I think I must always have been something of a voyeur. I like to watch people and I like to take pictures of them, naked if possible, especially when I'm on vacation. It's nice to come home with some digital photos which can light up both your computer and those dark winter nights. Of course by "people" I mean hot young guys. I've been seducing them with my camera for fifteen years now and will soon be hitting forty but I sure hope this doesn't mean that my philandering days are over. The trouble is the older I get, the younger I like them and I hate to think that one day I will be reduced to jerking off in front of my computer screen. Still I keep myself in good shape, so hopefully I have quite a few more years yet. One thing I've noticed all cute guys have in common, particularly those who play hard to get, is that the moment they see the great shots I've taken of them, they're more or less willing to strip down to the naked truth. The more of themselves they see, the more turned on they get.

And of course I do, too. I've learned never to insist at the beginning. Just let them open up and disrobe naturally. After all, you can't force the petals of a rose with a pin.

My greatest challenge was a guy named Raoul. I don't know about you, but I also get turned on by names. The sound of his had me convinced from the beginning that he possessed those three essentials: body, brain and butt. For me, a guy's dick is the cherry on the pie, but if he's dead behind the eyes and doesn't have a great body and butt, I soon lose interest. Raoul was training to be a riding teacher, and the stables were across the street from where I was staying. Although I must admit that I had no intention of going riding until I saw his butt disappear in the bar below my house. I had rented a top floor apartment overlooking the river Tiber in Rome. It wasn't exactly a penthouse, but it was close. The riding school had an interesting location as it was built on the banks of the river. Unfortunately, I couldn't see it from my terrace as it was hidden by trees.

One of the highlights of my day was having breakfast in the bar. I'd go down every morning, have my cornetto and cappuccino and read the newspaper. That day I decided to have a second breakfast and followed Raoul inside. He was sitting on a high stool sipping fruit juice. His legs were magnificent, and I could already envisage them grasping the flanks of the horse, or even better, wrapped around my flanks and fucking the ass off me. I immediately engaged him in conversation and said I'd like to take lessons. Wouldn't you know he was free that morning, and in one shake of a horse's tail, I was having my first lesson. Of course what I hadn't bargained for was I had to buy all the gear as Raoul recommended boots, helmet and riding trousers if I wanted to do things properly or, as he put it, "if I was serious."

I was most definitely most serious, and would have bought the horse as well, if Raoul had deemed it necessary. Anyway, the first lesson he just put me through the preliminaries, and that afternoon I went shopping for riding gear. I took lessons every day for the rest of the week and then had to ease off for a bit, as I couldn't climb into bed on the fourth day, let alone get on a horse. That's when I started taking photos of him while I was watching him ride. It was very beautiful down there with the river and the trees and, of course, Raoul. I had an extra excuse for being there too, as he wanted to improve his English, and soon I am happy to say, we became very friendly but in a formal sort of way. I was already feeling the age difference. He was nineteen, and I was thirty nine and could almost have been his father. The thought of jumping into bed with him seemed almost incestuous and also light years away.

To make matters worse, he started talking to me about his Spanish girl friend who lived in Barcelona. As if I could give a shit about his Spanish girl friend. Anyway, I stuck it out as by now I couldn't stand being without him. Using English lessons as an excuse, I invited him out to dinner, and one night he even came back to my place to watch a football game. I took some photos of him then also, as he was more relaxed and was wearing a cute tank top which showed his body off to perfection. I showed them to him later, and of course he wanted a copy of the best one to send to his girl friend. Not long afterwards however, he received bad news from Spain. She'd met someone else. He got very drunk that night and came round to see me to seek consolation. I noticed I was becoming more and more of a father figure for him.

I continued with the riding lessons and became quite good, especially in comparison with some of the other riders who had started at more or less the same time. Raoul wanted me to move on and have lessons with a senior instructor, but of course I said I didn't feel quite ready. He suggested going for a long ride on Sunday. There were some nice green areas just outside Rome. Unfortunately it rained, but I did get some great shots of him with his shirt wet and transparent. The sun came out, so he took it off and I was able to get a few of his fabulous torso. I complimented him on his great body and left it at that, although I think he was already aware that I might be gay. He'd noticed that he was the only subject I was interested in photographing.

By now things were coming to a sticky head. Not a day went by without us seeing each other, and while he seemed to enjoy my company, there was something unsaid hanging in the air and it made us both uncomfortable. Finally, he asked me the sixty four thousand dollar question, "What do you want from me?" Naturally I didn't know what to say, but the fact that he'd asked me the question meant that he already knew the answer. I was a little drunk and told him that what I'd really like was a photo of him naked on his horse.

"Is that all?" he said.

"If that's all you're ready to give me, " I replied.

"Let's take some very early tomorrow. At 5.30. Just as the sun's coming up. It's my turn to play watchman tonight so nobody will be around."

Needless to say, I was up with the lark with stupid phrases like the early bird catches the worm running through my head. Meanwhile my heart, and another part of my anatomy, were pounding at the thought of what was in store for me. He was waiting for me at the gate. He took me to his cabin. The riding school couldn't afford a security guard so the staff took it in turns to be watchman. He didn't say much. Asked me if the light was all right, and where I'd like to take the photos. It was weird. Wonderful, but weird. I chose a private spot between the trees with the river in the background and placed the horse in the right position, then he slipped out of his clothes and jumped into the saddle. The sun was just filtering through the trees, reflecting on the water which in turn was sending soft reflections over the horse's rump and over Raoul's sturdy thighs. I concentrated on getting the shots right and tried not to look too closely at my subject as I knew I would have plenty of time to do that later. I also knew the results were going to be beautiful. After twenty minutes or so I asked him to dismount as I wanted a few butt shots of him grooming the horse. I thanked him and he went back to his cabin to get dressed. The whole thing was so formal and professional. Just like Raoul. "Let's go have breakfast,"he said and then go back to your house and see the photos."

The photos were great and I could see that he was favourably impressed. "Let's take some more," he said. "I'll never feel as comfortable with anyone else as I feel with you." Then he stripped off his clothes again, and asked where I wanted him to stand. He took complete command of the whole shoot and I followed his lead. He was a perfect subject and his body was out of this world. The photos were stunning and I was stunned. I just couldn't believe that all this was happening to me, and that this great guy was standing before me stark fucking naked. He complimented me on the photos and wanted to know what I intended to do with them. I knew that what he was really asking was whether I was going to jerk off over them. I told him I'd transfer them to a compact disc and give him a copy. I might even enter them for a competition or make a book of photos if that was alright with him. He said, "Whatever." Then he asked me another of his unanswerable questions. Didn't I find it frustrating looking at photos of some guy I could never possess. He went on to say he could never have sex with another man as his body could only respond to a woman's touch. "How do you know?" I ventured to say.

"Try me,"was his challenging reply.

I moved towards him as if in a trance ready to accept his challenge, but not really sure what I could expect. "What if I succeed? "I asked.

"Then I'm yours," he said.

"No holds barred?" I said.

"No holds barred," he repeated.

I wasn't too sure he understood the expression, but I knew full well he understood the intention. I stood just behind him and passed my hands over his stupendous butt feeling like an art dealer who finally gets the chance to appraise a prized piece of fine mahogany. It was as hard as my erection but not nearly so yielding. In fact, wood seemed to be the right metaphor for him as he stood stiffly before me like a wooden puppet. He let me raise his arms and lick his armpits. He let me ripple my fingers over his nipples and squeeze his pecs, but after a while I began to feel like Geppetto trying to seduce Pinocchio. It wasn't exactly encouraging, and it only added fuel to my feeling of being too old and no longer able to turn my partner on. I knew that his dick was going to be the final indicator so I decided to steer clear of that for the moment in case I failed there, too. Anyway, I wanted to blow his mind before I risked blowing that.

I was not a happy camper. I had the object of my desire right there in front of me, and I couldn't even kindle a spark to ignite him. "Give up?" he said cruelly.

"Give me just a few minutes more," I said. But knew I was defeated. Then I remembered my criteria of body, brain and butt. I began to use my brain to outwit the bastard. Where could I go where a woman's touch had never been? I passed my hands between his legs and cupped his balls in my hand. I let my palm slide softly to and fro beneath his scrotum and waited for the desired result. I thought I heard a slight intake of breath and even the hint of a minor moan. I intensified the friction and felt his legs buckle beneath him, and his butt rise to meet me. I inserted the tip of my tongue in his fish mouth of a hole, and his ass opened like a flower thirsting for dew. Now the moans came faster and were stronger, so I knew I had him. The fox was working his way slowly and stealthily into the grape vine. He didn't say anything -- didn't need to -- just shoved his butt down onto my taut tongue. I wondered if I dared fuck him. A woman's touch had definitely not been there. I moved my hand round the front of him and grasped his awesome erection. I was home. I'd won. Now I wanted my prize. I took my tongue out of his butt and went to work on his dick. It was hot and hard and hungry. Obviously it hadn't been to Barcelona for quite some time. I played a nice tangy tarantella on it with my tongue, and soon waves of lust and longing began to shiver through that rigid rock of Gibraltar, which began to crumble fast and shudder and shake and erupt all over me. I grabbed hold of his butt and sucked him dry. He almost pulled my hair out by the roots and wept and wailed and whimpered. I was exalted, triumphant.

I decided to strike while the iron was hot and rolled him over and started on his ass. I knew I might never have a chance like this again. I was so unprepared for this moment that I had no lube handy and had to depend on my spittle. I made him nice and wet and horny, and then saddled my riding master and went riding down his unexplored lanes. He reared and bucked and whinnied, but this only made me wilder for him and I stayed the course. I was in charge of the shoot this time and was determined it was going to be a photo finish. He fought and he lunged beneath me until I thought I'd never break him in and make him admit who was master. I drove my dick deeper into his shuddering shanks using his long dark hair as a mane and pulled his head back in order to see his flaring nostrils and the look of absolute fucking satisfaction on his arrogant face, then came gloriously and triumphantly inside him. I had most definitely not lost my touch. We lay side by side all passion spent until I said, "Let's go to bed."

He looked at me for a moment like a defiant child whose father has just beaten the ass off him, then smiled and said, "Why not?"

We slept in each other's arms for hours as we were both beat. The first thing he said when we woke up was, "I don't have to go back to work.

I took it as an open invitation and kissed him. To my surprise, he returned my kiss and made a delicious meal of my mouth. So, of course, we started all over again, although by now we were both starving for food as well as each other. Then I prepared him a meal, and we went back to bed again.

"Thanks for today," he said. "It was great."

"Better than Barcelona? "I asked.

"Different," he said and paused. "I want to do something different with you too. Something you've never done. Some fantasy you've never realized. You were a first for me. I want to be a first for you."

I smiled to myself and thought there he goes again asking impossible questions. I couldn't think of a thing. Then I saw his riding crop.

"Anything?" I asked him.

"Anything," he said. "No holds barred."

"I want you to dominate me. Ride me like you ride a horse. Whip me."

"I don't whip horses,"he said.

"That's my fantasy,"I said. "I've always wanted to be whipped by some one like you. Someone I can trust." He looked at me as if he was beginning to like the idea.

"I've got a better whip downstairs," he said. "The one we use on the ground to make horses jump."

"Make me jump,"I said.

I was already hard at the thought of it, and was hot and raring to go when he came back. He stripped off again and I saw he was just as excited as me. I knelt before him and kissed his dick. He flicked me with the whip. It stung, but I knew I could take much more pain than that from him.

I bent further down and raised my butt. He whipped it. Harder this time.

"You'll have to go further away," he said. "I use this whip at a distance. It's very strong. I could scar you for life."

"Scar me for life."I said.

"I'm serious."

"So am I."

I lay spread-eagled in the middle of the floor, slightly afraid as I knew we were both about to enter the unknown. He started slowly at first and hit the ground all around until he'd plucked up enough courage to actually hit me with it. I squirmed my butt and yelled for more, and soon I couldn't tell the difference between pain and pleasure. When I couldn't take any more, I went into the bathroom and got some body oil and asked him to rub some over my wounds and smack my butt and spit on me. I said all these things, but could hardly imagine him carrying out my instructions as he had always been so formal and contained with me, letting me take photos of him as if he were humouring an eccentric old uncle. But I'd obviously unleashed some sexual demon in him that had been quietly lurking there all the time. He rubbed the oil into me and made me purr with pleasure, then he spanked my butt until I felt my dick would burst.

Then he drooled and spat over me as if I was some loathsome creature, but the size of his dick told me all this was making him horny as hell. I lubed him up good with my mouth, told him to put some of the body oil in my butt, fuck the shit out of me, and hit me with his riding crop. After a while he needed no further instructions, and invented his own devices to sexually humiliate me. He rammed his dick in my ass, then the handle of the riding crop, and then alternated the two until I could no longer tell the difference except when he was hitting me with the riding crop. Then he jerked me off with his left hand while he beat me with his right and soon had me literally foaming at the mouth and shooting my load all over his fingers. He spread my cum all over my face, into my ears, forced it up my nose and down my throat, and I just sucked his fingers like a happy suckling pig. I would have sucked his dick too, only it was giving my ass such an unforgettable treatment that I never wanted him to stop.

As if he could read my mind, he pulled out his dick and fucked my mouth, telling me it was just like a clitoris. Soon I couldn't remember which end of me was which until I tasted his divine cum and deliriously began to wonder why nobody had ever marketed it. Vials of cum. Raoul by Night. Riverside Stud. And better yet, Slow Burner. It so beautifully described him. It had taken me forever, but I'd finally got myself the prize stallion of all prize stallions. I intended to put him in for a few more races, too, before I finally had to go back home and jerk off to his photos on my computer and remember the wild way we had ridden each other to paradise. Slow Burner. Yes. Slow Burner.