Woman's Day is quite a big deal in Italy. It's also quite big business for some people. It falls on March 8th every year, and that's not all that falls, either. A lot of male strippers get to strut their stuff in private parties, restaurants and night clubs. Naturally someone has to screen these guys and see what they've got to offer. That's where I come in. It's quite a taxing job, actually, as some of them come on real strong and won't take no for an answer. Many of them are personal trainers or body builders, so I have to be careful not to rub them the wrong way, so to speak. But most of them are university students or dancers or sportsmen, and need photos and tuition. They realize there's good money to be had and are usually very pleasant and co-operative. The work keeps me busy most of the year, and I've built up quite an agency as the most promising contenders can be sure of work on cruise liners or holiday camps. There is also the occasional show, such as The Full Monty, which has been turned into a musical over here.

Of course after you've seen hundreds of butts and dicks, you get a little blase'. Particularly when it's a case of been there, had him, etc., but from time to time a new spark ignites the room, and you spend a week or two "tapping his potential." That's the part of the work I like. You soon develop a sixth sense, especially with the shy ones. You might say I enjoy bringing the light out from under their bushels.

Seba was a case in point. He looked like he should be carrying a school satchel when he first walked into my office, but I could see he had definite possibilities. The ladies like all types, not just super studs, and there was a cheeky vulnerability about him that was very appealing. He knew he had "the goods" and didn't need much encouragement to show them to me. I examined his butt first. This is very necessary because if the guy ain't got a good butt, there's not much you can do with him. You can build up his body, teach him how to move or dance, but you can't exactly do a "nose job" on his butt. He looked at me quizzically for a moment, as if he were summing me up, then turned round and dropped his jeans. Two delicious looking apple dumplings fell out. Maybe 'peach dumplings' would be nearer the mark, as there was a light fuzz of hair on each one. They looked absolutely delicious. In fact I was very tempted to reach out and try one. He had what's known in the business as a "bubble butt." I knew someday some hunk was going to burst that bubble. It was so irresistible. But there was something essentially virginal about him which made you think twice.

I also took a cursory look at his dick, although that part of a stripper's anatomy usually keeps a low profile. However he was excited so it rose to meet me. Once again I was tempted to reach out and touch it. But I refrained. I try not to let sex "rear its ugly head" when I'm conducting these interviews, but sometimes it's difficult, especially when the twink is as beguiling as he was. What he had, I wanted. And I knew it was mine for the asking. Ever the professional, though, I told him I would sign him up, but he had to hit the gym every day and build up some muscle. He thanked me, and we agreed to meet in two weeks. I saw a lot of guys in the meantime, some hot, some not, but as the days rolled by, I couldn't wait to see how Seba was shaping up.

However he didn't show for more than three weeks, by which time I was almost baying at the moon like a lonesome hound dog. Seems he'd decided to wait till he was eighteen before signing the contract. That's when I knew I was in big trouble. I was thirty-eight and therefore old enough to be his father. I acted accordingly and gave him a hard time of it. Really took it out on him. I knew I was exaggerating, but I was pissed because I'd missed him like hell, and he had gotten some kind of tribal tattoo down his right arm. It was jet black. Not that it mattered, as tattoos were all the rage. It was just that I was already feeling possessive towards him, and he hadn't asked me first. I knew I "had it bad and that ain't good," because both sex and jealousy were already raising their ugly heads. I heard myself informing him that in the future, he wasn't even to cut his hair or to go to the toilet without telling me first.

It's a miracle he didn't walk out on me there and then. Instead, he locked the office door and proceeded to strip. Obviously he already had my number and wanted to show me his. He did everything in perfect rhythm and without music. I couldn't help noticing there was something sensually sinuous and sexually serpentine about him that the slinky tattoo only served to emphasize. He had the makings of a great stripper, but my jealous dick was telling me that I wanted him to bare his wares for me and me alone. No way was I going to put him on the meat market and have him lose all that luscious innocence.

My dick responded as if hypnotized by some snake charmer, although he was at once both the snake and the charmer. His body was taut and well toned, and so was my dick. He kept his g-string on till the last minute, then snatched it off, sniffed it and threw it in my direction. I watched the sweat drip down his steaming body to his nest of pubic hair. It settled there in pearly drops. His dick was beginning to drip too, although I couldn't see if it was sweat or pre-cum. Mine was definitely jizz, staining my pants. I knew it was up to me to make the first move.

Instead I just clapped my hands and told him he'd "done good." I handed him a towel so he could dry off. He looked me straight in the eye with his smile of cheeky vulnerability and asked me to do it for him. I did. As soon as I felt his hard but yielding body through the towel, I knew I was past the point of no return. The heat of it almost seared the skin from my hands, especially as I passed them over that bubble butt of his which seemed to be at a boiling point.

"I'm eighteen years old today," he said, "and still a virgin. I want you to fuck me. I want the first time to be with someone I trust." I didn't say a word, but got a bottle out of my desk and anointed him with oil. I slipped my lubricated fingers into his hot ass and told him to hold on tight as he was going to get the biggest birthday candle of his young life. As soon as I thought he was ready, I parted those beautiful peach dumplings of his and went to work on him. Virgin he may have been, but he literally swallowed my nine inch dick whole. Something perverse in me told me I was going to fuck him eighteen times. One for each year. I started drawing my dick slowly in and out, counting the strokes as I went along. But he sucked the hell out of it, so by the time I got to fifteen or so, he'd got me so hot that my dick was pounding like a piston and I just slammed on in there.

By the time I'd finished with him, I must have made peach melba with whipped cream out of his puckered ass. I must say his body really was a joy to have and to hold, and he surely knew how to go with the flow. Fucking him was like surfing a Big Wednesday breaker, and I got quite a thrill out of seeing that lithe body of his thrashing before me like an extension of my dick. As we rose and fell as one, I could hardly believe he'd never been fucked before.

Of course, even though I prided myself on the fact that I was the first cummer to burst that bubble butt, I knew full well I wouldn't be the last. I comforted myself by making a meal out of his mouth-watering dick which I'd been saving for seconds. Here again, he was full of surprises, and I got plenty of double helpings. In fact my jaw was sore with him, and my throat full of his jizz, by the time he'd shot his last load and fallen asleep in my arms. I lay there looking at him fondly. They say youth is wasted on the young, but it certainly wasn't wasted on me.

From that day forth, I made the most of every moment we spent together. I found I was filled with new energy. A vital new spark had tuned up my failing spark plugs, and I was determined to turn on his ignition and make his engine roar for me for a long time to cum. Every night, sometimes even twice a day, I oiled him up good, caressed his cute carburettors, got a good grip on his "steering wheel" and then putting his ass into gear, rode that little bubble car for all I was worth. I must say he stayed the course very well. In spite of all the sexual wear and tear I constantly subjected him to, and the eventual pit stops he inevitably made "en route", I'm happy to say he always came back to my service station, and I personally ignited him every time.