A matter of tact - 1. Chapter 1

A matter of tact

I’m writing this, because I am upset by what happened to me today. My hand is shaking, but I need to write.

I'm still appalled, afraid.

I decided to put on paper, write, describe my emotions, because that's what my teacher advised me to do after I almost confessed to her some of my problems in a subject. And she, who understood everything, suggested that I write and then reread it carefully. I will do so, because I didn't really understand a shit.

It has always been easy for me to use a pen, to write about everything. Well, for me it’s also easy to use my hand. In that sense. Yes ... just in that sense, but not with a straight orientation, if you know what I mean.

Today I returned home before the others, because being on the beach bothered me. Always the same faces to watch, skins stretched out in the sun to dry after getting wet.

Marcello and Giosuè are my friends, schoolmates and accomplices of adventure. I snatched from my father this holiday week in our apartment in Stintino. Green and crystalline water and everything else, but so boring for me because I can't understand anything about my own life. Once exams ended with the shock of studying so much, for me, who had never done it before, my problems have settled in front of me.

And my problems are the following, in order: first, with my girlfriend my cock becomes hard, but only if she does not pretend to undress, if we are in the dark and I can close my eyes and think of something else; second, to make me stay stiff I have to think of Marcello and dream of him hugging me hard, slipping my hand into my fly, pulling it out and making me a handjob, or, as happened recently, a blowjob, in my dream I mean; third I never really have to touch my girlfriend, otherwise the dream fades away and instead of Marcello's steel chest I find two boobs and my cock deflates, even if I'm about to come.

I mean, I have three problems, but it's like it's just one, isn't it?

For my precise condition we left the girls at home and in Sardinia we came alone with the intent to fuck all those who came to us. My friends at least tried, not even a little. Obviously we didn't catch anything. And today on the beach I couldn't do it anymore.

With him near me and his skimpy swimsuit and that body I saw growing and loved. Yes, I love it. But it’s not me he looks at, he never looked at me as I wanted.

Marcello and that other cretin seem to be like two inspectors in an police investigation. That girl does that and that other one does so and that one yesterday came a little later and today that came without the boy, maybe they have quarreled?

I can’t stand it anymore.

"Where are you going?" Marcello shouts after me, the asshole.

"At home taking a shower and eating something ..."

"And don't drink all the beer… and don’t eat all the bread, otherwise what the fuck would we eat tonight?" Giosuè, the other asshole, screams, which is no good because I don't even love him a bit.

"You go alone? Watch out!" says Marcello, squinting.

"Eh ...?"

"Nothing, nothing ... I'm kidding," he laughs and I don't understand what's funny.

The walk makes me tired. The afternoon sun, even if it is already September, is hot. I go into that kind of hole called apartment and the air conditioning that Giosuè, the asshole, left on, hits me like a running train. I take a tremendous stream of air on my face and the sweat freezes over me. Trembling, I take off my shirt and throw the towel I have with me on my back. I wipe my chest of salt water residues, it tickles my nipples, giving me a further thrill that ends up straight in my cock.

But I have to take a shower, that's why I'm there. Right now I need a long, warm, refreshing shower. Perhaps, since I am alone, I can also give myself a little fun, so at least tonight I will watch Marcello as he expects me to look at him, as a man looks at a man and not as I usually do when I undress him with eyes. Ah! If my eyes had hands!

A shower after the sun and sea water. That's what it takes. Peace, peace of mind!

I go to the bathroom and shudder, touching the floor made cold by the conditioned air with my bare feet. Damn and damn air conditioning. Still a thrill, but it is a tremor that then comforts me, because it makes me feel all of myself. I hug myself and close my eyes. It’s a dream. It’s him who is holding me, it is Marcello. He saw that I was cold and is warming me up.

That's enough, I shake off this weird dream, close the bathroom door and turn on the taps waiting for the water to reach the temperature I want. I want it beautifully warm in winter and even in summer. I like it.

At that time there is no one in the condominium, so the water arrives directly and is great.

I jump into the shower and immediately that dreamed embrace becomes a little more real, because of the warm water that envelops me and slips, caressing my whole body, warms my skin and loosens the muscles I had stretched for the sudden cold that took me. I still wear my boxer shorts, the ones I put on to hide my erections on the beach, even though I know I'd better show off with a nice pair of speedos. I forgot to take them off because I was dreaming about that asshole. I slowly lower them and turn to look at myself in the mirror that is in the luxurious cabin made by my dad. I'm beautiful, let's face it. Not as gorgeous as Marcello, but almost.

The boy, indeed, the man I look in the mirror is attractive and proportionate, but for whom?

I should really like it if I could get the right people to look at me. The thought of who is this person, that is my Marcello, makes me slowly go down with my hand towards the bird that is never really flaccid. I begin my usual, honest work of hand, while I enjoy the water that goes down and continues to caress me. At that point I make an abrupt movement, I almost lose the balance and to avoid falling I cling to the glass door that closes the shower. I don't fall, but I hear a crunching sound and I think my father will kill me, because I've just ruined the precious shower he cares about so much. The moment I pass my fingers over the almost-broken hinge, the lights go out.

As I said the house is actually a mini apartment, a two-room apartment with a wonderful view of the Gulf of Stintino, but it has a bathroom without windows, so when I said that the light went out, I meant that I found myself in absolute darkness .

I curse all the saints in heaven, but I'm alone, who can hear me? I try to grope the bathrobe that I remember hanging somewhere on the right, beyond the door that I just almost pulled off. But in the dark, in a place that is not my home, I do not immediately find the orientation. I absolutely have to get out of the bathroom and try to understand why the light went out.

While I try to grab the bathrobe, I hear the bathroom door open and suddenly close.

I turn around.

"What the fuck… who is there?” someone is in the bathroom with me “Who are you? Marcello? Giosuè? "I scream" Who the fuck is it? "

No answer, no noise, not even a breath, apart from mine.

The darkness is total. In my mind I wonder how it is that opening the door is not filtered even a thread of light. It is inexplicable. Maybe no one came in and I only dreamed about that noise, but I know it happened that way.

I’m sure that the door opened and closed.

I am still looking for the bathrobe, as if having something on me I could consider myself more protected. I'm trembling with fear, but I'm also angry with those two assholes. It's a joke, of course. But now they will hear me.

Then it happens that instead of finding the bathrobe sponge, my hand touches the bare skin. It's a chest, it's a man. Now I really tremble with fear, but also with excitement, because my palm is touching hardened muscles. I understand that the chest is so hard for the breath held back. Then I do something I never thought I could do, I lower my hand to look for the cock. I know exactly where should be and I also know that he, whoever he is, is naked. But at that very moment my hand is grabbed.

He keeps me by the wrist.

He hasn't said a word yet, it seems to me that he hasn't even breathed. Grabbing his other hand, he raises them together on my head, pushing me back into the shower. He is all over me, I feel his hard cock against mine. Our faces are very close. It really looks like he is not breathing.

But the smell of the skin, I should recognize it if it is one of those two assholes. It could be, I think it is, but it's also different from what it would be if it were him.

If I touch his face, I think, maybe I understand who he is, but my hands are stuck, so I try to kiss him, looking for his mouth in the darkness. He doesn't let me do it and pushes me, almost lifts me and we're in the shower together. It leaves my wrists just long enough for me to turn around. It is a lightning-fast movement that surprises me and prevents me from reacting, even if I wanted to. And I’m not sure any more of what I want to. He takes them back to me, something spongy passes around it, it's the belt of the robe. I feel them tighten and tie them together. He raises my arms, almost lifting me up.

I’m hanging in the shower, immobilized, tied up, vulnerable, in pitch darkness, at the mercy of someone I don't know.

I hope it's him, it must be him. I'm scared, but I start to feel the excitement rising inside.

The water continues to fall on us and covers all the smells of my body and his. I no longer hope to identify him, unless he speaks.

My unknown assailant is like glued to me. I feel his cock brush against my bottom, rest between my buttocks. His chest brush my shoulder, his belly, his legs against mine. I feel all of his body on me. With his hands he caresses my chest, and then further down my belly and further down until he gently touch my cock.

The hands slide on the wet skin, from the abdomen rise to the armpits, in an infinite caress, suddenly a soap materializes between his fingers and I feel that he passes it between my legs and fills my balls with foam and then the cock, he moves a little to soap me my ass, top to bottom, then inside the cheeks, where I didn't think he wanted to go. And then my chest. He tortures me, shakes the nipples and caresses them, in a tickling that makes me sigh.

I feel him take a step back, for a moment he seems to have disappeared.

We did not say a word and I always fear that he never even breathed, so I think he is not a living being, but a ghost. I have a thrill.

The ghost draws closer, pointing his cock right at the hole. He pushes gently, as if he were uncertain, but my desire is so much that it is I who pushes backwards, perhaps out of fear that he may come back and disappear, leaving me there to die a virgin. Or that the light can suddenly return and illuminate his horrible face and my squalid world. And so he is swallowed up by the eternity from which he fled.

He understands that I want to go along with it and pushes harder. In an instant it's all inside me.

Before, when I touched him, I realized that his cock is bigger than mine, so it could be Marcello’s. Now that I feel him inside me, I realize it's really big and so much more. I am breathless with pain and surprise. I'm going to reconsider, trying to get out of it, but he imprisons me in an embrace that forces me to go along with him, holds me tight and pushes inside me, painfully possesses me. A groan escapes us together. To me and to him and I discover that I like what I am doing, I want it, I have always wanted it.

When he understands that I accept the suffering he is giving me, his violence becomes a cuddle, his hands become light, delicate and start caressing me everywhere.

My cock is hard as a stone and slams over and under, shaken by the blows that I receive and, banging against my belly, produces a rhythmic noise, that I isolate from the roar of the water and I associate with the pushes that I receive from the cock that is inside me.

It seems to me that this moment must last forever. His hands on my body, the caress of warm water that surrounds me, the pressure that I feel inside my belly.

Then he frees his cock, taking it out all the way to the tip and when it is about to take it off completely, it pushes deeply, renewing the excruciating pain of before. And then the feeling of pleasure that that intrusion gives me. Again and again.

He squeezes my cock, it, caresses it and I know that if he does it again, it will all be over in a moment. I mumble something, I moan, I feel that this excites him more, because he is fucking me hard.

The shots affect my bird, which he holds in his hands, while, to prevent his thrusts, I try to move backwards, but it's all useless. He squeezes me and sinks deeper into me. And I come.

It seems to me that all my vital essence flows from the tip of my cock, when, spurt after spurt, in my spasms, I see flashes of light and in a moment of consciousness I wonder if electricity has returned, and then I could turn around and look into his eyes, but it's not like that.

He hears my moans, my contractions, he perceives from my whole body that the orgasm is shaking me, but he continues to thoughtlessly fucking me, pumping with the cock deeper and deeper, putting in me every millimeter of his flesh.

He holds me tightly to him and starts to caress me again, to crush, to torture my nipples and I don't know if I like it or not, if it is pain what I feel or intense pleasure, if the shivers that shake me are enjoyment or cold , because we are under the water spray from who knows when and now the temperature is a bit colder. But he caresses me and if I were not bound and with a cock in the ass, I could fall asleep lulled by his delicacy.

Afterwards I don't know how much, he takes again my cock in his hand, squeezes it and starts to jerk me. I’m suddenly unbelievably hard. Now his fucking is perfectly rhythmic compared to the blows it gives to my cock. I don't know how long this new battle lasts, but in the end he wins and a few drops of cum escape from my exhausted and swollen cock once again and, as I come into an orgasm that is more like a liberation, I feel a stronger push of the others that shakes my belly.

I feel, I perceive the cock that is inside of me spraying all its load of seed.

He crushes on me, so much so that for a few seconds we hold on the shower wall, risking to fall, to lift it from the wall, worsening the damage considerably, but he immediately catches his breath. Now he breathes, I smell, it's his breath. I seem to recognize it, but I'm not sure.

"Marcello ..." I whisper exhausted, waiting to be freed and to let myself fall into his arms, if he is.

He controls his breath and return to move in complete silence. Always without a word, the softened bird comes off me and I feel a great relief and also a sense of deprivation. I wish he had left it there forever.

He comes out of the shower, but first closes the taps. I listen to him while he dries himself, using my bathrobe and I wait for him to finally release me. Instead he leaves. Without a word, in a moment, he opens and shuts the bathroom door and leaves me tied up, hanging on the shower arm.

I would like to die, but I think it would be unwise for me to find myself in those conditions by anyone, least of all by my assholes friends.

It takes me a while and fiddling with my hands, to free myself from the belt of the robe. I collapse on the ground trying to catch my breath. I have a sore ass and the tip of my cock is on fire, I am exhausted and desperate, but obviously also quite satisfied.

I dry and leave the bathroom in a bathrobe, collapse on the sofa without even looking around. I fall asleep.

I hear noises and I jump to my feet just in time to welcome Marcello and Giosuè who ask me why there is no light in the house and why all the blinds are turned down to create absolute darkness.

How much did I sleep? Maybe an hour.

I feel dazed and murmur that I have had strange dreams and that I know nothing.

They look at me like I'm crazy, then Giosuè goes to take a shower, shaking his head.

Marcello opens his eyes on me and I stare at him. With a sudden gesture I take his arm, I bring it close to my nose and I feel it smells like the sea and not my bath soap. Then I lick him and he tastes of salt.

With a jerk he takes my arm away. He’s disgusted:

"what the fuck, are you crazy ...?" he screams and looks at me badly.

Perhaps it was not him and maybe he would not have had enough imagination to concoct such a trick.

Now it's night and I write crouched on the bed. It is a double bed and obviously Marcello sleeps with me. The other sleeps on the sofa bed in the living room.

He is beside me and has been sleeping for an hour. He sleeps heavily and snores a little, because fortunately he is supine.

I'm about to do something. It is my last hope.

Rereading what I wrote so far, I discovered that Marcello could have come here and raped me. No, he didn't rape me, because we two made love. He could have followed me, come into the house, do everything, go back to the beach and bathe again at sea. Tomorrow I could ask Joshua, without making him suspicious.

But now I have to do one thing absolutely. In a moment I'll turn off the light of the lamp and in the dark I'll try to touch Marcello's chest. I will recognize it by touch and I will know the truth.

It’s a matter of tact, isn’t it?

The End