He had the thighs of an Italian god with the curvature and musculature of a twenty something healthy athlete.
Our first stop on our week’s long tour of northern Italy was a small town nested in the Italian Alps not far from the French border and its staggering Mount Blanc. On the drive over from Milan’s Malpensa Airport, we had touched hands and knees and patted and lightly squeezed each other’s thighs and, for a short while, held interlaced fingers in a handhold.
Soon after arriving and checking into our hotel we settled in to our two separate rooms. While I was certainly hoping that we would spend a lot of time up close together in just one of the rooms, it was necessary I thought for the company expense report to show two rooms booked. Once he had thrown his personal items in his room, he came over to mine to be sure that everything was ok and that I was satisfied. He knocked. I opened. He entered the rather smallish room and took a careful look around. After asking if I felt everything was ok, he slowly turned with that sensual look which was more like a glare. I could feel the heat instantly rising. We said nothing; we both glared lustfully. He stepped closer; we breathed close. He stepped back, unbuckled his trousers and let then slip down. It took my breath away. His thighs were among the sexist I’d ever seen, and certainly the hottest I’d ever seen in person. Or course they were hairy, his being Italian. I wanted them so badly. I quickly unbuckled, but in my eager enthusiasm I fumbled where he had been so very smooth. He stepped forward with such a sweet smile and said lustfully, “let me help”. The hair on his forearms brushed my arms, and our breaths were close, and our torsos bumped slightly. Then, smoothly he lowered my trousers and we stood with only inches separating us. Our thighs rubbed. He leaned in close to me. I could not stop my head from finding its natural resting place along the side of his neck. He reached for my hands and held them in a tight grasp. We embraced. My heart pounded in response to his strength and his gentleness. He backed me to the bed and, holding me, he pushed me over onto it and rolled over on top. By now our legs were intertwined and we writhed.
He easily found my nipples and realized just how much attention they needed. He caught my cock between his hairy thighs while hugging me with one arm and the hand of his other arm working my nipples. His chiseled face with the smoldering look came closer. Lips locked. Then, a mutual sensual and passionate sharing.
This was our first time, the first time of so many. Matteo was every bit the Italian male lover of dreams. It was a lovely week, one that we repeated on several occasions in the following months and years. Matteo and I have traveled since in various other places and settings and have share passion in all of them. While he would be a fine husband, Matteo is (alas) bi, and as such doesn’t wish to settle into a long-term arrangement. But he remains sweetly ready whenever times and occasions allow us to reunite.
Copyright 2021 Travels with Gay Papa