His Beautiful Boy - 1. On Account of A Bowl of Grapes

"Réveille toi idiot. Nous y sommes presque!" Antoine uttered as he smacked Oscar, making him flinch off his seat.

They had been driving for over six hours towards the Italian villa owned by Oscar's parents. They were considerably wealthy, and every single year since he was a little boy, they would travel there and spend the entire summer lounging and doing nothing for three months between June and August.

Oscar was now 19 and becoming increasingly weary from these family vacations. He was a remarkably handsome young man with dark, glossy hair, luminous blue eyes inherited from his mother, and beautifully blazed plump lips. Oscar was a swimmer. His body was becoming sculptural and athletic, rapidly growing away from the kid he used to be. During practice season, he would shave his body, but when he was on hiatus, he would let his natural fuzz grow, covering his legs, a speck on the arms and middle section of his chest. Oscar was 6 feet, sporting broad, muscular shoulders and thighs that matched. He could barely accommodate himself in the backseat of the car as he tried his best to adjust his position while attempting to manage his late adolescence annoyance levels.

Ultimately, the company of his best friend since childhood, Antoine, made these expeditions slightly less tiresome. Oscar called him Anthony because he knew it vexed him exceedingly. Antoine's parents were French immigrants, and although he lived in the States, he spoke the language fluently and would use it to snap back at his friend when he mispronounced his name. Despite this, they were best friends and adjusted to each other like brothers. Antoine was 18, 5.10, but despite his nice build, his structure was more slender than Oscar's. He had these beautiful locks of blonde curly hair that fell to his ears, large green eyes that pierced through, and thick red lips that countered the lighter tone of his skin.

They couldn't be more different. Oscar was wise, tough, introverted, and overly analytical. Contrarily, Antoine was an extrovert, spontaneous, fearless, and slightly shallow. They complimented each other in a way, and their friendship fed itself and stemmed from those differences. They were both beautiful young men, at the prime of their adulthood, slipping ever so gently away from their childhood innocence.

Out of sheer boredom, Antoine started slapping his hand against Oscar, who proceeded to do the same. He then let his body tumble to the side, his head right in the middle of Oscar's crotch, then started pushing his head playfully against it, teasing Oscar's dick. "Oh oui, c'est si gros!" He quipped as he chuckled.

"Shut the fuck up!" Oscar clapped back, leaning over his friend and clutching his crotch, squeezing Antoine's flabby dick in his hands.

"Ouch! Mr. Steiner, help!" He hollered towards the front of the SUV.

"Keep it down back there, boys!" Oscar's father sounded in a commanding yet tender voice. Mr. Steiner was in his late 40s. He resembled an older version of Oscar, an engaging, magnetic, and acclimating man. He had an authoritative presence, was very fit for his age, and sported a black tracksuit with white stripes and a white size nine sneakers. Oscar's mother sat beside him with her left arm stretched towards his neck as she twined her fingers gracefully petting his scruff. "Finally, we're here." He voiced.

The car started halting as it veered right toward a large, see-through, old metal portico. On the other side was a large, European-styled, two-story house with a massive garden up front and a large gravel fountain in its epicenter. Mr. Steiner drove around it and parked in front of the main door. When the doors to the house opened, a middle-aged woman with a tender and friendly grin came running just as Oscar hopped from the car, which was still coming to a stop.

"Oscar, mio caro! Vieni qui e dammi un abbraccio." She shrieked as she opened her arms toward Oscar. He crammed inside her embrace and beamed.

"Elena, mi sei mancata!" He stated, visibly laboring to flee the woman's bosom. "Where's Lorenzo?" He asked as the woman pointed her head towards the back of the house. Oscar smiled and was about to dash away when his father quickly hindered him.

"Hey! Get your bags and take them to your room first," Mr. Steiner said in a commanding tone.

"Fine..." Oscar muttered as he begrudgingly dragged himself to the back of the car, gathering the bags and signaling Antoine to follow suit.

Bags in hand, both boys went inside the house. There was a large hall with dining and lounge areas on the left and right of the main floor. In the center, a large staircase stretched to the first floor, where old sweeping hallways allocated the rooms. The larger room was on the right, and the boys' rooms were on the left, further away from the main suite. They were huge chambers with shared bathrooms. And despite the extensive areas, Oscar and Antoine always shared one room with two single beds. The foundation was old, and the walls still reeked of fresh paint since Mr. Steiner would have them painted every two years.

"Shotgun!" Antoine roared as he lunged himself on the bed nearest the bathroom. He sank his bags by the side of the bed and stretched profusely, revealing his balanced and burly gut. Oscar noticed he had grown hair around his belly button, but given Antoine's light complexion, one could hardly see them. Oscar appeared okay with this. His attention seemed elsewhere.

He laid his bags silently over his bed and went straight to the large, unlocked balcony. His eyes started surveying the large leafy parcel that composed most of the back lot of the house. He could already see the large breakfast table set and, further down the overgrown path, a large number of trees assembling the way for a small river of still water. Scanning the surroundings, Oscar noticed a young man emerging from beneath the trees. Tall, about 6 feet, sporting denim overalls with nothing under them but a fuzzy burly body and some steel-toe boots. Raven curly hair, an untrimmed beard, a robust look, and a confident swag in his walk. Oscars' stare locked on the fellow crossing the verdant garden as he smirked. Seeing Lorenzo every year was, by far, his favorite moment from these family trips. He met Lorenzo when Lorenzo was the age he was now, and yet he admired how the Italian stud just became more stunning as the years went on. Every time he arrived at the villa, Oscar would scour for Lorenzo and marvel at him from afar, almost like a ritual. The boy would take this time to muster the courage to go up to him and say hello as if they were foreigners. But the truth was, whenever he was around him, Oscar always felt like the 6-year-old boy he was the day they first met.

"Why are you gawking? Is it him?" Antoine questioned, visibly ruffled.

"Mhmm." Oscar sighed in agreement, not acknowledging Antoine's presence as he couldn't take his eyes off Lorenzo. It was almost like silent frolicking. Oscar would gaze, searing his eyes unrelentingly into Lorenzo's skin until the stud felt his presence from afar, which he would eventually.

The sexy gardener halted and glanced up, fluttering his eyes and bringing his hand up to prevent the sun from hitting his rugged and mannish face. His eyes discovered Oscar's, his smile emerging as he raised his arm in greeting. Oscar returned the gesture by raising his hand botchedly as he felt Antoine approaching him.

"Aren't you going to talk to him?" His friend razzed.

Oscar balled his eyes, trying to look blasé, but the truth was that since he was a young boy, he had developed a sexual obsession with Lorenzo. He never identified himself as gay or bisexual as he was quite prevalent with the girls and had dated several since he was 15. He had never once felt attracted to men before. That is, until Lorenzo. As the years elated, his attraction for the Italian gardener had gone from a casual fascination to a full-blown obsession. He would never admit it to anyone or even himself, but as he stood on the balcony, his eyes gazing down on that perfect European specimen, all he could think about was how it would feel to get fucked by Lorenzo.

"You know, it's kind of weird." Antoine gossiped close enough to Oscar's ear that he could feel his friend's gust on his neck.

"What is?" Oscar questioned, moving inside the bedroom, attempting to deflect the conversation.

"I don't know. Just the way you look at him. Like you're scared or something." Antoine brooded, hopping back on his bed and clasping his backpack as his slim fingers yanked a small bag of tobacco, rolling paper, and weed from inside. Oscar let out a devious and contrived chuckle.

"What the fuck are you saying? I've known the guy my whole life. He's like family." He reasoned, trying to sound persuasive and feeling he was failing miserably. "Don't smoke inside. You know my dad hates it. Let's have some breakfast first. We can chill after." He suggested.

"Fine," Antoine replied disappointingly. He squeezed everything inside the small pouch and placed it under his pillow. He stretched his arms forward, pleading for Oscar's assistance, begrudgingly got hoisted up by his friend, and both boys left the room and went downstairs.

As they descended the staircase, they could hear shuffling noises inside the kitchen. There was a familiar and very satisfying commotion as Elena and Oscar's mother paced frantically back and forth, organizing the food and preparing everything to be taken outside to the large table in the grassland. Oscar sailed through the kitchen, trying to avoid bumping into one of the women, then stopped near a fruit bowl and held a large pear in his hand. He rubbed it on his shirt, and as he turned to face the kitchen back door leading outside, Elena clasped his shirt, arresting him.

"Dammi quello!" she ordered. Oscar obliged, and the woman grabbed the pear, quickly washing it in the sink. She gave the fruit a few strokes to shake off the excess water before returning it to Oscar's hand.

"Grazie." He said, offering the woman a peck on the cheek before fleeing the room. As he stepped outside, he could smell all the delectable food spread over the table, ingrained with the scent of fresh coffee and early morning damp fodder. His father was already seated, and next to him was Lorenzo. He stood there, towering over Mr. Steiner, making him look minuscule. He was carrying gardening gloves in one of his hands, with his broad shoulders fully displayed. They were immaculate. Flawless. Given it was midway through the morning, the sun was beginning to peak. Sweat was building on Lorenzo's forehead, drizzling through his neck and shoulders. Oscar couldn't look away as he moved very slowly towards the table. Antoine was behind him, and to distract his friend, he cut himself in front of him and took the seat closest to Lorenzo. He sat down and faced Oscar, grinning as he loomed the table.

"Ciao Lorenzo." Oscar asserted awkwardly.

"Ciao Oscar boy!" Lorenzo hollered with a grin as he boosted his arms and headed towards Oscar, giving him the warmest hug. He rang his muscular arms around the boy's frame and crammed him close. Oscar had grown a lot in the past year, but despite that, inside Lorenzo's embrace, the boy felt smallish and feeble. With his mug buried in Lorenzo's sweaty armpits, he could feel the strong musk fragrance overpowering him. Lorenzo tugged away suddenly with a surprised look.

"Look at you all grown up! You not boy anymore, sì? " he noted with a very thick accent.

"He still acts like one." Antoine joked.

But Lorenzo's attention seemed to be focused on Oscar as he held his face in his hands. His dark, luminous, and plunging eyes gazed into the boy, and his smile stretched endlessly. Oscar's core sank to his knees as he stood there, literally being held hostage by the object of his desire. His eyes fixated on Lorenzo's luscious mouth and smoky breath, which struck his face like surges of rapture.

Time was suspended as he envisioned himself leaning forward and sticking his tongue inside the Italian stud's mouth.

"Okay, love birds, we get it. Sit down already," Antoine taunted, straining to distract the focus from the awkwardness installed.

"You jealous, French boy?" Lorenzo deviated, letting go of Oscar, turning to Antoine, cladding his arm around his neck, and heckling the boy as he tickled his stomach.

"Mr. Steiner, help!" Antoine begged between laughs.

"Alright, settle down. Lorenzo, eat with us." Mr. Steiner hailed.

"Si..." Lorenzo obliged, pausing to examine himself humbly. "I will just take a quick shower, signore." He informed, rushing for a door near the barn and a few feet away from the kitchen, where his small and muted annex was.

Oscar sat next to his father just as Elena arrived at the table with the rest of the breakfast. They began eating frantically, all hungering from the very long car ride. There was this comfortable quietness for a few minutes as if that moment had transpired numerous times before. You could only hear the munching and the base of the coffee mugs striking the wooden table. Oscar suddenly recalled why he still, despite himself, treasured these trips. It was home to him. And a place where he could unwind and be himself alongside his parents and his best friend Antoine, Lorenzo, and Elena. Everything was as it should be.

"Tesoro, puoi portarmi l'uva dalla cucina?" Elena asked Oscar, pointing at the empty grape bowl.

"Sure." He consented, delicately sweeping his mouth with the tip of the napkin, stood up, and walked towards the kitchen.

As he entered, he instantly saw the grapes and was about to grab them when he suddenly heard a shower running. His heart skipped a beat. He immediately recalled that the kitchen had a door that led straight to Lorenzo's room. He stood there, the bowl of grapes in his hand, silent while the shower water ran in the distance. His brain began scheming. If he was going to do this, he had to do it now, before his absence became suspicious. He felt conflicted and exhilarated at the same time. He could feel his groin spasming and tightening. The boy, lost in his ramblings, didn't even realize he was already threading toward Lorenzo's room with the bowl of grapes in his hands.

As he got closer, he saw steam pouring from the half-closed entrance. Oscar took his hand and forced it open, releasing a wave of vapor reeking of shoddy soap. He could scarcely see inside, but once the excess fog managed to flee towards the kitchen, the room became more perceptible. He could glimpse a modest mattress with Lorenzo's dirty overalls spread on top of it. The bedroom was muddled. He suddenly felt the need to reach for the overalls and sniff them but knew he didn't have the luxury of time to indulge, so he stealthily stepped towards the tiny bathroom door and peeked inside.

And there, amongst the gradually clearing mist, was Lorenzo's stripped body, showering in all his glory. Oscar's dick was immediately stiff and pushing against his denim shorts profusely, eyes unflinching as he clenched the bowl. Lorenzo was facing the wall, his back towards the door. His huge furry thighs were slightly slanted as he massaged them, spreading the soap in an unhurried and steady rhythm. His outstandingly firm ass, like a plump peach with no fuzz, made his muscles quiver engagingly. His soft, fuzzy lower rear gradually dwindled to give room to a clean and massive back. A towering wall of flesh and muscles that extended endlessly. His powering arms would periodically come up to shampoo his raven, curly hair, and they stood there, flexing slowly and sadistically, Oscar thought. The boy felt his dick twitching inside his pants and small pumps of precum spattered inside his underwear. He felt slightly bewildered as his left hand slid inside the bowl, inadvertently squishing the grapes into a pulp.

"Shit!" He heaved out loud without realizing the sound had traveled right at Lorenzo, who turned around and looked at him, visibly surprised.

"Oscar, cosa stai facendo?" He questioned, despite appearing unbothered by the young man's unsolicited company.

"Sorry, I hum..." Oscar muttered, trying to look everywhere except at Lorenzo's 6-inch uncut soft shaft bobbing in front of him, "Elena wants you to hurry up." He stated as he shook his grape juice-covered hand. He had seen a lot of dicks in his life, especially since he joined the swim team, but most were smaller in size when soft. But not this one. He seemed fascinated by the thickness, length, and all that extra skin cocooning the tip. He imagined how it would feel to unwrap it and what it would smell like underneath once you peeled it back.

"Ei Oscar boy, grab me towel, sì?" Lorenzo requested, gazing at the boy and making his eyes snap away from his dick.

Oscar did as instructed, moving the grapes to his left hand, grabbing the towel with the other hand, and stretching his arm toward the shower door. Lorenzo held his arm forward, and instead of grabbing the towel, the Italian stud went for the boy's arm. The two men stood there in complete silence. Oscar felt his arm get drawn very gently but firmly as the distance between them became smaller and smaller. It wasn't long before they were inches away, and the boy could feel Lorenzo's breath over him.

"You grow, boy. Now you tall as Lorenzo." He taunted, pulling Oscar's arm closer to his groin, ceasing inches away from his pelvis. Their bodies were almost touching, and the boy's flushed red face now nestled on Lorenzo's soaked shoulder. He leaned forward, driving his mouth towards Oscar's ear, and whispered, "Il mio bel ragazzo," resonantly while grabbing a grape from the bowl and pulling away, never flickering or letting his eyes escape from Oscar's. He took the grape into his mouth, munching and grinning. "I meet Oscar boy later, sì? Go." He commanded, nodding his head and signaling Oscar to leave.

"Of course," the boy mumbled almost instinctively, and like a jolt of lightning, he turned away and dashed out of the bathroom. Oscar fled across Lorenzo's bedroom and into the kitchen, leaving the bowl of smashed grapes on the counter. He then escaped inside the house, up the stairs, and into his room.

He shut the door and hurled himself down on the bed. He let out a prolonged and guttural sound, his face buried inside his pillow. His mind was driving too fast and furiously, trying to keep up with his emotions.

"Fuck." He wailed, his head still squashed inside his pillow, his dick still throbbing rock hard, arrested between his abdomen and the sheets, and his underwear soaked in precum.

What had just happened? How come he didn't react? What was this feeling in his groin? Was Lorenzo coming on to him? Or was his mind playing tricks on him? Things were blurry and unrecognizable. That familiar feeling of serenity had gone to shit the moment he stepped foot in that kitchen. And suddenly, he was filled with a premonitory feeling that this summer would be anything but familiar territory.

From now on, everything was foreign.

(To be continued...)