Luigi
by Nasty Boy

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It was my second summer living in Manhattan, and I was pretty used to it by then.

The enormity of that wondrous city can easily overwhelm almost anyone, in almost every way, but I felt that I had gotten a reasonable handle on it. I had established a good, reliable circle of friends, knew all the hot nightspots, where to be, where NOT to be, etc.

Now, for a gay man, New York City is like the proverbial "candy store", and he is the "fat lady". Not only is it terribly hip and permissive, but superlatives abound-especially in gay life. Guys that thought they were hot stuff in their hometowns in Indiana or Oregon barely got noticed on the streets of Manhattan. "Hot" really reaches new levels in NYC; the sky's the limit. Any guy reading this who's spent time there is nodding his head in agreement, I guarantee.

Also, the cosmopolitan, terribly international aspect of the city guarantee that you will meet as many Americans as you will Colombians, Moroccans, Thais or Irishmen.

And Italians.

Now, before I begin this tale, let me say that not only do I simply love men for men's sake, but am driven completely out of my mind by feet...especially good-looking men's well-cared for feet. Mind you, I don't mean nelly queens sporting toe rings, girly leather sandals and toenails buffed to a high gloss. If I was into that, I'd go after women. I'm referring to clean, well-maintained, masculine feet that are nice to look at-and even nicer to hold, kiss, and lick.

So, there I was, at my favorite sidewalk café in the village. It was a stellar late spring day, about 76 degrees and breezy. I had come with a new magazine, and had decided to order a cocktail and watch the typical posh bustle that abounds in that part of town. I was unaccompanied, but felt fine...and a little horny. OK, so I usually felt a little horny, but the beautiful weather aided my urges. I remember once a straight friend describing the phenomenon as "the inside of your underwear just feeling a bit too good". Yep, that's how I felt! Of course, the bounty of beautiful men of every shape, size and creed didn't help to quiet the need in my pants, either.

I scanned the other patrons at the café. Not surprisingly, most were nice-looking gay guys in their twenties and thirties, with a few "Sex In The City"-style fag hags accompanying them. Everyone was chatting and laughing.

About twenty feet away, I noticed a guy sitting at a small table with another guy. Something that I could not quite identify drew my eyes to him. He was not by any means the best-looking guy in this virtual fashion catwalk, but striking in his own way.

Because of the angle at which they were sitting, I basically was getting a perfect right profile of him as he chatted. He seemed to be in his mid-40s, nice-looking, tanned, with a long-sleeve white button-down collar shirt tucked into aged but perfectly-fitting jeans. His feet were crossed beneath his chair. He was wearing expensive tan suede loafers and no socks.

From experience, I knew immediately that the man I was checking out was not American. His wavy, soft brown hair was worn in a really flattering, medium length that few of my compatriots of his age would bother with. It didn't seem to be stiff with product, but rather blew easily back and forth with the breeze. He pointedly puffed on a cigarette, nearly nonexistent nowadays for PC Americans. Most importantly, he was neither a steroid inflated "Muscle Mary", nor did he sport the standard beer gut of most guys his age that were born here. He was actually a bit on the slim side, without looking overly-exercised nor starved.

Wow, I thought. This guy is HOT!

Trying to be cool and act like you're not cruising when you're sitting alone is a nearly impossible task, let me tell you! I thought to myself: I'll be OK as long as he doesn't...

No sooner had my mind issued that statement, than he did precisely what I had hoped he wouldn't.

Under his chair, where his legs crossed, his right heel popped slowly out of his loafer, and the shoe began a gentle downward slide, until it was sitting flat on the floor. From where I was sitting, I could see his bare foot down almost to his toes. I wasn't the slightest bit surprised that the foot was large, tanned, and sexyy. Only the tips of his beautiful toes remained inside his loafer. Of course, I got a raging hard-on immediately. That is one of the few things that men can do in public that really make me lose control.

As I was trying to stay cool, his left loafer also began sliding down, exposing his reddish sole. In moments, both his shoes were sitting nearly empty on the floor under his chair. His perfect soles were airing out...and I was dying.

I looked up at the guy's face. No recognition of the hell he was putting me through. It was as if the top and bottom parts of his body operated separately.

I felt myself blush, and, since I was alone, had to tell myself "Stop staring!" I snapped open my magazine and attempted to read it, actually starting to tremble at the first-class foot show that was taking place two tables away.

Of course, I failed. Oh well, I thought, this is a gay spot...I won't get thrown out for cruising! I couldn't believe that no other guy I could see in the café seemed to notice or care about the beautiful foreign feet that were being shown under that table. Then again, I do realize that my fetish is a bit particular-although I truly think more guys are into feet that will admit it.

The companion of the guy I was checking out got a cell phone call, leaving him to sit back in his chair and take a drag on his cigarette. He looked pensively into the air then slowly turned his gaze toward me. I tried to look away before he caught me staring, but wasn't able to do it in time. This was the first time I was seeing him head-on.

Wow, what a good-looking guy! He really had sort of a Pierce Brosnan-J. Crew dad kind of air about him. As cool as a cucumber, he looked right into my eyes and slowly smiled and nodded.

Oh my God! Did he somehow know that I had been looking at him this whole time, or was he truly seeing me for the first time, and was interested? Either way, I know that my face was beet-red (I blush at the drop of a hat), but I managed a semi-cool grin and nod back.

As if guided by the hand of God, his companion ended the cell-phone call and began explaining something to him...they were just far enough away and there was just enough buzz in the café that I couldn't hear what was being said, but I gathered that the companion was apologizing and about to leave. And leave he did, walking right by my table and exiting onto the street.

I felt electrified. This really hot guy I had been cruising-whose tanned feet were still halfway out of their expensive tan suede loafers under the table-was now all alone.

Now, for you to understand this story, you need to know that I'm hardly bashful, nor inexperienced in the man department. I am what others call good-looking, and smart as well, and have done and seen most everything, and can handle myself in just about any situation. But occasionally a situation will arise that catches me by surprise, and it takes me a moment to gather my wits. This was one of them.

The guy turned back toward me, smiled again, and gestured with his head for me to come and join him.

Oh, so this was for real, apparently! I briefly debated trying to be cute and get him to come and join me at my table, but I felt that this was a situation that needed to be handled quickly and directly, like a man, not a flirty schoolgirl.

Coolly I got up and walked over to his table. He remained seated, but his navy-blue eyes fixed on mine. "Hello", he said with a charming Italian accent, "I am Luigi. What's you're name?"

" Allen", I said. "nice to meet you". "Please, have a seat, Allen". He gestured to the empty chair.

Of course, I was on cloud 9, but one big disadvantage of sitting at the same table as him was not being able to keep tabs on his feet. I'd have to do something about that.

Play time was over. If this guy was forward enough to call me over, he could surely handle directness. "If I may ask, Luigi, why did you call me over here?" I asked, finally getting a handle on the situation and my nerves.

" Ah, you are direct...I like that about New Yorkers!" he chuckled. "Of course you may ask. I saw you looking at me, I think you are attractive, and my friend left me alone. I hope that something could happen between us, yes?" he responded.

I smiled. "I think there's a good chance of that", I said.

" So, what do you have in mind?" he fired back.

Summoning a frankness that I reserve only for special occasions, I leaned forward, looked right into those blue-grey eyes, and said "I'd like to get out of here...take you home...pull your shoes off and lick every square inch of your beautiful feet...then ride your cock until you come inside me...preferably several times."

Luigi sat silent for a moment, not shocked, but considering my offer. "Ah, now that is what I like to hear...a man that knows what he wants and says so!" was his response. "We will go to my hotel; it is only three blocks from here. I will fuck you very, very nicely".

Now, I had to admit, that was cool! Brutal, hot honesty, and an immediate, enthusiastic acceptance. I could only guess how incredible our encounter was going to be.

We were up and out of the café in two minutes, strolling down the street. Luigi explained how he was a businessman from Brescia that came to New York a few times a year. He, like me, loved the vibrant diversity of the city, and the potential to meet new people.

In minutes we were in the nice room of his boutique hotel. It was strange; we had only had our first conversation less than a half-hour before, and here we were about to become intimate, but it felt comfortable and right.

He fell backward onto the bed, fully clothed. I stood there, in the somewhat dimmed light of the room, just looking at that hot man casually stretched out before me, with his arms crossed behind his head. "Do it", he said, with a bit of and authoritative tone.

I obediently dropped to my knees at the foot of the bed. He still had his shoes on; I really wanted to be the one to take them off, like an anxious little boy on Christmas morning waiting desperately to open a present.

I grasped his left shoe, and in one swift movement pulled it all the way off. I placed it on the floor.

I just stared at the beautiful Italian foot that sat before me. Even more perfect than I had been able to see at the cafe, his size 10 was truly soft and smooth. There was a vague aroma of warm suede; that was it.

" I wanted to do this since I saw you slip you shoe off at the café", I said, now totally unashamed, and began rubbing my face in his sole, slowly licking the ball of his foot.

" I know...I saw you looking", Luigi replied matter-of-factly. Bastard! He had known all along that he had me hooked.

Thankfully, he wasn't using any foot powder (I really hate that), so I just savored the warm, somewhat salty taste of his sole. As I began licking between his toes, he began to moan.

Unable to resist, he slipped his right shoe off and offered the bare sole to me. Again I buried my face in the ball of his foot, hungrily licking it all over.

After a few minutes, we tugged off each other's clothes and began passionately kissing. Luigi readily probed my mouth to get a taste of his own feet. We were both hard as rocks; it was an erotic combination with my circumcised eight inches and his uncut nine rubbing against each other.

Firmly he pushed me head-first into the pillows. My ass rose automatically, searching for the stiff penetration that was to come. I couldn't see anything, but I knew that Luigi was observing my clean and twitching hole as he prepared his cock.

I didn't have to wait long. I felt the delicious pressure of the tip of his penis against my anus. Slowly but firmly he began sliding it in, until he was about halfway. He fell forward and began kissing my neck. Needing to be ridden hard, I squirmed back, and the rest of his fat penis disappeared into me.

Holding me firmly by the shoulders, he began fucking me vigorously, quickly establishing a rapid slap-slap sound that echoed in the hotel room. Even though we were doing it without lube, it amazingly felt great, and I was able to devour all of him again and again with only pure pleasure warming my ass.

I turned on my back, to get a good look at this hot Italian that I'd probably never see again. In the semi-darkness of the room, he looked even more dashing and mysterious. He looked directly into my eyes with an intense expression as he pounded my ass relentlessly.

As he held my ankles out at a "V" formation, he began to pant. "I'm going to come!" he grunted.

" Yes, fucker, yes, come inside me, give me all your load!" I commanded.

His thrusts became more spasmodic, and I felt the base of his penis grow and stiffen. He thrust in me one last time, then threw his head back and groaned.

Never before had I felt an orgasm like that explode inside me. I actually felt his first volley of semen squirt many inches inside of me, and the second, and the third. I stared in amazement as this man's ejaculation brought up a fifth, sixth, and seventh spasm of hot cream, completely filling my ass.

As his subsided, I jerked my own cock and within seconds was shooting all over my own stomach.

Luigi fell forward onto me, my cock still completely buried inside me. It was still twitching, oozing the last droplets of life-giving liquid inside me. He was face to face with me, both of us breathing heavily.

Eventually Luigi withdrew, causing a backwash of spent semen to rush out and stain the hotel bedspread. Without saying anything, he sauntered to the bathroom, and I heard the shower turn on the shower.

My God, I thought, that was incredible! I took my middle finger and probed my asshole. It was slick with slimy semen, both inside and out. I brought the finger to my mouth and slowly savored the gob of man-cream. To top off the feeling of ultimate ecstasy, I reached over and grabbed one of his loafers off the floor, and brought it to my face. I inhaled deeply, reveling in the musty, almost-new shoe smell. I pictured how I had first seen him at the restaurant, recalling how I would have loved to have done this right then and there. Soon I was hard again, and jerking myself off. I had come again even before Luigi exited the bathroom and asked me if I wanted to shower.

Just as I had predicted, that was a one-time only encounter with Luigi, even though we exchanged numbers. Ah, but the great thing about New York City is that opportunities abound, as does the potential to make new memories...