Matteo

My lover is Italian. He is as long and lean as an ironing board.  His skin is smooth and golden brown. The other day I gave him a sensual massage with almond and lavender oil, but I only got to do his back.   He gets excited easily and never allows me to finish seducing him. The first time I stripped for him he grabbed my underwear and took them off himself.  He is also an amazing kisser. There is something about the way his tongue swirls in my mouth - like it is drilling for sweets.  He makes love as if he were starting a fire: gathering, shaping, igniting, and blowing. Then he stops to survey the finished product. I am sure he could paint the vulva of every woman he has slept with. He talks to me in Italian and says I am delicious.

Afterwards, he holds me tight and talks to me about his life. I wish he wouldn't speak.  I have never been with a beautiful man before.  I usually fall in love with brains and power, then with sex.  He tells me about his bitchy French ex-wife, his personal training second wife and his beauty queen Scandinavian girlfriend.  I listen to him because I don't want to send him home right away.  Then, I tell him that I am busy and have other things to do.