Guido has accused me of all sorts over the years but what he suggested last night in bed was definitely a first.
“I’ve been reading your blog,” he said tucked under the blanket, “and frankly there’s a lot of detail about us having sex but, hey, where’s all the romance? Where’s the passion?” he said flicking off the lamp.
Where indeed Guido, I felt like asking. What did he want us to start doing, live out our lives like tacky caricatures in a Mills and Boon or a Harlequin novel?
* * *
Jean-Paul stumbled, dazed, into the kitchen. His head was still spinning from last night’s impromptu and unbridled passion. Guido was standing erect before him, his robe loosely tied around his hips. The pale morning light accentuated both his muscular physique and biceps which had pinned him down to the mattress in the darkness only hours before. Jean-Paul’s heart fluttered excitedly – had it all been some fantastical dream? No, every thrust had been real! He should have felt drained but instead was consumed by a tsunami of exhilaration.The kind achieved only from hours of endless love making. Guido’s sexual drive had made it a night Jean-Paul would never forget.
Guido pulled his robe apart and Jean-Paul momentarily caught a fleeting glipse of his raging manhood again.
“You should rest,” Guido purred, “to regain strength,” then he paused, his eyes scorching though Jean-Paul’s inadequate defences, “so that we can finish what our bodies began last night.”
Jean-Paul quivered at the thought. There’s only so much savagery one man could take. This hunk was an untameable animal. Hungry with a wild sexual lust which pushed Jean-Paul to the boundaries of human pleasure.
“I want you now,” Guido said, his eyes smouldering with insatiable intensity. It was like watching the incandescent flicker of a flame which would not be extinguished. “I want you more now than I’ve ever wanted anyone in my life before.”
He pulled Jean-Paul closer. His strong hands holding him like a vice. So close that with those words their lips almost touched. His passion was undeniable and unstoppable. Jean-Paul could smell his musky scent. An intoxicating cocktail he wanted to fill his lungs with and hold in his breath forever.
“But…,” Jean-Paul started to stutter, almost finding it too impossible to find the words, “…but, you’re a chef. You’ve got mouths to feed out there.” It seemed futile. Guido pushed him against the coffee machine. It wasn’t the only thing bursting to let off pent up steam.
“No,” said Guido masterfully, “After making love to you I’ve realised there’s more to my life than just stuffing a zucchini.”
“We can’t go on like this…” Jean-Paul tried vainly to protest but in reality he knew they wanted the same thing. It was too late for breathless words. Guido lifted him onto his chopping board and thrust his legs apart. Jean-Paul saw an undeniable throb of emotion advancing towards him and gasped in anticipation. He felt like his own loins were about to spontaneously combust. “Take me,” he moaned orgasmically, “take me!”
* * *
“How come my manhood only gets to throb but your loins spontaneously combust?” Guido asked me in the morning. “Just asking.”
“Well if you want to combust then you’ll have to start writing your own blog,” I sniffed, “Just saying.”
Honestly some people are never satisfied.