That evening, I had decided we would dive behind the point. I knew this rocky plateau perfectly, stretching for about fifty meters before plunging abruptly into darkness, at most twenty meters. The sea was calm, without a breath of wind. We were both in our swimsuits in the Zodiac, our wetsuits and equipment stowed at the bottom. The dying light of day still faintly illuminated the surface, casting a pink and gold veil over the smooth water. Lelio was sitting on the tube, at the stern, facing me. That evening he was wearing a white swimsuit, one of those tiny, ultra-tight briefs that fit him like a second skin. I couldn't help but stare at his crotch, perfectly defined by the taut fabric. His penis formed two distinct bumps there, separated by the fold of the fabric, and I could clearly make out the shape of his glans almost at the level of the elastic at his waist. Despite myself, my stomach contracted with a confused warmth. I couldn't look away. He was twenty, like me. His body was disturbingly perfect, lean and muscular at the same time, without any unnecessary thickness. His broad shoulders contrasted with his slender hips, his pecs were firm but not excessive, and his abs sculpted his stomach into soft, clean lines. His arms, long and sinewy, wore that even tan that leaves no trace of a T-shirt, offering smooth, golden skin everywhere. In the evening light, his skin took on a coppery, almost golden hue, which brought out the blondness of his hair and the delicate pallor of his face. I contemplated him as one would an old painting, with a mixture of aesthetic admiration and raw, almost irrepressible desire. And I noticed above all, each time the zodiac hit a chop or a wave made him bounce slightly in his seat, the way his muscles contracted with precision and flexibility. His abs hollowed, his obliques stretched into thin ropes on his sides, his pectorals vibrated to stabilize his torso. His thighs firmed under the constant effort, drawing his quadriceps into clear bumps. His skin stretched before relaxing in perfect harmony, his body reacting with animal and unconscious coordination to absorb the shocks. But above all, when the sausage jumped higher, I delighted in the spectacle: I saw the package of his penis, caught in this rather loose swimsuit despite its tight cut, rise under the effect of the rebound before falling gracefully. This movement revealed the suppleness and weight of his balls, the living softness of his sex. I was mesmerized by this vision, both raw and delicate.There was something profoundly virile and graceful about it: the controlled power, the absolute naturalness of a body that knows how to prepare itself for imbalance. Every contraction of his abdominals, every vibration of his thighs, every little jump of his sex awakened in me the desire to reach out and feel beneath my fingers the elastic firmness of his living flesh, warm and vibrant with life. The slightest of his movements seemed charged with a naked beauty, a sovereign sensuality. I had the impression of witnessing the living perfection of a body made of subterranean forces, animal suppleness and human grace. And I remained there, speechless, with in the pit of my stomach a mixture of desire and mute admiration that almost took my breath away. I saw that he was looking at me too. His eyes sometimes lingered on my bare torso, went down my arms, stopped on my thighs passing by my underwear, then returned to my face. No words were exchanged. But in this silence, something vibrated, heavy and almost palpable, as if the air between us had become denser and warmer, charged with a new tension. Over the purr of the engine, he told me in a calm voice that it reminded him a lot of his trips to sea with his father, for their night snorkeling in the Gulf of Genoa. There, he said, the water was sometimes so black that it merged with the sky, and when you submerged, you had the sensation of floating between two infinities. At that precise moment, the tone of his voice, calm and dreamy, added to the strange and almost solemn atmosphere that was taking hold. All around, the sea had become a dark mirror, perfectly flat, barely streaked with wavelets. All you could hear was the engine and the lapping against the hull. The air smelled of salt, warm seaweed, and already a little of the dampness of the dawning night. It glided over our skin, still burning from the sun, like a warm, soothing caress. In the distance, a few lights came on along the coast, tiny flickering sparks in the growing darkness. As we approached the site, night fell faster. I stopped the engine a few meters from the drop-off and signaled to him: "Go and drop the anchor, please." He stood up with a smooth movement, moved to the front of the zodiac, and grabbed the chain. He placed one foot on the ring, leaned forward, arching his back to tip the anchor. From where I sat, I admired his perfect back, tense with the effort, his shoulder blades protruding slightly beneath his golden skin, like two wings ready to spread. His trapezius muscles formed a harmonious relief all the way to the base of his neck, and the entire line of his spine seemed sculpted in amber in the fading light.But it was above all the arch of her back that fascinated me. Her buttocks, molded by her white briefs so tight they almost revealed the beginning of the furrow, tensed, forming two firm, round half-moons, both powerful and delicate. Their skin glistened slightly, tingled with every movement, as if under an invisible caress. The line where her lower back hollowed out descended towards the dark furrow, of an almost abstract beauty, like an ancient sculpture polished by the centuries, but here alive and burning. Between her slightly parted thighs, I saw the full shape of her scrotum, pressed tightly into the fabric and pushed back by her position. They formed a moving bulge, a living weight that captivated me. The clear edge of the scrotum, its pleated texture under the thinness of the white fabric, hinted at a darker shade, like a secret revealed in spite of itself. A shiver ran down my neck before traveling down to my lower abdomen, awakening a burning throbbing. I could no longer breathe normally. Before me, he embodied masculine beauty in its purest truth: strength and grace mingled, a quiet sensuality, unaware of being observed. This vision possessed an almost painful perfection, like an Italian painting in shades of ochre and gold, an absolute composition where every curve and every shadow found its rightful place. I had the sensation of finding myself before a mystery: that of a body so young and vibrant with contained energy that it seemed unreal. A deep tightness gripped me, a mixture of desire, fascination, and sacred admiration, as if I were observing an ancient god leaning over the world. He dropped anchor and sat back down facing me. His gaze met mine for longer than usual. Without a word, his eyes shone with a strange light. He had sensed my emotion. His hand ran over his thigh before resting for a moment on my knee, then he removed it. The contact sent a shiver down my skin. Lelio had always been tactile, but that evening, each of his gestures took on a new meaning. Each touch became a promise, each glance, a question. When he handed me my mask, his fingers brushed my palm longer than necessary. When he freed the hose stuck under my foot, his hand slid down my calf. And when he pushed the scuba tank behind us, his shoulder touched mine, remaining there for a second before he straightened up. I didn't have time to grab my wetsuit or my weight belt. He sat down, cross-legged, stared at me with a slight smile, and broke the silence: "You know... I've always free-dived at night... naked. It's the only true freedom. Would you like to try it too?" »My heart was pounding. I nodded, unable to utter a word. Still silent, he stood up and slipped his thumbs into his swimsuit. He moved it slowly down his hips, with a gesture so fluid it seemed choreographed, first revealing the delicate line of his lower abdomen, that graceful furrow that led to his pubis. His two inguinal folds appeared, clean and deep, framing his stomach in a perfect V, emphasizing the birth of his penis with an almost painfully virile elegance. Even before his penis was ...

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