Chapter 3 – Chapter 3

"Do you trust me?" It came in a whisper, but it shot through Angelo's brain like an electric jolt. "Trust me to treat you right. Let me fuck you." The strike of awakening from the follow-up was even stronger than the first.

The empty liquor bottle was rolling around in the stern of the boat, moving from one side to the other with a tinkling sound as the waves gently rocked the boat. The two plastic glasses were closer to hand in the bow where the two men were stretched out against each other on a pile of netting. The glasses made more of a clunking sound as they rolled against the gunwales.

The bottle had been three-quarters empty, with Angelo doing most of the drinking, before Brett had put and arm around the young Italian's shoulders and pulled him in close. Angelo couldn't remember—or say—when or why he had let the American kiss him. All he could have said that it was both sweet and hot in comparison to the one Guido had stolen from him the previous evening.

After that first kiss, Angelo lost count and hardly even noticed when Brett had moved a hand into the unbuttoned fly of the shorts that Angelo had unbuttoned himself some time earlier when he was watching the American on the beach with the binoculars—and forgotten to do up again.

Angelo had whimpered something about it being wrong and that he didn't do such things—had never done them before—when Brett had taken possession of his embarrassingly hard cock and had mentioned something about trust that first time.

"But you're not saying that you don't want to do them," Brett had countered in a matter-of-fact voice. Angelo had said nothing to this.

The American had urged the last of the bottle of Johnny Walker on Angelo and then had taken the young Italian to heaven with a slow hand job that Angelo had objected to with his voice—but only with his voice. His hips had a mind of their own and it wasn't long until, with a low laugh, the American loosened his grip on the cock, and Angelo moved his hips, fucking himself to ejaculation in the encasing hand.

The bottle finished, and Angelo panting and whimpering, putting up some semblance of a struggle that was a stronger one in his mind than in reality, Brett had lowered himself to stretch on the netting in the bow of the boat and brought Angelo down to cuddle on top of him with the young man's shoulder blades against Brett's chest.

Angelo's visual world was revolving in a motion that went with the gentle swaying of the boat, his ears were ringing, his thoughts were sluggish in forming, and he was moaning quietly as Brett's hands roamed over his body.

"Trust me. I will be good to you. God, you have a beautiful body," Brett was murmuring.

Angelo could feel the man's insistent hard cock rubbing up the small of his back.

"Let me inside you. I will fuck you to heaven."

The American's hands had moved to the waistline of Angelo's shorts, which, miraculous, still rode his hips. He pushed the shorts down a bit, and Angelo objected weakly. A hand went under the waist of the shorts and along the curve of Angelo's butt cheek, moving toward, and then to, the rim of his entrance.

"You say you've never been fucked before? Yes, it feels tight. But it will open for me. I will do you right."

Angelo moaned and reached around and grabbed the American's hand through the thin material of his shorts. Not even he was sure if he had done so to try to force the hand away or to hold it there.

But then, again with a low laugh, the American was pushing Angelo's shorts down off his hips.

"Do you trust me? Trust me to treat you right. Let me fuck you. Roll onto your stomach. Let's get these shorts off. I'm going to fuck you."

Gathering all of his strength, Angelo pulled himself out of the American's embrace and went, first, up on his knees. And then up into a crouch. He looked down into the face of the American with an expression of torment and consternation. "Sorry. I can't . . . I don't . . . Just sorry. It is too much."

Bret turned on his back and locked his fists behind his head, stretching out to put his musculature at its most compelling. His hard cock stood straight up from his neatly trimmed groin. A beatific smile was planted across his face. If he was angry or frustrated, it didn't show.

"Well, if you can't you can't. But I gave you a hand job. Perhaps you could return the favor?"

Angelo's expression was one of regret and instead of kneeling back down, he stood up and backed up a step toward the door into the cabin. "It isn't right . . . this isn't me. But I thank you for the Johnny Walker."

"I think it is you, dear boy," Brett answered. "Although," he followed with a sigh, "Perhaps it isn't you on this particular day. Too bad about the hand job, though. It could have moved on to something wonderful." He moved to stand up, and as he did so, Angelo retreated to the cabin doorway.

"Give me a minute and I'll take you back to the beach in the small boat," he said, and then he pulled himself into the cabin. There wasn't anything he really had to do in there; he just needed to be separated from the temptation long enough to gather his wits and his resolve.

The realization that the man really did intend to put his cock inside him had pulled Angelo out of the drunken stupor—but only enough for him to realize that he was no match for the charm, assurance, and power of the American. He didn't know what he'd say or do when he came out of the cabin. Chances were good, he knew, that he would lay down on the netting and open his legs to the American. All he knew was that he couldn't stay in the cabin; he had to go out on deck.

But if he went back out on deck it would be admitting that he wanted the American to fuck him. It was all so confusing. Why couldn't he admit to what he knew he wanted to do?

He went back out on deck. The American was gone. Angelo went to the bow of the boat and could see the bobbing head of the man as he swam his way back toward the beach.

With mixed feelings, Angelo quickly took in his nets and dumped the wriggling fish down into the hold of the boat. Then he took the boat out to sea—not north toward Positano, but directly out to sea to where he knew he'd be alone.

He was hard and throbbing throughout this time, and when he was safely away from the land, he stripped off his shorts, stretched out on the netting at the bow, made an opening down through the netting for his dick to slide into, and fucked the netting to his relief, all the time imagining what the gorgeous American hunk could have done with him.