"Me?" I look at you, completely taken aback. "What do you mean `me'?"

You don't respond, you stay quiet, still, frozen. You, an adult, an actual adult, are looking at me without saying a word. Your face says nothing either, so you could be thinking anything. Maybe you regret listening to my story or having me kiss you or maybe you regret receiving me in your house entirely.

"Are you saying I'm the reason you guys got in a fight?"

It takes you a second to come back to reality. "I didn't mean it like that, Johnny. I'm not trying to say..." you stumble over your words, barely making sense. I can see this is a sore spot for you. "It's complicated, okay? Maybe, you should just keep telling your story; forget I said anything. Let's just get to the part where you massively fucked up."

"Okay," I can't stop looking at you, my eyes are glued to yours. I try to shake the shock off me, I try to breathe. One, two, three... ten seconds later and I see the world clearer than before. "Okay," I repeat. "I'll keep telling my story but first... what was your and mom's fight about?"

No words, no sighs, no nothing. Only the subtle dance of the wind passes through my ears. There it is, the question I always had in my mind. You are speechless.

"Johnny..."

"Why?" I don't wait for another second. The rain turned into a downpour, the crack turned into a hole. "I never asked you! Either of you! For three years, you know that. Three years and not a single question. I knew it was personal... After you left, mom was sad and angry for days . I was angry and sad too, but above all I was confused. Yet, I never asked."

"Johnny..."

"Tell me what happened," I am tired of waiting. I never asked because I thought it was something between them, something that didn't concern me. Maybe I was wrong. Maybe it was about me the whole time. "I need you to tell me what happened."

The roof is cold. Not chilly but cold when compared to your terrace or even your pool. On the horizon, the deep black sky is starting to recede. Not by much, not noticeably, but there it is. Far away in the east, you can see a line of deep dark blue that once was black. The night is fading away.

"Johnny," I look back at you to find you looking at me, then at the floor then me again. "As someone I knew used to say... don't tell your mother."

You turn to the dark silhouettes of what must be mountains in the distance and, before long, you start talking:

"The fight I had with your mother, the reason I left... At first I thought... I'm not sure what I thought. I thought it was a misunderstanding, a mix-up. But I must admit that with time I did come to think I deserved to be banished from your and your mother's lifes. Now, when you told me your story I... well, I started tying up some loose ends."

"What loose ends?" I look at you, confused. "What did you and mom fight about?"

Oddly enough, you smile at me. "You haven't figured it out? All the pieces are on the table... you could know by now. No?"

I try to think for a second but nothing comes to my mind. My friends paying Armando, Buch saying sorry at the school cafeteria, me in Buch's tiny apartment, the Taco Place, the Halloween party, the sunflowers... I feel like I'm missing something but I don't know what it is.

"Don't worry, I didn't either," you say as if reading my thoughts. "That day, the day of your perfect date with Armando... you mother and I took the blue Honda Civic for a wash and a check-up. I bought that car, or at least, I helped her buy it for you. We got a really good price for it, which is why we bought it months before your birthday."

I give you a weird look. "You and mom fought over my car?"

"Something like that. Well, no, not really. Not over the car itself. We fought because the guys at the car service found something inside it." I don't understand, I look at you more confused than I was before. I can tell this is hard for you too. "Johnny... I think that after the Halloween Party, Morgan didn't take your underwear with him as a souvenir. You left it in the car."

"What?" My mind is racing but no matter how fast it goes, all meaning eludes me. "In the car? So... Captain didn't take them?"

You raise your shoulder. "I guess not."

"But," I look at my hands as if, by using them, I could return to the past and see that, after sleeping naked in the car, my underwear didn't end up in the front yard with the rest of our clothes. It stayed behind. And mom found it. Mom found it. "Shit."

"Yeah, shit," your eyes are still glued to the mountains beyond, as if you are unable to look at me. "That's what we said. Shit. How do you think your mother felt when she found your cum-stained underwear on the backseat of the car? Leave the humiliation and confusion aside, of course, she thought I had something to do with it."

"You? Why would she think that?"

"Well, I was the one who bought it, and before she gave it to you, remember I was the one who used it the most. Besides, only two people in the world had keys for that car: she was one and I was the other. So... of course, she thought I had something to do with it." You give a long sigh and I can see the exhaustion in your eyes. "Besides, that was my third strike, not the first one."

I looked at the floor, confused. "Third strike?"

On the horizon, the far-away line where the sky met the Earth, the deep blue is gaining more and more ground, spreading. You can't take your eyes away from it. "The first strike happened a long time ago when you were very little. I don't remember how young but it was shortly after your father had left. It was the second or third time your mother let me babysit you."

For a second you turn to me, maybe checking if I'm paying attention or maybe asking for permission to continue. I nod.

"You wanted to watch a movie so we went to your mother's room. We stayed up late. Halfway through the movie I paused it and told you to go get a shower. While you were in there I got something to eat." There's a pause, I notice how each word is heavier than the last one. "I was tired, Johnny, so tired. I didn't even notice, I just fell asleep on your mother's bed."

"I don't remember that," I whisper, the wind carrying my words.

"Well, turns out that, when I woke up, the credits were rolling and you were asleep, still wet and completely naked, cuddling with me. Your mother was standing on the doorstep, speechless."

I can picture it. Not me and you, not that. But my mom. I can picture her, standing on the doorstep, her face stern and cold as steel, crimson red, her heavy breathing like a thunder about to strike. "She must've been furious."

"Of course she was," you roll your eyes. "Just picture what she felt: arriving home after a long day at work just to find your ex-husband's former boyfriend hugging your naked son in bed." I hear you sigh. "We didn't talk for a week. I thought I might never see her again but then she... she came to see me. I explained to her the whole thing. She was very understanding."

"She was?"

"She let me go back into your lives but she, very seriously, asked me not to let anything like that happen again, or else..."

"That sounds more like mom."

"Yeah, but then... when you were a little bit older, about 13... I messed up again." I see you swallow the words as if they were vinegar. "This one was my fault. You had just arrived from a summer camp and were super exhausted. Your mother told me to ask you to come down for dinner but when I got to your room... your room was half-open, you were asleep."

I don't say a thing. I try to remember that but nothing comes to mind. Of course, I was asleep but still, nothing. "Then what happened?"

"Nothing. I just stood there, looking at you."

"Just looking?"

"Just looking, but you were almost naked. You had taken everything off except for your really tight boxer briefs. I still remember that day. Your bedroom light was off but your curtains were wide open, so the yellow streetlight was pouring from your window into your blue room. It was like looking at a painting or a scene from a movie. It was perfect. And you, sleeping on your back, had an erection in your sleep, creating a big, straight bulge. It was beautiful."

I smile at you.

You turn towards me, almost ashamed. "I've always thought you are beautiful, Johnny. There is so much of Scott, of your father, in you... but there's also so much more. You are also your mother's son."

"What do you mean?"

"Nothing." You chuckle. I had never seen you that embarrassed, shy or self-conscious. "You got his looks but thank God you got her brain. There is no better combination possible."

I don't know what to say so I just stay quiet. That doesn't seem to bother you. You seem happy just looking at me. The blanket has slipped away a little, my hands move and take it, covering my body. It's not a conscious act, it's automatic.

"Anyway," you finally part your eyes from mine. "I stood on your doorstep for so long that your mother came up. I didn't even hear her but, of course, she didn't see the beautiful painting I was looking at, no. She just saw her friend, with an erection, watching her almost naked son."

I fumble with my fingers. "You had an erection?"

You don't respond, just nod. "She started yelling at me. Not there but downstairs. I don't know how you didn't wake up. But... yeah, the erection didn't let me hide what was really happening there. She was furious."

"Is it because you were gay?"

"Don't say that," you reply almost immediately. "Because that isn't true. First of all, I'm not gay, I've always been with women except for Scott, so either you can see it as a one-time thing or even as me being bi, but I'm not gay. And secondly and, most importantly, she didn't get mad for who I was . She got mad because you are her son."

There's something in my face that doesn't seem convincing to you, so you continue.

"This is not a gay issue, okay? Just imagine these same things happening with a woman or a straight man. Imagine coming home and finding your son, naked, asleep, hugging a woman in your bed. Or imagine a woman, standing in the hallway, aroused, looking at your son in his underwear with an erection."

I look away. "Okay, you are right. It does look bad either way."

"It does," you agree. "But your mother, no matter how stern or severe or how mad she got, found it within herself to forgive me and let it go for a second time. So, when the car thing happened, well, you can imagine how furious she was."

"But you never did anything to me," I say, trying pointlessly to defend you from something that happened three years ago. "You never touched me."

"I know but she didn't want to wait until I did," you reply. "And, to be honest, I did want to. Not because I'm bi or you are gay, no. Not all gay men are like that. I think it was just because I really liked your father and also loved your mother so, of course, I was attracted to you, and you were the best of both."

"Still, the car thing wasn't your fault," I don't know why I insist on defending you. Why do I try so hard to prove your innocence when my mom wasn't a villain and you weren't a misunderstood victim? Reality is so much more complicated than that. "It wasn't your fault."

"Well, what did you want her to think?" You shrug. "That you took her car keys by mistake, sneaked out to a Halloween Party, got super drunk, couldn't enter the house, got in the car, exchanged blowjobs with one of your high school friends, and slept naked in there, casually forgetting everything except for your underwear?"

"That is what happened!"

"I know! But neither of us knew it back then!" You wave your hands in the air, the deep blue sky is begging the sun to arrive. "Plus, you have to admit, that is a pretty wild story. Not the easiest thing to believe without context."

"Reality can be stranger than fiction," I say almost immediately. "Back then, you should've asked me. Both you and my mom, you should've asked."

You give a look that says really? But soon you start laughing. "Well, it isn't exactly easy or pleasant to ask your son about his cum-stained underwear in the car, you know?"

I scratch my head, laughing a little. You start laughing too. I can picture the shock but also the awkwardness, how uncomfortable it must've been. We laugh for several minutes on your roof, a genuine and sincere laugh about my underwear. It's funny how a painful memory can, with time, become such a funny one.

"But yeah," you say after several minutes, out of breath. "We should've asked you. That would've saved us a lot of trouble. In retrospect, that would've been the most sensible thing to do but we didn't."

"And that was the third strike," I complete for you. "Still, you weren't guilty."

"I wasn't. Maybe your mom knew that but... when there's a chance that one of your adult friends is into your underage son, well, you don't want to take any risks. Your son is the most important thing in the world. Besides, she didn't kick me out. We both agreed I should go."

I lower my head, staring at the floor. It's funny to think that one minute you can be laughing and, at the very next, be sadder than I've ever seen. I still can't believe that all this time I thought Captain had taken my underwear, not knowing it was the reason why you left.

I look around. I examine the house underneath me, the grounds around us. You're certainly not having a bad time in Italy. Whatever you did during these three years, I can tell you've had a good time. Still, that doesn't justify what happened. That doesn't mean that the third strike was justified. That doesn't mean it wasn't my fault.

I take a few steps towards you. You look at me suspiciously. But no, this time I have no ulterior motives, no hidden intentions. I just get to your side and, without thinking about it, I hug you.

"I'm sorry," I say. My voice starts shaking. I hadn't planned that but now I can't control it, the words tremble out of my mouth. "I'm so sorry. I'm really sorry. It was my fault. It was my fault."

You stay quiet, shocked. And, for a second, I feel I made a mistake. I feel that I spoke out of turn, that I shouldn't have... you cut my thoughts, staring into my eyes. "Oh, Johnny," you hug me back.

You hug me back.

I don't know for how long we stay like that but when we part, the entire sky is dyed in deep ocean blue. The stars, shiny and radiant a minute before, are starting to fade away. The smile, not on your lips but in your eyes, tells me you are feeling this too.

I take a step back, smiling at you. Then a weird question pops into my head. "Do I really look like my dad?"

That makes you smile too. "You look way better than him at your age."

I don't let myself blush. I keep my eyes attached to yours, trying to be as grown-up as I can. Then, when I feel my heartbeat slowing down a little, I say... "I think you are very attractive too. I've always thought about it."

You don't reply to that. I knew you wouldn't so I don't feel bad about it, I take another step towards you. And, just like the last time, I let the blanket fall from my shoulders, letting the airflow through my naked teenage body. Filtering through my uncovered thighs, between my bare arms and all the way to my dick, which decided to sport a semi.

Not a second has passed and you look away. "Johnny, I..."

"I'm not a kid anymore." I interrupt you. My words are firm but they are also warm, kind. You are listening to me now. "Now I can decide for myself."

I walk towards you but even before I get near you, you put your hand up, telling me to stop. "Johnny," you start but soon fall silent. I imagine the inner struggle you are facing, duty against desire, an age-old battle.

By all means and measures, you are expecting me to kiss you but if that expectation will cause you to push me away or kiss me back, I don't know. Yet, I finally understand. Forcing myself on you isn't right. Who wants love that feels forced instead of willing? So I take a step back and walk away from you.

"It's okay," I say. Your face gives away how shocked you are. "We don't have to do anything. I want to but if you don't, it's okay. I understand. Just, I'll stay here for a minute, okay? If you want to join me it's fine but if you want to go, it's fine too."

We stay like that for several seconds until I turn away, leaning on the guardrail and stare at the distant, magnificent Italian landscape before me. You are still behind me but just as I think you might come next to me, I hear your steps walking away, back into the house.

"Shame," I whisper to the wind but I stay true to my word. It's fine. And, for the first time since I laid eyes on you, it truly is.

After several minutes the chilly air finally gets to my naked body. I turn around and walk back to the house but, just as I get closer, I hear your footsteps coming up the stairs. Naturally, my mind runs wild.

I picture you appearing completely naked, like me, saying you want to do it. Then I imagine you are wearing a suit, elegant, handsome, then some kinky underwear, carrying some toys or maybe even more extreme stuff. But, of course, when you finally arrive, none of that's true. You are dressed just as before, your expression hasn't changed, the only thing that's different is the cup between your hands.

"You were in the mood for tea?" I ask, unimpressed.

"Oh," you look at the cup, then at me. "No, actually I brought it for you, I thought you could use this," you offer me the cup. "Only, it isn't tea. See... it's milk."

"Milk?" I ask but instead of handling the cup over, you spill it all over my chest, letting the white liquid fall through my hips, groin, and legs. "What are you...?"

You take a step back, admiring your work. "God, how much I missed looking at you like this," and for the first time since I arrived here, a wicked smile appears on your face, yet it doesn't last long because the next thing I know, you take me in your arms and plant a kiss on my lips.

For a moment, I don't understand what just happened, my brain just doesn't process it, taking me an eternity to comprehend what you have done. But when I do... woah.

You are kissing me. You are kissing me. I immediately taste the strong, wooden, and sharp scent of scotch in your lips; it feels cozy, warm, like a cabin in the woods. Somehow, that feels like you, it tastes like you. Do you have any idea how long I've waited not only to taste your mouth but to have you kissing me?

How many people have liked you like this? How many young boys have desired you like I do? It's been a long run but after everything, after all we've been through, you are finally in my arms.

Yet, of course, kissing me isn't where you draw the line. After all, we're in your house, alone, on the edge of the night, thousands of miles away from everyone I know. And I'm naked. Naked and with warm milk dripping from my body.

We don't stop. Your hands, at first in my hips, start to move around my back, pushing my body against yours, dancing over my wet skin, exploring every forbidden secret I've been keeping all these years. And I want it, oh, I do, and I don't want to wait any longer.

You see me take hold of your shirt but instead of finding the polite, respectful young boy you remember, I yank your shirt open, ripping it, the buttons falling like coins on the floor. You exhale when my cold hand reaches your warm chest. I pass my fingers over the short black and silver hair, feeling the softness, the familiarity. You can tell I feel the strength of your muscles underneath, revealing the strong, firm body you still possess.

You don't mind when I take care of your pants, pushing them to the floor, leaving you in nothing but your boxer briefs. Then, you kiss me again, this time more fiercely and passionately than last time, almost devouring me. I'm the first to reach out with my tongue but you don't mind and immediately return the favor.

That's when your hands slide down my body and squeeze my bottom. I take the hint and jump into your chest, you easily lifting me in the air. I hug you with my arms and legs. Our kiss never breaks. How many times did you want to do this when I was younger? How many times did you imagine this exact moment?

Being carried in your arms I feel like a kid again. I indulge you for a moment before reminding you the unavoidable truth: I am bigger now. I take advantage of my position and, with my feet, I push down your boxer briefs to the ground, leaving you as naked as I am. Then, I step behind you, push you against the guardrail and turn you around.

"What are you...?" But I don't let you finish, hugging you from behind. The electrical feeling is more than enough to shut you up. How does your big, strong back -from years of swimming no less- feel when I press my naked chest and body against it? The slight rub of my full mast against your backside? I don't let you reason it, instead I press my body harder against yours.

With your eyes closed, you feel my hands dancing all over your chest, feeling your torso, the shape of your legs, the curves of your hips. That's when a wet sharp, unexpected feeling on your back appears. It takes you a moment to realize I've just bitten you.

I take a peek over your shoulder and sure enough, you are at full mast now. Who would've said a little rough play was what you needed? Unsurprisingly enough, I am fully erect too so, gently, I start brushing your cheeks with boyhood.

"My jeans, right pocket," you are barely able to whisper. "Right one."

I immediately understand and, two second later, a bottle of lube is in my hand. "Gelato?" I read the tag, chuckling. "You sly dog!"

"What?" You let out. "You've always loved ice-cream, right?"

So you were waiting for this! The taste of cold, melting, ice-cream makes me more wet than ever so I don't wait a second longer, letting the lube spread all over my erection.

You close your eyes but the first thing you feel is me pushing your back to the front, making your buns stand higher. Your hands are firmly holding the guardrail as your head, torso and boner, all stick out of the roof of your house. Then, my bare feet push your legs apart.

I don't enter right away, choosing to tease your first. I can feel your body tense when it feels my boner playing around your entrance, teasing your taint and the back of your balls, first, pushing them. Is this what you were waiting for when you bought a gelato-flavored lube? Was having my boyhood up your ass what you were always hoping for? The young immaturity of my body rubs against the mature, firm butt you are sporting before me.

Then, for a moment, I stop. Your chest moves up and down with anticipation, we stay quiet for a second before the head of my dick presses against your tight hole. The waves of pleasure immediately hit you, making your legs tremble. You start moaning, and oh, it is so fucking hot to hear you scream in heat.

"Louder," I demand, "louder!"

And you do, you obey and moan harder and harder as my erection goes deeper and deeper inside you. I immediately feel the tightness of you rubbing against my cock, your inner walls pressing hard against my shaft, driving me crazy.

"You are so warm," I let out. "So warm and wet," and I'm not kidding. Maybe it's the gelato on my dick but man, my cock fits your ass perfectly and just like that. I'm fucking you. I really am, I'm inside you. Yet, the time to celebrate is over, now is the time for action. "Let's see how well I can ride you."

And with that, I go all the way in, as far the tip of my boyhood will go, pressing hard your inside, making you scream in pleasure, before letting it go back before I stick it in you again, and again.

Then, out of nowhere, you feel a pinch of your nipple, my hands reaching over to your chest, rubbing them, making you stick your ass against my dick even harder. I don't even have to move, you are practically jumping over my erection. Do you want me to fuck you so blady?

Of course, I don't finish there. You feel my hand moving down your torso, to your groin, to the base of your shaft, before strongly gripping it in my hands. It is so hard, and warm, and almost seems to have a life of its own. So I stroke it, slowly at first, faster and faster with every movement until every stoke moves in the same rhythim my pelvis hits your ass.

I try to make it last. I want to enjoy this. I imagine how I must look to you. I'm the boy you saw grow through the years before your eyes: I'm the boy who slept naked cuddling next to you, the one you watched with an erection in his sleep, the boy who poured milk all over himself, the boy who kissed you, and now, the boy who is inside you, on your roof, while the navy sky floats in the background.

What does it feel like to get fucked against a guardrail? That landscape before your eyes, the wind on your skin, and your neighbor houses on sight? Does the thought of them watching us excite you? Do you like the risks? Oh, there are so many things I still have to learn about you.

I'm not yet finished so, raising your legs in the air, I lift your hole before going inside you once more only this time, I can kiss you while I fuck you.

I like it better this way too, I like it when you watch me. The way your eyes devour my hairless chest, stealing glances of every inch of my physique. I wonder if you ever imagined seeing me like this, standing between your legs. "How do I look?" I ask you, more out of instinct than on purpose.

"Beautiful, Johnny," you say. Oh, your words turn me on, they turn me on a lot. And you notice it because you start talking to me. "Yes, keep going, keep going, fuck me Johnny, come on. Fuck me, I need you to fuck me."

I do it, I obey you, going faster and faster until I let out a little moan. I'm embarrassed but when I take a peek I see you are hard as well even though I'm not touching your dick anymore and neither are you, all you do is keep your eyes open, enjoying the show. I let out another small moan. I try to repress it.

"Moan," you order me. "Moan, Johnny... ahhh... come on. You are a man now, ahhh... you can do... ahhh, yes... all the noise you want. Moan, let it out!"

And I do. I obey you and I moan. I can feel the blood flowing, the climax arriving so I start fcuking you faster and faster.

"Yes, keep going, ahhh" you say to me, moving your hands to my chest, reaching my nipples, pinching them until they stand straight. "Come on, Johnny, keep going, you are nearly there!" Every inch of me is for your eyes to devour, for your hands to touch. And you do, you do.

"Yes!" I scream, "Ahhhh, yes, yes!"

"Come on, Johnny, come on, fuck me, ohhhhh, fuck me harder, harder!" And just like that, we both close our eyes, letting our other senses take over. Our bodies are in a trance, a primal, lustful dance, mounting one another. "Keep going, ahhhh... Fuck, yes, come in me!" You scream then. "Come in me, Scott, come in me!"

And so I fuck you harder, faster, harder, and harder, one, two, three more times untill... I let out my biggest moan yet, followed by four consecutive streams of boy-juice shooting inside you. I can tell how the warm liquid takes you to paradise.

Slowly, I step out of you before letting my body fall over yours. I'm panting, exhausted and so are you. So we stay like that, on your roof, my naked body hugging yours.

I'm smiling and so are you.

We both go downstairs into your living room. The navy sky still shows no signs of sunshine but you prepare us two cups of coffee. The margaritas couldn't have left my system yet but I don't feel their influence anymore. I'm not feeling sleepy.

I try to get dressed but you stop me. You tell me to only put on my underwear. I give you a smile and stay like that for you to enjoy. I take a sip of the coffee. It's perfect. Just like today.

"So, are you ready?"

"Ready?" You ask, taking a seat. "So this is it?"

"This is it," I say, leaving the cup on the coffee table. "I'm about to tell you the end of my story with Armando. Ready? This is the part where I fuck everything up."