Date: Thu, 14 Sep 2006 18:19:11 -0700
From: qwb <qwb@san.rr.com>
Subject: Stonegate Stables, Ch 17

Stonegate Stables

Chapter 17

I'm so lost without you
I'm so lost without you
Baby, I'm so lost without you
That I can't find myself
- I'm So Lost Without You, Little Big Town


     So began the most desolate time of my life.
With Vincent gone, the house was empty and so
was I.  He was everywhere I looked.  His jewelry
was on the dresser, a constant reminder that he
wasn't there to wear it.  Maria cooked in the
pans he'd brought with him when he moved in.
I ate whatever she put in front of me and five
minutes later couldn't have told you what it
was.  I lay alone on the couch where we'd spent
so much time loving each other.  I wore his
clothes, and thought of him day and night.

     It was better at work because there was
enough to do that I could go for an entire hour
without thinking about him, wondering where he
was, if he was okay.  I knew he hadn't gone back
to his apartment above the restaurant because I
drove by there the first few days and never saw
the BMW.

     As much as I wanted to, I avoided calling
Jesse for updates.  As much as I wanted Ray
obliterated from Vincent's mind, I knew it was
something that only Vincent could do for
himself.  As much as I wanted to rip Ray's ass
from stem to stern for what he'd done to Vincent
and me, I knew I couldn't be the hero in this
mess.  As much as I wanted anything, I wanted
Vincent to come home happy, loving, and healthy.
As much as I wanted Vincent . . . .

     I took to staying at work late into the
evening, checking on the horses, polishing
saddles, straightening up the tack rooms;
mindless stuff that I could do while letting
every memory I had of the two of us run through
my head.

The one I kept coming back to was the night we
met eight years ago.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

     It had started innocently enough in late
August as an evening with Dylan and a couple of
his buddies from law school.  I had just won
another Gran Prix and felt like celebrating so
I'd made reservations at a nice Italian place
called Corleone's.  We'd eaten there when I was
a kid, but I didn't remember it.  I'd heard it
was good, owned by the same family for 50 years
or something.

     We arrived and I gave my name to the maitre
d'.  He ran his finger down the long list, then
looked up at me with faint disapproval on his
face.  "I'm afraid you must be mistaken, sir.
We have no reservation for Flanagan."

     "I called three or four days ago and spoke
to a woman. Check again, please."  He zipped
down the list in record time, raised cool eyes
to me, and shook his head.  I looked at him for
a moment.

     "Get the manager, please."  I gave him as
steely a stare as a 22-year-old can manage, and
after a moment, he turned on his heel, threaded
his way through the tables and disappeared into
the kitchen.  A moment later, a man in chef's
whites came striding through the restaurant and
stopped in front of me.  He was very Italian
looking - black hair, long and tied back in a
strip of leather; dark eyes; dark olive skin;
strong facial features.  The hollows of his
cheeks were shadowed by the lighting and he
wasn't smiling.

     "Good evening.  I'm Vincent D'Ambruzzo.
I'm very sorry your reservation was misplaced
but we're completely booked for this evening.
May we reserve a table you for another night?"

     I eyed him for a moment.  "But we're here
now, aren't we?"

     "And I can't materialize a free table out
of thin air." He stopped for a moment, reining
in his impatience.  "Please choose another
evening and it will be on the house.  Once
again, I apologize for the error."

     He held out his hand to me and I shook it,
feeling the hard warmth of his palm against
mine.  I glanced up to see him looking at me
intently.  Dylan and the other guys had turned
away and were heading for the door.  I pulled my
hand free and followed them, and as I stepped
outside, I looked back for a second; he was
staring at me as the door closed between us.

     We got into the car and were almost out of
the parking lot when I shoved my door open and
hopped out.  I looked at Dylan.

     "I've gotta go back.  I have to talk to him
again.  Go on, I'll see you later."

     I slammed the door and walked away before
they could object.  I reached the restaurant
door just as they drove away, so I sat down on a
bench outside and thought for a bit.  This
wasn't me.  Usually, when I saw a guy who
interested me, by the time I glanced at him a
second time, he was already approaching me.  I
simply had no experience in picking someone up,
but I knew I needed to see him again.

     I went inside and took a deep breath before
walking up to the maitre d'.

     "Please get Vincent for me.  I need to
speak with him for a moment."  He treated me to
a grim look.  "Please."  I gave him as non-
threatening an expression as I could before he
stalked off.  I wandered nervously over to the
wall and began looking at the various framed
newspaper reviews all proclaiming Corleone's as
the place to eat.

     He came around the corner quickly and
stopped a few feet away, raising an expressive
black eyebrow inquiringly. I immediately forgot
everything I had planned to say as I looked into
those dark eyes.  He gazed steadily back at me,
no help whatsoever.

     "Can I .  .  .  can I buy you a drink?" I
stammered. God, could I get any more lame?

His other eyebrow rose eloquently to join the
first.  "In my own restaurant?"

     He owned the place?  Jesus, he didn't look
much older than me.  I blew out a breath and
gave up; I was obviously no good at this.  I
raised a hand in a gesture of surrender and
turned away from him, but I didn't get far.  He
grabbed my hand out of the air and pulled it to
his chest, bringing me with it.  I came to a
stop about a foot from his face, close enough to
smell that he'd been eating something tomatoe-y.

     "Save your money.  I'll buy you one."  He
spoke softly, his voice deep, and then towed me
back through the kitchen door.  Just inside he
turned to me, put a spread hand on my chest and
pushed me gently back onto a tall wooden stool.
"Don't move."  I settled back against the cool
white tile wall and hooked my heels over the
rungs.

     As he walked away, he snapped out some
Italian to one of the guys making salads at the
long stainless table to my right and in a moment
I had a glass of red wine, a basket of bread,
and a little plate of olives, meats and cheeses
they used on the antipasto salads.  The guy who
brought me the food was as dark and good looking
as Vincent.  He stuck out a hand and gave me a
big white smile.

     "Tony, Vincent's cousin."  I thanked him,
then settled down to nibble and watch Vincent.
I had never been in the kitchen of a large busy
restaurant and it was impressive. There were at
least twenty people cooking, stirring, serving,
and swearing.  Vincent stood at a huge stove,
three or four pans going at once, flames leaping
up, handing out orders left and right to the
scurrying help.

     Things slowed a little at one point and he
walked over to me, stepping just into the V of
my spread knees.  He swiped an olive from my
plate and slid it into his mouth, chewing slowly
as he looked me over.  I was holding a piece of
bread in one hand; he gripped my wrist, bringing
the bread to his mouth and took a big bite,
washing it down with a sip of my wine, never
taking his eyes off mine.  I had the glass
sitting on the seat of the stool between my legs
and when he reached for the stem, the back of
his hand brushed the fabric of my crotch.  I
flinched a little and he gave me a steamy look
before carefully replacing the glass without
touching me.

     He walked away and I closed my eyes for a
second, willing my dick to settle down, but it
wasn't listening and continued to thicken
despite my best efforts at thinking of
everything but the feel of Vincent's knuckles on
my balls.

     I wiggled around for a minute, but finally
had to stand up and make an adjustment as
casually as I could.

     Vincent chose that moment to glance at me
and his gaze dropped to my hand as I
straightened out my stiff cock.  The muscles of
his jaw tightened and he lifted his eyes to
mine, his expression unreadable.  After another
half hour, during which my dick leaked through
my pants, requiring me to keep a napkin draped
across my lap, he handed off the stove to
another guy, and came over to me.

     He stood between my knees again, a little
closer than last time, and spoke quietly.  "I
live upstairs."

     I looked up at him and nodded, not trusting
myself to speak.  We walked back through the
kitchen, out a door, then turned and went up a
flight of stairs.  He stood aside after he
opened the door and let me pass through ahead of
him.  It was a charming apartment, full of
slightly shabby, old family furniture, homey and
comfortable.  I turned slowly in a circle, a
smile spreading over my face.

     "This is great," I said, turning toward
him.  While I'd been circling, he had come up
behind me and I turned right into his arms.  He
held me loosely, his hands clasped in the small
of my back.  I gripped his upper arms and leaned
back slightly to look at him, a little nervous
now that I was actually alone with him.  He was
an inch or two taller than me, which I liked.
He studied my face for several moments, stopped
at my mouth briefly, then came back to my eyes.

     "Kiss me," he said softly.

     I licked my lips and swallowed, then tilted
my face up to his and kissed him with my mouth
closed.  He opened his eyes when I pulled back,
touching his tongue to the middle of his lower
lip, then leaned forward and kissed my jaw, then
the little hollow behind my ear, then my neck.
My eyes dropped shut and I moaned softly.  He
wrapped one arm around my shoulders and
tightened the other at my hips, pulling me close
against him.

     Taking advantage of my open-mouthed moan,
he kissed me, exploring my mouth thoroughly
while I hung in his arms.  He kissed better than
any man I'd ever been with, slow and thoughtful,
gentle but insistent, and I could feel the
promise of his teeth behind the soft pressure of
his lips.

     When he broke the kiss and pulled back to
look at me, I was totally out of it and he
chuckled softly, pushing me onto the couch.  He
dropped to his knees between my legs and began
to unbutton my shirt, taking his time and
kissing every new bit of exposed skin.

     By the time he got to my belt, I was
breathing hard and reaching for him, but he
pushed me back and proceeded to slowly strip me
naked.  When he had me laying there with my iron
hard dick throbbing in the breeze, he stood and
raked his eyes up and down me very slowly,
smiling slightly, then undressed and lowered
himself onto me.

     As his erect penis touched mine for the
first time, I began to climax in big gasping
spasms that jerked my body underneath him.  He
groaned deeply and held me tight, thrusting
several times into the warm slickness between us
before grunting his way through a hard orgasm,
adding his load to mine.

     He lowered his forehead to my shoulder and
nuzzled into my neck, getting his breath back.
It had felt wonderful but I was mortified.  God,
I had cum like a horny teenager, shooting before
we even got started.  When I tried to roll away
from him, he realized something was wrong and
grabbed my jaw in firm fingers, forcing my face
to him.

     I clamped my eyes shut, too embarrassed to
look at him. He was silent for a moment, and
then chuckled again, making me feel stupider
than ever.

     "Open your eyes."  I shook my head and he
laughed aloud.  "Sean.  Look at me, please."  I
just lay there. "That's the biggest compliment
anyone has ever given me."  I cracked one eye
open; he was smiling warmly at me from about
four inches away.

     "Was I that good?" he asked with a grin.  I
opened the other eye and nodded, starting to
smile a little.  He cracked up and kissed me,
sobering as he did, until we were locked
together again.

     He bit my bottom lip gently before backing
off.  "Do you have any idea how fuckin' hot that
was?  No one's ever responded to me like that.
And I couldn't wait either, not once you shot."
He slid off and took me by the hand, not letting
go until we were in the shower together, hot
water cascading over us as we soaped each other.
He dried me off, making a production out of it,
and we lay down on his big bed on our sides,
facing each other, knees bumping.

     "You okay?" he asked me, running a hand
over my short damp hair.

     I nodded.  "I don't usually do that," I
muttered.  "But watching you in the kitchen, the
way you kissed me, then when you undressed me on
the couch; it all just built up, I guess.  Shit,
I almost came in the kitchen when you picked up
my wine glass."

     "Yeah, sorry about that.  I really didn't
mean to touch you; just one of those happy
accidents."  He chuckled again. "The look on
your face .  .  .  "

     "Yes, I'm sure it was priceless," I
muttered, my dignity still smarting from my lack
of control on the couch.

     He began kissing me again, those long, slow
kisses that tugged at something in the pit of my
stomach.  He worked his way down me, taking his
time, bypassing my dick to lick my balls,
sucking one into his mouth now and then, rolling
it with his tongue.  Eventually he slid to the
top of my cock, flicking at my slit for a
moment, then plunging down to bury me in his
throat.

     I came off the bed with a gasp, grabbing
his head as he was coming back up.  I held him
still for a long minute, determined to last 'til
he did this time.  He eased up a little, sucking
me softly for a long time, nipping at the skin
of my belly and running his hands over my chest,
pinching a nipple occasionally.

     "Ready to cum for me again?" he murmured.

     "Ohhhh, God," I moaned, not exactly an
answer to his question but it seemed to be
sufficient.  He rose to his knees, pushed my
legs back, and scooted up to my ass, wrapping
both hands around our joined cocks.  He began a
quick steady rhythm of thrusting into his tight
hands, and the ridge around the head of his cock
dragging along my dick got me off in under a
minute.

     This orgasm was much better, longer and
more complex, a rolling sensation that he read
perfectly, letting my response guide the
intensity of his movements.  He started to shoot
just a stroke or two after I did.  The pulsing
of our cocks against each other in the firm grip
of his fists was unreal.

     "You .  .  .  are .  .  .  incredible," I
panted out as he crawled up to kiss my neck.  He
rolled over and picked up the phone, dialing two
numbers, asked for Tony, then spoke for a moment
in Italian, laughing at something Tony said.

     He rolled back to me.  "I hope you're
hungry."  Now that he mentioned it, I was
starving.  I'd had dinner reservations for four
hours ago and had eaten only some olives and
bread since, plus a glass of wine that had
obviously gone straight to my head.  He slid out
of bed, hitching his chin at me.  "Come on."

     I followed him into the kitchen where a
mechanical noise had me looking around
curiously.  He pointed at a small door in the
wall.  "My grandparents built this place and
lived here until just a few years ago.  He put
in a dumb waiter so he wouldn't have to walk
down stairs every time he wanted something to
eat."  Just then there was a faint 'ding' and he
stepped forward to slide the door up, revealing
a large tray.

     Handing me the bottle of wine and two
glasses, he lifted the tray high on one hand and
walked back to the bedroom where he sat the tray
in the middle of the bed and climbed in to sit
cross-legged next to it.  I handed him the wine
and one glass, then joined him, sitting on the
other side.  As he lifted the lids one by one, I
saw that we were sampling just about everything
Corleone's had to offer. There were small
portions of spaghetti, lasagna, ravioli, some
odd shaped noodles in Alfredo sauce, several
dishes I couldn't identify, a big basket of warm
bread, and one of Tony's large antipasto salads.

     I shook my head as I looked at all that
food for just the two of us.  "What, no desert?"

     "You're desert," he replied, sliding his
eyes down to my soft cock, at rest on the
wrinkled pillow of my scrotum.

     That shut me up, and I handed him the cork
screw, waggling my glass at him.  He removed the
cork with a flourish, presenting it to me for
approval as he bowed slightly.  I sniffed it as
pretentiously as I could, trying unsuccessfully
to stifle my giggles, and nodded my acceptance.

     After he filled our glasses, he held his up
for a toast, gazing warmly at me.  "To a one of
a kind evening. May it become an equally
memorable morning."  Evidently I wasn't going
home tonight.

     I clinked my glass to his and we drank, and
then fell on the food like wolves.  He fed me
olives, sliding his finger along my lip with
each one, and I tore off bits of bread to pop
into his mouth.  On the third one, he lunged
forward slightly and grabbed my fingers gently
in his teeth. I shrieked with surprise, then
clapped a hand over my mouth, laughing so hard I
could barely sit up.  The entire meal was like
that - fun, silly, sexy.

     Finally, I groaned and flopped back on the
bed, unable to eat another bite.  He took the
tray to the kitchen and came back to curl up
behind me, pulling the sheet over us. He snugged
me back into him, wedged his soft dick into my
butt with a quiet 'mmmmm', and slid his hand up
to rest on my chest, his fingers spread over my
heart.  I looked out into the dark of the room
as I dozed off, so glad that I had followed my
hunch.

     Dawn was just beginning to lighten the room
when Vincent woke me by getting out of bed.  I
heard him in the bathroom, peeing, then brushing
his teeth.  When he came back, he crawled onto
my side of the bed and bit my shoulder hard
enough to make me yip.

     "Go do whatever you have to and get your
ass back here.  I have plans for it."  With that
promise ringing in my head, I staggered into the
john, noticing that he had put out a new
toothbrush for me.  When I got back to the bed,
he was lying on his back, hands behind his head,
legs spread slightly, and I stopped to look at
him in the early morning light.

     He was hard and lean, the muscles of his
legs, belly and chest well defined, his shoulder
muscles bunched from the position of his arms.
His skin was dark all over, his penis darker,
and his smooth scrotum darkest of all, the
center seam black in the dim light.  There was a
wedge of black hair between his small hard
nipples that pointed the way south, ending in a
patch of short black curls around his cock.  The
darkness of his skin made the sheets appear
stark white, like his teeth in the big smile he
gave me.

     As I crawled across the bed, he pushed me
over so that my back was to him.  He turned to
face the foot of the bed and began kissing and
licking his way down my back.  As his tongue
slid into the valley of my ass, I knew I was in
trouble again.  There isn't much that winds me
up more than a tongue or a finger up my butt,
and I had a delicious feeling that's where this
was headed.

     The wet warmth of his mouth zeroed in on my
hole, long, slow licks that I could hear as well
as feel, the slight texture of his tongue
providing the perfect friction on the billion
nerve endings there.  I buried my face in the
pillow and did long division in my head, trying
not to squirm back into his face every time he
darted the tip of his tongue into me.

     After a few minutes of that, he pushed me
onto my belly, shoved a pillow under my hips,
and got serious about it.  I struggled to hang
on to some sort of dignity but ended up with my
knees as far apart as I could get them, and my
ass in the air, groaning aloud with every move
he made. One time he bit the back of my thigh,
high up, and I thought it was all over, but he
squeezed my balls hard enough to make my eyes
cross and I was able to back off.

     "Sean?"

     "Uggghhhhhh........"

     He chuckled.  "I guess you're ready."  He
rolled me onto my back, making sure I ended up
with the pillow under my butt, and I heard the
'pop' of a snap top, then liquid warmth as he
drizzled lube all over my groin like frosting on
a cinnamon roll.  He used both hands to slather
it around, coating himself in the process, and
before I knew it, he had slid a hard bony finger
into me.  I felt every knuckle go in, quivering
a little as I pulled my knees back into my
armpits.

     He slowed down then, moving his other hand
over me, stroking my cock a few times, rolling
my balls in his palm. His second finger felt
great and I began to move with him, pressing
into his hand, and by the third one, we were
both whimpering each time he pushed in.

     "You okay with this?" he panted out as he
rubbed the head of his cock up and down my ass,
the slippery sound of it arousing me even more.

"Yes!"  I cried urgently, desperate for him to
get inside me.  "Yes!"

     He pushed short and hard, one time, and
popped in.  My second 'yes' was an octave higher
than the first as the initial twinge of his
entry jolted through me.  His cock was fatter
than his three fingers and it took me a moment
to adjust to him.  I gripped his thighs hard and
he held still until I relaxed, then began short
strokes that carried him a little deeper each
time `til he was buried in me, his pubes
scrubbing my butt.  He dropped forward onto
braced arms, head hanging, resting there as his
breathing slowed.

     He began moving again with slow, deliberate
strokes that made use of every inch of his cock.
I could feel the thick veins of his penis
gliding along the nerve-rich skin of my hole.
He took his time, thrusting into me with a long
`ahhhhh', silently inhaling on the outstroke.
I'd only been screwed by a couple guys other
than Dylan; most of my sexual activity to this
point of my 22 years consisted of blow jobs and
the occasional finger fuck or rim job.

     So I'd never been fucked by someone like
Vincent, someone who knew what he was doing and
who was able to tailor the experience to the boy
he was with.  He paid attention as he changed
tempos, stroke lengths, and angles, coming back
to what I most responded to.  He slowed when I
began to quicken, increased his pace when I
moaned for more, keeping me at a high level of
arousal that took me to another plane entirely.
I quit thinking about anything but the feel of
him, the way he smelled, the sounds our bodies
made together.

     I stroked myself steadily as he moved,
feeling my cock harden slightly in my fist each
time he pushed into me. I lost track of time,
but finally his breathing increased along with
the speed of his strokes and he leaned down to
kiss me.  "I want us to cum together.  Tell me
when you're close."

     He angled his hips and glided across my
prostate with every thrust, watching my face
carefully, tuned into me like I'd never had
anyone do before.  When my expression tightened,
he said, "Do it, I'm ready."

     I nodded once and let go, feeling him swell
within me as I cried out loudly with each shot
and trembled between, as the next one built up.
He was right there with me, pumping into me
steadily until he slowly let himself down onto
me, his arms shaky and his breathing ragged.

     "Thank Christ I've got the day off." he
muttered.  "I'm gonna need it."


     - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -


     We spent the day together, driving into the
city for an afternoon of wandering the streets,
window shopping, browsing in old book stores and
junk shops, having coffee at a sidewalk caf‚.
We stopped for dinner at a little Mexican place
he knew that had no menus; you just got whatever
they had decided to make that day.  It was very
small, only five tables in what appeared to be
their living room, and the food was incredible.
We ate by candlelight, talking about our work,
our families, nothing special, but by the time
we got back to his apartment, I was in love.

     He led me upstairs and took me to bed, very
gently this time, kissing me a lot and looking
into my face as he brought us to two more
orgasms each, one of them with nothing but those
slow, wet kisses and a finger performing
miracles inside my ass.  He touched my cock only
the last ten seconds of that encounter, sliding
his knuckle slowly down the underside of my
penis three times before I erupted into a
gushing flow of cum.

     He gave me a ride back to my folk's place
about midnight, holding me for a long time,
waiting until I was safely in the house before
driving away.  When his tail lights were out of
sight, I sat down in the big overstuffed chair
that we'd had as long as I could remember.  Last
night and today had been wonderful.  Vincent was
remarkable in bed, pushing all my buttons more
accurately and with more finesse than anyone
ever had, but he was interesting out of bed,
too, someone I wanted to spend more time with.

     We hadn't discussed our personal lives
much, although I did toss out that I wasn't
serious about anyone by saying that I didn't
mind all the travel, since I had no real reason
to stay around home.  He said nothing of the
sort, leaving me to wonder if I was just a one
night thing for him, an over-eager diversion who
had shot within ten seconds of getting naked.
After my initial humiliation, we had been good
together, in sync in bed and out, and I hoped
he'd remember that when (if?) he thought about
me.

I flew off for three weeks, hitting big shows in
Massachusetts, Pennsylvania, and New York before
finally dragging my tired ass out to the curb in
front of the airport at noon on a Tuesday,
looking for my dad's car.  As I was cursing him
for being late, I spotted a familiar figure.
Vincent was lounging against the fender of a
blue truck, thumbs hooked into the front pockets
of faded old jeans, fingers pointing toward his
cock, in a snug white t-shirt that showed off
his chest, the tight peaks of his nipples
visible from where I was standing.

     Jesus, he was hot.  He was watching me, and
I just stared at him for a moment, sure that I
was seeing things, thinking what a coincidence
that he was picking someone up at the same time
I happened to be coming home.  I said I was
tired, okay?

     He finally smiled at me, lifted one hand,
and crooked his index finger at me a couple
times in a 'come here' gesture.  I hauled my
suitcase and gear bag over to the truck and
watched while he tossed them in the bed.  When
he turned back to me, he chuckled at my
stupefied expression.

     "I called your dad, he told me when you
were coming in.  Hope you don't mind, but I'm
kidnapping you for a couple days.  You don't
have to leave 'til Thursday, right?" I nodded.
"Good.  Get in."

     He opened the door for me and as we left
the airport, he settled a hand onto my thigh and
left it there as we drove to Corleone's.  Once
we were up in the apartment, he pulled me to him
in a warm hug, rubbing his face up and down my
neck with his characteristic 'mmmmm'.  After I
yawned in his face for the 3rd time in two
minutes, he eased back.  "You're out on your
feet.  Sleep for a while and I'll wake you for
dinner."

     He began to undress me and by the time he
pushed me back on the bed and tugged my jeans
off my feet, I was out. I woke to late afternoon
sun slanting through the window and the heavenly
smell of Italian cooking, full of garlic and
tomatoes.  A long hot shower and freshly brushed
teeth had me feeling pretty good.

     As I was butt naked bending over putting on
clean pants, I felt his presence in the doorway
behind me and took my time getting one foot,
then the other, into my jeans, straightening
slowly, giving him a show as I wiggled them over
my hips, and pulled them up just to where my
dick was still hanging out as I turned to him.

     His eyes were black, his jaw tight, and I
could feel the heat from his smoldering
expression clear across the room.  He didn't
speak, just held out one hand that drew me like
a mongoose to a cobra.  He cupped the hand
around the back of my neck, pulled me to him,
and sank into my mouth in a deep, wet kiss that
I felt in my testicles.

     Three weeks apart had done nothing to cool
the heat between us, and my jeans were back on
the floor in about two seconds, followed by his
as he backed me to the bed, pushed me over, and
crawled onto me.  Seven minutes later we were
both covered in cum, staring at the ceiling,
panting our way through the recovery stages of
two ball-draining orgasms.

     After a few minutes, I heard Vincent
chuckle and turned to see him shaking his head
slowly.  He rolled his eyes to me and smiled.
"Not sure what it is about you."  He kissed me.
"But I'm really fuckin' glad you're here.
Hungry?" Since I'd had nothing but coffee for
breakfast and peanuts on the plane, I was
famished.

     He led me by the hand to a private table
for two behind a screen where we could enjoy the
ambiance of the main dining room but still have
some privacy.  The always-smiling Tony appeared
with salads, bread and wine, then we slowly
worked our way through thick, cheesy lasagna
covered in a meat sauce.  I learned his Grandpa
had brought the recipe with him from Italy as a
young ‚migr‚, fresh off the boat from Sicily.

     Domenic Bonamente D'Ambruzzo started as a
sidewalk vendor in New York City at age 14,
quickly becoming a cook at a series of
restaurants, always working his way up.  At 17
he met and married Lauretta Simone in a matter
of weeks and quickly produced Cesare, Tony's
dad, and Luca, Vincent's father, just 13 months
apart, then added a daughter, Francesca, two
years later.

     The family ended up in Texas when the owner
of the restaurant he was working at sold the
business and moved to Nacogdoches to help his
brother with their aging parents. He lent
Domenic $5000 to get started and the rest is
history.  Corleone's opened the summer Domenic
turned 22 and has been one of the best Italian
places around ever since.

     It sits on twenty acres outside town, in a
curve of the river.  A pile of gold bars
couldn't buy that land now but in the late 50s
it was just cattle and weeds.  Over the years,
the family built a little gazebo and a large
open sided shelter for weddings and other
celebrations, and did a booming business in
catered outdoor gigs eight months of the year.

     Cesare had died in a car wreck when Vincent
was a kid so the business went to Luca who ran
it with Vincent, Tony, Francesca, and assorted
other relatives.  I didn't know any of this at
the time, but over the years that Vincent and I
became lovers, then good friends, I became an
honorary D'Ambruzzo, invited to the endless
succession of birthdays, weddings,
anniversaries, and funerals that a large family
generates.

     Tony brought us one tiramisu for desert,
with two spoons, and said something to Vincent
in Italian, tipping his chin my way.  Vincent
turned to me, replying as he ran a finger down
my cheek, then along my lower lip, getting a
laugh from Tony as he left.  I gave Vincent a
questioning look and he smiled.

     "He said you're cute.  I told him he should
see you naked."  He sobered as he studied my
face, his dark eyes a little sad, and I wondered
what he was thinking.

     After dinner we took Irish coffees out to
the riverbank, tossing stale bread to the ducks
and enjoying the cool of the evening.  I felt
great - rested, full, happy and made myself just
live for the moment.  I had a strong urge to ask
Vincent more about his private life, but the
fact that he hadn't volunteered much made me
bite my tongue. I didn't want to hear that he
had a boyfriend who just happened to be out of
town the two times we'd been together, so I kept
quiet, which wasn't difficult sitting there in
the curve of his arm as the light faded from the
sky.

     When it was full dark, we went back
upstairs and settled down in front of the TV,
snuggled up on the couch in the first of what
would be hundreds of nights we'd spend this way.
The movie didn't hold our attention for long
because Vincent, who was lying behind me,
couldn't keep his hands to himself and had me
hard and dripping before the third commercial.
He dragged my jeans far enough down my thighs to
get his cock between my legs, thrusting slowly
from my ass forward, his dick shoving my balls
out of the way each time he stroked.

     Eventually he rolled me onto my stomach,
pushed one of my legs off the edge of the couch
and slid down to give me the second best rim job
I ever had, the first being the morning we'd
been together three weeks ago.  This time he
didn't ask if I was ready or was it okay, he
just straddled me and slowly worked his rock
hard erection into my ass, inch by thick inch.
He grunted softly when he hit bottom and lowered
his weight onto my back, kissing my shoulders
and neck while he fucked me silly.

     Partway through, he hauled me to my knees
and elbows, put one foot on the floor and began
to work me over as I'd never been worked before.
Whenever I got close, he'd stop thrusting, reach
for my balls, circle his thumb and finger
above them, and tug them firmly away from my
body until he felt I could continue.

     As I mentioned, I was fairly inexperienced
in the fucking department, and no one had ever
done that to me before.  Underneath the
discomfort was the knowledge that when he
finally did let me go, I was going to blast cum
right through the couch cushion and scream like
a hyena.

     When all I could do was whimper and moan,
he pulled out for a moment, flipped me over and
slid back in without missing a beat.  I started
to blow the instant I grabbed my cock, and it
was every bit as intense as I'd thought it would
be.  I couldn't even exhale until about the
fifth spurt, then managed one gasping breath
before twisting and grimacing through three or
four more, the fingers of my free hand boring
holes in Vincent's leg.

     His orgasm was equally impressive, spraying
hot, creamy, Italian cum all over my chest after
catching me on the chin with the first shot.  We
went to bed after that and slept.  I couldn't
have come again with a gun to my head, although
I think Vincent thought about it before he
realized I was down for the count.

     Probably thanks to my nap the previous
afternoon, I woke up before he did and watched
him sleep.  He was on his side facing me, his
chin tucked down onto his loosely fisted hand.
He looked much younger, his face relaxed, a
strand of his long hair across one dark cheek.

     Those couple of days were wonderful.  He
worked off and on, cooking during the busy
times, dropping in now and then to make sure
things were running smoothly.  Wednesday during
the lunch hour, I sat on the stool in the
kitchen and watched him, knowing what that
finger he pointed across the kitchen with felt
like as it slid into my ass, knowing I was
getting in deep emotionally, knowing nothing
more about Vincent than I did the first night we
met.

     Over dinner in his apartment that night, I
knew I couldn't fly away for a month tomorrow
with no idea of what was happening between us,
if anything.  He was quiet, too, and when we
went out to sit on his top step after dinner, he
spoke before I could get up the nerve.

     "Sean, I really like you.  I can't .  .  .
I'm not free to commit to a relationship right
now," he said softly, looking away from me out
to the river.  "But I want to see you when I
can, when you're in town, if you want to.  It's
all I can do right now."

     I sat still, feeling like someone had
hollowed out my guts, wondering if I could stand
being with him whenever he could, yet having no
idea what, or who, he did the rest of the time.
I touched his arm, and when he turned to look at
me, his eyes were dark and full of emotion.  At
that moment, I knew I'd do whatever it took to
spend time with him.

     "I want that, too," I told him honestly.

     He leaned forward to rest his forehead
against mine, eyes closed.  "I'm sorry."

     I cupped my hands around his face and
pulled away to look at him.  "It's okay.  We'll
make it be enough."

     He dropped me at the airport and I went off
to ride horses all over the country, getting
home every few weeks for two or three days.
Sometimes he was there to meet me at the airport
and sometimes he wasn't.  That became the
pattern of our relationship, except for one
incident a few months after we met.

     I'd come home unexpectedly and borrowed my
dad's car to run over and see him.  He answered
the door only after several knocks, opening it
just a few inches.  Vincent looked at me
quickly, then lowered his gaze to the middle of
my chest where it stayed.  The door frame put
him in shadow but it looked like he had a black
eye, and when he rested his hand on the edge, I
saw that his wrist was raw with what appeared to
be rope marks.  I took a shocked step back and
forgot everything I was going to say.

     "Sean, I can't see you right now," he said
in a subdued voice.  "I'll call you."  He closed
the door gently and I drove back home on auto
pilot, stunned at what I'd seen.  He called a
few days later and sounded like his usual self,
wishing me luck.

     I was gone a month that time, and he was
waiting at the curb when I walked out of the
terminal.  I stopped and looked at him for a
long moment while he watched me, his face
expressionless.  As I walked to him, still
unsure, I saw him swallow hard and that bit of
uncertainty on his part did it for me.  I
dropped my bags and went straight into his arms,
letting the feel of him wash away whatever
doubts I had about being involved with him.

     He was trembling as he crushed me to his
chest, and I knew then that I was as important
to him as he was to me, regardless of anything
else.

     We had a great three days together, but for
many years, I always let him come to me.

~~~~~~~

     Reminiscing was wonderful and it took away
a little of the ache I felt in Vincent's
absence, but it was nothing like the real thing,
and I prayed that this would all be over soon.