When I arrived in Rome in March, the city was jammed with tourists preparing for Easter week. The Triduum, or three-day period just before Easter Sunday, was a whirlwind of activity, and the congestion made it incredibly difficult to navigate the couple of blocks from my apartment to my new job as a consular officer at the U.S. Embassy.
I finally made it to the Palazzo Margherita, a grand century-old Renaissance-style palace on the Via Vittorio Veneto. Once the residence of Queen Margherita of Savoy, the widow of King Umberto I of Italy, it was acquired by the American government in 1946. Palm trees stood sentinel outside the iron fence, and entrance to the building itself was controlled by an arched gateway staffed by members of the Marine Security Guard.
I stepped up to the gate juggling a briefcase, a laptop and a Rollaboard suitcase filled with a couple of changes of clothes to keep in my office. In the diplomatic corps you have to be prepared for almost anything. The Marine guard on duty was six-foot-two of gorgeous manflesh—jarhead haircut over a model-handsome face with sharply etched features, broad shoulders shoehorned into a dress uniform, narrow waist, perfectly creased blue slacks and spit-shined black dress shoes.
I dropped my briefcase on his foot as I fumbled in my pocket for my ID. “My name is Adam Burr,” I said, finally retrieving my ID. “I’m starting today.”
The Marine, whose badge said his name was Roemer, looked me up and down, and I felt a shiver of sexual anticipation run through my body. He reviewed my credentials. “As long as you’re not Aaron Burr,” he said, handing them back to me. “Remember, no illegal dueling on embassy property.”
“I’ll keep my eye out for Hamiltons,” I said, and that’s when Lucas Roemer and I shared our first smile. Late that night, back in my apartment, I remembered that smile and used it to fuel my first jack-off in my new position.
My job was to help U.S. citizens abroad who lost their passports, got into trouble with the law or otherwise needed assistance navigating the intricate Roman bureaucracy. I loved my job, because in addition to the requisite desk work, I got to travel around the city meeting with officials and solving problems.
The best part of the job was returning to the embassy when Lucas Roemer was on guard duty. The primary mission of the Marine Security Guard was to provide internal security for government secrets and information. The secondary mission of his detachment was to provide protection for U.S. citizens and U.S government property located within the embassy. I wanted to acquire Lucas’s protective services personally—but the military’s pesky Don’t Ask, Don’t Tell meant that any connection between Lucas and me would have to remain an erotic fantasy rather than a reality.
From that first shared smile, I had a feeling that Lucas was gay. The next time that he and I talked, we were in the gardens behind the embassy in early May. I had just finished escorting a delegation from a tractor manufacturer interested in selling to Italy, and I took a moment to relax beside the fountain featuring a marble statue of the god Triton blowing a conch shell spouting water. Lucas caught me checking out the god’s endowment, which looked pretty good since I hadn’t seen another man’s dick in person in too long.
“Seems like the water’s coming out the wrong place,” Lucas said, with a sly smile, as he passed me.
“This isn’t Brussels,” I said, referring to the Manneken Pis, the famous fountain featuring a pissing cherub.
“I’ve seen it,” Lucas said. “Triton there has him beat.”
I looked at Lucas. His light blue eyes were sparkling. Was he flirting with me? The Don’t Ask, Don’t Tell legislation pushed through under the Clinton administration was under fire in Washington then, and it looked like it was going to be repealed. Could Lucas Roemer be gay? Was there a chance I’d find out for myself, if the legislation disappeared?
“Yeah, but have you seen Michelangelo’s David?” I asked. “There’s a guy with a big weapon.”
Lucas guffawed, and shook his head. “See you around, Adam Burr.”
I shivered with pleasure at the thought that he’d remembered my name. He probably knew everyone who worked in the embassy by name and sight; that was part of his job. But I was willing to hope that he’d taken a special interest in me.
I thought about Lucas more than I should have. But he was just so damn handsome. One day I looked out the window of my office and saw him and a bunch of his fellow Marines posing for a photo op with some of the Italian carabinieri. The Italians wore capes and tricorn hats with red plumes. Next to the butch Marines in their brass-studded jackets and formfitting red-striped pants, they looked like they couldn’t fight their way out of paper bags. Lucas, of course, was the butchest of the lot.
I drifted off into an erotic fantasy of him right there at my desk, when I was supposed to be sorting out a passport problem for a student from Illinois. I was undoing those brass buttons of his, one by one, then unbuckling the white belt around his waist to find that he wasn’t wearing a shirt underneath his jacket.
“Aaron?”
I looked up to see my boss standing in the doorway to my office, and I was very glad that my desk camouflaged my hard-on. “Got a minute to handle a problem for me?”
“Certainly, sir,” I said, grabbing my appointment book to cover my groin as I stood.
The embassy sponsored a party in the gardens to celebrate Labor Day, and though Lucas was on duty, I managed to find myself near him for a few minutes and strike up a conversation. I said something innocuous about the embassy building and then mentioned, “They say a queen used to live here.”
He leaned conspiratorially toward me. “I see queens going in and out of here every day.”
“Present company excepted,” I said. “Nobody’s ever called me a queen.”
“You might look good in drag, though,” he said.
I blushed and turned away, then got caught up in a conversation with one of the political officers. I didn’t see Lucas again for a couple of days, but that wasn’t unusual; the Marines had varying schedules on the embassy gates.
I was surprised by the knock on my door. I had no friends in Rome other than my coworkers, and I doubted any of them would seek out my apartment so soon after the end of the workday. I’d only been home for a few minutes—just enough time to pull off my suit jacket and undo my tie, and kick my black dress shoes off.
I looked through the peephole and was astonished to see Lucas Roemer. I undid the chain and pulled the door open. He was wearing jeans and a long-sleeved polo shirt, and carrying a bottle of champagne. “I was hoping you’d celebrate with me,” he said.
“Celebrate what?”
“Don’t Ask, Don’t Tell is history,” he said.
“Sounds like a reason to celebrate.” I stepped back to let him in, but instead of walking past me he leaned forward and kissed me. His lips were feathery light against mine at first then pressed forward with an urgency that took me by surprise but was quickly reciprocated.
“I’ve been waiting a long time to do that,” he said, when he finally pulled back.
I took a deep breath. “Wow. That was even better than I imagined it might be.”
He smiled slyly. “Well, then let me prepare to blow your mind.”
He stepped inside, and I closed the door behind him. He positioned the bottle of sparkling wine between his legs and peeled off the tinny covering. I wanted to get glasses out of the cabinet—but I was entranced by the sight of that large thickness sprouting from between Lucas’s legs.
“Can I help with that?” I asked.
He looked at me and smiled. “If you’d like.”
I knelt down and wrapped my left hand around the hardness, and his hand covered mine. I used my right hand to untwist the cage over the cork. “Better back away,” he said. “Might be dangerous when this thing shoots.”
I stood up. “Can you hold back for a second?”
“It’s going to be tough.”
“You’re a Marine. Butch it up.”
I walked over to the kitchen and grabbed two tall, slim glasses, the closest thing I had to champagne flutes. I returned to the living room, and with a quick twist of his strong right hand, Lucas extracted the cork and golden fluid bubbled out. I caught it in the first glass, and then he poured the second and set the bottle on my coffee table.
I handed him one glass and lifted the other. “To a celebration,” I said.
He clinked his glass against mine then twined his arm around mine before he lifted the glass to his lips. My heart jumped. A handsome Marine who was both sexy and sweet? Talk about a walking wet dream.
We looked into each other’s eyes as we sipped our champagne. When we extracted ourselves, he kissed me again, his lips tasting like the sparkling wine.
“What do you say we take this into your bedroom?” he asked.
“I say follow me.” I grabbed my champagne glass and the bottle, and led the way to my bedroom, glad I had remembered to make the bed that morning, though I was sure it would get unmade very quickly.
In one quick move, Lucas pulled his polo shirt over his head, revealing a squarish chest with large brown nipples, and a treasure trail of black hair that ran from between his pecs down to his belly button, an outie. He had washboard abs and a narrow waist.
I leaned forward and took his right nipple gently between my teeth. He groaned and tilted his head back. As I slurped and nibbled, he busied his fingers unbuttoning my dress shirt then slipping it back over my shoulders. I switched nipples, and he ran his hands over my shoulders, pinching and kneading the tense muscles there.
I pulled back and we kissed again, our chests pressed together. Mine was much hairier than his, and Lucas seemed to like sliding against me. He pulled his lips away and arched his back again, almost like a cat, rubbing his chest against mine.
His fingers fumbled with my belt buckle, and I helped him along. Once undone, my pants slipped off my hips and pooled at the floor and I stepped out of them, wearing only my boxers and my socks. I knelt to the ground in front of Lucas and pressed my face against his groin, feeling the warmth of his stiff dick through his jeans. I rubbed my cheek against it and he moaned, pressing my head to him.
He unbuckled his belt and undid his jeans. They were molded to his body, unlike my dress pants, and I had to peel them back, revealing a pair of simple white jockey shorts. His stiffy was outlined against the fabric, a circle of precum already staining the fabric.
I stood up and turned my back to him, and he did just what I wanted—he pulled me to him, so that my ass was pressed back against his groin. His hands reached around my chest to my nipples, and he leaned down to kiss my neck. I reached back to his hips, sticking my fingers under the waistband of his jockeys.
We swayed like that for a moment or two, until he nibbled on my ear and whispered “If we keep doing this I’m going to shoot off in my shorts.”
“Wouldn’t want to waste anything,” I said, stepping out of his grasp and turning around. “We are under austerity measures, you know.”
I went down on my knees again, this time peeling back his jockeys to reveal his dick, long and slim and curved like a banana. I licked my tongue up the length and he rocked on his feet, grabbing my bureau for support.
I appreciated the plush carpeting in my bedroom as I knelt before Lucas Roemer, tonguing his balls, tickling his piss-slit with my tongue and inhaling the scent that rose from his pubic hair. I began to swallow his dick an inch at a time, going down and pulling back, gradually relaxing my throat muscles enough to take him completely inside me.
“Oh, man,” he moaned, the first time I buried my nose in his bush, his dick fully inside my throat. I began suctioning him, lightly at first, then with intent, and his body quivered and he began making some very un-Marine-like whimpers.
I knew I ought to back off, make this pleasure last—but I couldn’t help myself. I was a greedy bastard, and I wanted to swallow Lucas’s cum—and I wanted it now. I grabbed his asscheeks and began jamming my head up and down on his cock, and his body shook and he erupted down my throat with a howl that seemed part pain and part sheer ecstasy.
He took a deep breath and slid back against the bureau. “I want to slap every member of Congress upside the head right about now,” he said.
“Why?”
“For making me wait this long to be here with you. If they’d never created such a dumb-ass law we could have been fucking since you landed in Rome.”
“You never know,” I said. “You could have found somebody else before I even got here.”
He shook his head. “I was waiting for you. I just didn’t know it until you showed up.”
He stood up and reached over to my boxers. My dick had already popped through the opening, and he grabbed it in his right hand, which felt warm and strong around me.
He leaned forward and kissed me again, as he wrapped his hand around my dick and began stroking me, lubricated only by my precum. My senses were overwhelmed—the taste of Lucas in my mouth, his smell in my nostrils, the roughness of his hand against my tender dick.
I came too quickly, shooting off in his hand and dribbling onto my boxers. Lucas released my dick and smeared my own cum down my chest—then pressed his chest against mine so my fluids mingled onto his smooth chest.
I kicked off my socks and dropped my boxers, and we fell down onto my bed together, wrestling naked on the spread. I’d never been much of an athlete, but they made us wrestle in high school and I still remembered a couple of holds. I wasn’t sure if I really overpowered Lucas or he just let me win because he wanted me on top of him.
“So, who’s the big, tough Marine now?” I asked, straddling him, holding his biceps down on the bed.
In a minute, he had me flipped and lying on my chest with him on top of me. “That would be me,” he said, laughing.
He began to give me a back rub, kneading my tense shoulders once again. “You really need to relax, Adam,” he said. “I know a great place with masseurs who know their stuff. You’ll have to go there with me sometime.”
“They do couples massage there?” I asked, my head flat against my pillow.
“We’ll see what we can work out. You have any oil I can use?”
“There’s some body lotion in the bathroom cabinet.”
“Be right back.”
The bed sprang up a bit when he hopped off, and immediately I missed the pressure and warmth of his body against mine. Fortunately he was back a moment later. “Nice selection of product,” he said. “We share the same taste in lube.”
“I didn’t realize Marines had taste,” I said.
“Ooh, somebody’s getting cheeky,” he said, slapping my butt. “Tell me, does spanking give you a hard-on?”
“Everything about you gives me a hard-on,” I mumbled into the pillow.
“Good answer.”
He squirted some body lotion in his hands and began rubbing down my back with long, smooth strokes. He slapped my buttcheeks a few times and then began to stroke my perineum. “Every guy has his own G-spot,” he said. “The trick is to find it. I always like to know what I’m dealing with.”
I shivered and moaned at the touch of his fingertip stroking the tender area between my ass and balls. He squirted some lube on his finger and began penetrating me, a millimeter at a time. His fingertip was slightly rough against my tight channel. “Did you know that in your twenties, your prostate is only the size of a walnut?” he asked, as he inched his finger deeper into me. “It gets bigger over time.”
“Other body parts do that, too,” I said.
“Mmm-hmm,” he said.
His finger must have been in to the second knuckle when I felt it reach my prostate. I bucked beneath him and he said, “So, that’s yours. Good to know.”
He pulled his finger back and widened my ass, and then stuck two fingers inside, snaking their way up my channel until the longer of the two reached my prostate again. In slow, lazy strokes he began pressing against it, sending waves of pleasure through me.
I was zoning out to the pleasure when I heard the unmistakable sound of a condom package ripping, and then more squirts of lube. Lucas pried open my ass once again and the head of his dick nosed against the opening.
“Oh, yeah, look at that little rose, just winking at me,” he said. “Papa’s got a special present for you.”
He slid right into me, and then lowered himself so that his body was resting on mine. The weight was intense, pressing me into the bed, and I was having trouble breathing, but it felt so good to be enveloped by him as he kissed my neck.
Then he levered himself up on his elbows and began to fuck me. Long, slow strokes at first, the way he’d been stimulating my prostate. Then the passion overtook him and he began slamming into me.
He pulled back. “I want to see your face. Turn over.”
My ass was cold and wet and empty. I flipped over onto my back and looked up at Lucas’s handsome face. A droplet of sweat dripped down from his forehead, and his blue eyes were dark and glazed with lust. He pulled my legs up and rested them on his shoulders, and then positioned his dick for another assault.
If being fucked into the pillow by Lucas was awesome, it was a whole other level of amazing to look into his eyes as he drove his dick into my ass. With one hand he reached down and grabbed my dick and began to jerk me in time with his thrusts.
This time we were both making those very un-Marine-like whimpers, both of us gasping and whimpering and staring as our dicks erupted almost simultaneously. Lucas pulled out of me, let my legs down and then sprawled on the bed beside me.
I wanted another glass of champagne, but I was feeling too lazy to get up and get one, and looking at Lucas I could tell he felt the same way. I closed my eyes, just for a moment—and when I opened them again nearly two hours had passed, my stomach was grumbling and I had to pee.
I crawled out of bed, careful not to wake Lucas, and stumbled to the bathroom. I stood over the toilet and aimed my stream, and a moment later Lucas was beside me, doing the same thing. It was such an intimate moment, pissing together—but just one more bit of intimacy after all that had happened so far that evening.
“I’d kill for a burger,” Lucas said, after he shook the last drops of urine from his dick.
I did the same, and flushed. “I can’t offer you a burger, but I make a mean plate of pasta,” I said.
“Bring it on.”
I grabbed a bathrobe and went out to the kitchen. “I’m going to take a quick shower,” he called as I began preparing the food.
My grandmother on my mother’s side was Italian, and from her I learned the secret to making Sunday gravy—a slow-simmered tomato sauce with mushrooms, garlic and bite-sized meatballs. Once a month or so I spent a weekend afternoon making up a batch and then freezing it in containers.
I began boiling the water for some handmade spiral pasta that I bought at the local market, and set a frozen lump of sauce on low heat. By the time I had everything going, Lucas appeared wrapped in a big white towel. “Smells good,” he said.
“Keep an eye on everything while I clean up,” I said.
I hurried through a shower, slipped my bathrobe back on, and by the time I got back to the kitchen the pasta was al dente and the sauce warmed through. Lucas sat at the table and I drained the pasta then ladled it out to two flat bowls, covered with sauce and meatballs. Then I grated some fresh Parmesan cheese and brought the plates to the table.
“This night is getting better and better,” Lucas said.
We ate the pasta, making the kind of small talk you do on what was essentially a first date—where we’d grown up, gone to school and so on.
Lucas finished the last bit of pasta in his bowl, wiped his lips, and said, “Amazing sex, delicious meal. I guess I should get out now before something goes wrong.”
“What about dessert?” I pouted.
“You have something?”
I stood up before him and slipped my robe off. My dick sprang forward. “How’s this?”
“Looks like more than a mouthful,” he said. He licked his lips and leaned down to take me in his mouth.
The angle was awkward, though, so we went back to the bedroom. This time I pulled back the covers and lay down on my cool white sheets, resting my head on the pillows. Lucas lost the towel and climbed up on the bed, kneeling before me and taking my dick in his mouth. He sucked for a minute or two until I said, “Turn around.”
He lay down next to me, his head by my dick and my head at his dick, and we began sucking each other. It took us both a while to come—it was the third time that night after all—and we got to practice all the techniques we knew on each other. He came first, and I swallowed what he had and then he kept sucking me until I came. Then he squirmed around so we were facing each other once again.
“So, was it worth the wait?” I asked lazily, looking at him.
“Don’t ask, and I won’t tell,” he said.
I elbowed him.
“Baby, you have no idea,” he said. “But I’m telling you one thing. You are mine and I am yours and nothing, no act of Congress or presidential decree, is going to change that.”