this place is tiny!” he said.
“Yeah, I know, but it was the best I could get for the price,” I told him, embarrassed. “Take a look at the view, that’s what makes it worth it.”
We walked over to the windows that ran along the slope of the wall by my bed and looked over the city as the sun set between Notre Dame and the Eiffel Tower.
“Wow,” was all he said.
“Yeah,” I agreed.
I moved first, hopping off the bed to get the wine from the kitchen counter. I offered him a glass and the desk chair while I sat on the bed.
Peter swiveled in the chair, taking in the apartment, and we began to talk about our jobs, and school, and what we’d been doing in Paris. I mentioned that I was gay, and Peter seemed to pause for a moment before continuing the conversation. I might have been imagining it, but I could have sworn he smiled a little into his wineglass when I said it.
We continued to talk about school and our mutual friends, and Peter made himself comfortable. He picked up a guidebook of Paris restaurants and started leafing through it trying to find a place for us to get dinner. As he did so, he spread his legs apart and settled back in the chair so that if I had wanted, I could have seen past the corded muscle of his calves, beyond his powerful thighs with their light dusting of blond hair, right up his shorts to his crotch. I tried to restrain myself though.
After we had finished the wine bottle and were feeling sufficiently content, we decided it was time to discuss dinner. Like my own, Peter’s summer job wasn’t exactly paying wages designed to accommodate a profligate Parisian lifestyle, so after a quick look in my fridge, we decided to cobble together a meager homemade dinner…along with a second bottle of wine I had bought. You know, just in case.
The evening had cooled off a little outside, but my apartment was still roasting, and it got even hotter as we started to cook. Before long, both of us were sweating over the stove as we danced along to the radio. I kept checking out Peter out of the corner of my eye. I couldn’t get over how cute he was, like an Ivy League Adonis. And he had noticed me at school! I couldn’t help smiling to myself.
Peter noticed and called me on it. “What are you smirking about?” he asked, laughing.
“Just the fact that it’s about a million degrees in here and we’re cooking and dancing and sweating our balls off,” I said.
“It’s summertime, get used to it!” he said. And then he just whipped his shirt off. “If you’re so hot, just do what I do, and strip.”
He threw his sweaty shirt onto the bed and looked at me expectantly. Taking a gulp of wine and a deep breath, I pulled my shirt up over my head and threw it on the bed next to his. And there we were, standing shirtless in my kitchen, sweating, drinking, dancing and generally having a great time.
We continued rocking out and cooking, and I could tell that Peter was looking at me. I’d been using my free time after work to stay in shape by running laps around the Ile Saint-Louis a few blocks from my apartment. And because I hadn’t had much of a social life, I’d been running nearly every day for a couple hours. Sure, the French people I passed looked at me like I was crazy. Exercise for the sake of cardiovascular health was apparently a foreign concept to them. But it was worth it, because I was in great shape. Drops of sweat ran straight down my washboard abs, while some got stuck in the few coarse, dark chest hairs that were just starting to grow around my nipples and along my little happy trail. The running had really bulked up my muscular legs and given me a perfectly round bubble butt. I was sporting a nice tan, too. One thing I couldn’t help: My little red nipples were standing at attention. I tried not to blush.
I was taking in Peter’s body, too. He was a good four inches taller than me, and he was lean. His shoulders and triceps were big and powerful from swimming countless laps at the college pool, and his back was a broad expanse of firm muscle. He had an eight-pack, if that’s possible—that’s just how fit he was. He didn’t have any body hair on his torso at all—and not because he’d shaved it for swimming. He was completely smooth and all I wanted to do was run my hands along his glistening wet skin. I had to concentrate on the food not to get a hard-on right then and there.
By this time, the apartment was positively sweltering, so I said fuck it, and took off my shorts. After all, I was wearing a cute new pair of boxers that stretched just the tiniest bit around my crotch so you could make out the outline of my big soft cock and balls—hanging out for the world to see in that heat.
“Good idea,” Peter said, still grinning. He took his shorts off, too, only he was wearing a tight, white little pair of cotton Calvin Klein briefs, which were almost see-through from all the sweat they had soaked up. I was breathless. He had a huge, bulging package that stretched the briefs even though he wasn’t hard at all. I could just make out the outline of his cock snaking over the round sack of his balls. All I could think about is how I wanted to rip the briefs off and chow down on his dick.
I realized I was staring at Peter’s crotch, and looked up to his face, where I found his eyes right on mine. I laughed uncomfortably, making an excuse. “It’s just too hot in here.”
Stepping right up to me so that our stomachs were almost touching and I could smell his salty odor, Peter continued to look me in the eye and then put his hand to my face. He used his finger to wipe away a single drop of sweat that was rolling from my forehead down my cheek, and then he brought his finger to his mouth and licked it up.
“I’d say it’s just hot enough,” he said.
I almost laughed at the line, but he was dead serious. In a moment, I turned off the stove burners with one hand and then wrapped my other arm around his waist and pulled him into a kiss.
Our sweaty chests slapped together with the force of my movement, but neither of us flinched. We just kept kissing each other. And kissing and kissing and kissing. First our lips caressed one another’s, then our tongues furtively pressed their way into each other’s mouths. Once that threshold had been overcome, we went at each other full tilt, probing each other’s mouths, groping each other’s lithe, young bodies, and pulling at each other’s thick hair. His mouth tasted like sweat and salt and wine. I couldn’t get enough of it.
Though I had already come out and been with a few boys, this was the most passionate kissing I had ever experienced. I was making every moment, every movement, every minute detail count because it was almost too good to be true. One of the most gorgeous boys I’d ever seen up close—a boy whom I had thought was straight until a few moments before—had chosen me and was about to make love to me. I wanted to pinch myself, except Peter was doing it for me, tweaking my nipples until they were scarlet.
Grabbing my ass with both hands, he pulled me off the ground. It wasn’t hard for him since he was bigger than me and so strong. Using his momentum, I hopped up and wrapped my legs around his hips, clinging to his neck with my arms.
Carrying me with giant strides, Peter took us over to the bed, where he bent over and laid me down gently. I let go of him with my arms and legs, and he straightened up a little.
“Everything okay?” I asked, suddenly unsure of our momentum.
He smiled and ran his fingers through my short, spiky brown hair. “It’s perfect. Thank you.”
Then he lowered himself down on top of me, and we continued our kissing. At this point, our underwear was merely a formality. My boxers were practically around my ankles by now, and Peter’s fully erect cock was poking out over his waistband.
I quickly pulled off both our drawers and grabbed onto Peter’s ass. I had never felt such a big mass of muscle in my life. There wasn’t a gram of fat on it, and when he flexed it, it was like two big stones grinding his crotch into my pelvis. I squeezed even harder, clawing into his ass cheeks with my fingers and leaving bright red marks where I had kneaded into the muscle.
We took a second to get a breath, and I spat into my hand and latched it onto his cock. Like the rest of Peter, it was big and long and hard and smooth. There was a single vein that ran