Paolo’s a real ladies’ man. So why can’t he stop looking at the young fellow next door?
Young men bathing outside was not considered unusual. Few people could afford indoor baths, and the climate was so amenable that it was no hardship to sluice down in the yard with a few buckets of cold water and a bar of cracked soap. What was unusual was that this man was watched, almost inadvertently, by another.
Paolo was not a dirty old man. He wasn’t even old – he was young, healthy, and happily married to a pretty young woman called Elena. He was not sexually starved, either – Elena had a hearty appetite for his dark thighs against her own burnt-sugar ones. Which was why he was so shocked by how his body responded to the sight of his new neighbour washing in the yard.
He was reading, sitting on the windowsill and sneakily enjoying one of Elena’s lurid melodramas, the kind that he was so disapproving of in her presence. The rebels had just made off with the gypsy king’s daughter slung over the pommel of the rebel leader’s saddle, and Paolo looked up from the purloined book, gazing out of the window as he wondered how Elena would look hanging sideways off a horse. It was then that he caught sight of the naked man in the yard next door.
He couldn’t have been much older than 20; tanned, Hispanic and muscled like a manual labourer. He poured the bucket of water over his head and shook like a dog, droplets of water catching the sun as they fanned outwards from his body. The glitter of the South American sun on the flying water caught Paolo’s attention. He noted the uninhibited, animal quality to the man’s movements as he began to lather up the soap and rub it over his body. His skin was the same brown sugar colour as Elena’s, with the same burnished glow, and Paolo remembered how Elena’s body looked covered with beads of water when she bathed in her beloved tin bath. He felt a stiffening and a heat in his trousers, and blushed at how this man had made it come about. He shot a look of embarrassment at the oblivious bather.
The young man was covered in creamy suds, rubbing his hands vigorously over his arms and legs. As Paolo watched the man’s tightly knotted muscles and sinews flex as he bent and twisted, he felt his hardness increase and momentarily wondered how it would feel to touch those contoured, wet thighs. He just as quickly tried to banish the thought from his mind but it would not go. A tiny part of Paolo wanted those thoughts, enjoyed thinking about how those powerful bronze hands would feel on Paolo’s own chocolate body. How those hands would treat his now-prominent erection. Would they be harder, firmer than Elena’s? Surely they would. Would it feel good?
Paolo struggled with himself again. This was wrong. He’d never had feelings for other men. He’d bathed naked with men before, swimming in the river or showering in the open showers after football games. He’d never felt even a flicker of curiosity. And yet here he was, rock hard, sweating under his cotton shirt, at the sight of one man.
The man began to carefully wash his penis, treating it as gently as if it were a little bird that might expire. Paolo gave in and pulled his trousers and pants down round his ankles. Wetting his hand, he slid it up and down his blue-black shaft, groaning softly at the intensity of the feeling. The man in the courtyard stood up, displaying his strong, broad back, golden and smooth, streaked with white lather. Paolo, almost (but not quite) beyond guilt and horror, imagined adding his own pearly come to the man’s body, to his torso, his face. He’d like to come over the man when he was clean, leaving his mark on virginal skin with no other suds upon it. He’d like the man to take Paolo’s now-throbbing and burning cock, place it between those full, almost feminine lips, feel the softness, the wet, silky, soothing tongue. Would he be able to take more than Elena? Let Paolo insert his entire length in his mouth? Paolo felt a warmth like molten copper spread through his veins; delicious, irresistible, yet too strong to bear with comfort. He cried out softly, his cock desperate for release as he pumped with his tightening hand, arching his back against the wall as he strove towards orgasm.
As the young Hispanic man rubbed his body dry with a worn-looking blue towel, Paolo imagined sinking between the tight, high buttocks that the man was engaged in towelling and, at the thought of the two powerful male bodies embracing, of two pairs of strong hands stroking and grabbing at each other’s firm bodies, of two pairs of pert, almost boyish bums and two hard and eager cocks, he came, electricity singing his nerves, his mouth dry from his silent cries. He opened his eyes as if awakening from a stupor, and saw Elena standing over him, smiling.
“So you like him too? What did you imagine doing to him?”
Confused, he didn’t reply, but sat, mouth agape, as Elena removed her skirt to reveal her damp knickers.
“I love the idea of having both of you at once,” she murmured, “so I’m glad you’re not entirely averse to other men.”
And with that she slipped off her underwear and reminded Paolo of just how much he still enjoyed a beautiful woman.
