I frequently looked at him too. Federico was nude, his willowy boy’s body moving as if in a languid dance. He was the seventeen-year-old amante masc...ile—male lover—of my host, the Italian opera impresario, Lorenzo Scarlotti.I couldn’t concentrate on the drawings. I watched the beautiful blond Italian boy move around the pool. He seemed to be purposely doing a sensuous, slow dance for me to watch. My hand went below the waistband of the swimming trunks I was wearing and my mind went to dreams of. I wouldn’t want my first time to be a surprise during a session with clients and have it be painful. It might ruin what we are trying to achieve with the effort.”He chuckled, again. “I am somehow not able to envisioning you involved sexually and it being ruined, but for the purpose of discussion, go ahead.”I smiled and felt my nipples and pussy tingling, “Thank you, Sir. Your slut is grateful, as always, in the confidence you show. But, Sir, it is in that gratitude of your confidence that I. More

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