my mother if she ever tried to have another child, therefore fate being sealed............. I was to be their only child.
My grandmother said that I took the fairer complexion of my mother and was blessed with my father's hazel eyes and jet black hair. Even as I grew up, I saw the difference between my father and me, his skin always had a natural healthy tan even in the winter. It was during these young years that I began to feel a deep adoration for my father, even to the point that I was always around him and followed him as his second shadow.
My father was very quiet when he was at home and quite modest, after work he always changed his clothes in their bedroom and behind close doors. When he came out of the room he always wore his white t-shirt, soccer shorts and sandals. After dinner, I was to leave him alone while he read the daily paper and caught up on local news, soccer schedules and scores. After he was done with the paper he always made time for me and helped me practice my reading, writing and math skills, which I hated to do.
In the morning, I would sneak into my parent's bedroom and while my
mother was downstairs preparing breakfast with my grandmother, I would
sneak into the washroom, where I always found my father shaving and listing
to the news on the radio. He was quite a site in the morning, he
liked to shave shirtless and in his underwear. This was my favorite
time of the day, where I could enjoy seeing that amazing muscular, hairy
chest and made a mental note to take notice of every part of his body.
His brief's elastic looked as if it could hardly sustain the heavy weight
of what lay behind that fabric. He always greeted me with a pleasant
good morning and a kiss on my forehead and would pick me up and sit me
next to the sink, where we would talk
about school before he jumped into the shower.
Between the two of us, there was no modesty of covering up. We were men and my father didn't see a reason to be shy around each other. After he was done shaving, he would take his underwear off and I got to see my father in all his glory. He had a beautiful penis,(cazzo) as we call it in Italian and even in it's flaccid state, I could tell that that was a major piece of meat, my father had. It looked huge to my virgen eyes and was thicker and darker than the rest of his body. He had alot of dark hair surrounding the base and two huge balls that were the size of lemons. His ball sack hung very low and looked simply amazing, swinging back and forth.
Once in a while, when he wasn't running late, he would tell me to jump into the shower with him and we would help wash each other off. It was this reason why I got up so early in the morning, hoping that he wasn't running late and to be able to shower with him. Since he was so tall, I was pretty much at eye level with his massive penis and while he was shampooing my hair, I was in a trance watching the huge cock bounce all around.
It was here that he showed me how to wash and look after my cock. He said that as men, we had to maintain this part really clean and wash it everyday. He told me to pay close attention and to watch him and as he pulled the skin back on his cock and I got to see what he meant. He explained to me in easy and plain terms that smegma, was a cheese like substance that forms underneath the foreskin and if you did not wash it would collect in large quantities and give a ripe and strong smell. I remember asking him if it also tasted like the feta cheese that was a preference in our house? He just looked at me with those great, mesmerizing hazel eyes, laughed and continued washing.
Our household was very proper, my parents never smoked or drank at home and it was only during special occasions/festivities that they would drink wine or have a beer. They always mentioned to me that they wanted to make a good impression on their son to live in a healthy and clean lifestyle. I even hardly remember a time when my father would swear and the time when he would, for some reason or other, my mother would give him the look of death.
My father, hardly ever spoke of his parents. As far as I knew they had died in a car accident while he was a teenager and was raised by relatives in and around Italy. So he was never in one place for too long and it wasn't until he met my mother, fell in love, got married and raised a family that he decided to stay and live in San Remo. My father is three years older than my mother and had the most modest upbring in education, where my mother was able to persue her career in university, my father was able to land a job through friends and contacts and eventually prove himself at the local water treatment plant where he started low and through hard work and recognition, was given the position of quality & control.
I remember looking up at my father when he was speaking to people and they way in which they reacted around him. When my parents would host dinner parties at our home, I would ask for permission to stay up late and was fascinated to see how both men and women sorrounded him during conversation and played closed attention to his stories and jokes as if they were in a trance. When he shook your hand, he gave a strong grip and told me that you can always recognize the character of a man by his gestures, personality, the way he speaks and the grip of his handshake.
Both of my parents were catholic and I was born and raised with the catholic traditions. But to the dismay of my mother my father was never a church going christian. They did manage to have a church ceremony but he did that only to please my mother(he wanted to have a civil ceremony!) but my mother wouldn't hear of it. And as far as I know, he had only been to church for two occasions, one was for the marriage and the second for my baptism. As for my education, my mother wanted only the best for her son and wanted to register me in a private school, taught by priests. My father put his foot down and said no! "His son wasn't going to be brainwashed by the vicars from hell!". After alot of protest from my father, it was then decided that I was to attend a private school were the teachers were going to be nuns.!
By 1980 I had reached 7yrs of age and it was during this time that my grandmother moved in with us from Nice, after the death of my grandfather. It was also the time in which my father decided that I was old enough to learn how to swim and felt that being so close to the ocean, it was very important that I knew how to handle myself and have respect for water. I was signed up in a local swimming class for kids 7-10 yrs of age and it was my grandmother that took me to the swimming lessons. I do remember that I was very scared and being sorrounded by all the young kids crying for their mommies and daddies didn't help either. My first vivid memory was the smell of chlorine in the pool, the pool looked gigantic and so deep. I'm sure I had the look of terror in my face but I can't remember if I was also one of those kids crying!
After 5 lessons my grandmother stopped taking me to swimming hall, much to the annoyance of my father. She said that it was getting too traumatizing for me and it was heartbreaking for her to watch me in the pool. Well, my father was to have none of my grandmother's meddling and besides, he also felt that I was getting too attached to her. He told my mother that he would be taking me to his all male sports club, where he himself would teach me to swim. My father was a sports fanatic, and in his late 30's he looked great for his age. The man lived and breathed soccer and was the goalie for team Reggina Calcio. The team consisted of workers from my father's water treatment plant and played every other weekend.
My mother and grandmother would take me to see my father play soccer on the weekends. As the goalie, he was truly amazing and he would throw himself from left to right on the net and no injury would shake him during the game. I was fascinated while watching him and would cheer my dad on and it was clear that he was a champion and ruled supreme in this sport. He looked amazing in his uniform, it consisted of black socks and shorts with burgandy shirt and white numbers. I would run to him during periods and would give him water to drink and a towel to dry himself. I loved the smell he would leave on the towel and would hold the towel tight and close to my body to pick up on his masculine sweat and scent.
My father, always made heads turn wherever he went and on the field it was no different. My mother knew that the man she had married was indeed very goodlooking, to the point that it no longer bothered her or made her jelous when women of certain low morals(groupies) as I was to learn later, would come to watch the soccer game and wait outside in the benches for the players to pick them up. My father had made it very clear that he was a happily married man and would not cheat on my mother, although it's hard to imagine how you could pick up one of these sluts, when your mother-in-law, wife and son were always present at every game.
My father, was certainly an imposing man, standing at 6'3 and with 230lbs of solid and impressive muscle. With short black hair and the warmest and most seductive hazel eyes, that you could stare at. All those years of being athletic and playing soccer had resulted in having big, strong and sturdy hairy legs and his chest and arms looked very strong, muscular and very well developed. His natural tan was a dramatic contrast when he was on the field and the blazing sun made his skin glow and his dark hair get even darker. At the end of each game, I would run to meet my father and congratulate him on the great game and he would then take me on his shoulders and into the player's locker room. It was there that I begun to see my father in a completely different light, he was no longer the modest, well behaved and clean cut guy but quite to the contrary.
To be continued!