Matteo, my Italian guide and boyfriend, had so much going for him. He was the full package. But interestingly, when it came right down to it, his repertoire was quite limited: He didn’t kiss (except light pecks); he didn’t suck; he didn’t get fucked. His chest was nondescript with flattened nipples. I didn’t particularly favor his cock, it being a tad misshapen for my preference.
So, what was it that was so all alluring about this young and virile Italian man? His model worthy handsomeness; his fabulous legs; his manly body hair – forearms and legs (with none on the chest); his fully energized red-hot passion; and his classic style and grace. Let’s take them one-by-one.
Matteo was everything one would imagine in Italian handsomeness. His face was chiseled with prominent and distinct bone structure and slim cheeks. His skin tone was a slight darkish paired with thick eyebrows and was topped with mildly unkept ringlets of jet-black hair. All of this combined with a heavy sensuous gaze, he would let you know when he was ready and that you should come to him.
I’ve extolled his superb legs shaped with such fullness and contour and nested with an enticing cover of hair, just an amount to let you know that, as young as he was, he was a full man. In times away from the bedrooms, I was comforted by his similarly hairy forearms. I’ve long known the hair of the forearm to be a herald of what would be found on the legs when a time for trouser-lowering arrived.
As for passion, oh my god! Matteo had quite the appetite and craving for physical play and connection. His eroticism was strong in leading us from urges to ferocious fulfillment. From Matteo I truly learned what boundless passion could be. We slept together each night of that week-long itinerary. We lay close all the night. Always touching and more often close and strong hugging while we slept. He slept; often I could not. Being in his sweet but firm embrace throughout the night crippled my sleep but fed my craving to feel his fullness.
We would lay close and tight. Most often face-to-face, torso-to-torso with our legs entwined or with our legs crossed over and hugging the other’s hips. We humped and throbbed. I worried that I was wanting too much of him during those nights and, once, asked him if it was too much and if it bothered him. He quickly moved to assure that it was “no problem”, that he too loved “closeness” when he slept, that nothing was too much with him.
Completing this “full package” guy was his intellect and his grace and class. He always dressed well and had superb manners. He was precisely the younger man that any mature man would covet for a companion. And it was my considerable pleasure to enjoy such companionship with him on several trips. We are still good friends, but it has been quite a while now since I last saw Matteo. But the memories are strong and come to mind so easily and smilingly.
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