The other night I had my own personal reality show. It started off as an erotic dream with a Sicilian pastry cook, and turned into an even more erotic birthday party where all my wettest dreams came true.

As part of my training as tour operator, I was spending six months in Italy to improve my Italian and learn the ropes a bit under the guidance of Maria Grazia, whom I'd met in Rome. She invited me to stay at her place in Taormina in Sicily. She knew I was gay, but that didn't make any difference to our friendship. She's a great girl and also a great cook, so I got to eat a lot of great things. The only thing I didn't really go for was the cakes. I found them a bit too soft and squishy for my liking, being a lover of rock cake and all that. I didn't even like the Sicilian speciality all that much either. They're called 'cannoli' over here. Everyone's crazy for them, particularly the women. To tell you the honest truth, I think half the reason is that they're full of sweet things such as ricotta and candied fruits. The other half is that they're long and hard and therefore strongly reminiscent of a good dick. I was a bit disappointed with them myself when Maria Grazia first let me sample them in the pastry shop.

However, a remarkable change took place in my taste buds when she introduced me to the pastry cook at the back of the shop. Her cousin Marco. She told me he was absolutely the best pastry cook in Sicily. I must admit I was cooked as soon as I saw him and couldn't wait to get him inside my oven. He was clad all in white as pastry cooks tend to be, and this complemented his dark Mediterranean looks and his "go to bed" eyes. He must have been a body builder, too, because his biceps were larger than Maria Grazia's waist. She smiled when she saw the effect his close proximity was having on me and told me that Marco was promised and already had a 'fidanzata' so I was to keep my sticky British hands to myself. They have some really cute expressions in Italy. For instance as soon as you hitch up with someone they call you 'i promessi sposi', the promised couple-to-be. The news that he was engaged to be married was a bit of a downer. I mean I wanted to do a bit of coupling with him myself but knowing the Sicilian temperament, and him being family and all that, decided to keep him at a safe distance. But even so he invaded my dreams. Some of them were pretty weird. And horny to the extreme. They all had cream at the center and also quite a few rolling pins and other phallic objects. In one he'd be feeding me with a huge cannolo that would then turn into his dick and my mouth would be full of his creamy cum. In another I dreamt somebody was taking off my pajamas only

I don't wear pajamas, and then I'd discover I was completely wrapped in pastry and he was kneading my dough so to speak. Very wish fulfilment stuff.

But out of respect to Grazia I did as I was told and stayed away from the pastry shop. Unfortunately it didn't stay away from me. This torture didn't last long because although we were supposed to be celebrating my birthday Grazia had to leave for Calabria. She was on standby and as luck would have it somebody went sick and she had to replace them. She told me to help myself to anything I wanted and was gone. I had a lonesome dinner and was just consoling myself with a bottle of Sicilian wine when the doorbell rang. It was my man in white with my birthday cake. Grazia had ordered it but in the rush to get away she had forgotten to tell me so nobody went to pick it up. I told Marco what had happened in my best Italian. He said in his best English that we couldn't let a good birthday cake go to waste and went off to the kitchen to find some candles. He put the small ones on my cake and spread bigger ones all over the room.

After the traditional candle blowing out ceremony we cut the cake and washed it down with rather a lot of wine. We were on our third bottle and I sat there, hazy and happy, admiring my unexpected guest. He looked great. He was wearing a white string vest which showed off his biceps, and very tight white pants which showed off everything else. Conversation wasn't flowing quite as freely as the wine so I thought I'd compliment him on how great his biceps were.

This seemed to be the thing to do as he was obviously very proud of them. He thanked me for the compliment and started to unzip the top of his vest to show me more. I got an eyeful of his phenomenal pecs and blushed. The wine seemed to rush straight to my head and to my dick at the same time. I couldn't believe he was there or how beautiful he was. I'd never seen a body quite like it. Of course I was still young. This was only my eighteenth birthday but I was convinced I'd never ever see another like it. Body I mean.

My knees grew weak and my dick grew strong and I flopped into a chair. Marco looked through some cds and put one on. Before I could swallow my next drop of wine he had begun to undulate to the music and was doing a sensuous strip right in front of my very eyes. He removed his vest and swirled it high in the air with his leg of mutton arms so I got tantalizing glimpses of his hairy armpits, his bubble butt peeping provocatively over the top of his pants, and the rhythmic ripples of his terrific, terrifying torso. I was pretty drunk by now but I sure sobered up when he began to undo the front of his white pants. He wasn't wearing underwear so I saw a black hair brush of pubic undergrowth opening before me. I watched with bated breath for his dick to make a full appearance but this being striptease he turned round and lowered his pants just enough to let his butt rise before me like a full moon. He winked at me over his shoulder and made a gesture with his head inviting me to join him on the 'dance floor'. I made my way towards him seeing double. Which was cool.

He grabbed my arms and put them around his waist. I thought he wanted to dance with me but instead he kissed me hot and long and then started on a series of questions beginning with "why don't you?" For example, "It's your birthday. Why don't you open your present?" Obediently, I slipped my hands down over his butt so that his pants fell to reveal his full frontal. I carried on past his knees to his ankles until I was kneeling in front of him worshipping his gorgeous totem pole of a dick. He said, "Why don't you blow out my candle too?" I looked up to see the tip of his dick was indeed glowing like a candle. As I pursed my lips to blow he rubbed his moist wick against them, whetting my appetite with his mouth-watering jizz. I opened up for more and somewhat tentatively wrapped my mouth around his dripping dick. It tasted great. Much better than any cannoli.

I hadn't had all that many dicks in my mouth but his was definitely the best. It didn't take him long to realize I was a bit of a novice in the dick sucking department. He said "Why don't you lie down so I can help you come of age?" My knees were about to fold under me so I was happy to comply. As my clothes floated off me, the groovy music was replaced by sounds similar to those a straw makes when you reach the bottom of the glass and there's no liquid left. He must have mistaken my dick for a popsicle I thought to myself as I felt the suction of his lips send me half way to heaven. His mouth was so wet and his tongue so agile that I felt my body melt into a million minute molecules as he sucked the juice out of me. He played on my dick as if it was a fucking flute.

I tried to pick up the same melody and moved to and fro between his lips while he made sweet music with his mouth. Then he worked his way round me until his dick and balls were hanging over my head like a bassoon or something. Soon my mouth was brimming over with him and I couldn't move a muscle. In fact I almost got lockjaw as his dick engorged in my mouth. He grabbed my glutes and played them wildly like bongos as he shook and shuddered and shot his load. The force of his dick and the flow of his jizz was so strong I had to open my mouth to gasp for air. He came half in my mouth, half in my face and then exploded all over me. I came in spasms and mostly down his throat. He drank me dry. Then he licked my chest clean of his creamy cannolo cum and kissed me.

I was feeling like a piece of pastry myself by now. Puff pastry. We spent an hour in Grazia's huge bathtub soaking up the soap and each other. Then he dried me from head to toe making me horny again in the process. Especially when he lifted my leg, kissed my limp dick and proceeded to dry each individual toe.

My dick shot to life again as I watched him walk butt naked into the kitchen to get a bottle of champagne. I got such a wonderful candle glow view of his golden globes. We sat down on my bed and finished off my birthday cake, although I did leave a slice for Grazia and Marco promised to replace the champagne next day. He asked if he could stay the night. I thought about his girl friend. I thought about Grazia. Then I thought about me and said yes. My bed was pretty narrow but that was all to the good as we were packed tighter than two little bugs in a rug. It was great.

During the night I woke and found his dick wedged hard against my butt. My dick must have felt it long before I did as it was as erect as a soldier standing to attention. He started to bring me off with his hand but I had no intention of coming yet. I wanted his cannolo inside me. I didn't have any cream or anything and I hadn't been fucked before but I didn't care. I just knew I wanted him inside me. He must have been reading my mind because he jumped out of bed and came back with some of Grazia's face cream. "I want to fuck you." he said.

I reached out for his dick and said, "I want you to fuck me." Helping myself to a large dollop, I spread Grazia's expensive face cream generously over his dick.

Marco laughed. "I'll replace this too." he promised.

"Make sure you do." I said, putting an even bigger dollop up my ass. "We'll probably need the whole jar."

He gave me a wicked smile and said, "Depends how many times we do it."

For modesty's sake I won't tell you how many times we did it. Suffice to say, after the first time I didn't need cream. After the inevitable painful preliminaries, which I will refer to as blast off, his love finger hit my trigger as he entered me with two massive thrusts of his thighs and sent me so far skyward I thought his dick was going to put me in orbit. I slipped my hands under the pillow to grab hold of the bed rail for support. As I did so, my hand came into contact with an envelope. I was curious to know who'd put it there, but all thoughts of that were soon knocked out of my head. As he battered my ass to pulp, his large Sicilian oranges pressed hard against the open entrance to my orchard. He built up the tempo to a juicy crescendo and really put me through the blender as he humped me towards a frothy heaven. Then it was back to earth for a while as he flipped me over like a playing card. Soon my legs were going nineteen to the dozen and my ass was on cloud fucking nine as he screwed me senseless. It was my first experience of losing my senses while at the same time being full of soaring sensations. That's the paradox of sex, I suppose.

Next morning, when Marco was still sleeping, I put my hand under the pillow for the envelope. It was a birthday card from Maria Grazia. The message inside was "Happy Birthday Darling. Hope you enjoyed your present and got enough cannoli. Love, Grazia." It turned out that Marco had asked about me after our first meeting. Grazia had told him that the feeling was mutual and arranged this birthday surprise for me. It seemed that besides being a pastry chef he supplemented his income by being a stripper. I put my hand lovingly on his long cannolo and my head on his rock hard chest and thought of all the great cake I'd had for my eighteenth birthday. Soon I felt him begin to stir beside me and blissfully prepared myself for my personal pastry chef to pound me to pudding with his wooden spoon. It was to be the beginning of the finest reality show I'd ever known.