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DescriptionBrandon Meier's academic year in Europe takes him far beyond museums, castles, and classrooms. When he embarks on a month-long rail journey, his sightseeing includes an edgy French boy, a Carravagio-esque Italian, a rich Swiss lad, a Croatian heartbreaker, and an Indonesian beauty in Amsterdam, to name but a few. These are lessons no textbook can ever teach.
It's not long before Brandon realizes that the best sightseeing is almost always off the beaten path. From sultry nights in saunas, to midnight strolls in seemingly endless parks, chance encounters in sleepy seaside towns and nights of wining, dining, BMW convertibles and penthouse apartments, Brian's year in Europe is anything but "by the textbook."
Reader Rating: Not rated (0 Ratings)
Sensuality Rating: Not rated
"The swimsuit...the bathing costume?" I said clumsily.
"That's okay, yes, but I mean this color of hair, and the shape of the face. Like yours."
I shook my head. "I don't look anything like him."
It occurred to me that this was a test. How would I have responded to his statement if I were straight? From stunned and confused silence, to a blanket statement about the evils of Speedos, and that we don't wear those faggy things in the States?
He tossed the magazine on the end table. "It's not true, about my eye. What maman says."
The way his sentences were all over the place made him as perplexing as Lucy. But he was, of course, far more interesting.
"I am not...I do not...cause problems."
He slid down onto the couch. He tugged at his shirt so more of his torso was visible. He eyed me with an impish grin.
"It's not true, what she says about you and Lucy, either. It's clear to me that...you have no interest...like that...in each other."
His leg jiggled. He flicked at his knee. He looked back up at me. We stared at each other in silence. He must have thought it took me an eternity to notice the erection pressing against his shorts.
We'd read each other in those split seconds of our first meeting: the held eye contact, the lingering handshake, the directed gaze at each other's bodies.
He spread his legs farther apart. He scrunched down deeper into the cushions so his chest thrust out. I walked over to him. He glanced at my erection pressing against my jeans. He extended his arm. I took hold of his wrist. He pulled me toward him and I knelt down.
He smelled of sea air and sweat. I lightly licked his nipples as he unbuttoned my shirt. He arched his back so that his cock pushed against my stomach. I reached down and felt his hardness through the satin smoothness of his shorts.
He undid my jeans, and tugged at the zipper. I slid his shorts down. His hard-on throbbed in rhythm to his heartbeat. The soft skin was warm against my cheek. I kissed his balls as he wet his finger and glided it along his shaft.
He lifted my head and I wrapped my lips around the tip of his cock, the first drops of precum melting on my tongue. His moans were breathy and rhythmic, timed with each thrust as he pushed his cock as far back into my throat as I could handle. He seemed to know just how deep to go.
He squeezed his left nipple and placed his right hand on top of my head, gently clutching my hair between his fingers. He pushed down to control the intensity and speed with which I went down on him. He thrust his hips faster and faster. Just as I thought he was about to come, he nudged me away.
With beads of sweat dripping down his face, he said, "Please, I want you to fuck me." He nodded toward the bedroom where the suitcases sat.
"Yes," I whispered as I ran my hands up and down his beautiful tanned chest.
He stood. He took off his shirt, and slid out of his shorts. I rose, and he grasped my hand and led me into the bedroom. He closed the door.
"Undress," he whispered.
CrossroadsBy: Barry Brennessel