2 comments/ 22413 views/ 1 favorites Spaghetti By: WFEATHER Turning back to the stove, I picked up the wooden spoon to stir the spaghetti, noting that it was no longer stiff in the boiling water. Slowly but surely, the spaghetti was becoming more pliable, curving around the wooden spoon, curving within the contours of the large pot as I stirred. The telephone rang, so I set the spoon aside, put a lid on the smaller pot of spaghetti sauce, and hurried to the living room. By the time I reached the telephone, however, the ringing had stopped, and when I picked up the handset, I only heard a dull dial tone. Given that people rarely call either me or my live-in girlfriend, I did not give it a second thought, and cradled the handset before returning to the kitchen. Lifting the lid, I checked the spaghetti sauce, and noted an air bubble about to burst at its surface. The various colorful seasonings speckled the sea of red, oddly reminding me of fireworks. I smiled at that thought, thinking of the last fireworks display we had seen from our boat off the Cleveland shoreline, fireworks also exploding within us as we each wickedly controlled the pair of bullets vibrating inside the other yet still trying to maintain a socially-acceptable composure on the great crowded lake. As I replaced the lid, something seemed odd to me. From the corner of my eye, it appeared as if the spaghetti had elongated within the pot. Picking up the wooden spoon, I again stirred the spaghetti. Carefully, I scrutinized the contents of the pot, but nothing seemed amiss. The telephone rang again. Setting the wooden spoon aside, I once again hurried to the living room. Yet again, when I picked up the handset, the telephone had stopped ringing, and I heard only a dial tone. I was slightly annoyed when I returned to the kitchen, but that annoyance was cast aside as I thought of Helen, who was about to return from the office. I hoped that she would arrive just as dinner was ready to be served, so I would not need to sit around drinking wine by myself as I waited for her. If only she could work from home like I do, I thought, then we could always have dinner together and on time. And with these prices, she'd save a lot of gas money. I stirred the spaghetti again, but I felt a resistance. Thinking my mind was simply playing tricks on me, I closed my eyes and shook my head, thinking there were perhaps some cobwebs remaining from my nap. But then the spoon reversed direction in the pot, stirring counterclockwise, and my arm was forced to follow. Okay... That's weird. I guess I really am tired. I began to stir clockwise again, but the spoon suddenly reversed direction again, my arm again forced to follow. "What the...!?!" Before I could even blink, the spaghetti in the pot suddenly elongated, springing up out of the boiling water to wrap around my hand and forearm. I was too stunned to react, essentially frozen in place by my inability to comprehend what was taking place. This is no hentai, my mind screamed at me, this is real!!! Yet I could only stare at the hot noodles wrapping around my hand and arm and rapidly worming their way up past my elbow. "Miyuki?" I heard Helen call out, her British accent snapping me to my senses. I screamed, a sound which was loud and piercing even to my own ears. I tried to pull myself away from the attacking spaghetti, but its hold on my arm was inhumanly tight. Even worse, the lengthening noodles ran up inside the sleeve of my t-shirt, passed my shoulder, and began to wrap around my upper torso. The wet spaghetti felt icky at best, yet the noodles' heat felt good to my braless breasts. Nonetheless, I was being attacked – and molested – by spaghetti, and I continued to scream. Helen appeared in the doorway of the kitchen, and froze in place as her eyes befell the bizarre scene before her. With my free arm, I tried to reach for her, hoping that she might be able to pull me free, but her eyes instead rolled up in their sockets and she slumped to the floor. I still screamed, hoping that perhaps a neighbor would hear and either come to help or at least call 911. Reaching for the lid on the small pot of spaghetti sauce, I intended to beat at the spaghetti, hoping that act would cause it to release me. Instead, more spaghetti shot out of the large pot and wrapped around my left wrist, preventing me from executing my plan. How many times had Helen or I been bound with our wrists secured to the bedposts, wonderfully vulnerable to the delightful whims of the other? This time, however, there was nothing delightful in being restrained by the spaghetti. Even though my nipples had hardened from the continual movement of the hot, wet noodles across my breasts, I felt no pleasure in the sensations. I was too scared, my fight-or-flight instinct resulting in a freaky tug-o'-war with dinner. I screamed again, and suddenly felt a searing heat across my cheek. I was no longer in the kitchen, but on my back in a darkened room, with my naked Helen perched above me. "Please don't make me slap you again!" she pleaded, her hand ready to strike my once more if necessary. That was when I realized that there was no spaghetti attack. It was only a nightmare, a very strange and illogical nightmare. I quickly pulled my girlfriend atop me, crushing her in my arms, needing to feel her, needing the physical reassurance that she was okay, that I was okay. The phone rang. I screamed anew. Spaghetti When you come home, you discover a full Italian dinner laid out for you - spaghetti in tomato sauce, salad, breadsticks, soft Venetian gondolier music, lit candles, and a salad. It's just what you need - an opportunity to put the day behind you. You notice that, in typcal man-fashion, I have made more spaghetti than we could eat in a week. As we eat and talk, you giggle as you recall the days when you were a young girl and thought the Italian-restaurant scenes in "Lady and the Tramp" were the most romantic movie scenes ever. After the meal, you ask if there's any dessert. "Just what we make between us," I answer, and you realize that the night's only going to get better. I rise from the table, come over to you, take your hand in mine, and ask you for a dance. You smile, get up, and curtsy to me and say you'd be charmed. In no hurry, I unbutton just the top button of your blouse after the first dance. I kiss you gently, and you note that this kiss contains none of the insistence that you know will be present later in the night. Another dance, another button undone, another gentle kiss. After the third dance, I pick up one of the flickering candles and bring it near to you. I flick it gently over your partly-exposed cleavage, and a small droplet of wax zings onto your right breast. A second time, and there's another small droplet on your left breast. I then replace the candle and we dance on until your blouse is totally unbuttoned. I tell you to take off your blouse and bra and you do. I take off my shirt as well and we dance topless, your breasts doing their own dance as we move about the floor. We then adjourn to the bedroom, and you notice me bringing the big pot of pasta and wonder why. Once we enter the bedroom and remove our clothes, I order you to lie on the bed face up. You do, and I secure straps to the bed and you expect them to be tied to your wrists. But instead, I take several strands of spaghetti from the pot and twist them into pasta cords. I tie these cords to your wrists and to the straps. You are bound to the bed only by slender strands of spaghetti. I then make another pasta cord and hold it in my hand like a whip. I bring it down on your breast and it seems to you like the oddest thing that instead of the whip-bite you expected to feel, the pasta whip feels just like a wet, whisper-soft lick. Again I raise the cord and bring it down on your other breast and again you feel the oddness of the upraised whip hand followed by a gentle wet touch. No crack of the whip, no swishing sound of the whip as it hisses through the air, no sound at all. Each time I whip the pasta down on you, you feel the flinch reflex but suppress it, knowing that if you squirm too much, you will break the pasta binding you and the mood. And you do not want to break the mood. I stop after another four strokes of the cord and bend your legs over, and then secure your ankles to the same bedposts as your wrists using spaghetti. You are now entirely bound but only mentally - if you were to squirm, you would be instantly free. For this scene, the discipline to remain bound is entirely within you, not in the binding cords. I leave you for a couple of minutes and return with the tube of K-Y and a still-lit candle. I lubricate the base of the candle and place it on your rosebud, which in your bound and upturned position is almost your highest point. I gently twist the candle until the last two inches is buried within your anus. I tap it, and drops fly off onto your exposed ass and pussy. When they touch you, you know that you cannot afford the luxury of squirming, and take the hissing pricks of hot pain quietly. I leave the candle there, and return to flogging you with the spaghetti. Each time you see the raised pasta whip, you steel yourself to not flinch. The "blows" rain down on your breasts, your pussy, your ass, and your belly, and the visual sensation of being thoroughly whipped combines with the physical sensation of being gently licked all over, and with almost a total absence of sound. At the same time, hot wax slowly flows down onto your ass and requires more discipline to not flinch. The visual and physical sensations excite you almost - but not quite - to the point of squirming, but you miss the sound. You had never realized before how sound was an essential ingredient in lovemaking. Also, the effort of holding yourself still is exhausting you, and you notice that you are drenched with sweat from the difficulty. The tension of holding yourself back is building, and it is expressed in your body as a palpable sexual tension. I turn to the soles of your feet. I whip them a half dozen times, and the soles feel a surprising amount of sensation. it is the most incredible thing for you to fully experience a scene without the haze of pain. At this point, the candle in your ass has burned itself out, and you almost relax, realizing that the hot wax sensation will be removed. By now you are completely drenched with sweat and feel as tense as a board with the effort of holding yourself still. You see me with a vibrator and realize that you will have to remain still with it inside you! I lubricate the vibrator and gently insert it in your pussy, which is now well lubricated on its own. I turn it on and continue to whip you, and it is agony for you to hold yourself steady with the vibrator - you feel like you are close to bursting with an orgasm, and hold yourself back with all your might. Your muscles are knotted across your entire body. I tickle your armpits, and you have to clamp down on yourself even more. The tickling moves to your feet and your neck. Each time you hold yourself in check, and you're almost crying with the effort. Without warning, my hand cracks down on your right ass cheek. In surprise, you scream and twist and break free. With the scream, your entire body erupts in one huge, writhing, yelling orgasm, as all the pent-up tension is released at once. Hard spanks continue to rain down on your ass as you exult in the incredible release. You rock the bed, almost bouncing off it, as the waves of orgasm smash across your being. I try to continue spanking you but it's like trying to spank a bucking bronco. Spaghetti and Denise and Mike were in the middle of a quiet meal, by themselves, at their favorite Italian Restaurant. Their daughter was on the way to her grandmothers and their son was at work in a nearby Japanese restaurant. The evening had been uneventful with Denise's salad and Mike's minestrone soup acting as nice appetizers for their main course. The service that night had been excellent and just as the salad and soup bowls were cleared away, the main course was placed in front of them. Denise had ordered a chicken and artichoke dish, which from the appearance was bound to be very good, but it was when the waiter placed the spaghetti with Italian sausage in front of Mike that the night began to change. The moment the waiter placed it on the table Denise took a deep, audible breath. Not sure what the problem was Mike looked into his wife's eyes and noticed they seemed to sparkle with a devilish delight. "Do you want to trade dinners?" he asked, still stunned at her reaction. "No, no I like the chicken; it's just that... ah, nothing." "It's just that what?" "Well," she leaned forward, looked around her from side to side and continued in a whisper, "it's the sausage. Doesn't it look like something to you?" "Like a sausage," he replied. "Yes, but look at it." "So?" "Look how it curves, just a bit, kind of twisting to the right." Wondering if perhaps she had too much wine all he could say was, "So?" "And it's length, don't you get it, the length is just right and the curve," she replied, her eyes moving oddly downward. "I still... wait a minute, you picturing me skewered up on a skillet, cooking over a fire?" Reaching out and grasping his hand in mock concern, "Oh no darling, nothing like that. But look at it, if the sausage was circumcised it would look just like yours." Mike looked down at the sausage and with images of some strange sausage circumcision ceremonies spinning in his head he started to see a vague similarity in length and maybe even girth. Picking up his fork and knife he moved to cut the sausage to take a taste. "No!" Denise cried out too loudly, drawing the attention of several diners around them. Leaning forward she whispered, "Don't cut it." "But how am I supposed to eat it?" Michael whispered. "Just eat the spaghetti; we'll take the sausage home." "And what exactly do you want to do with that sausage when we get home?" "We'll compare it; see just how close it is." "So I'm supposed to eat only the spaghetti without even tasting the best part of it all?" Denise gave Mike "the" look, a look so convincingly wanton that he felt his cock begin to harden in his shorts. "Okay, okay, say no more. We'll save the sausage for take home." Mike replied, sticking his fork into the spaghetti, pulling up a number of strands and twirling his fork against the tablespoon he expertly swirled the spaghetti onto his fork and took a bite. Watching Denise as he ate, he was amazed, here was his wife of nearly thirty years fidgeting and flirting with him like she was a teenager. Finally, with still about half of his spaghetti left he signaled to the waiter and requested he box up the rest of their meal. "Box up the sausage separately," Denise asked as the waiter walked away, breaking into a giggle as she looked back at Mike. "I don't know what has gotten into you, but I think I have a new favorite meal here." After paying the bill, the two of them headed out to their car barely able to walk straight they were holding each other so tight. Mike opened Denise's door and headed over to the driver's side, quickly sliding into the seat. He was about to start the car when he felt Denise's hands on his lap, one hand squeezing him, the other working his zipper down. "What are you doing? Don't you want to wait until we are home?" "I just want to measure it here," she said, sliding his cock out of his pants. "You need to get it hard." She looked up at him and then lowered her head to his lap, sliding her lips over him. Mike was hard in no time and when she sat up he asked, "You're really going to compare them?" She opened the container with the sausage and then said, "Lean your seat back; I need some room to get a good comparison." He leaned the seat back and then reclined as Denise took the sausage and held it up next to his hard cock. Mike glanced down and damn, he had to admit she was right, the two sausages had to be within a sixteenth of an inch of each other and the girth looked right too. Beyond that, what was really amazing was that they curved in the exact same way, right down to the slight twist to the right. If only that sausage had been circumcised, it would look exactly like him. Still holding the sausage next to his cock she ran a finger up along the dark blue vein on the cock, then gently flicked a fingernail just under the glans. The bluish head sparkled a bit with a drop of precum dribbling down over her hands. She then smiled at him and mouthed silently, "See what I mean?" Mike nodded and watched her put the sausage back into the container. With the confirmation complete Mike figured they'd head back to the house and pick back up when they got to the bedroom, but when he suddenly felt his wife's tongue run up the length of his shaft he knew she had other plans. Mike remained motionless as his wife took firm hold of his shaft with her left hand and began bobbing her head up and down over him, sucking deeply as she moved. Looking down on his wife, he realized that while she was pumping his cock with her left hand, her right hand was slipped down into her panties. She had never masturbated in front of him before, so he was immediately jolted by what he was watching. Letting the wonderful sensations slide up and down his cock, he watched her hips begin to move in unison with her hand. Before long the excitement of doing this in the car, the vision of his wife masturbating in front of him and the sensations of warm wet suction she created with her mouth, Mike began to feel a pressure building in his balls. Reaching down, he grabbed one of Denise's breasts and squeezed as he raised his hips up, trying to push his cock even deeper into her mouth. He came, spurting his cum into he mouth in splash after splash. Denise kept his cock in her mouth sucking the last droplets of cum from him before moving her head a bit. She rested her head on his lap, her lips brushing lightly against Mike's balls as her hand began moving faster. Mike could feel her warm, damp breath on his balls and softening cock. Moaning loudly, she shoved her hips forward and came, suddenly kissing his balls and cock as she stopped moving her hand and pulled her legs together. They caught their breath for a few moments and then heard some movement nearby as a group of people were climbing out of their car. They sat up and Mike eased his cock back into his pants as Denise, straightened up her hair a bit. Starting up the car, they began the short drive home. "You know, thirty years ago we'd head back to the house and do it again," Mike said. "Thirty years ago we didn't have a house to go back to so we'd have had to do it in your parent's basement." "Yeah, at least now we can head home and climb into bed together." "And sleep," Denise added. "Yes, and sleep," Mike replied, wondering if Denise would let him eat that sausage once they got home. Spaghetti Dinner Candles light our small apartment when I get home from work. I can smell you’re delicious cooking wafting from the kitchen as I put down my bag and kick off my shoes. I notice a note on the end table and pick it up. My name is written on the front and I smile as I open it. "Go have a nice shower and slip into something comfy. Then come into the kitchen and enjoy your surprise." I smile as I walk down the hallway and into the bathroom to take a quick shower. Afterwards I towel off and slip into my silk bathrobe then I quickly walk to the kitchen as I tie the robe closed. When I enter the kitchen I see the table set with two candles in the centre, rose petals surrounding them and two steaming plates of your amazing spaghetti. You're standing behind one of the chairs and beckon me closer. I sit when you ask me to. The dinner goes down well, the wine making my body tingle, or could that be that look in your eyes telling me you want more then food tonight? We set the plates in the sink and put the food away quickly. As I close the fridge I feel you press up behind me. I close my eyes and sigh softly as I feel your hands slip under my robe. I hear your quiet groan when you encounter nothing underneath. Your hands move and untie my robe then move to cup my breasts lovingly, your thumbs rubbing over my already taut nipples, pulling a soft moan from my lips. You whisper in my ear all the things you want to do to me. Your words, your breath against my ear, and your hands stroking my breasts making me moan again and press my body back against yours, feeling your hard cock press against my ass. I turn in your arms, wrapping my arms around you pulling your into a passionate kiss. You gently press me back against the fridge your hips pressed tightly against mine. I run my hands down your chest, I unbutton your pants and push them and your boxers off, your cock springing free as you pull off your shirt. You grind your hips against me and I moan softly, pressing my soaking pussy against you. I beg for you to fuck me and you pull my legs up to wrap them around your waist. You thrust your cock hard and deep inside me, making me moan louder then before. Our passion already high makes you thrust into me quickly. Already I feel my climax close. You burry your face in my breasts sucking hard on my nipples as I moan once more. I whimper as I tell you I'm coming seconds before my body tenses in orgasm, my pussy milking your cock, you moan my name as you come holding your cock deep inside me as you fill my womb with your seed. I slowly lower my feet back to the floor, cupping your cheeks and kissing you deeply. You take my hand and gently lead me to the bedroom. I follow willingly and smile as you ask me to stop just before the door. You ask me to close my eyes and I comply. I hear you open the door and lead me through. You tell me to stay in this spot and I agree to. I hear some rustling and feel you wrap a blindfold around my head to cover my eyes. Again you begin to lead me and gently sit me on the bed, you push off my robe and ask me to lie down so I'm comfortable. I do so and you gently tie my wrists and ankles to the bedposts. I shiver in anticipation, already wet again. I feel you lay down beside me and begin to caress my chest, then to my surprise I feel someone else lie on the other side of me. I feel a second hand caress my chest, more rough then your touch, I moan knowing you had planned tonight to fulfill my deepest fantasy. I feel you kiss my ear and nibble gently as the other person kisses down my shoulder and flicks his tongue over my nipple. I moan and turn my head to kiss you passionately. Your hand moves to my breast again and you tweak my nipple gently as the other person's hand runs down between my legs and begins to stroke my clit. I arch my back and moan as they slide two thick fingers deep inside me. Your mouth now moves to my breast as you begin to nibble on my nipple. I begin to grind my hips against his fingers as he pumps them faster inside me. You gently pull off my blindfold and untie me as I moan and arch my back in complete ecstasy. The other man's thumb begins to caress my clit as his fingers move inside me. You kiss and caress my breasts as I moan desperately. I beg you to fuck me, you grin and lie down on your back and tell me to ride you, and I eagerly straddle your hips. I see the other man lather his cock with lube and I moan softly. I feel him kneel behind me and he begins to lube up my ass. Again I moan as he presses his hard cock again my tight ass. Slowly he pushed himself deep inside me, my body shakes with the fantastic feeling of being so full. Slowly you and him begin to move keeping in rhythm together. I grind my hips back against both of you and moan wantonly. The two cock pistoning inside me causing my orgasm to rise quickly. Both of you pick up your pace staying in rhythm. My entire body shakes at the intensity of my orgasm. Bother of you come deep inside my pussy and ass. My head drops to your shoulder and I kiss you gently thanking both of you for fulfilling my fantasy. Spaghetti Junction also known as horny_dad or lexxjld on some sites His tattoos swirled from the sleeves of his white teeshirt down his brown muscular arms. He looked tired and drawn as he leaned against the wall, listening to the foreman describing the next job. He didn't seem old enough to have an HGV licence, although I knew he was an experienced and reliable driver. I had never been on a trip with him -- he usually worked alone -- and it wasn't going to be easy, judging by the surly way in which he had greeted the announcement that from now on he was to have an assistant. Without speaking Pete nodded curtly to the foreman and swung himself up into the cab. I walked round the front of the huge gleaming lorry and climbed into the passenger seat. The lights around the yard glinted in oily puddles, but the sun was beginning to break through the early morning mist. He pressed the starter; the engine roared into life, and the lorry slowly moved out of the yard into the dreary length of Commercial Road. Neither of us spoke for a while. Few people were about at this time of the morning, just an occasional stray dog returning from a night's foraging in the city's dustbins. The road unrolled itself before us, lined with warehouses and factories, many now derelict. As we crossed the canal and turned right into the road leading out to the motorway he seemed to relax, settled down further in his seat, and ran his hand through his short fair hair. "Well, it looks as if we're stuck with each other for now," he commented, glancing quickly round at me. "I'm used to being on my own -- I don't know why they've sent you on this trip. Just don't expect me to talk much, OK?" A sudden grin lit up his features as he changed gear down the motorway slip road. "Ah, well, it could have been worse, I suppose. They might have sent Jack out with me." Jack was a legend at the depot. He had worked there longer than anyone could remember, becoming dirtier and dirtier each year, rarely sober, and with a vicious temper. Most of the lads were terrified of him. "Don't get me wrong," Pete continued thoughtfully, "Jack's all right when you get to know him. He's had a difficult life. But I certainly wouldn't want him on a trip like this. Have you been to Italy before?" "No, I've never been abroad," I answered, "I'm looking forward to it." "A factory in Italy is just the same as one in England, but it's good to be out here away from the cities. Get my jumper for me, Tony, it's in the back." I reached through the curtained area behind the seats and found his jumper. With great agility he managed to put it on without driving off the road. "That's better, I don't like having the heater on, it sends me to sleep. Let's see if there's anything good on the radio." Loud rock music forestalled further conversation. The sun was fully up now, driving the mist from the fields and hedges as we hurtled along. We stopped once for a cup of tea at a service area. Several good-looking lorry drivers greeted Pete, glancing curiously at me. I felt nervous and out of place. They all seemed at ease with each other, but treated me as an outsider. The tea and hot sun sent me drifting off into a deep sleep. When I woke up we were at the docks. Pete was nowhere to be seen. After a while he came back and muttered something about "seeing to the paperwork'. We drove into the bowels of the boat, one of the last lorries in, and the boat sailed almost immediately. Pete disappeared again, so I had some breakfast and began to wake up a bit. I went to the upper deck for some fresh air, watching the English coastline slip away into the mist. Suddenly I caught sight of Pete, apparently having an argument with a young sailor. I didn't want to get involved, and I thought Pete could probably take care of himself. As it happened, the argument soon came to an end, and the sailor smiled and waved to Pete as he set off down the steps. The Belgian port loomed up, gantries black and menacing in the fog. I went back to the lorry. Pete got in, looking rather pleased with himself. "Were you having trouble with that sailor?" I asked him. He shot a surprised look at me, then smiled. "No, I often meet him on this trip. He doesn't have much to do while we're out at sea." He hesitated, then stretched out across the steering wheel, his chin on his hands, and stared at me. "There's a lot you don't know about, isn't there?" This enigmatic question caught me off guard. What did he mean? I knew that I wasn't an experienced traveller like him, but it was a peculiar remark, all the same. It certainly did nothing to put me at ease, only made me feel more out of place. No appropriate answer came to mind, so I just kept quiet, watching the cargo doors of the boat opening. Driving on the right was absolutely terrifying for me as passenger. I seemed far too close to the vehicles on the other side of the road, and when we overtook a slower lorry, the oncoming traffic hurtled straight for me. Pete was a good driver, though, and took no unnecessary risks. After a while I relaxed and started to notice the strange Flemish town names. My efforts at pronouncing them made Pete smile, and when I overheard two locals conversing in a shout outside a bar, my mimicry of them was so accurate that he nearly drove off the road, laughing so much. "Come on, pack it in," he grinned at me, "you'll have no voice left if you go on like that!" Then, more thoughtfully, he added, "Perhaps this trip could be fun, after all." As we drove along the Belgian motorway, he began to tell me a little about himself; his upbringing in an orphanage until he was fostered and then adopted by an elderly couple, his short spell in prison for an idiotic smash and grab raid which went wrong; his good fortune in getting his present job. He had a beautiful speaking voice, and sounded better educated than most of the other drivers. I caught myself fancying him, as I had sometimes in the past when I saw him stride past the office window. "Don't be ridiculous, he's not interested in you," I thought to myself, and thrust from my mind the sudden image of him lying naked on the bed in his flat. I'd never been there, of course, but people said it was a small, comfortably furnished place overlooking the park. Hurriedly I hunted for another topic of conversation to put the disturbing visions from my mind. "We must be getting near the border, mustn't we?" I cast about in my dimly remembered geography lessons for the relationship between the various north European countries. "Yes, we'll soon be in Germany, but the German customs people are very fussy with loads like this. It may take some time at the border post." He was right. He disappeared into the customs office with a sheaf of documents, including my passport, and left me to my own devices. I couldn't leave the border area, of course, so I sat around, stood around, tried to read all the notices in French and German on the walls, and finally settled myself as comfortably as possible in a delapidated old armchair in a corner and fell sound asleep. I woke with a terrible start, wondering where I was and what was happening. Looking up, I saw a German border guard in his uniform towering over my chair. He must have shouted at me, and that's what had woken me up, because he repeated something incomprehensible. "I'm sorry, I can't speak German," I muttered, feeling rather silly and wondering what I'd done to make him angry. Perhaps this was *his* chair? "You are English." A statement, not a question. "Yes," I answered quickly, "what's the matter, what have I done?" "Come with me, we look for drugs." Protesting that I didn't have any drugs, I was led off into a back room which was obviously used as a resting place at night, because it had a wash basin and a hard bed in it. "You take off clothes now." Another statement. Eyeing his gun, I thought it better not to disobey. In a few seconds I had stripped, putting all my clothes on a nearby chair. It was cold. He grinned, or rather leered, at me, and stepped closer. "Legs apart, turn round, arms up, hands against wall." I did as I was told, wondering what he was going to do if he suspected me of carrying drugs. He came nearer and stood behind me, breathing heavily. Then he felt under my arms, looked at the soles of my feet, and ran his hands up between my legs. Despite the strange circumstances, I immediately began to feel randy, though I didn't like the man at all. "Turn," he grunted, having evidently finished that part of the examination. I paused for a moment, waiting for my excitement to subside, then turned to look at him. The sheer lust showing in his face confirmed what I had already suspected, and the realisation of the true purpose of my being brought in here alarmed me. This unknown man was about to have sex with me, whether I liked it or not, and he wasn't going to take no for an answer. I had always been well-known for doing the wrong thing, and I did it now. I hit him in the solar plexus, expecting him to double up so that I could get away. German border guards are tougher than that, as I soon found out when he snatched his gun from its holster and hit me on the side of the head with the butt. Dazed, I collapsed on to the bed. As he came to stand over me I remember thinking, "This is it, you've had your chips, Tony." Then I must have lost consciousness for a while. Pain and sudden shouting dragged me back to awareness. The blurred images resolved themselves into Pete struggling with the guard, who was naked from the waist down. Pete was much lighter, but evidently had the advantage of surprise, because he suddenly pushed the man off balance across the room. The guard tripped on the edge of the carpet and fell heavily, cracking his head on the wash basin. "He's out for a bit!" Pete exclaimed, "Come on, for Christ's sake get dressed before somebody comes to find out what all the noise is about." He threw me my clothes, and I put them on as best I could. He half-dragged, half-carried me out to the lorry and heaved me up into the cab. As he got in he glanced anxiously at the side of my head where the gun had struck me, but it couldn't have looked too bad, because he started up and drove quickly across the border. I was still seeing stars, and felt rather sick. I began to thank him for coming to help me, but suddenly keeled over on to the steering wheel. That was the last thing I noticed for a long time. *** It was almost dark. I was lying on my back on a comfortable bed. Somebody was bathing the side of my head with cold water, which felt really good. My mouth was dry, and I seemed feverishly hot. Even in my muzzy state, I was confused about a picture of Robert Redford which seemed to be floating a few inches above my face. There were other pictures, too, but it was too dark to see them, or perhaps my eyes wouldn't focus properly. Pete's voice beside me broke in gently, "Thank God you're all right. I didn't know what to do. I couldn't try to get a doctor because they'd have asked awkward questions." He moved sideways, and I realised that I was on the bed in the back of the lorry cab. I felt a good deal better, and said so. Pete lifted my head and gave me a swig of water from a bottle. I swallowed eagerly. "Easy does it, don't choke, you can have some more later." "Where are we?" I asked, vaguely remembering what seemed like hours of rumbling travel. "Italy," Pete answered. "I drove all night and most of today in case anybody decided to pick us up for bashing that customs man in Germany. They won't bother us now we're out of the country, though. Those men at that customs post are real bastards -- I used to have a lot of trouble there until I made ... friends with one of them." He paused, looking sideways at me, obviously wondering if he should explain, but decided against it. In any case I was still too dazed to sense his hesitation. "I've made some tea. Do you want a cup?" "Yes, please. Boiling water from the engine?" "No, you twerp, I always bring a spirit stove and things like tea with me. They make disgusting tea over here." He grimaced. I drank the tea gratefully, beginning to feel a lot better, except for the throbbing on the side of my head. "Where are we parked? It seems very quiet." "We're on a little patch of waste ground up in the mountains. Nobody will disturb us. I often stop here to look at the view." I peered out of the cab window. Apart from a few stars I couldn't see anything at all, and said so. "You wait till morning, then you'll see," was his reply. I climbed out stiffly to have a piss. It was cold, but the night air was very refreshing. "Where do we sleep?" I shouted back over my shoulder. "You've been asleep for hours," Pete said jokingly, "but if you really need more sleep you'll have to share the bed in the back with me. It's not very big, but we'll manage." My heart skipped a beat. How could I possibly sleep next to him and not give away my feelings? I must have stood there for ages, my thoughts in turmoil, because Pete suddenly called out, "Aren't you ever coming in? You'll flood the mountainside if you carry on pissing!" "Sorry, I was thinking," I answered quickly, and went back towards the lorry. Pete jumped down agilely. "Better undress out here," he said cheerfully, "it's about the only thing there isn't room to do in the cab!" He stripped quickly. I couldn't see him properly in the faint light from inside the cab, but what I could see looked gorgeous. More slowly I undressed, relieved that at least my excitement wasn't showing. "Last one in gets to put the light off!" Pete shouted, springing up into the cab in the same breath. I followed, slamming the door behind me. "Open the window a bit, Tony, it gets all steamed up otherwise," Pete suggested. He rolled on to the bed, which was really quite wide, and pulled the covers over him. Suppressing the feeling of rising panic which flooded over me, I put off the light and clambered in. "Goodnight," I muttered through clenched teeth, turning so that my back was towards him. "Goodnight, Tony, I hope your head's better by the morning. If I take up too much of the bed, just push." His side against my back felt like fire. I was sure I must be trembling, but he didn't seem to notice, and was soon breathing evenly. For fear of waking him, I couldn't even satisfy myself with a quick wank. Eventually I must have slept, though it was still quite early when I woke, judging by the misty greyness outside. I sat up and looked round at Pete. He had kicked the covers off during the night and was lying on his back with his arms above his head. Even with a couple of days stubble he looked incredibly handsome, the firm planes of his face softened by sleep. He had been having pleasant dreams, if the bulge in his pants was a guide. As I feasted my eyes on this delight, longing to touch his vibrant warm body, I suddenly became aware that his eyes had opened. He probably noticed my blush when I realised that he had seen me, but he said nothing. He yawned and stretched unselfconsciously, then grinned at me and said, "Hey, you look as if somebody's been beating you up. You've got a black eye!" My senses reeled as he gently touched the bruised side of my face. It was such a tender gesture that I instinctively lowered my head, and his hand brushed over my hair and down on to my neck. Taking advantage of this moment of intimacy, I rested my head on his chest, delighting in the warm bed-smell of his body. "Thanks for looking after me yesterday," I murmured, "was it really only yesterday that it all happened?" His arm tightened round my shoulders as he quietly replied, "Yes, it was only yesterday. And to think that I didn't want you to come with me on this trip. It would have saved a lot of trouble if you hadn't come, of course, but I was so wild when I saw that brute trying to have it off with you. Has that sort of thing ever happened to you before?" I panicked as I tried to decide what he would do if I admitted that I had played round a bit with some of the lads at the other depot where I had worked. He sounded sympathetic enough at the moment, but would I be risking a violent rejection if he knew I was gay? The dilemma was solved for me when he brought his other hand down to my rigid cock, straining against its cloth covering. He gripped it gently and asked, in a half-teasing tone, "Are you nervous or excited? Whichever it is, you've certainly got a problem there." He pulled me closer as he began to slide his hand up and down my tool, producing the most exquisite sensations. I forgot my worries about the situation and gave myself up to his ministering hand. It was soon over. The tension which had built up as I lay next to him all night suddenly found violent release, and I cried out as a most intense orgasm left me trembling and almost in tears. "It's not good to be so cocky and not do anything about it," he said. "You needed that -- I could tell." Without thinking, I did the wrong thing again. "I love you," I gasped, really meaning it, and then realised with horror that I had just given myself away. I waited for the sharp shove and the curt reply, but there was silence for a few moments. Then he said quietly, "You know, it's no good falling in love with the first man who gives you a good time in bed. I made that mistake -- followed him like a lamb until he was heartily sick of me. It was a terrible blow when he finally told me to push off." Had he really said it? Was he really gay, too? My poor confused brain went back over his remarks. He had implied that he had fallen in love with the first *man* who had given him a good time in bed. He *must* be gay. I turned my face up to look at him. "Then *you're* gay, like me? I didn't know, I couldn't tell." "You weren't supposed to know, or to find out just by looking at me. I don't go bragging about it round the depot, you idiot. I know just how all the men would react." He smiled at me, and I put my hand up to his cheek and caressed it lovingly. He kissed the top of my head. "In case you hadn't noticed," he went on, mockingly, "I'm just a little excited, holding you in my arms like this." I looked down, and ran my fingers lightly along the ridge of hair that disappeared inside his waistband. He shuddered and gripped my shoulders hard. I slipped my hand inside his pants and encountered hot hard flesh. With a little careful stimulation, he was soon gasping and writhing about on the bed, until he gripped me convulsively and came in my hand. The wonderful warm scent of it rose to greet me, as I carried on rubbing his still-hard cock with my slippery hand, sliding it round and under his balls from time to time. I was near to coming again as I watched the excitement grow in his face, and the muscles in his chest tensing ready for the great explosion. All it needed was my stroking his erect nipples with the back of my hand. He held on to me so violently as he came that he hurt my shoulder, and his shout of ecstasy nearly deafened me. We lay there for a while in each other's arms. I thought over what he had said about not falling in love, but couldn't imagine not needing Pete after this. The dismal thought crossed my mind that he didn't really care for me at all, it was just that I was hurt and he felt sorry for me. Circumstances had done the rest. "Don't cry, Tony." (I hadn't realised that I *was* crying.) "I kept telling myself not to get involved with you, but I'd no idea you were gay. Things look different now we know each other better." Slowly it began to dawn on me that this was a new, serious Pete talking. The bantering tone had gone from his voice, and had been replaced by a gentleness that thrilled me. I gazed into his eyes (pale blue eyes, I noticed for the first time), and suddenly knew that everything was going to be all right from now on. Spaghetti Junction "Come and look at the view now," Pete said. We disentangled ourselves and climbed out of the lorry. Facing us rose tier upon tier of jagged mountain peaks, shrouded in mist. I had never seen real mountains before, and it was a fantastic sight. But that was not the view Pete had in mind. He grasped me by the shoulders and turned me away from the mountains. The effect was so amazing that I could only gasp. Far, far below us lay the sea, but not the grey of English sea. This was a sparkling brilliant blue, dotted with tiny white specks that must be yachts. Bounding the sea in the foreground was a most beautiful bay, and in its centre a straggling city, its whitewashed buildings gleaming in the early morning sun. It was the start of a new day, the start of my new life. No, *our* new life. Pete put his arms round me from behind, rested his chin on my shoulder, and murmured in my left ear, "That's Genoa. Quite some view, isn't it? Come on, let's go and show you how to eat spaghetti!"