Out on the Street Pt. 01

Another thought occurred to me. "Have either of you ever had a woman?"

Both shook their heads then silently studied their fingernails, as if admitting to a misdeed.

"Don't look so shamefaced!" I chided. "I'm the last person on earth to think any the less of you for that! Now, this is how you kiss a lover," grasping Angelo gently by the biceps, simmering at this chance for a first taste.

He submitted to my probings without drawing away or shrinking in on himself, following along, unresistant but...unenthused.

I released him and crooked a finger at Vittorio. "Now you," as I subjected him to the same treatment.

His response was similar. I was beginning to think it might be a hard road communicating to a couple of individuals for whom everything had always been driven by matter-of-fact need the luxury of sensuality, of plenty. Plenty of time, plenty of space, plenty of light to see by, plenty of energy, of life in reserve...

"Try again now," I directed, and they complied, attempting to put my little demonstrations into practice.

They were somewhat stiff and fumbling, but after a few seconds Vittorio's arms came up to drape over his friend's shoulders, hands linking behind his neck. Progress, I thought, definite progress.

But still neither of them were aroused. Well, you can't manufacture these things...oh, yes you can, my lesser self retorted, in an eighteen-year-old, you most definitely can...and then who's to tell what direction things might take?

I wrestled briefly and gave in to the temptation.

As they separated, I caught Angelo's eye. "I want you to go down on him," I said, gesturing with my brow toward Vittorio.

The expression on his face was not so much distaste as disbelief, but after a pause, he folded his lips, squared his shoulders, and dropped one knee to the carpet.

"Don't bring him off now, will you," I clarified. "I don't want that, not yet - and you," eyeing Vittorio, "don't let him, get yourself away before it's too late."

There were a couple of whispered 'Yessir's, before Angelo clenched his eyes tight shut and bent to his task.

I'd known I wanted to watch him doing this the minute I laid eyes on him, though at that time I'd imagined him kneeling in front of me, but this was very nearly as good, an excellent appetizer.

A quick convulsive flicker, a contraction of Vittorio's abdominal muscles, brought my eyes to his face just in time to see the astonishment there - a kind of hybrid of horror-wonder, as his eyes sprang wide, pupils dilated, huge, deep, dark and entirely unshuttered for a moment, before he too dropped the lids and held them squeezed closed, an almost wincing expression taking over his face. Ah, yes...the agony and the ecstasy...

I fell to watching Angelo's lovely mouth at work once more, though I only had the pleasure for about another half-minute before he was abruptly dislodged, the heel of Vittorio's hand shoving him away as he stepped back two paces to stand, lids still sealed shut, breath almost hissing, fists clenched to whiteness at his sides, his cock painfully at attention.

I heard him muttering something which sounded like 'murder, murder,' confusing me, until I parsed it as 'merda' - shit. Poor lad. It's steep and fast as you careen toward the edge, at that age.

I was still watching him when he finally opened his eyes. He looked disoriented. I suspected everything was happening at several removes for him just this minute.

"Now your turn," I said, gesturing to the floor in front of Angelo.

He merely nodded, and moved into position. I wondered if having to service his friend would dampen things down for him. I thought not. He probably wouldn't be able to lose his erection if he tried, at present.

Angelo was able to stand up to the treatment meted out to him for longer, which surprised me. Possibly he was too nervous to become hard initially, because it certainly didn't look as if his friend wanted for technique. Once again, it seemed that what he lacked in beauty, he made up for in elegance, ease. He wasn't relaxed, I could discern that much, but there was grace to be seen in his movements nonetheless.

Angelo didn't observe the action, however - he'd retreated behind the shelter of his eyelids. At the outset he was clenching and unclenching his fists, but as Vittorio continued they gradually became wholly closed.

After a couple of minutes had elapsed, he suddenly blurted out a single, chopped-sounding word, repeating it a few seconds later more forcefully, emphasising it by bringing the underside of his fist down on Vittorio's shoulder, at which he detached and scrambled to his feet.

They looked at one another, at what they'd done to one another, standing wide-eyed and wary like two toms, sidling, circling, keeping a buffer of space between them.

I had them lie down on the bed and return to the foreplay. I'd reasoned that by creating the arousal, I might unleash a desire to pursue, to satisfy it, but any such hope was quickly dashed. If anything they were more fumbling than before.

I supposed they were unnerved, embarrassed to be found in such a state with each other, and self-conscious about the proximity I was urging on them. There was no point in pushing it any further today.

I walked over to them, lying side-by-side, and ran my hand down Angelo's back, over his buttocks.

"Alright, now," I began, "come over here."

I had him shuffle to the edge of the mattress and assume a pose on his hands and knees. He complied without need for coaching - It seemed that this at least was familiar to him.

Then I beckoned to Vittorio. "Get up and come around here by me." He did so, and I told him, "Now you're going to fuck him."

He looked at me aghast - as indeed did Angelo - before stuttering, "Sir...but - I - thought-"

"I know, I know," I interrupted him, "you thought it'd be me doing that. And it will be later, but not just now, and," addressing myself to Angelo, "you needn't worry, he's going to be very careful and gentle with you, both because I'll be here to make sure of it, and because he'll want to be, seeing as you're going to take a turn at him after."

They both exhaled with a shudder, averting their heads so that they couldn't catch sight of one another, but I was gratified to see that neither of them had as yet flagged noticeably. Ah, youth...

"It's just a little quirk of mine," I explained. "I enjoy observing these types of goings-on. And you can think of it as doing each other a favor - I'm fairly large, so to have had a practice run beforehand will prove no bad thing."

Glancing at Vittorio, who was needing to be the active partner at this point, I saw that he was beginning to reduce some by now.

"Go around the front and feed that to him until it's back in proper shape," I directed.

He muttered some saint's name, in invective I thought, rather than appeal, as he clambered onto the bed to carry out my instructions, also hissing something to Angelo who of course could make no reply.

I assumed they'd both need a lot of coaching to see the coming act as anything other than nasty, brutish and short, given their histories, and kept up a commentary of instruction and explanation throughout. It did mean that I wasn't able to wholly give myself over to the glory of taking it all in, but I told myself it was early days, that there would, hopefully, be further opportunity, further development.

Despite my dogged insistence on slowness, my repeated reminders to pause and wait out the tension if they felt themselves cresting, I reckoned neither of them made it past the minute mark - each, despite his instinctive distaste, being simply caught up in the riptide of sensation and carried along on its current.

Vittorio's thrust and retreat was accompanied by a single whispered word or phrase, repeated over and over. I couldn't catch it properly - spicate?, spicaci? - something like that. I wondered if he was reiterating to himself my own ongoing chant of 'slowly, slowly', but who was to tell?

When it was his turn, Angelo, in contrast, was silent and remote, internal, unreachable, but a picture of physical perfection, muscle groups bunching and slackening under his skin in a sinuous subterranean dance that nearly made my head spin.

Well, I told myself afterward, alone for a moment, having sent them to wash once more, it may indeed have been short, but at least it wasn't nasty or brutish. Neither became so lost to himself as to take his pleasure roughly, heedless of its effect on his fellow. Of course, such lack of consideration will only rise to the surface in those moments, if it's there in the first place, and these two evidently liked each other, trusted one another - worked well together.

By the time they returned, I had unbuttoned my flies, and was absently fondling myself. I smiled at them as they entered. This time I didn't receive any answering grins.

"Come back over here," I said, nodding at Vittorio, patting the mattress where he'd been positioned a very few minutes before.

He might, I suppose, have felt himself entitled to a rest, but he needed to go first as two climaxes in an evening were becoming unlikely for me by now, and I wanted above all things to finish in Angelo, he being so obviously the pinnacle of delight.

Vittorio took in the sight of my cock as he passed, standing proud in hot anticipation, and invoked the same saint again - this time I thought it might have been an appeal.

It really isn't a blessing, to be blessed with a larger than usual organ. To be sure, some lads have a fetish for that sort of thing, but in my experience most don't, and I never liked the idea of inculcating dread into my partners.

"It'll be alright," I assured him, stroking one of his flanks consolingly, "it'll be alright, you'll see. I promise you I won't injure you. I know how to do this properly - trust me."

He made no answer, no movement, and barely a sound as I broached him, just a tiny high-pitched whine, hastily swallowed. I held still and he did the same. After a few seconds it occurred to me that he was too still, like the glassy surface of a pond. He was holding his breath.

"You need to breathe," I told him. "You won't get through on one lungful today, my boy - I'm going to be at this for a while. Breathe now, get those bellows working again. I'll wait...I'll wait just like this until you're ready."

He exhaled in a rush, took another gulping lungful, and held.

"Come on," I encouraged him, "you know how to do this. Breathe. In - and out, in - and out. Try and relax. Don't fight it, that makes it worse. Stop thinking, concentrate on now, on breathing."

Once I had got him back to a non-labored rhythm, I caressed his lower back, his buttocks, the undersides of his thighs in long strokes, just the very tips of my fingers, petting and coaxing and soothing as I slowly inched my way into him.

Once fully buried I halted again. "Good boy...well done, well done," reaching forward, running my hands all the way up his spine.

It was ram-rod straight - still he was holding himself primed against an imagined onslaught.

"Dip down just here," I instructed, focusing my stroking now on the small of his back, adding pressure, insistence, "let it drop, come on, like an ol' swayback horse. That's it, you've got it, well done. There see, that's better isn't it? That makes it easier, yes?"

A vague nod, in answer.

I looked down at the two of us, so viscerally linked, as I resumed lightly combing him with my fingers, and marvelled at the loveliness of his skin. Poets always praise pale skin, and indeed I myself had frequently gloried in it - the whiteness and softness of those areas always obscured by clothing, the vulnerability they communicated, the intimacy implied in viewing them - but at this moment, I saw beauty in the very uniformity of this dusky pelt, unvarying according to exposure or usage, not a mole, not a blemish anywhere to interrupt the simple streamlined sameness from ankle to neck.

"Lord, you have beautiful skin," I breathed, still tracing it, "exquisite, so lovely." I wanted to rut now...badly. "Are you accommodating me sufficiently, do you think?"

Another nod, a subtle grunt of assent.

I took hold of his hips either side, the pads of my fingers curling down, coming to rest on the jut of his pelvic bones, and allowed my own hips into motion, a slow gyrating nudge and retreat.

I felt him give in some inscrutable way when he finally accepted I wasn't going to damage him. I commended him, increasing my pace a little, and beckoned Angelo, who'd been trying very hard to disappear into himself, to my side and closer again, near to my face.

Then I whispered to him, "I want you to get underneath and service him with your mouth."

He looked at me in utter incomprehension, hissing, "But...how?..."

"You'll see," I told him, stilling my thrusting, bringing one of my hands down to stroke at the insides of Vittorio's thighs.

"Broaden your stance now," I instructed, "put your knees apart further - further, that's it."

He obeyed fluidly, unhesitatingly, without need for explanation, and I widened my own stance in concert, remaining linked, so that we sank down some few inches together. Now that the panic had drained out of him, he was seemingly very pliable. I supposed it had become automatic for him to unquestioningly humor the whims of others in such a context.

I indicated the gap we'd created to Angelo, and he duly clamped his arms to his sides, wormed his way through, and set about the task I'd assigned him.

I heard a sort of quavering whimper from Vittorio as he began, and a few seconds later, witnessed him drop onto his forearms, threading his fingers in amongst his hair. I remained motionless until I could tell he was fully hard, then I took a good grip on his hips once more, keeping him anchored in consideration for his friend, and stood there rocking myself gently back and forth in my own personal nirvana.

Vittorio held on much longer this time, due no doubt to a combination of having already erupted once and to the intimidating novelty of what he was being put through, but after a while I could discern the signs. Though silent, he was tugging at the hair he had clutched in his fists, grinding his forehead into the bed-sheet, subtly writhing, and he desperately wanted to move his hips - I was needing to clasp him increasingly forcefully to keep him immobile.

"You don't need to hold back," I breathed, "not this time. Just let it go, let it go - let it go." And he did. It was quiet, but in no way understated - powerful and prolonged, eye-wateringly intense.

I knew I could maintain myself through this and much more, but for a reckless instant I didn't want to.

I overcame it, though there were still tinges of regret spearing me as the last rippling convulsions died away, and I stepped back, releasing my grip, exiting him and patting a slim cheek gently. "Well done."

He extricated himself from Angelo, collapsing down on his side in a fetal position, bringing his hands up to cover his face. I let him have his moment while I maneuvered Angelo up into position to take his place. He wouldn't meet my eye either.

Vittorio, perceiving from the disturbance to the bed's surface the changes taking place, came out of hiding and began speaking quietly, urgently to Angelo in Italian.

It irritated me faintly that they should have this code between them, opaque to me, until I remembered that I had on many an occasion segued into French when addressing a friend or colleague, with the precise intention of rendering our speech incomprehensible to servants or bystanders.

I listened, trying to detect the broad intent, as I surveyed Angelo's glorious physique. It seemed from the cadence to be reassurance and encouragement - the sort of soothing repetitious nothings I had myself employed only a few minutes hence.

I ran my hands up his back, either side of his spine, introducing him to my touch, using my whole palms this time rather than fingertips, wanting to experience not so much the velvety surface as to acquaint myself with the sub-soil, the gentle undulations, the glide and flex of muscle over muscle.

Neither glide nor flex was discernible now though. He felt almost as much like an alabaster figurine as he looked. Perhaps it was unwise to be hovering here like this...better to be doing the thing so he could discover for himself that his dread was largely misplaced.

Once again, when I was finally fully sheathed in him I paused, still breathing platitudes, hands roaming down and under, exploring his chest and stomach as well, drinking in his delightful proportions.

I waited and waited, hoping the talk and the touch would take on a hypnotic effect, but there was no dispelling the hum of resistance that pervaded his flesh. I gazed along the groove of his lovely spine, lying well bedded between two fillets of muscle, imagining it forming a deeper valley still, if he were to arch his neck up, back, toward me.

I wouldn't be seeing that today. His golden head was down, enduring, simply enduring. Patience, Frank, patience. The main thing is to see to it that he comes back.

I caught Vittorio's eye, and raised one brow at him, and that was all the prompt he needed, shimmying lithely in under his friend.

Once receiving these ministrations, I was able to detect some slight change in Angelo's bearing - he didn't exactly relax, so much as become distracted by the additional stimulation, unbending enough to begin bucking, minutely at first, then more obviously, in search of those pleasurable sensations, so I let him pursue them, following rather than leading in this instance, assuming Vittorio would cope.

My arousal was stoked as his movement increased, not just from the physical stimulus he was providing me, but from the realisation that clearly I wasn't causing him any overwhelming discomfort, or he'd be proceeding more gingerly.

He'll come back, I told myself jubilantly, reaching a forearm under to wrap across his pelvis, bring him in tight, impose stillness on him, have the finish my way, holding myself at the cusp until I felt the expulsive shuddering overtake him, and let myself go as well.

I sent them to clean up once more and dress, and fetched a plate of cold food up to the bedroom for them to eat while I detailed my proposal.

I was pleased to see that each had apparently recovered his equilibrium enough to make considerable inroads into it. Or possibly they were just very hungry. I gave them a cigarette as well, took one myself, and laid my cards on the table.

"Now, you'll remember," nodding at Vittorio, "that I mentioned the possibility of an ongoing arrangement with you and your friend. I'm going to tell you what my terms would be, and you can decide between yourselves whether they're acceptable.

"Firstly, I will pay you five dollars each for coming here tonight, and I'm prepared to do the same each week, for an evening such as this - though usually it would be Sunday, as I frequently have other engagements on Saturday evenings - however, that's detail.

"What you need to understand is that you would earn five dollars a week each, for one evening's work, but you must cease all other work of this nature for the duration of our agreement.

"I've survived fifty years on this earth without so much as a dose of the clap, and that's down to a little luck, and a great deal of caution. I see no reason to whistle all that away just now. So, if you decide to enter into this arrangement - and it needs to be both of you, then there must be no other dipping of wicks by either of you, and I include women and girls in this - they're not any less likely to be carrying a disease.

"If you wish between times to amuse yourselves with one another, I have no objection to that, because it doesn't break the triangle we've established here. Understand, I'm not binding either of you. There would be no set time for this arrangement to run, and any one of us may exit it at any time by no more than an expressed wish to do so. Do you have any questions?"