Message-ID: <16032eli$9810042020@qz.little-neck.ny.us> X-Archived-At: <URL:http://www.qz.to/erotica/assm/Year98/16032.txt> From: <rifftide@yahoo.com> Subject: Afternoon In Florence Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories.moderated,alt.sex.stories Followup-To: alt.sex.stories.d MIME-Version: 1.0 Content-Type: text/plain; charset=us-ascii Path: qz!not-for-mail Organization: The Committee To Thwart Spam Approved: <usenet-approval@qz.little-neck.ny.us> X-Moderator-Contact: Eli the Bearded <story-admin@qz.little-neck.ny.us> X-Story-Submission: <story-submit@qz.little-neck.ny.us> X-Original-Message-ID: <19980919145729.3416.rocketmail@send1c.yahoomail.com> Afternoon In Florence Nathalie stepped into the Via Ricasoli from the museum, inhaling deeply the spicy, smoky odor of Italy in September. She had spent the last hour in the company of the David. Yes, the sculpture was overwhelming but she was amused by it too, considering what would be happening later in the day, back at the pensione some few streets away. What would this strange boy, this Serge, be like, she wondered? Like so many men or as wonderful as he had seemed when she had stumbled against him in the crowd that had gathered to hear the accordion players outside the Palazzo Veccio. Michaelangelo's David with his shrunken penis…as if the chill Carrera marble itself had pulled the scrotum tight between the magnificent thighs. She thought of her American boyfriends and wondered if the Renaissance Masters could help them with their pathetic concern about the size of their cocks. Oh, they were sweet, some of them…the boyfriends, that is, not necessarily their dicks. This made her smile and in the street, a lovely Italian boy saw her smile and, thinking that it was for him, smiled back: 'Ciao, bella…' She would meet Serge soon in the park near the Academe. Then, unless he turned out to be completely inept, she would take him back to the pensione, draw the billowy curtains closed so that not even the cats -which seemed to roam the tiled roofs constantly, day and night- could see them do the wicked things she planned. In the park, the men strolled arm in arm, talking. There was talking everywhere and children, beautiful children that were much loved and spoiled by the men and women who tended them. Yes, this was Italy and there was no better place in the world to fuck and fuck and fuck again. Nathalie sat on a bench in the park, took a jar of cold cream from her bag, opened it and began to rub the fragrant lotion into her hands and wrists. What would she do with this boy…he was a man, really, probably in his forties but boyish and charming still…what would she do to this boy when the sheets were pulled back from the sumptuous pillows and their naked bodies began perspiring in the afternoon heat. She would kiss him, yes…perhaps let him suck cooled Pinot Griggio from a cup she wold make between her legs…let him suck noisily from her mons. With this thought the familiar flooding began to churn through her bowels and into her stomach; the amorphous thundercloud of lust which only a hard, throbbing penis…the man-boy Serge's penis…could today define, clarify and make distinct. She smiled again, her most wicked smile, 'Would it be love,' she wondered, 'Could it be love if it was in the bum?' -- +----------------' Story submission `-+-' Moderator contact `--------------+ | <story-submit@qz.little-neck.ny.us> | <story-admin@qz.little-neck.ny.us> | | Archive site +----------------------+--------------------+ Newsgroup FAQ | <http://www.qz.to/erotica/assm/>----<http://www.qz.to/erotica/assm/faq.html>