Coming of Age
By: Brock Archer
(© 2020 by the author)

The author retains all rights. No reproductions are allowed without the author's consent. Comments are appreciated at...

barcher@tickiestories.us

Chapter 24
Milan

Mike flew back to Italy with me, and we were met at Milan’s Linate Airport by Troy and Maria, who took us to the STRAF Hotel, a Marriott Design hotel, where they had been staying while our family was in Ireland. Maria had chosen that hotel because it is centrally located between Teatro alla Scala (the opera house) and the Academy for the Performing Arts, where Troy had been studying.

Troy and I spent the rest of the afternoon getting caught up—in bed—and I’m quite sure that Mike and Maria did as well.

At dinner, Mike and I told Troy and Maria all about our week in Ireland, and they told us about their week in Milan. Every morning, Troy had spent three hours studying advanced Italian with his tutor, but most of those lessons took place as they toured the city. His afternoons were spent taking voice lessons and studying music theory and music composition at the Academy. These were all subjects that Maria taught at Juilliard, but she told Troy that he should take advantage of the opportunity to study under other experts while he had the chance.

Since the next day was a Sunday, Troy had no lessons, and as much as I wanted to spend the whole day having sex with him, I was dying to go to Santa Maria delle Grazie, where Leonardo da Vinci’s Last Supper and other great works of art are housed. Santa Maria delle Grazie, a church and Dominican convent recognized as a UNESCO World Heritage site, is a work of art in itself.

Rather than meet back up with Mike and Maria for dinner, Troy and I decided just to walk around Milan, enjoying the ambiance.

With 1.2 million people, Milan is Italy’s second largest city. Though Italy as a whole ranks low on the rankings of gay-friendly countries (32nd, just below Slovakia), Milan is the notable outlier, perhaps influenced by the presence of all the fashion houses. Milan is the fashion capital of the world and the home of Italy’s stock exchange.

Troy and I found ourselves on Via Sammartini, where we stumbled across several gay bars. “I wish I were 18,” I said. Overhearing me, a young man coming out of one of the bars said, “The legal drinking age in Italy is 16. Some bars have higher limits, but many will let you in.” Then, handing me his drink, he said, “Pino (cheers)!”

 I’ve never been much of a drinker, but it was really special to be in a place with other gay men and not have to feel uneasy. Troy and I got hit on a lot, but we also met many guys who just enjoyed talking with a couple of Americans. One group of four guys invited us to join them at their table. They had given each other nicknames: Sorcio (Dirty Boy), Galleto (The Flirt), Zio (Dude), and Ciliegino (Little Cherry). As a group, they called themselves I Fuorilegge (The Outlaws). 

We learned a lot from The Outlaws. Not only did we learn that the drinking age in Italy was indeed 16, but we also learned about rainbow flags. I had seen them on several buildings, but I had not known that the flag indicated a gay-owned or gay-friendly business. We learned too about the handkerchief code, and when they began explaining what each color meant and how the meaning varied depending on whether the handkerchief hung out of the left pocket or the right, I flashed back to the bandana that Mike had given me and how Armando had used them in our photo shoots, and I wondered if Mike and Armando had known about the code.

 The Outlaws made us honorary members of their gang and dubbed me Gigino (Cute Young Guy) and Troy Biondo (Blondie, Clint Eastwood’s nickname in The Good, the Bad, and the Ugly), which was ironic since Troy was anything but blond. They had a big laugh when I told them that Troy was not a cowboy since he was from Chicago and had probably never even seen a horse until he moved to Texas a year ago. I also told them that I was not actually a cowboy, just a farm boy, to which Dude said, “Cowboys, farm boys. No matter; both sexy. And I bet you are a lot of fun in the hay loft.” 

I thanked him for the compliment, and he leaned over and kissed me on the lips. When I flinched, he apologized, but I explained, “I’m just not used to being kissed by another man in public, but I like it.” So, he kissed me again, and then each of the guys got up, walked around the table, and kissed Troy and me both. Dirty Boy stuck his hand inside Troy’s shirt and rubbed his hairy chest as he kissed him.

The Flirt even asked us to dance, which was another first for us, dancing with a man in public. When my dance partner held me close and began grinding, I told him that if he kept that up, I’d get hard. He stepped back, pointed at my crotch, and said, “That’s not hard? Damn!” And he said it loud enough that quite a few of the guys on the dance floor stopped to look. Troy, who was dancing with Dirty Boy, looked at The Flirt, pointed his own finger at my crotch, and then, licking his lips, gave a thumbs-up. I was embarrassed, but also turned on.

When Dirty Boy complimented Troy on being such a fantastic dancer—which he was—I said, “If you think that’s talent, you should hear him sing.” On that cue, Little Cherry went over to the DJ, who announced that the club had a guest singer, and the crowd goaded Troy onto the stage. Troy did an impromptu and saucy rendition of “Rhinestone Cowboy,” and when he got to the line, “Riding out on a horse in a star-spangled rodeo,” he did a pelvic thrust that had the crowd screaming for more. So, he gave them more. He finished the song with a strip tease. The crowd cheered, stomped their feet, and demanded an encore. Some of the guys shook their booties at him and slapped the butt cheek that displayed their handkerchiefs.

For his encore, Troy decided to change the pace. He sang “The Prayer” from the movie Quest for Camelot, and when he finished, half the people in the club were in tears.

When Troy started to step down from the stage, the DJ pulled him back and told him that he couldn’t leave the audience in that mood; he had to pick it up. So, he performed a rendition of Faith Wells’ classic rock-and-roll hit “My Guy” that lifted the crowd off their seats and had them pouring onto the dance floor. Not only did the crowd give him uproarious applause at the finish, but some tossed their handkerchiefs onto the stage, and a couple of guys even stripped and tossed their underwear at Troy. Troy picked up a jockstrap and put it on his head like a headband, and he walked off the stage with the waistband of a pair of colorful briefs between his teeth. Strolling back to our table, he was mobbed by guys who wanted to touch him, kiss him, or grope him.

When Troy mentioned to The Outlaws that we had been modeling for a photographer in Rome named Armando, we were quite surprised that they all were familiar with his name and his work. They said that his art was famous all over Italy and around the world and was particularly popular in ads in gay magazines and on gay Websites. “There has been some debate about whether or not he is gay,” said Dirty Boy, “but I heard that he has a boyfriend in France, another photographer.”

“Wait,” I said. “Not Claude.”

“Yes, that’s his name.”

“No, that can’t be. They hate each other.”

“They are professional rivals,” said Dirty Boy, “but they actually love each other.”

“Wow! I never would have guessed it,” said Troy.

When we told them about some of the more juicy features of our modeling experiences, at one time or another, they all had to reach under the table to adjust themselves. “Fuck,” said Dude, “I would love to watch you model.” Little Cherry said, “I would love to have you model for me.” So, we invited them back to our hotel room—to show them what it’s like to ride a cowboy.

The next day, Monday, Troy had to go back to school, Italian lessons in the morning and music lessons in the afternoon. He introduced me to his language tutor in our hotel lobby. Giuseppe, a doctoral candidate in linguistics at Pavia University, was very good looking and even sexy in a nerdy sort of way. Although he was fluent in English and several other languages, he spoke only Italian. It was his way of forcing Troy to speak the language. Guiseppe had a lesson planned for that day, but he said that for the rest of the week, we could integrate the lessons into visits to tourist attractions and landmarks in the city and that I could go with them as long as I didn’t distract Troy from his lessons. It’s not Troy I would like to distract.

Not only was I left free for the day, but so was Mike since Maria had commitments at La Scala and the Academy for Performing Arts. We decided to stroll around the neighborhood, stopping a couple of times to enjoy a cup of coffee at some of the many outdoor cafes. It was also the first opportunity that Mike and I had had to chat one on one since we had left Texas. He asked me if I was still feeling confused, and I confessed that I was, but not as much. He told me that he was impressed with the way I had handled the photo sessions in Athens and Rome, and I thanked him for giving me the opportunities.

Troy met up with us for a quick lunch and invited us to go with him to the Academy. He said that Maria had something special planned. At the Academy, Maria took us to a recording studio and asked Troy to sing “O Sole Mio” just the way he had for Armando. She had even set up the video taken in Rome so that Troy could sync his voice with the lips in the video.

“What’s this all about?” Mike asked.

“You’ll find out,” Maria replied. “Trust me.” Of course, we all trusted Maria completely. She had given us every reason to trust her and no reasons not to.

The recording took less than half an hour, and Troy went off to his next lesson. Maria and Mike slipped away to some place where my presence was neither needed nor wanted. I told Troy that I wanted to go back to Via Sammartini and would meet him back at our hotel later.

Most of the gay bars on Via Sammartini, the ones with the rainbow flags, were not open so early in the afternoon, and the ones that were had almost no customers. As I walked down the street, though, I found several other businesses displaying rainbow flags. I went into one that appeared to be a clothing store. I told the cute young salesman that I was just looking. He smiled at me and said, “So am I.” I smiled back and thanked him.

The store was much bigger than it appeared from the outside. There was one large section for sexy underwear and swimsuits and another one for shirts and pants. I began looking at the pants when the cute salesman, who introduced himself as Gabriele, came up, put his arm around my shoulder, and took the pair I was holding away from me. “No, no, no,” he said. “Your body is much too sexy for that one. Let me help you.” He practically dragged me over to another section of the store and began flipping through the pants until he came to what he was apparently looking for. “Come,” he commanded, as he led me to the fitting rooms. He handed me the pants and said, “Try on.”

As I took off the pants I was wearing, Gabriele did not turn away, but stood next to the stall watching me with the curtain half open. When he saw my Massive underwear, he said, “Very nice. Perfect for you.”

The white pants he had given me to try on were made of a stretch material, somewhat like sweat pants, but much nicer. They fit my body like a glove, making my package look even bigger than usual. I asked if he had the same pants in black, he said, “Not for you. Ugly man wear black. Beautiful man like you wear light color. It make your bulge stand out,” he said, as he cupped my balls and bounced them. “You want black, I show you.”

Gabriele led me into another room at the back of the store that featured leather clothes—jackets, pants, arm bands, and what he called “fetish gear.” Glass cases displayed sex toys, cock rings, condoms, lubes, and other paraphernalia. In one corner, he pulled a pair of leather pants off a rack and handed them to me. “Here,” he said, pointing to another, closer fitting room.

After I removed the white pants he had previously selected for me, I began to put on the leather pants when he stopped me, pointing to my briefs. When I indicated that I did not understand, he yanked my briefs down and demanded, “Off.” I stepped out of the underwear and put on the leather pants commando style. The outline of my dick, hanging down my leg, stood out even in the black pants. Gabriele reached for my cock and began rubbing it through the material. “Very nice,” he said. “You will be very popular in gay bars.”

Gabriele also showed me a pair of chaps and said I could wear them with a leather brief or jock strap…or nothing. I was skeptical, but curious, so I said I would try them on. He fetched me a pair of chaps and leather briefs with a fold-down flap.

I heard someone else enter the store, and Gabriele went and spoke to that person and returned just as I was getting the chaps on over the briefs. Looking in the mirror, I had to admit they were hellaciously sexy. Gabriele thought so too. He asked me to turn around so he could see how well they fit. As I turned, he ran his hands up and down the chaps, asking me how they felt—the way Armando often did. I wasn’t sure if he was asking me how well the chaps felt or how well his hands felt on me.

Before I knew what was happening, Gabriele had pulled down the flap on my briefs and let my cock fly. “See,” he said, “very convenient. You will always be ready for any opportunity. Like now.” And he was down on my cock in a flash.

I shot my wad into his mouth, and he took every drop of it. I know this, because he rose up and spit it into my mouth. We kissed and got cum all over our lips. As we passed my cum back and forth, I heard the bell over the front door ring as customers entered the store—again and again and again. Fearing that we would get caught, I snapped the flap on my underwear shut, grabbed up my things, and dashed for the exit, where I was met by another clerk (presumably the person Gabriele had gone to speak to earlier). He grasped my shoulders and said, “You missed a spot,” whereupon he licked my face. Once I got over the shock, I clutched my clothes tighter and rushed out the door.

When I got to the nearest subway stop for my ride back to the hotel, I reached into my pocket for a token, and it suddenly hit me that I wasn’t wearing my pants. I was wearing the leather chaps with the leather brief. No wonder I was getting so many stares from people on the sidewalk. I fumbled through the clothes in my arms to find a token in my pants pocket, and I continued to get stares on the subway and as I walked through the lobby of the hotel.

To be continued...

Posted: 04/16/2021