You absolutely must read the rest! Happy reading, my faithful readers! I smiled too and slid my hand down his neck before giving him a quick kiss on the temple. "Come on… let's have a drink before we both end up parched." I handed him a towel. He dried himself quickly, never taking his eyes off me, and then we left the bathroom, naked, in the steam rising behind us. We walked down the hall side by side. The cold tiles under our bare feet sent a shiver up our legs. Our penises, half-erect, swayed slightly with each step, heavy, still swollen with blood, rocked by the slow, quiet gait. His penis, a little shorter and thinner than mine, swayed gently against his thighs, the smooth skin of the glans still slightly pink. Mine pointed slightly forward, veins bulging and shaft partially hard, while my testicles hung heavily, relaxed by the warmth of the shower. I opened the kitchen door. The harsh midday light streamed in, cutting our naked shadows against the white tiles. I let him in. He walked to the table and sat down without any embarrassment, resting his forearm on the wood, his half-erect penis resting on his thigh, still glistening with water. I took two beers from the refrigerator and placed them on the table. He watched me, silently. I handed him a can. He took it, rolled it a little between his fingers, then said, in a lower voice, deep and slightly hoarse: "You know… it's the first time… I've felt… so good… so… I don't know… normal, maybe." I looked at him without saying a word, feeling my chest tighten with emotion. I pulled out my chair and sat opposite him. I placed my hand on his and squeezed it gently. "But you're normal, Leilo! More than you think. And... damn... you're so handsome." He smiled, lowered his head slightly. His dark hair fell back onto his forehead. He looked up again, his gaze both dark and burning. "You too..." he murmured. "You too, you're... magnificent." We remained there, naked, half-erect, still damp and sticky. And for a long moment, there was nothing but this peaceful silence, this simple contact of our skin, and the distant cry of a seagull circling above the harbor. We were sitting facing each other, each on a kitchen chair, a can of beer in hand. The harsh midday light fell on us through the large open window, cutting our naked silhouettes into flat planes of gold and white. He was slightly slumped in his chair, his back rounded, his slender, classically trained shoulders relaxed, as if all tension had left his body. His thighs parted naturally, offering a view of his lower abdomen, while his pelvis tilted forward in a posture of complete surrender. His penis, still half-erect, turned slightly to the side, its dark shaft striated with fine veins, its matte pink glans half-covered by the foreskin, was presented without inhibition. His testicles hung low, as if weighed down, their dark, wrinkled skin contrasting with the lighter whiteness of his thighs. His stomach was flat, still slightly hollowed from his earlier rapid breathing. I could see the dark line of pubic hair rising from his mound to his navel. His torso, lean and supple, hinted at the subtle contours of muscle beneath the brown skin. His small, dark nipples were slightly hardened by the warm breeze coming in through the window. Higher up, his long, slender neck was still damp, and I watched a drop of water trickle slowly down his collarbone, then disappear into the hollow between his pectoral muscles. I felt a thrill inside… I couldn't tear my gaze away from him. His body, offered up in such tranquil surrender, had something overwhelming about it, both fragile and powerfully alive. He seemed oblivious to it. He held his can of beer with both hands, sometimes bringing it to his lips for a slow sip. I followed the path of the drink, visible beneath his taut skin: his cheeks stirred with a slight tremor, his throat tightened, then his prominent Adam's apple bobbed briefly, before the movement continued its course lower still, toward the base of his torso. This simple, almost automatic gesture gave him a virile touch that moved me deeply. His eyes, dark and bright in the light, moved back and forth between my face and my chest, then settled on my hand holding my beer. He didn't speak. But in his gaze, I read a muted emotion, something like gratitude mixed with a lingering embarrassment, and a calm, peaceful desire, still pulsating deep within his dilated pupils.At times, he slowly closed his thighs, drawing his penis up against his lower abdomen, then parted them again, revealing the dark, delicate line of his intimacy. Each time, a tension gripped me deep in my stomach. A dense, warm shiver ran up my spine, throbbing at my temples. Yet I remained motionless, beer in hand, simply watching him, as if to etch every detail of this vision into my mind: his half-erect penis, resting at an angle in fragile languor, the taut suppleness of his belly, the white light gliding over his narrow hips, the discreet crease of his groin, the pure line of his collarbones, the delicate curve of his shoulders, and that small hollow beneath his throat, where the trace of a drop of water still glistened. He looked up at me. Our eyes met. He smiled—a shy, almost childlike smile—that made the corner of his mouth quiver before vanishing. Then, as if he couldn't bear the silent tension, he lowered his eyes, brought the can to his lips, and took a sip. His lips closed gently around the neck. I followed the movement: the beer slid down his cheeks, down his throat, his Adam's apple quivered, then the liquid seemed to continue its journey lower, along that inner line I sensed beneath his skin. This ordinary gesture took on a virile, solemn, and deliberate beauty before my eyes, a beauty that moved me deeply. I closed my eyes for a moment. I felt the burning sensation of the beer descend into my chest and thought, in an inner whisper, that I had never seen anything so beautiful as him, like this: naked, his pelvis slightly tilted, a little slumped, in the white midday light, his body surrendered to the tranquil peace of the afternoon. I watched him for a long time, without speaking. Then, my voice finally came out, hoarse, a little trembling: "You know… I'm looking at you here… and I think… I think I've never seen a ...

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