I should be feeling guilty as hell as I write this because technically I've just seduced one of Jesus' Latter Day Saints. I suppose you could say I'm to blame as I'm four years older than him, but actually circumstances found us sharing the same bed and we seduced each other. I'm a great respecter of religion and of those who live according to their principles. However I've never been able to accept the fact that in some countries children are indoctrinated by their parents or by certain fundamentalist sects. I don't want to go too deeply into philology here, but I understand the etymology of the word religion is ' re-link' and therefore means being reunited with God, but this comes from inside every individual and can't be force fed.

Maybe you've seen the film Angels in America or read the book Latter Days in both of which gay guys choose sexual freedom over religious bigotry. I had a similar choice to make and eventually left my country as well as my church. I was brought up a strict Methodist and suffered accordingly. Fire and brimstone was preached from the pulpit and sex was a scarlet woman. So I had all kinds of hang-ups especially as the first man to seduce me was a member of my church. Not that he did anything outrageous and what he did excited me and stimulated my sexual juices so I became curious and wanted to find out more. He was a substitute Sunday school teacher and asked me to help him collect the hymn books after church. He picked me up so I could reach the top shelf.

But it was the way he picked me up that excited me so. I suppose I can only have been about eleven or twelve because I was still in short pants. He cupped his hands together as you do when helping someone mount a horse, but he put them between my legs and lifted me up by my crotch so to speak. I went beetroot red, I remember, but enjoyed it so much that I went back once or twice for more. Not that he ever did any more than that. Anyway I suppose I'd known I was gay ever since I saw Brad Pitt without his shirt in Thelma and Louise and I was only eight at the time. Even so I was a late developer sexually as I had a very sheltered childhood, although I did have the occasional 'adventure' such as when I went to the toilet in the middle of a movie and this good looking guy had left the door of his cubicle open. I saw how enormous his dick was and watched fascinated as he jerked off in front of me. Once again nothing more happened, but it made me even more curious to find out what sex was all about. I didn't have any brothers and sisters and, as I said, my parents were strict Methodists who didn't let me play football at school. So I didn't actually see anyone stark naked until I changed for the beach with a non-religious uncle of mine. He was my mother's youngest brother and must have been about twenty five or so, and I waited with bated breath as he dropped his pants and stepped into his swim trunks.

I watched fascinated as his big dick swung to and fro and also admired the hairs on his magnificent ass. I never imagined anyone could have hair on their ass. He was a professional footballer, and therefore had a great body, so I looked forward to his visits enormously. I would watch him in the bathroom as he shaved, and was once lucky enough to find him in the bathtub. He even let me wash his back. My parents were out, so the coast was clear. I think he was a bit of an exhibitionist because he seemed to get a kick out of watching me blush as he stood up and lathered his dick and balls. Then he turned around to pick up the soap which he'd 'accidently' dropped so I could see the crack of his butt and how the hairs grew in profusion. This was when I got my first hard on. He saw me looking at his dick and laughed saying, " Don't worry, you'll have one like this some day." And then, when I didn't say anything, he said "You can touch it if you like."

Stupidly I ran out of the bathroom. I so wanted to touch it, even kiss it, but I'd been taught that I'd be consumed by all the fires of hell if I let myself be tempted by lust or the scarlet woman. I wasn't really that interested in scarlet women, but wished I could find a few scarlet men. My first fairly 'scarlet man' was a French ski-instructor who wasn't really much older than me. I suppose I was fifteen and he was eighteen and there again not very much happened although we did jerk each other off. I was staying with French friends of my parents who had more liberal views and let their children practice sports. I was the only one on the baby slopes with Pierre and kept falling over, so I was soon covered in snow.

Shaking like a leaf, he took me back to the chalet and made me strip off, then he wrapped a big towel round me and gave me hot cognac, which immediately went to my head as alcohol had never passed my lips. Paradoxically it made me shiver even more, and gorgeous Pierre rubbed me hard with the towel which made me stop shivering, but gave me the most terrific hard on. He touched my dick and asked me if I'd like to play "touche pi-pi". I didn't know what that was, but soon found out. "Vive le France," I say. That's where I had my sexual education, and that's where I went every vacation until I "graduated". I had my first blow job in a French cinema when I was just eighteen, and later was fucked twice by a German tourist. Of course, I never looked back except perhaps over my shoulder now and then to make sure I wasn't going to be engulfed by fire and brimstone. So when beautiful Jonathan came into my life last month, and I felt instinctively he was sexually curious, I wanted to give him the benefit of my superior experience and help him lose his inhibitions and discover the joys of sex or, more exactly, intimate human contact with the person of his choice. This, happily, turned out to be me although it never entered my head to try to seduce him. That, like religion, had to come naturally.

I suppose, by now, you're dying to know how it all happened and can't wait for me to get his pants down. Actually it wasn't like that at all, but a gentle seduction as I was so scared of offending him and force feeding him in the wrong way. Anyway it had a lot to do with fate, or coincidence, or the combination of circumstances. Whatever you want to call it. Of course, my parents would have called it temptation, the devil, sin or something terrible like that. So let's get back to ' Angels of America' as that's the first coincidence.

If you've seen it, you might be interested to learn that heaven was situated in Hadrian's Villa in Tivoli near Rome, and that's where I met Jonathan. Not in Hadrian's Villa exactly, but in Tivoli. He was in the elevator with me, with another guy, on his way to convert the people in my building. Naturally, they started on me. I was tempted to joke about it and tell them I was a happy homosexual and why didn't I convert them. But I thought better of it as my next door neighbour is also a confirmed Jehovah's witness. Trust me to end up living next to another religious fanatic. Destiny, destiny. Still, she's a nice old thing who lives on her own in the only other apartment on my floor. We both pay a low rent as we're on the top floor, and therefore it's very hot in summer and very cold in winter. Later I discovered that the two young lads in white and black were temporary house guests as it was the Christmas season and they had just arrived from the States and hadn't been given official lodgings yet. I never did ask Jonathan what those official lodgings were exactly, or why Jehovah witnesses always go around in twos. Well, that will have to wait as momentarily I'm without him, but here to tell you our story. I'll try to be brief.

The long and short of it is that my neighbour had gone to Rome to spend a few days with her daughter's family, and the other guy had gone off to Pisa to visit friends. So Jonathan was on his lonesome, and that's how the cookie did crumble. And as luck, or destiny, or whatever, would have it, I found him sitting at the top of the stairs when I got home. He'd gone out to get some milk and closed the door before he realized the keys were on the other side of the lock. And as luck, destiny etc. would have it, he didn't even have the old lady's phone number in Rome. Naturally I invited him in for a cup of hot chocolate. It seems he was brought up on a farm and liked his milk, and also his hot chocolate. He looked pretty forlorn and the chocolate didn't seem to be of much comfort. Also the radiators weren't working properly, as usual, and it was cold in the apartment so I gave him one of my heavy woollen sweaters. There was instant empathy between us. I told him about my terrible childhood in England and he talked about life on the farm in Ohio. I tried to keep him off the subject of religion, but he was pretty miserable and confessed to me that his parents had insisted on his coming to Italy. Nor was he really convinced about what he was doing.

He didn't speak much Italian either, except the patter he'd been taught to say parrot fashion, so I put on a video a friend had sent me from England. It was part of a reality series about five amateur singers and dancers who'd been chosen from two thousand applicants, and trained to take over from the leads in the London production of "Chicago". It was great, and Jonathan enjoyed it immensely. It seems he didn't usually get to see things "of that nature." I made some pasta and then was faced with the bed situation. I didn't have a guest room, and there was only my single bed to sleep in. In the summer it wouldn't have been a problem as one could always sleep on the floor, but it was too cold for that now, and anyway, I didn't have enough blankets. We'd switched from hot chocolate to wine by the way. Something else he wasn't supposed to do. So he was quite merry and didn't seem to mind sharing a bed with me. I gave him a towel and showed him to the bathroom. At least he could have a hot shower. Then luck, destiny etc. entered the scenario again as I had to show him how to use the shower and got to see his great farmboy's body even if it was clad in the longest white boxers I've ever seen on anyone. I gave him a t-shirt and some shorts of mine and told him to climb into bed while I was preparing for the night.

When I finished, I put on a Diana Krall cd I'd bought in Paris. I still went to Paris regularly even though I no longer needed to complete my sexual education. I'd gone to a concert of hers at the Olympia. Naturally, Jonathan had never heard of Diana Krall, but he liked that too. I wondered what else he liked. Was it possible that wine, women and song were out of bounds for him? I decided to light a few candles to lend some warmth to the atmosphere, then turned out the light and slipped into bed with Jonathan. To my surprise there seemed to be plenty of room in my small bed, but that was because he was perched precariously on the outer extremity. I didn't say a thing and we listened to music and watched the candles burn down and flicker out. He heaved a soulful sigh. I asked him if he was ok. He said he wanted to ask me something. I said ask away. Childishly, he asked me if I'd ever made love to a man. "Once or twice", I lied. He said he felt so good, so safe with me, and he wanted to kiss me goodnight. Come a little closer, said the wolf to Jonathan Riding Hood. He wriggled a little nearer and his hot crotch came into contact with my extended hand. I smiled because I'd felt he was experiencing a little extension of his own. I kissed his sweet mouth goodnight then put my hand through the slit in his shorts and released the bird from its cotton cage."Can I kiss this goodnight too," I asked? He didn't answer. Just sighed again as if he was on the edge of perdition. I took his silence as consent, and burrowed my way under the sheet and pulled down his shorts. After all they were mine to pull down. I wrapped my lips gently around his dick. He sighed again. This time in anticipation.

I felt such a feeling of responsibility as I knew, or thought I knew, what I was doing. Exploring virgin territory. I wanted this to be a liberating experience for him. I wanted him to lead me by his still waters and show me what he'd been missing all these years. I wanted him to remember our moments together with joy. To surrender to his natural feelings and not have a single guilty regret afterwards. I wanted to possess him, but I needed to awaken the sleeping beast in him first. More than anything, I didn't want to guide this gentle loving lamb to a sexual slaughter house. In short I was posing myself a whole host of problems. How could I know it was all going to unfold so naturally, and we were going to pledge each other undying love after a long night of discovery and mutual pleasure.

After I'd given his delicious dick a little attention, I investigated his butt which I hadn't been able to see under his enormous boxers. It was full, round and oh so fuckable. I decided to tackle that later. Then I started on his chest. This wasn't so easy as my t-shirt was a few sizes too small for him, so I couldn't get my hand up there, and I'd already noticed in the bathroom that this was a good place to go. He had such a hard, super developed torso. Probably from all the work down on the farm. By now we'd worked up some body heat and I asked him if he'd be kind enough to take the shirt off. Me who usually tears clothes off my lovers or rips them to shreds with my teeth. He obliged and I nuzzled his armpits and nibbled his nipples and made him horny as hell. In fact he pulled my head down to his dick and muttered the unpronounceable words, " Suck me some more." And I did. But not too much. I wanted to get him real hot and make him beg for it. I licked his scrotum too and that erogenous bit between the balls and the inside leg. He heed and hawed and pulled my hair, and I knew I was going in the right direction. Which, as you can imagine, was his rosebud of an asshole. I gave it a good plating with my tongue and said a mental open sesame. As if in answer to my prayer, he suddenly shot to life and switched on the light. I hardly recognized him.

His whole body was pulsating with desire. "I want to see you," he cried. "I want to see you when you fuck me." My sacrificial lamb had turned into a ravenous wolf. I reached out to get the lube, and as I did so, he made a beeline for my dick and ripped my shorts open to get at it. Soon he was sucking away at me like a new born baby at its mother's breast.

Man, I tell you true, I've never been sucked so good in all my twenty-two years of existence. He got me so hot and horny, I forgot all my tender solicitudes and wanted to cum in his mouth and fuck his ass at one and the same time. I grabbed the lube and I grabbed his ass and somehow I got that tight little butt all lubed up. I fucked him with my fingers to the same rhythm his lips were strumming on my dick. He opened up. There's something to be said for music. It sure gets you synchronized.

I managed to wrench my dick out of his mouth, and whipping his legs in the air, I got them safely anchored to my shoulders and his butt all lined up for the wham-bam launching. He winced and wailed as my vessel prepared itself for the maiden voyage. He kicked and squirmed and flailed, but eventually we sailed. God, did we sail! We were in mid-ocean before we'd hardly left the shore. All my forebodings were for nought, as I felt him wriggle and writhe under my command and rammed my rudder in there till I hit the sexual pulse of his being, like a mighty galleon hitting the raging seas. I saw his eyes glaze over, and his cock leak its precum juice and his mouth watering as if I was only whetting his appetite, and he was ready for all the meat I could give him. And the more he moaned and groaned and dug his nails into me and tore at my hair, the harder and stronger I grew. Yet in the middle of all this seeming brutality, there was a tender thread of loving feeling. An umbilical cord of rapture. For I knew we were both marching to the same drummer and making sweet music together. I forgot all my sexual hang ups. All my fears about fire and brimstone. Because I knew I was his fire and he was my brimstone and that we were forging a bond between us that could not be broken.

In a way we'd both come from the same background and found sexual unity together. All that in our first fuck. Just as he'd turned on the light at the very moment I, too, was longing to cast my eyes on him. Just as he'd extended his dick to my extended hand. Just as we'd both wanted to see the same satisfaction on each other's face. Just as somehow we knew we were meant to meet when we met. Just the same did we know what we wanted from each other sexually, for we fucked as one though not a word of guidance was given. Destiny had decreed we were one even before we knew each other. And we came as one, and we kissed as one, and we wrapped our bodies around each other as one, and fell into a blissful singular sleep.

Of course came the dawn we were faced with the reality of possible separation for a while. He had to face up to his parents and make a difficult choice. But choices are much easier when you know you've got somebody in the world who loves you and trusts you and can't wait to build a life with you. And that's how it was between us right from the very start, even if we weren't immediately aware of it. Parting is such sweet sorrow. He's been gone for nearly two weeks now and my heaven has turned to a well of loneliness. I know he's coming back, and I know I can look after him and help him grow in whatever direction he wants to go. In my mind's eye I see him sitting at the top of the stairs each time I come home. I wonder how long it's going to be before he'll be here for good. I also wonder what my neighbour is going to say when she sees us hand in hand together. Maybe I'd better move out and find us some place bigger. Maybe not. Anyway I'm definitely going to keep that single bed.