September 1988. Jérôme’s childhood bedroom. Hot, stuffy air clings to us. He’s on his stomach, big ass cheeks spread wide. His lightly hairy hole winks, dark and pulsing. He dips a spit-wet finger inside, sighing soft. ‘You wanna take me? Wanna fuck me?’ My heart hammers. Cock throbs, iron-hard. Those yellow Burlington socks still on…
Fresh from the shower in that massive Rome hotel room. Torso bare, jeans clinging damp. I lie next to him on the huge bed. Heart thumps hard. He’s smiling, tapping the spot. Naïve doubts swirl, but exhaustion wins. We talk. He rolls toward me, elbow propped. Fingers stroke my long wet hair. Tingles shoot down…
It was a weekday evening after work. Quick shower. Rushing to Le Coq Hardi bar downtown around 7 PM. Friends already at the counter. Laughs. Shots. Boosting my 20-year-old spirits. Joking around. Buddy fakes grabbing my crotch. Dodging him, I butt into the guy behind me. His Martini splashes his pants. Mortified. Apologize. Buy him…