I live and work in Rome. In a top floor apartment overlooking the river. Near a beautiful church called St. Paul's Outside the Walls. The front of it has a magnificent golden mosaic and every evening this picks up the rays of the sun as it sets behind my terrace. A year or so ago a whole host of pilgrims came there to celebrate the inauguration of a new Pope. Most of the time I kept a low profile and didn't venture outside my door as it was impossible to move. People were even sleeping in the streets. However that Sunday I had to meet a friend for the traditional fish lunch only to find, on the way home, that I had become just another sardine in the overcrowded subway car.

I positioned myself near the doors so as not to have too many problems getting out. A good looking guy was in the end seat and my crotch kept colliding with his elbow. I didn't think too much of it at first until I started to wonder why he didn't move his elbow. People kept pushing me into him and it was potentially embarrassing. For quite a few stops it was hard dick against hard elbow and then to my surprise he suddenly got up to offer me his seat. This was embarrassing too. I mean I'm not exactly a senior citizen. Anyway I thought maybe he was getting out and sat down. Instead he stood right in front of me. Now it was my turn to be in close contact with his crotch.

He didn't look me once in the eye but grabbed the rail above his head and arranged his haunches nicely so I could imagine all sorts of things going on under the thick cloth of his old-fashioned jeans. He was blond with a Slavic face so I knew immediately he must be a Polish pilgrim or something. I'm afraid my thoughts were anything but spiritual and I felt rather guilty about feeling lustful on such a religious occasion. Sex began to raise its hydra head even higher as he stretched out on the rail and leaned towards me, bringing my nose into closer proximity with his crotch.

He was wearing a shapeless sheepskin jacket but the way his hands clenched the rail I knew there must be a lot of pent up muscle packed away in there. He didn't look at me once but his body was most definitely talking to me. Unfortunately in a language I didn't completely understand. I was just about to convince myself that I was imagining things when the train stopped and he got off without even a parting glance. For half a hesitant second I decided to stay right where I was but finally the fucker looked over his shoulder and that was enough to send me hurtling through the closing doors.

I must have made a complete asshole of myself. The bastard didn't stop but walked in the direction of the exit. Again I began to think I was mistaken and that everything was a figment of my imagination. I'd drunk too much wine at lunch and feebly told myself that all I really wanted to do was go home and sleep. But my intrepid dick told me differently. The pair of us followed him up the stairs. He stood outside the station as if he was waiting for someone. Later he said it was for me. I'm so backward in coming forward sometimes! What threw me you see, is that he only looked at me once and then only for a split second. Later on, in bed, he said, "One look was enough for me."

I was tempted to use Mae West's classic line, "So easily satisfied?" but restrained myself. After all we were from a different culture

I stood there for what seemed forever and finally said, "Can you tell me the time?" I said it in English and regretted it immediately. What a dumb, unoriginal opening gambit.

He looked at me and smiled. I relaxed but my dick didn't. It wagged its horny tail at the sight of his full-lipped mouth and cock-teasing eyes. In fact it was positively dizzy with delight.

One day I will learn to listen to sense instead of my senses. My dick always seems to have a mind of its own and more often than not gets me in deep trouble.

He spoke to me in Polish. I spoke to him in Italian. He answered in French and we were away. Common ground. He said he had two hours. I wanted to say I had a lifetime but fortunately didn't. There's something about me that goes to pieces when I see someone I really like. I lose all my famous English reserve and say a lot of dumb things. My stiff upper lip turns to marshmallow. Of course later my dick takes over and brings stiffness back into my life again. Thank God.

Anyway I had enough presence of mind to hail a taxi and in seven minutes we were in my apartment. The sun was setting, my dick was rising and Pavel was enchanted by the view. Of me and the church I mean. We made quick, almost frantic love and then laid back and examined each other. I wish I could think of some original words to describe his body. Statuesque is the only one that comes to mind. Once I'd got all those old fashioned clothes off him, I saw that my first instinct had been right. Everything was in perfect proportion. He had the most stupendous mouth-watering physique and the rest was just as juicy jaw dropping and dirty mind boggling.

I wanted to have something to remember him by so I asked him if he'd pose for some photos. I wanted to add them to what I call my jerk-off file. My digital camera lapped him up. He asked if could come back tomorrow to look at them. I was exalted and my dick jumped for joy. The two of us were under the happily mistaken impression that we only 'had' him for two hours. As he left, he explained he had meant only two hours today! He wanted to see me tomorrow too.

I gave him my card and called him a cab. I spent the rest of the evening drooling over the photos on my pc. I'd taken some great shots but I wanted Pavel in bed with me, not the photos. The phone rang. It was Pavel. He'd made a decision. He'd packed his bags and would be with me in twenty minutes. His friends were all delighted to see the back of him as they were sleeping five to a room. Dick and I were of course delighted to see all of him right back where we wanted him to belong. At least at the beginning.

Things started off very well. Pavel was such a perfect attentive lover. Every singular individual has his own personal way of making love but Pavel was really something. As I lay naked before him he examined my body like a woman with lots of money and time to spend would examine a 5th Avenue window. Rather like Audrey Hepburn in 'Breakfast At Tiffany's.' Only she wasn't rich and I wasn't a diamond bracelet. But he made me feel priceless just the same. He took hold of my dick as if it was the most beautiful thing he'd ever seen and, as he caressed it and kissed it, he spoke loving words to it in Polish. It seemed to understand every frigging word he said and swelled with pride. Stupid prick.

Still I wasn't far behind. I shivered and shuddered with pleasure as he nosed and fingered and tongued every part of my body. His hands passing over me like a silk merchant testing a piece of material for quality. Or like a demanding housewife squeezing fruit to see if it was ripe. Or sniffing at it as a chef might do with a melon. He touched and examined every bit of me with the tips of his fingers until my whole body was humming and I almost rose from the bed like a levitating top. Part of the excitement stemmed from the fact that he was speaking to me in French and in Polish, lulling and loving me with foreign words and horny body language.

When he wasn't talking he did things like drive my dick delirious by giving it the equivalent of a butterfly kiss. He breathed on it ever so softly for ever so long and then touched it lightly and gently with the tip of his tongue. It had almost grown butterfly wings by the time he'd finished. It felt so good in his mouth. Like basking in the shallows of a warm sea and letting the gentle waves wash over you. Soon the waters grew turbulent as his tropical tongue lapped thirstily at my promontory and his hot lips brought me to a frenzy by increasing the whirlpool suction. I thought my dick would burst with pleasure. I wanted to stay in there forever and come in a continuous stream.

Just when I thought I couldn't contain myself any longer he opened the sluice gates. My body convulsed and I gushed like a geyser. I almost cumwashed the room. He began to spread some of my copious cum on his fingers and some on his dick and lubricated my hungry ass with it. His fingers did the talking this time and needed no translation. Now I was caught up in higher, stronger waters. I seemed to be surfing the high seas. He wasted no more time with soft words but entered me like a tidal wave and swept through me like a tornado. One moment I was soaking up the warm rays of his seduction, the next hot fire was searing through me as I lunged and plunged and rode his dick to perdition. Something demonic seemed to have taken control of him for he turned on me just like Al Pacino in 'The Devil's Advocate' threatening me with fire and brimstone and eternal damnation. His contorted face glared down at me as he grabbed me by the ankles and sent my ass to purgatory and made me confess I was a filthy dirty rotten sinner in three languages but mostly in Polish. He frightened and fucked the shit out me. I couldn't understand what had come over him. I made a few feeble protests but to no avail. He was like something possessed.

He crucified my ass and threatened to strangle my demented dick. By now I was almost screaming with terror, internally and externally. I began to pray for deliverance and not only to him. He had such a tight hold round my ankles that I couldn't kick him off so I grabbed hold of his pectorals for support and then dug my nails in his nipples to make him stop. This only incensed him more. He flipped me over onto my stomach as deftly as if he was tossing a pancake and attached my wrists to the bedrail. Then he impaled me cruelly with his thorn of a dick and tore deep into my flesh until I began to feel I was the protagonist in Mel Gibson's 'Passion.' Paradoxically the pain within me kept turning into pleasure and then back to pain again. My body buckled and bucked and then finally yielded as he erupted inside me, his teeth embedded in my back. My battered butt felt like it had been through the meat-grinder and my dick had wilted so sadly that I hardly recognized it.

The nightmare ride must have exhausted him for he fell asleep inside me and nothing I could do would budge him. I was distraught. My gentle, soothing lover had turned into a screaming banshee and left me tied to the bed. Feeling lucky to be still alive, I fell into an exhausted sleep myself vowing to keep a firm hand on my wayward dick in future. But I knew there wasn't much hope of that. Like an unruly child it always went back to its old ways.

I awoke to the sounds of a Polish lullaby. He had untied me and was cradling me as a mother would her baby, serenading me with soft sounds and sweet kisses. I couldn't believe it. He was back to 'normal.' Still I wanted him out of there and was quick to tell him so. He wouldn't take no for an answer and tried to placate me. In situations like these most people appeal to your heart or finer sentiments. Pavel already knew my heart was in my dick. He began to stroke and kiss it fondly. He seemed for all the world to be apologising to the sloppy thing. I willed it to behave. Fat chance.

Just as I'd expected, the silly creature let itself be flattered once again by his wooing words and rose to the occasion. I closed my eyes and tried to forget last night but couldn't. I had visions of him flying into a religious rage again and biting my dick off or something. I struggled to work my way out of his mouth and he took this as a signal to put on the pressure. Eventually I came in spite of myself. He worked such wonders with those sluice gate lips of his.

But the shadow of last night hovered over us. I wasn't sure whether I'd been to hell and back again or whether my tramway to desire had visited heaven somewhere en route. He was still a horny handsome hunk but somewhere along the line he'd blown it for me. I felt I'd spent the night with an unhinged schizo. As he lifted my legs in the air, I told him my ass was too sore to accommodate him. He didn't seem to mind and worked himself up to a froth of cumcream instead of almost frothing at the mouth as he had last night. I lay back and let him lick my wounds and the cum from my body. There was a sadness in his eyes as if he didn't know what to do to make it up to me.

I fixed him breakfast then handed him his bags. He said he didn't know where to go and I shrugged and told him to go back from whence he came. I was afraid to tell him to go to hell, or to the devil. We'd already been there.

He asked if he could stay another three days. He was studying to be a priest and was about to enter a seminary. That's why he was in Rome. He promised me that there wouldn't be a repeat performance. As usual he was so persuasive that I relented and let him stay.

True to his word he treated me with respect and tenderness for those three days but we couldn't rekindle a relationship. Somehow the fire had gone out of the passion. I watched him go with a sigh of relief.

That hellish night is now a distant memory. Looking back I realize he'd obviously had mixed feelings about being gay -- to say the least -- and had taken it all out on me. After castigating me and putting me on the sexual rack for most of the night he'd turned into a repentant lamb himself but I knew I would never trust him again. In fact, I made myself a solemn promise to think at least twice before letting my foolhardy dick rub elbows with someone on a train. Or anywhere else for that matter. And in future I'll try to make sure I've sorted out the wheat from the chaff and the light from the darkness before I let myself have another 'religious' experience.

Wise words, but as we all know dicks rush in where angels fear to tread.