Date: Tue, 24 May 2016 10:47:46 -0700
From: Tim P <privatetimm@gmail.com>
Subject: Jordan's Tale Chapter 16 - Gay Male Adult Youth Section

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16 Jordan's Tale

By Tim Price

I left Tyler and Patrick to sort things out on their own. They were both
bright kids and shy or not I knew that there was a two way
attraction. Turns out I was right. When next I saw them they were looking
more relaxed and chatting like old friends so I felt it would be a good
time to go get a status update from them. Tyler looked nervous again as I
approached and he cleared his throat as if to speak, but no words came out.

"Just spit it out Tyler," I prompted him.

"I'm not working next weekend,' Tyler started.

"And there are no meets next weekend," Patrick finished.

"Oh cool, so you both want me to hang with you on Saturday!" I teased.

I got withering looks from both.

"Sort of," Tyler coughed, "only we don't really need you there."

"Yes," I chuckled, "you guys can come over on Saturday and screw your
brains out."

They both blushed furiously and looked mortified, but neither denied the
allegation.

"It probably won't get that far," was all Tyler could stammer out.

He was probably right, I think these two will take their time, but in any
case, I'll be sure the hidden cams in whichever room I let them use are in
good working condition.

"Also don't forget we'll probably have other guests on Saturday at some
point too, maybe even by lunch if the weather is bad."

"That's okay," Patrick inserted, "I am out to most of my friends anyway and
Tyler says the guys who hang out at your place aren't exactly the gossipy
type."

I said my goodbyes to the boys and headed back to San Francisco.

*************************

It is mid March and club water polo season is in full swing. Michael,
formerly `Mikey', and David Bisignani have been playing for FogCity's 12
and under team for nine months now and are an integral part of the
team. Last year they were newbie eleven year olds who looked like little
boys, but with now many months of training under their belts that included
lifting and lots of swimming they were starting to look like ripped little
men. I am sure normal growth contributed to the change, plus the entering
into puberty, but the combination of those factors with the working out had
really transformed these boys. I ran into Michael's mom Amy at Whole Foods
one day.

"Tim, so nice to see you, will we see you at the water polo tournament this
weekend?"

"Amy," I responded in slight surprise, "how nice to see you too. Yes, not
only will I be there, but I'll be officiating, so try not to yell at me."

"Oh Tim," she cooed, "I could never be mad at you. I am so thrilled that
you got Michael involved in Fog City you can't believe it. Not only have
the swimming and water polo teams been good for him physically, but
emotionally he seems so much more confident now and socially he has
developed some really good friends from the team. Russ and I can't thank
you enough."

"You and Russ deserve all the credit for what a fine young man Michael is,"
I pointed out, "I just steered you guys to a very healthful outlet for
boys. I know what swimming and polo did for me so I am a big believer in
them."

"Well we are grateful, nonetheless. Oh...  and David says you are going to
Italy in a couple of weeks?"

"Yes, I am taking his mother and grandmother to Italy for about ten days to
pick up Marco and see Maria's sister and the rest of the family that the
Squillace and Palazzo's have in Calabria and then we are going spend a
couple nights in Positano, a few nights in Rome, and then fly home from
there."

"Mmmm, sounds wonderful. I'd love to do a trip like that soon. After the
JO's we are scheduled to go to Hawaii for two weeks and Russell wants to
invite David along. I just don't know how to approach Teresa and ask her if
it would be okay."

I smiled at Amy's lingo, `the JO's'; nine months ago she'd never have known
that `JO' meant Junior Olympics and she probably would have worried about
her `little boy'. Now she was a swim and polo mom who kept track of PR's,
talked about the JO's and probably commented on calls by the officials.

"What about approaching Teresa is hard?" I ask puzzled.

"Russell and I can easily afford everything to take David along, airfare,
etc, but I don't want to insult Teresa by asking in case she thinks we are
implying she couldn't afford it."

"I see," I nodded in understanding, "Teresa is pretty level headed. I'd
just approach her and say you'd like to take David along so Michael has a
friend along and see what her response is. My guess is she'll offer to pay
David's way, you can come back with the hotels and condos are already paid
for and my guess is she'll offer to pay David's airfare then and I'd let
her. She isn't poor by any stretch and that should work out for both you
guys."

Amy laughed, "it sounds so easy when you describe it."

"It will be, trust me," I smiled back at her.

*************************

It was a warm day and I was swimming through a field of giant sunflowers,
or was it waving wheat and how was I swimming through it?

"Sir, sir," one of the giant sunflowers said, "we are on final approach to
Lamezia Terme International Airport. You have to return your seat to full
upright position."

Well shoot, it wasn't a giant talking sunflower, which would have been
totally cool, but just an Alitalia flight attendant waking me up from a
nice nap on the flight from London. Maria Palazzo was looking out the
window and excitedly chatting with Teresa about what she saw below. Teresa
looked across the aisle at me and smiled.

"Thank you again Tim for bringing us along. I haven't seen Mamma this
excited for years. She is really looking forward to seeing her family and I
am looking forward to seeing Marco."

"You saw Marco on Skype two days ago," I teased.

"Fine," she huffed in fake frustration, "I am looking forward to hugging
Marco!"

"And pinching his cheeks and telling him how thin he is."

She chuckled, "no that is Mamma's job. I feel so badly for Michael and
Jordan every time they are over she tries to feed them."

I chuckled back, "with those two I doubt there is much complaining. I think
they could both eat a horse and then ask what is for dessert."

It only took a bit more than an hour to get our luggage and clear Italian
immigration control and customs. Marco was in the lower level waiting area
with a bouquet of flowers and in a pleasant surprise, doppelganger cousin
Lorenzo was along with another bouquet.

"Boungiro Aunt Teresa," he greeted Maria with a kiss on her cheek, "welcome
home to Calabria."

Maria took the bouquet and retuned the kiss on his cheek, "you are as bad
as your father Lorenzo, you know darn well I am your Great Aunt Maria, but
thank you anyway."

While this was going on Marco was greeting his mother with the bouquet
getting crushed between them as she hugged her son. They broke apart and
Marco greeted his grandmother with a kiss and a long hug.

"Marco, you are so thin," she said to him.

"That was for you two," she said wagging a finger at Teresa and me, "I am
not as deaf as you two think and Michael and Jordan love it when I stuff
them."

"But you are thin Marco," she said again, turning back to him.

That got a laugh from Teresa and me, a blush from Marco and an Italian
shrug from Lorenzo. Marco led us out to the Range Rover I'd bought for him
to use during the three month stay and that I would have shipped home from
Rome once we were done with our trip. I wasn't sure what I was going to do
with it back in the U.S., maybe give up my 4Runner and let Marco have it
for college, or give him the Range Rover. Knowing Marco he'd probably
rather have the 4Runner and appear less ostentatious; truth be told I would
too, but I'll let him make the call I think.

"Do you want to drive Tim?" Marco offers.

"No, you know where you are going so I'll ride shotgun."

I smiled wickedly at Lorenzo as I said that, knowing that that meant he'd
be in the rear seat between Maria and Teresa and he'd be peppered with
endless questions about the family. He good naturedly rolled his eyes and
climbed in the back seat. We hadn't even left the curb yet when Maria
started firing off the questions in Italian at him about the latest gossip
in the Squillace family.

It was a quick drive from the airport to the villa in Soverato, only about
45 minutes, and I was even more impressed with the villa in person than I
had been in seeing it online. It sat in the hills above Soverato, with a
sweeping view of the Ionian Sea from the front and the pool. I had more or
less decided to keep the property as an investment already, but seeing it
in the flesh, so to speak, convinced me even more. I asked Maria and Teresa
if they wanted their own rooms or wanted to share and they opted to stay in
the same bedroom, so Marco set them up in the room that overlooked the
garden with the Gulf of Squillace as a back drop. He led me up the stairs
to the master bedroom with a look of fire in his eyes.

Once the bedroom door was closed he attacked me, pushing me back onto the
bed and began to make up for lost time, but when it started to get heavier,
I pulled away.

"Marco dear, I love you, but there is no way I am freaking making love to
you with your mother and grandmother just below us."

Marco sighed, exasperated, "it has been so long."

"I know," I replied, "but tomorrow we'll send the two of them off with
Lorenzo in the car to meet the family and you and I can beg out for the day
on some pretext or another. Let's go for a swim. I made the ladies bring
bathing suits for the trip."

Marco laughed now, "no way will my 81 year old grandmother put on a bathing
suit. I've barely seen her out of a black dress since Nonni passed away."

Marco and I changed into swim suits and when we got downstairs Teresa,
Maria and Lorenzo were already in the pool. Marco looked thunderstruck.

"What," Maria demanded, "you act as if you'd never seen me in a bathing
suit before."

"Not since I was nine years old Nonna," Marco grinned.

Marco disappeared into the villa and came back with an ice bucket, five
wine glasses and two bottles of a very nice 2008 Aia Vecchia Vermentino
Maremma Toscana. It is a crisp, light Italian white don't we don't see
often in the U.S., but I made a note to ask Joe, my wine guy back home, to
find it for me.

Once the glasses had been poured he offered a toast, "alle due più belle
donne in Italia, benvenuto!"

"Oh Marco," Nonna Maria replied, "I am not one of the two most beautiful
women in Italy...  top five maybe..."

That got a nice laugh out of the group. It was nice to see Maria in a
different light than I saw her in San Francisco. I think being back in
Italy was making her feel younger and more vibrant, like the young girl who
had left here so many years ago.

We drank the two bottles as we relaxed in and by the pool and watched as
the sun started to go down. Marco had picked some tuna steaks at the
Soverato fish market before he'd come to the airport along with a fresh
baked pagnotta foggiana loaf. He asked Maria if she wanted to join him in
the kitchen and fixed up some antipastos and pasta. Nonna Maria looked like
she was in heaven. In less than forty minutes the two of them had whipped
up a great meal with an antipasto plate that included anchovies with olive
oil, several kinds of Calabrian salame and cheeses and a fresh ravioli
filled with local crab in a garlic and olive oil sauce. I wonder how Marco
had stayed so slim if this was how he'd been eating. To accompany the meal
Marco had selected a local red from the famous Ciro DOC, a 2006 Librandi
Duca Sanfelice Ciro Rosso Riserva. Sitting on the patio with this marvelous
meal, with the man I loved in this setting was just perfect. I couldn't
think of a single day I'd ever been happier.

We decided that since Lorenzo was going to take the ladies to see the
families the next day that it made sense for him to stay the night in the
third bedroom rather than go home.

In the morning Lorenzo took the SUV and drove the ladies to his aunt's
house where all the ladies in the Squillace clan were gathering to see
Teresa and Maria. They were also going to be cooking for a big family feast
that night when Marco and I would join them. In the mean time Marco and I
watched the Range Rover recede into the distance and once it was gone far
enough that we were convinced they weren't coming back for something they
forgot we practically knocked each other down racing up to the master
bedroom.

Yes in the three months that Marco had been gone I kept myself amused with
Alex, Tyler and a couple of the other boys who were regular visitors, but
it wasn't until I saw Marco at the airport waiting for us did the depth of
my longing for him hit. It wasn't just a physical longing, but an emotional
one too. Marco touched a spot in my heart no one else managed to, but right
now my thoughts were on Marco touching a different spot inside me and it
was a long way from my heart.

I got naked as quickly as I could and flopped down on the bed on my back
and grinned up at Marco.

"Oh no," he protested, "I get to be on bottom first."

"Climb on top and we can have a negotiation," I challenged him with a grin.

Maria might have been right that Marco was thinner looking, but it wasn't
because of not eating enough. It was from walking up and down the hill to
Soverato. Parking was generally a pain in the popular parts of town so
often walking was easier. The point being that even though Marco looked
thinner, stark naked he just looked ripped. What little fat he might have
had was gone and what was left was raw muscle. He lowered his newly
hardened body onto mine and despite the desperate rush to get up here, now
things slowed down. Marco's kisses were tender and slow, yet there was an
intensity to them. He slowly ground his hips into mine as I ran my hands
down his back to cusp his cheeks.

Despite my desire to have Marco fuck me hard, fast and deep my resolve on
that crumbled. Feeling his hard cock pushing on me and rubbing on me I
devised a new game plan. I rolled Marco to his back so I could ingest his
cock that I hadn't had in my mouth for over 90 days. Abandoning the slow
sweetness of earlier I gobbled Marco's cock all at once, burying my nose in
those familiar black hairs. He moaned as I started to bob and willing
lifted a leg to give me easier access to his opening. Not bothering to get
lube out of the bedside nightstand I decided good old fashioned spit would
do nicely. To that end I lifted both of Marco's legs and slobbered all over
his pucker while inserting my tongue in the pink rose. Marco squirmed and
moaned. I really did intend to just get him wet enough to finger him easier
while I finished the blow job but Marco had other ideas.

"Oh fuck me now Timmy, please just fuck me!"

I decided I couldn't see any flaws in this new plan, but I would need real
lube so I let Marco's legs down while I retrieved the bottle from the
nightstand. The liquid was a golden color. When I looked perplexed Marco
explained.

"Locally made extra virgin olive oil; oh my gawd it is the best lube ever."

I grinned, "extra virgin eh?"

I poured the rich liquid on my fingers and started to loosen up Marco and
when he was properly prepped I applied a generous helping to my stiffy. I
positioned myself at Marco's entrance and applied gentle pressure; Marco
pushed out, relaxed and help drag my hard cock all the way deep inside of
him. I waited while he adjusted a bit and he when he gave the signal
started a slow in and out rocking, but I wasn't able to keep it slow. I was
so keyed up for this in less than a minute I was pumping and pounding at
full speed and I knew I couldn't last more than a few minutes; five at the
most. Marco for his part seemed to be enjoying what was going on as he
grunted, moaned and encouraged me. He knew too I would not last long at
this pace so he quickly spread the EVOO over himself and started to jack.

"Soon Marco," I warned him, "very soon."

True to my word I was unloading into him ninety days worth of pent up
emotion along with copious amounts of splooge. Marco quickly joined me as
milky white ejaculate exploded out of his dick onto his chest and
abdomen. I continued to rock even as the hardness left me, not wanting to
leave the warm insides of Marco just yet. Finally my softened cock slipped
out on its own accord and I lay down next to him.

"Well that was worth the wait," Marco quipped.

"For you and me both," I replied as I rolled to my side and then snuggled
into Marco.

"Don't get too comfy," he warmed, "I plan to be reloaded and ready for my
turn in about ten minutes."

"Does it look like I'm going anyplace," I teased.

In less than ten minutes time Marco had slid down my body slathered a fresh
coat of olive oil on my cock and he started to massage it back to a state
of arousal. Once he had me hard enough he took me in his mouth and I
watched his shaggy black mane flop all over as he bobbed up and down on
me. Not wanting to be left out of the fun I grabbed the bottle of lube and
swung Marco's body around so I could return the favor to him. Normally I
don't use lube to give a blow job because the mouth supplies plenty of
liquid, but I had used flavored lube in the past, strawberry and what not,
just for something different. I lubed up Marco's erection and then
swallowed him and did a couple of quick bobs.

"Oh wow," I exclaimed, "that olive oil has a strong grassy flavor to it!
How did you come up with using it?"

Marco released my cock from his mouth just long enough to simply reply,
"cousin Lorenzo."

Oh good lord I was dying to hear that story but it would have to wait until
much later because I didn't think Marco and I were going to be doing too
much conversating over the next couple of hours.

We both took longer to cum this time; it was probably fifteen minutes. And
then after we had recharged a second time it was my turn to lay back and
let Marco do the work. It has been awhile since anyone as big as Marco as
fucked me so I let him know to do good prep work. He just grinned a lustful
smile at me as he set to work with the olive oil.

"I am ready Tim," he says quietly and I just nod for him to continue.

Yikes! I'd forgotten how it felt when Marco's mushroom head slipped inside
of me. I tried to relax and do my part to make the entry easier, but my
initial, physical reaction was to push back. Once I'd gotten over the first
insertion it was easier and then I felt Marco fully enter me and the pain
subsided to be replaced not just by pleasure, but contentment. It just felt
so right. So perfect. He waited for me to give the all clear before he
started his slow undulations. I savored the moment and enjoyed the sight of
Marco leaning over me and pushing in and out of me. I reached up to play
with his chest earning me a smile while he picked up speed and intensity.

Since we'd both already climaxed twice it was easy to last longer, but all
things must come to an end and around the twenty minute mark Marco spoke.

"Coming into the home stretch Timmy, get ready."

Marco lifted my hips a little higher and picked up even more speed. I knew
the look on his face and it meant I only had a minute or so to catch up and
be ready to shoot when he did. I did catch up quickly and in fact started
to spew a few seconds before Marco's grunts told me he had hit his climax
too.

"Well that was worth waiting three months for," Marco sighed as he flopped
down next to me.

I thought we'd lie there and cuddle a bit, but Marco had other plans. He
rolled off the bed, grabbed my hand and pulled me off behind him.

"Come," he said as he yanked me off the bed, "we don't have many days to
see Soverato."

A quick shower and we were out the door to explore Soverato. Since Lorenzo
had the car we walked down the hill, through the town to the beach where
the Club Lido San Domenico sat beside the Ionian Sea. The beach club is one
of the oldest in the area and so commands a good section of the beach. They
were setting up the distinctive blue and white umbrellas and sun loungers
for the day. Being very early in the season and a weekday, Marco and I were
able to secure an umbrella chairs easily and ordered a bottle of very light
white wine and bottled water. The waiter was prompt, recognizing me at
least as an American tourist and hoping for the tips that American
travelers were noted for. I think he was disappointed a little when I spoke
to him in Italian, even if it was in a Northern accent. Not to have his
hopes dashed entirely, I thanked him in English and tipped for the service
we had received so far.

It was a perfect day. Even though it was barely past 11AM it was already a
comfortable 74° with a light breeze blowing off the sea and nary a cloud
in the sky. Marco and I sat quietly enjoying each other's company and light
conversation.

"Going to be tough to go back to being a pizza delivery boy after this,"
Marco joked.

"You don't have to actually. I am sure Michael at Quince would take you on
for a summer internship before you start at Stanford."

"You think?" he replied back, "That would be a good way to spend the
summer. I learned a lot in these three months, but I am sure nothing like I
could learn from him."

We sipped our wine slowly and savored the day.

"Did you want to eat here?" I asked Marco.

"Mmmm, no, there is a little bar up the beach I want to take you to."

We finished off the wine and settled the bill and walked up the Via della
Galleria (Street of the Gallery) to this spot Marco had selected. I was
starting to understand why it seemed all Italian cars were small; the
street was barely wide enough for one car, yet the Italian drivers passed
each other at too fast of speeds with little concern and somehow there
weren't any accidents. I shook my head in wonderment every time two cars
managed to squeeze past each other.

"Here we are," Marco declared after about a half mile walk.

There was simply a sign that said "Macarena" and stairs that led down to a
building below the level of the street and just above the beach. Marco
seemed to be well known because he was greeted in a friendly, knowing
manner and we were directed to a great table against the rail, looking
directly down to the beach ten feet or so below us. Marco waved off the
menus and placed an order for two appetizer plates to start along with a
bottle of Jermann Vintage Tunina 2007. The wine is a very crisp blend of
many white grapes, but is the perfect balancing of fruitiness and
dryness. When the two appetizers arrived they were heaping plates of
goodness from the local fishermen; there were calamari rings, fresh crab,
deep fried anchovies, fresh anchovies in olive oil, sardines and local
shellfish I couldn't identify.

The Italians would think of this restaurant as a café or bar, but unlike
American bar food, these dishes were spectacular. Matching the great wine
and great food was the amazing setting looking out over the beach and
sea. One of the other things I love about eating in most European countries
is that no one is out to rush you out of a place. In a similar beach front
bar in Malibu after an hour you'd feel them trying to pressure you on so
they could turn the table over. Here at one hour we were just getting
started. Marco now ordered the main courses; a local tuna for me and a
local baccala for himself with a seafood pasta to share. We could not have
asked for anything better. Oh, except for a second bottle of the Jermann
white.

We finished the mains, the pasta and the wine and then we started on the
cheese course with Compari Soda on the rocks to close out the meal. By the
time we had polished that off and asked for the bill we had occupied our
table for more than two and half hours and not once did we feel rushed. The
diners around us took similar time with their meals, or longer. It just
seemed so civilized. The downside was I was ready for a nap now so Marco
and I caught a cab back to the villa in the hills. We plopped down on the
sun chairs by the pool and I slept until Lorenzo returned with the car to
pick us up for dinner with his family.

"We need to shower," Marco told Lorenzo, "maybe it would be faster if you
helped us?"

"Helped you how," a puzzled Lorenzo asked.

I got a wry grin on my face, "I think Marco is suggesting that if you
scrubbed my back in the shower, while I scrubbed his, we could save a lot
of time."

A smile of understanding now crossed Marco's face, "I am afraid if I get in
a shower with you and Marco naked that the shower could take rather
longer."

"I think we'll risk it," I snickered.

Overall I thought we did pretty well. The shower only lasted thirty-five
minutes or so and each of us only came once. Lorenzo facially resembles
Marco, but he is shorter by an inch at least, putting him around 5'9",
maybe just under and at least fifteen pounds lighter. He couldn't weigh
more than 130 pounds, which means he is just a little heavier than Jordan
and that makes his dick, that is big, seem oh so much bigger. He is bigger
than Marco, so bigger than seven inches and maybe bigger than me too, which
would put him at over seven and a half inches; couple that with a good
thickness and being uncut and a good time was had by all.

Marco and I let Lorenzo continue driving since he was more used to the
roads and thank goodness. The road leading away from the coast that was the
main road going through the village of Staletti and on to the area where
the Palazzo and Squillace families lived was little more than a two lane
highway and instead of going straight through a town like a highway might
in the U.S., this highway made odd twists and turns through the ancient
town. Ten miles out of Staletti Lorenzo turned off the road onto a gravel
drive that wound through a grove of olive trees and at the top of the hill
at the end of the drive were several stone buildings that looked to be the
out buildings for the grove and a large, two story villa.

This was the hereditary home of the Squillace's and where Lorenzo's family
lived. Lorenzo's grandfather Cosimo, who was Maria Palazzo's older brother,
had lived here with his wife and parents and grandmother. It was from here
that a young Maria married Fredo Palazzo and fled from the country before
Fredo could be drafted into Mussolini's army. When Cosimo's wife had passed
away, his sister Caterina who was a widow had moved in to cook and help
around the olive grove. As they got older, too old for the day to day
running of the operation by themselves, Loreno's father, an attorney from
Catanzaro, moved his family to the ancestral villa and as generations of
Squillace's had done for more than four hundred years, ran the family
operation.

There were a couple dozen cars parked willy nilly around the buildings, but
Lorenzo drove around to the right of the main villa and parked under a
broad chestnut tree where two other cars were parked.

"That is my car," Lorenzo explained pointing out a Fiat Punto, "and my
father's car is the black Alfa Romeo."

"Your father has good taste in cars," I quipped.

The Alfa Romeo 159 was not a model we saw often in the U.S., but in Europe
competed against the larger Mercedes-Benz and BMWs. As we exited the car,
the scene in front of us was at once chaotic and pastoral. There were long
tables set with table clothes flapping in the gentle breeze; children of
all ages running around playing games; a group of men playing bocce; a
group of other men seated and drinking wine and women buzzing around like
bees placing food on the table. Maria saw us arrive and made her way over
to us. She was 81 years old, but looked ten years younger today. She
grabbed Marco by the arm after kissing Lorenzo and me and began to drag us
around the gathering making introductions.

Everyone who met Marco was blown away by his strong Squillace family
features and resemblance to Lorenzo. Maria introduced me as Marco's
boyfriend and I didn't get a raised eyebrow from any of them. I was
surprised in strongly Catholic Italy that more people weren't a little put
out, but I couldn't have been greeted more warmly. After those rounds were
made, Lorenzo took Marco to hang out with the young adults and older teens
while Lorenzo's father, Giani, took me to the bocce. The men did their best
to speak English so I wouldn't feel excluded, but I assured them in Italian
that I spoke Italian.

Several of them laughed good naturedly and an older gentleman, replied in
Italian, "well sort of"; referring to my Northern Italian accent in
contrast to their softer Calabrese accents. They were all very interested
to hear about the United States and especially California. It seemed
everyone there had a brother, cousin or other close relation who lived in
California. By the time it was time to eat ninety minutes later I felt like
these were old friends or long lost relatives of my own. The warmth and
gentle hospitality was touching.

The meal itself was a feast beyond belief. Each of the table had plates and
plates of food. When the first plates were stripped of food, just as
quickly heaping bowls of various pastas replaced them and then the pastas
were consumed, bowls and plates of seafood, sausages and meats like rabbit,
chicken and beef took their place. I didn't think I'd be able to take
another bite of anything, but when the dolces and cheese showed up, I ate
more than I thought possible. All the men were sure that I had to have
Italian blood in me since no Englishman or Welshman could have held his own
so well. As the evening drew to a close I was dreading the drive home I
wasn't sure I'd be able to find my way. The problem was soon solved.

"Maria and I are spending the night here," Teresa told me, "in fact we are
going to stay until you are Marco pick us up on the way to Positano. I
figure you and Marco can use some private time and this is probably the
last time my mother will have the opportunity to spend time with Cosimo,
Caterina, Anna and Felicita; none of them are getting any younger. So
Lorenzo will drive you and Marco back to Soverato and you can drop him off
here when you pick us up."

I kissed Teresa on the cheek and thanked her, but she just shrugged in that
oh so Italian way. Marco said his goodbyes to his mother, grandmother and
the rest of his great aunts and uncles and their families; an exercise that
took thirty minutes on its own. Lorenzo was bright and chipper as we drove
down the hills back to the coastal road. I was a little alarmed at how fast
he was driving even if he did know these roads like the back of his hand.

"Is there a fire someplace Lorenzo?" I teased him.

"In my loins Timoteo, cousin Marco has said I may be able to talk you into
fucking me tonight."

I laughed, "oh he has has he."

"Si, and after what happened this afternoon, I am very excited about it."

I didn't say so, but I actually was too and I was feeling some swelling
going on in my nether regions.

"And what will you be doing while this is going on," I challenged Marco
teasingly.

"Lorenzo will be sucking me, duh," Marco flipped back at me.

This was sounding better all the time.

"So what are you driving so slowly for nonna Lorenzo? Sbrigati! Sbrigati!"

I don't think any of the four wheels actually left the road and I am
positive we didn't take any corners on just two wheels, that was merely how
it felt. Despite the hurry to get home however, we didn't dash upstairs
shedding clothes as we climbed the stairs. There really was no hurry since
we didn't need to pick up Teresa and Maria for two and a half more
days. Marco suggested a swim and that sounded refreshing. He went into the
house to fetch some towels while Lorenzo and I stripped down and got in the
pool. I had no worries or issues about swimming nude in the pool; even
though the pool and front of the villa were open there were trees along the
side and being vacation villas mostly, not many were occupied this early in
the season.

Marco reemerged from the villa naked and not just with towels, but with
three Forst beers as well. Forst is a light Italian lager that had started
in South Tyrol, the northern most Italian province, but was popular in
Calabria because there was a brewery and bottling plant in nearby
Sicily. It was the perfect cap to the wonderful day we'd had. We floated
and chatted, mostly about the family we had met today. Marco and I would
give our impressions and Lorenzo filled in with the family gossip. I was
looking forward to having Lorenzo in California. He was funny, engaging,
bright and extremely easy on the eyes. I thought he'd fit into our little
world just off Golden Gate Park quite nicely.

"Are we ready to go upstairs?" Marco asked after a bit.

I nodded and looked at Lorenzo, who blushed and looked slightly more
bashful now.

"You don't have to Tim, I was partly kidding. Marco and I never really
talked about it."

"Be that as it may Lorenzo, I still think it is a marvelous idea, but you
don't have to if you'd rather not."

"No, no," he assured me, "I really would like to, but I don't want to get
in the middle of you and Marco."

I smiled at him lecherously, "the middle of Marco and me is precisely where
I'd like you, eh Marco?"

"Absolutamente," Marco confirmed as he grabbed Lorenzo from behind and
pulled him in.

I moved forward and sandwiched Lorenzo in between Marco and me, "something
like this" I said as I kissed Lorenzo gently and then Marco after
that. Poor Lorenzo crossed himself and murmured, "Madre Maria, forgive me
for what I am about to do", but grinned as he said it.

We left the pool and dried off before entering the house and heading
upstairs. Lorenzo was starting to plump up as we settled onto the
bed. Marco reached inside the nightstand and pulled out the bottle of olive
oil that had been serving as lubrication when a thought struck me.

"Lorenzo, is the olive oil you and Marco have been using from your father's
groves?"

He blushed a little and nodded, "of course. I'd never buy olive oil when we
produce so much of it. I do think mamma and papa would be a bit surprised
at the good uses I've put it to."

"I agree," I said as I slathered on a handful to his cock that was quickly
fully hard.

I promptly swallowed the solid seven and a half inch, uncut cock all the
way until my nose was sitting on top of his smallish patch of jet black
pubic hairs. While I was doing this Marco was kissing Lorenzo and Lorenzo
was stroking Marco. I heard a muffled moan as Lorenzo moaned through his
kisses while I lowered his foreskin and went to work on his sensitive head
with my tongue. The moans and squirms of his hips told me I was doing a
pretty decent job. When I lifted one of his legs to rub the olive oil on
his o-ring and start seeking his prostate he broke the kiss long enough to
mutter `madre di Dio'. The three of us kept up our activities for probably
close to fifteen minutes until Lorenzo broke off the kisses with Marco and
spoke to me.

"Now Timeto, I am ready for fucking. If you keep sucking anymore I'll waste
my seed."

"Oh, it wouldn't go to waste Lorenzo, trust me," I chuckled, "but okay,
let's get this show on the road."

I got in between Lorenzo's legs and started to lift them when Lorenzo
interrupted me with, `like this to start', as he rolled over and got on all
fours. I shrugged and began to loosen him up. From this angle I got a good
look, or maybe just a different look at Lorenzo's butt and it really hadn't
occurred to me how tiny it was. He was only 130 pounds or so and none of
that weight was in his cheeks that barely existed. He was like a Giorgio
Armani model with the slender hips and no butts that they all seemed to
have. When he was sufficiently opened I started to slide my cock into
him. Rather than wait he simply pushed back into me, forcing me all the way
deep into him. He gasped as I fully entered, but it was what he wanted. I
grabbed onto his hip bones and started to rock in and out of him. I started
slow to get my bearings, but gradually picked up speed until I was at a
good steady pace.

Marco was in front of Lorenzo grinning back at me as Lorenzo sucked on
him. Every so often Marco would lean in for a kiss. I pounded Lorenzo doggy
style for about ten minutes, but began to feel myself slipping towards the
point of no return.

"Lorenzo, I am getting too close, on your back now."

He obeyed and when he was on his back I hooked behind his knees, lifted my
knees off the bed and began to drive forcefully down into him. Marco had
moved to the side to take care of himself while Lorenzo and I finished. I
could feel myself building to a powerful climax. I drove faster and faster
into Lorenzo. I became acutely aware of all the noise around us; the noise
of my loins hitting Lorenzo's bottom, the rhythmic squeaking of the bed,
Lorenzo's groans, the sloshing sound of Marco pulling on his olive oil
coated cock and finally my heavy breathing.

"Close Lorenzo," I grunted.

"Sì," he acknowledged, "kiss me."

I leaned down to kiss him, and for a horrifying moment in his hairless face
I saw Frank Bisignani. I'd have to psychoanalyze that later, but for now my
tongue sought Lorenzo's and as we kissed I gasped and started to
unload. Lorenzo for his part wrapped his legs tighter around me and soon I
felt the first of his powerful spurts hitting me in the chest. I kept
moving in and out until I was certain that every last drop had been wrung
out of me. Only then did I turn and see Marco, whose torso was covered in
his own gooey milk.

"Holy fuck that was hot," was all Marco could say.

"Sì, sì è andata molto bene," Lorenzo agreed.

We lay there for a few moments recovering. I was wiped out. I knew the long
day was finally catching up with me. Between Marco's and my time in the
morning, shower time with Marco and Lorenzo in the afternoon and now this
latest escapade I knew I was tapped out for the day. I told the youngsters
I was going to shower and call it a night and surprisingly they agreed. We
took a quick shower and the three of us slept naked under the light muslin
sheets. Over the course of the next two days Marco, Lorenzo and I had sex
in more ways and more times than I thought possible. We took time out to go
to the cafes along the beach for lunch and dinner, but the rest of the time
was filled with ribald amusements.

I decided I should drive heading back to Lorenzo's house on that last day
so I could get practice in the Italian countryside and roads before
attempting the drive to Positano for the next leg of our trip. Marco packed
just enough of his clothes for the next several days and my agent on the
house would ship the rest that Marco had packed and get the villa cleaned
and ready for guests. I had listed the house on a brand new website called
Airbnb that was a startup company I had invested in. Some friends in San
Francisco had come to me with the idea and I thought it was brilliant so I
took a minority stake. Even though the site was brand new, surprisingly my
villa was already getting solid bookings from the U.S. and UK. I didn't
care per se, I could have afforded to leave the place empty, but Francesco,
who is my agent, has other ideas, even grander. He thinks I can pick up the
two units on either side of mine for far less than I paid because he has
heard the owners are in financial trouble. The real estate recession that
started in the U.S. in 2007 has started to spread around the
globe. Something to consider.

I pushed those thoughts to the back of my head though as I started the
climb away from the coast up through the small towns that dotted the
Catanzaro coast. I was thankful I still had Lorenzo along to help guide me
through them. I toyed with the idea of asking him to stay with us the rest
of the trip as guide, but decided we'd survive somehow.

We got to his family's estate and even though Teresa and Maria were all
packed and ready to go, it still took another forty-five minutes to
actually get on the road with all the kissing and hugging goodbyes. I was
hugged and kissed on the cheek by people who I had no idea who they
were. This seemed to amuse Marco greatly. At last though we got the ladies
in the car and pointed the car in the right direction.

"Arrivederci Lorenzo," I called out, "we'll see you in a few months. Come
sooner if you like."

And at that we were off on the next leg of our trip. It was going to be a
solid five hour drive to Positano where we had two nights planned at the Il
San Pietro di Positano Hotel. It was taking longer than usual because I was
taking the scenic route along the coast rather than the expressway. Maria
was misty eyed as she thought she'd probably never see Italy and her family
again. Teresa comforted her, then distracted her by asking about villages
and sights along the way. We finally left the countryside behind us and
gorgeous views of Tyrrhenian Sea greeted us as we entered Campora San
Giovanni and started the drive up the coast.

We passed through one quaint village after another and I thought it sad
that few American tourists probably ever passed through and saw such sights
are the medieval fortress at Belvedere Marittimo, the graceful seaside
resort of Scalea and the pre-historic caves of Fiumicello Santa Venere.

Soon enough though we climbed off the flat seaside areas and entered the
Amalfi Coast, which was a favorite of American tourists. Even so though, as
we drove through the villages that hung off the cliffs like Marina di
Camerota, Praiano, Vettica Maggiore and Amalfi itself I was willing to bet
that like me, most tourists booked the more well known Positano and
eschewed the these lesser known, but no less spectacular villages. I made a
mental note to return with Marco one day and spend a month on this
coast. As that thought passed through my head, it occurred to me for the
first time that I couldn't envision a future without Marco by my side. I
reached across, grabbed his hand and squeezed it gently. He gave me an odd
look and a crooked smile, but turned his palm upward to grasp my hand.

"Entrambe le mani sul volante," was the quick admonishment from Maria in
the backseat.

She was right, I did need both hands on the wheel on this treacherous
stretch of road. The Range Rover was a largish vehicle for the S.S. 163
state road that ran along the coast and passing an oncoming bus was an
adventure. So I squeezed Marco's hand once more before returning full
concentration to the drive.

A bit after 1PM we finally pulled up the Il San Pietro and the terribly
efficient hotel staff took over. The ladies doors were opened and they were
greeted with kisses on the cheek as they were assisted out of the
car. Marco and I were greeted appropriately, the bags and car whisked away
and we were ushered to the reception desk.

"Sig. Price, so nice to see you again," I was greeted.

Even though this was my third time staying at the hotel, the first was when
I was in high school so I doubted I was actually recognized. I was
impressed at how discretely and efficiently my arrival was communicated
from the valet and porters to the front desk. You would have thought I had
been here a couple of weeks ago.

"Thank you, it is nice to be back," I replied.

"Enzo will escort you to your rooms signore," Piero, the reception clerk,
instructed us when the registration was complete.

Enzo was an attractive, well built young Italian, who couldn't have been
much older than Marco. He chatted with us first in perfect English, but
switched to Italian when Maria engaged him in Italian. We had adjoining
rooms that looked up the coast to the main part of town. Il San Pietro is
about 15 minutes south of the heart of Positano if you use the motorway,
but only about 5 minutes if you use the hotel's speedboat to cut across the
bay. Once the bags were situated in the appropriate rooms I tipped Enzo
€5 and thanked him. Tipping is still not common in Europe, but it is
nevertheless appreciated.

"Gratzi Sig. Price, if I can be of further assistance, don't hesitate,"
Enzo thanked me.

He did so with a big smile and a slight inflection to his voice. I wasn't
good enough in my Italian to pick up a subtle subtext so I asked Marco when
the door closed if there was anything to Enzo's parting statement. Marco
laughed.

"Oh yeah, I think his `further assistance' might include him on his back,"
Marco grinned at me.

I filed that thought away as I went out onto the terrace and checked the
scenery. It was as stunning and gorgeous as I remembered. Marco slipped up
beside me and inserted his arm inside mine.

"What was that hand squeeze on the road that almost gave nonna a heart
attack?"

I looked down at him, smiled and laid a gentle kiss on his lips, "sort of
like this; a moment of quite romance and a reminder of how much I love you
and how important you are to me."

"I love you too, Sig. Price," Marco teased gently. "I am famished. Should
we collect the ladies and get some grub?"

"Ugh, Marco. How can you refer to Italian cuisine as `grub'? But, yes we
should. Tell them they'll need scarves for the ride over."

Marco went to tell his mother and grandmother to meets us in the lobby
while I headed to the concierge to arrange the speed boat. We assembled in
the lobby, and then made our way down to the boat landing and stepped
aboard the vintage Riva speedboat. I was worried that Maria might be put
off by the windy ride, but she reveled in it. I think she would have liked
a turn at the wheel even.

We made our way to Cucina Casereccia da Vincenzo once we'd reached the
heart of town on the speedboat. It is a charming, but unpretentious
restaurant that specializes in the food of the Amalfi region, which means a
lot of very fresh seafood. We had a marvelous, relaxed meal where the food
kept coming and the wine flowing. Maria updated us on all the family gossip
and news during lunch. Teresa sat and smiled at the energy and vitality in
her 81 year old mother. We also discussed the remainder of the trip,
including the trip to the Vatican and I reminded Teresa and Maria to dress
up for the Vatican since it had a pretty conservative dress code. I knew it
wasn't necessary since I am sure that they would dress to the nines for the
Vatican.

When we returned to the hotel Maria wanted to lie down for a bit and Teresa
decided to join her while Marco and I changed and headed to the beach. The
beach itself was very narrow so the lounge chairs were set up on a rock
ledge next to the beach. Marco and I whiled away the day sunning ourselves
and taking dips in the ocean. The ocean here tasted different, saltier than
the ocean of southern California and very different from the San Francisco
Bay.

We stayed in the hotel for dinner and went to Zass, the Michelin starred
main dining room.

"Why are there five chairs?" Teresa wondered out loud.

Marco got a huge grin on his face when I said I'd invited a guest. At first
he was disappointed that Enzo wasn't the guest I'd invited, but he perked
up when he found out it was Alois Vanlangenaeker, the executive chef of the
restaurant. I had persuaded the Belgium born chef to join us and share his
experience with Marco. So began an amazing evening.

Chef Vanlangenaeker walked us through his career at various Michelin
starred restaurants in Belgium, Tokyo, St Tropez, Naples and how he landed
at Il San Pietro. While he talked course after course arrived for us to
eat. There was no ordering from a menu, Chef Vanlangenaeker just kept
giving orders and platters of the freshest, most delectable food kept
arriving with generous helping of Italian red and white wines to wash it
down. Marco hung on every word from the top chef, but I think Teresa was
too and Chef Alois noticed and maybe was flirting a bit as he spoke.

At the end of two and a half hours, the meal was finally complete and Chef
Alois excused himself to make sure the kitchen was running as it should the
four of us made our way back to our rooms. We kissed Teresa and Maria
goodnight in the hallway and make our way into our room.

"Oh look," I exclaimed in an exaggerated, startled voice, "the turndown
service I ordered."

Marco was puzzled at first until he saw a grinning Enzo in our bed.

"Chocolate or champagne signores?" the topless hunk under the covers
offered.

"Both I think," I replied.

When Enzo got out from under the covers, he was bottomless too. A nice
uncut cock swung below a patch of trimmed brown pubic hairs. He grabbed the
champagne bottle, three glasses and the box of chocolates from the
table. Marco and I quickly undressed and the three of us slid back under
the covers with Enzo in between us. When the champagne was poured Enzo
offered a toast.

"Bottoms up," he grinned, using the American idiom. I was pretty sure he
understood the double entendre of the toast.

Enzo proved to be everything I had hoped, including being a skilled and
energetic young lover. The three of us prodded, poked, sucked and generally
exchanged fluids until the wee hours of the morning. After our capping
shower I invited Enzo to stay the rest of the night, but he begged off
saying he needed to go home and change clothes anyway. He did say he'd stay
in touch through the Internet though and maybe even come to visit in
California one day.

I slept in the next morning, well slept in for me, I stayed in bed until
8AM, and when I arrived in the lobby to get some coffee I was surprised to
see Teresa with Chef Alois and two excited Irish Setters.

"Alois invited me to walk his dogs with him," Teresa explained, but blushed
as she did so.

I grinned from ear to ear at the cute little scene.

"Si, we'll walk to town, do some shopping for the restaurant and everyone
is happy; the dogs get exercise, I get to buy the freshest food for my
guests and I get a lovely companion for the trip," Chef Alois confirmed.

I couldn't wait to get back to the room and gossip with Marco about his
mother and the Michelin starred chef.

We had a late breakfast served on the balcony for four of us and Marco
couldn't resist teasing his mom about her new beau. She pretended it was
nothing, but it was the first time I'd know Teresa to show any interest in
a man since I'd met her; maybe having seven kids had kept her too busy. In
any case, it was fun to see that side of her.

The ladies were going to go into the main area of Positano to shop and
Marco and I decided to stick around the hotel, go to the beach, maybe hit
the pool a little and catch up. We'd talked a lot about Marco's time in
Italy, but I hadn't really caught him up on all the doings at home.

That night we dined at La Sponda at Le Sirenuse and had another wonderful
meal. It was easy to see how Chef Matteo had earned his Michelin star. It
was remarkable that such a small town had multiple Michelin starred
restaurants, but so far in the two we had been in the stars were richly
deserved. I would have loved to extend the Positano portion of our trip,
especially as Enzo was unable to join us our last night, but was off the
next day, but I had bigger plans afoot in Rome. So it was with regret that
we left lovely Positano for Rome. There was no coastal drive this time, I
took the expressway and made it to the outskirts of Rome in just over two
hours, but it was forty-five more minutes to navigate the aged city to
arrive at our hotel, the Hotel Hassler.

The Hassler sits atop the Spanish Steps with sweeping views of the Eternal
City. I had booked the Penthouse Suite for Marco and me, with its huge
terrace and the Presidential Suite a floor below for Teresa and
Maria. Since we'd left Positano early and not stopped along the way I had
the butler that came with the Penthouse Suite set up a brunch meal on the
terrace. He did well providing the four of us with a selection of meats,
cheeses, seafood, vegetable, olives and dolci in a buffet.

"Fredo loved this city," Maria commented with a tinge of sadness, "almost
as much as he loved San Francisco."

"Yes Mamma, and you two had a wonderful life together for almost sixty
years," Maria reminded her.

"I know figlia mia," Maria responded, taking Teresa's hand lightly, "I
sometimes forget how lucky I was to have him that long while your poor
Joseph was taken from you so young."

I looked at Marco, I could see a bit of pain and sadness in him. Losing his
father had been a big blow to him. He caught my eye and smiled a little.

Teresa broke the maudlin moment, "this hotel is lovely Tim. Have you stayed
here before?"

"Yes, this is my mother's favorite hotel in the city so it is where they
always stay. I am glad you enjoy it."

After brunch we walked down to the Trevi Fountain for a picture of the four
of us and then we turned the ladies loose. This area was the heart of
Rome's best shopping area and I knew Marco and I would just slow them
down. I took what would have seemed a meandering path to some, but I knew
exactly where we were headed as I weaved my way through the streets to the
Via dei Condotti. There we found ourselves in front of Battistoni, one of
my favorite men's suit makers. Marco raised an eyebrow at me as he
recognized the brand. I just smiled and shrugged.

We entered the shop that just reeked of success, elegance and
tradition. Marco and I were cordially greeted by an eager clerk in
English. I am sure he thought he had two Americans that would brighten his
day.

"Good day," I returned in Italian, "is Guglielmo available?"

There was only a brief look of disappointment on the clerk's face as he
replied that he'd see if he was available, but he also realized that anyone
asking for the grandson of the founder might yet be good news for him.

Three minutes later an impeccably dressed, stunningly handsome man appeared
from the back of the shop.

"Tim," Guglielmo boomed, "you didn't tell me you were coming to Rome!"

"Sorry Joey, this is a quick trip. I just came to retrieve my boyfriend
Marco here from Soverato. His mother and grandmother came along. We fly out
the day after tomorrow."

"Soverato, good gawd, did you send the poor boy into exile!." He howled as
he shook Marco's hand while introducing himself.

"There is a great cooking school there I sent him too before he starts
Stanford in the fall. His grandmother was born in the area so it was a bit
of a homecoming for her."

"Tim and I met at Stanford Marco," Guglielmo explained, "he calls me Joey
as most of my California friends do since no one can pronounce Guglielmo
apparently."

The clerk who had greeted us was nearby dusting, hoping that there would
still be a role for him to play.

"Do you have time for lunch?" Joey asked.

"We just had brunch actually. I thought maybe we could fit Marco and me for
a couple suits, get some shirts and ties, accessories and what not and that
by the time we were done we'd be ready to eat again."

"Of course. Paulo, stop polishing that one spot, you'll wear the wood
away. Come help me with our guests."

The clerk, who we now knew was named Paulo grinned and jumped at the
opportunity to assist. Ninety minutes later Marco and I had been measured
for two suits and a tuxedo each, we had five new shirts apiece, six ties,
numerous pairs of socks and boxers shorts. Paulo I am sure was already
spending his commission in his head.

"Were you and Marco coming back for the next fitting or did you want me to
send the suits to California?" Joey asked.

"If you could send them to your Beverly Hills store Marco and I can do our
next fittings there."

"No problem," Joey assured us, "I may even come along to supervise."

He grinned and flirted as he said it. I don't know if Joey is gay or not,
he sure had his share of the ladies at Stanford, but if one listened to
rumors he kept the boys busy as well.

"You are always welcome to visit Joey. Your trips to LA never seem to last
long."

"Si, there is always a lot to do there, in New York and back here," he
sighed, "I should take more time. But for now, let me buy you two lunch."

Joey had our purchases sent back to the hotel and he walked us over to an
alleyway, through a door and up some stairs. Soon we were in an elegant
dining room that overlooked the Piazza di Spagna (Spanish Plaa). Joey was
greeted by his Italian name and we were in turn introduced to the maitre
d'. The maitre d' led us to a table next to the windows. As soon as we sat
down white wine appeared and was soon followed by one course after another
of tapas like portions. We never saw a menu all the way through lunch and
after we'd had our espressos Joey announced he had to get back to the
store.

"What about the bill?" I asked. I'd never seen one arrive.

"This is a restaurant that many of the top stores use to entertain their
best clients. It is almost like a club; no one ever sees a menu or a
bill. The owner simply bills us at the end of every month. It is a
civilized arrangement," Joey explained.

Joey headed back to his store and Marco and I climbed the Spanish Steps to
the Hotel Hassler. The hotel didn't have a pool, which is its only negative
for me, but then not many of the top hotels in Rome did. It was just not
even a consideration when most of these hotels were built. So Marco and I
stripped down to our boxers, put on the plush robes that the hotel provided
and lay on the loungers on the terrace overlooking Rome. Our butler,
Lodovico, kept us well hydrated and cared for. Maria and Teresa returned
from a full day of shopping and rested up before dinner.

We dined at Imàgo that night, our third Michelin starred restaurant in a
row. I'd made reservations early, or early by Italian standards, 8PM,
because tomorrow was our Vatican tour and I had plans for it to be a big
one.

"Get to bed early Nonna," I teased Maria, "we might see Il Papa tomorrow!"

"And pigs may fly," she jibed back.

The next morning we had an early breakfast even though our tickets for the
Vatican tour were not until noon. I wanted to give the ladies plenty of
time to look their best. I made Marco dress up in his best suit that I'd
brought from home. I wanted us to look our best as well. The hotel had
their car meet us out front at 11:15AM.

"Why so early," Maria grumbled, "it is only fifteen minutes away."

"We don't want to risk being late," I said cryptically, "I hear traffic can
be murder in Rome."

The Hotel Hassler's limousine passed the first two entries to Vatican City.

"Does this driver know where to go, he has passed two entrances already,"

"Relax Maria, I am sure he knows a special entrance that tourists don't
know about."

He pulled up to a third entrance with a guard and after a brief exchange
the limo was waved on. The car pulled up to where a priest was standing. As
our driver opened the doors, the priest approached the car.

"Welcome to Vatican City," he started in an American English accent, "I am
Monsignor Sullivan, if you'll follow me please."

Teresa shot me an enquiring look, but I just shrugged in confusion. We
followed the young priest down a richly decorated hallway to a waiting room
of some sort.

"Wait here please," he requested with a warm smile.

"What is this," Maria wanted to know.

I again shrugged ignorantly, "perhaps this is where the tours start from."

After a minute or two Mons. Sullivan returned, "His Holiness will see you
now."

"His Holiness?" Maria murmured quietly, "Tim, what have you done?!"

I smiled slyly, "After you Mrs. Palazzo, His Holiness is waiting."

The room had gold wallpaper with frescos high on the wall where it met the
ceiling and the ceiling itself was inlaid. There were several white chairs
in the room and from one of them rose the 265th pope of the Catholic
Church, Pope Benedict XVI. The Vicar of Christ.

"Signora," Pope Benedict greeted Teresa, "You must be Sig.ra Palazzo, how
delightful."

Teresa was white as a sheet, "Your Holiness," she managed to croak out as
she dipped a knee.

"And you must be Sig. Price, Archbishop Neiderauser and Cardinal Mahony
speak most kindly of you and your great generosity for Catholic education
and charities. They tell me you are not even Catholic."

"No your Holiness, I'm a Presbyterian."

He patted my hand that he was gripping and said with a twinkle in his eye,
"that is alright, some of my best friends are Presbyterians."

The introductions were completed with Teresa and Marco, but I am sure His
Holiness knew all the details already; the Vatican intelligence machine
didn't take a backseat to anyone. He invited us to sit with him and over
the next thirty minutes we all chatted. It was a bit stiff at first, but
soon Teresa and the pope were chatting like old friends. It even came up
that they were born on the same day, April 16, in 1927. All too soon our
session ended as a papal aide reminded the pope of his schedule for the
day. Before we exited pictures were taken and he kissed each of us on the
cheek and gave us a blessing.

We exited the building where our limousine was waiting.

"Did you want to go see the Sistine Chapel?" I asked the group.

"I think I need to go lie down," Maria breathed out.

"Do you not feel well Mamma," Teresa asked with concern.

Maria smiled, "quite the contrary. I feel so good I wouldn't be unable to
focus on anything else. I just want to go and remember the details of this
moment."

She then turned to me, "grazie Tim. You have no idea what this means to
me. That a simple girl from Calabria should be able to sit and talk with
His Holiness like we were best of friends. I never dreamed it
possible. Fredo so would have enjoyed the moment. He was such a good man."

We returned to the hotel. Teresa ordered room service and Marco and I set
out to explore Rome on foot.

"That was amazing Tim. My grandmother will be eternally grateful and now
she'll have something to lord over the other old biddies in the
church. Mrs. Benvenuti likes to go on and on about her audience with the
pope, but hers was a public audience with fifty other people, nothing so
intimate as our time."

Marco looked over at me, "did the pope say anything when he kissed you?"

I nodded, "sure, he thanked me again for my generosity. Why, what did he
say to you?"

Marco looked serious as he spoke, "he said, "Marco, someday soon the church
will accept you."

End of Chapter Sixteen