It was Easter and I'd been invited to a friend's house for lunch. I wasn't really keen on going as there would be far too many people present for my liking. You see my friend Martina is Italian, and Easter lunch means inviting the whole family which can be anything up to fifteen people. Still there would be the traditional roast lamb, and she had two cute sons. One nineteen, the other twenty-one. Also she sent the cutest one to pick me up, so I couldn't very well not go.

He arrived with his cousin Antoine from Paris. Martina's sister had married a French guy. Must have been very good-looking too if his son was anything to go by. He nearly put Alain Delon to shame. Perhaps you're too young to remember Alain Delon, or haven't even seen any of his movies. Or if you have, you've forgotten. Anyway, take my word for it, Antoine was someone you would never forget once you met him. He was some dish, I can tell you, and I have always liked French food. I wondered how long he would be staying. Not that it made any difference. He was twenty-two and I was forty-two, so there wasn't much future in that. Also he was my best friend's nephew, and one doesn't do that sort of thing. Or does one?

I'd had quite enough trouble keeping my hands off her two sons without complicating the equation. You see I'm a photographer and she'd asked me to take photos of the cute one for his twenty- first birthday. The photos were great and would have been even greater if I'd peeled a few more layers off him but one doesn't do that sort of thing to one's best friend's son. Or does one? Anyway, lunch was great. Noisy and overcrowded, but great, and we all had far too much to eat and drink.

Of course I wanted Antoine for dessert. God, how I wanted him. Every time he looked at me, my dick shouted for joy. Thank God, I was sitting down. I had to force myself not to look in his direction. Someone was bound to notice the effect he was having on me. Then, over coffee, out came the photos I'd taken of David, and of course everyone was telling David just how good-looking he was and congratulating me on my photos. Compliments all round.

Antoine said he wanted to get work as a model in Paris and would dearly love me to take some shots of him, but his train left at 6.30. My heart leapt. My studio was a stone's throw from the station. I could easily take some before he left. Only problem was how to get him there without David spoiling the fun. Naturally, he offered to drive me back home and wait till the photo session was over to take his cousin to the station. Divine intervention played a part here. One of the lunch guests said he was going right by my place and would drop us off. No problem. Still it was already after four, so that gave me little more than an hour or so to take the photos.

I thanked Martina for the delicious lunch, then had to wait impatiently for Antoine to kiss every member of the family before we left. I felt guilty as hell as I wasn't doing a very good job containing my excitement. The first thing Antoine said to me as he looked around the studio was, "Don't worry. I can catch a later train." Obviously my anxiety was beginning to show or maybe he liked the look of my place and had decided to stay. I breathed a silent sigh of relief because I would have been in a constant state of agitation knowing how little time I had to produce good results.

He, on the other hand, was marvellously relaxed and chic. It was a cold Easter that year, and he was wearing a heavy woollen sweater. It was white, high necked and with zips in every direction you could imagine. He also had one of those Matrix coats. Long, black and open in front. He took off the coat and sat on my high black stool. Obviously done this before, I thought. I started with some headshots. The sweater had an interesting collar which set off his excellent cheek bones. I always like to follow lines and echo them in some way. Actually it's my trade mark and people recognize my work from it. Lines or contrasts. It makes the photos that much more interesting.

I took a number of headshots with the collar and then asked him to unzip the sweater a bit. He obliged. I saw the beginnings of a black tattoo on his right shoulder and asked him if he'd unzip it a bit more. He did. Eventually, the thing began to fall of its own accord, first off his shoulders, and then off his chest. I kept shooting. He wasn't wearing anything underneath, so I got some hot shots. I asked him if I could take some torso shots of him. He agreed. I took some great torso shots then thought it might be good if he put on the Matrix coat while he was still bare chested. He had tight fitting black pants so the effect was stunning. We were getting on like a house on fire.

I asked him if he'd like a drink, and he said, "Later." He didn't talk much. He let the pictures talk for him, and I saw the makings of a great model. Or a porno star. The way he unzipped that sweater, and let it fall here, there and everywhere, really turned me on. He did it so naturally and yet with such seductive charm. He just let it fall at will, looking directly into the camera with what I can only call a so-what-are-you-going-to-do-about-it expression on his face. I knew what I wanted to do about it, but I was being professional, and he was my best friend's nephew, after all. Then I asked him to drop the pants and pose in the coat. He looked me straight in the eye and said, "I don't wear underwear. I don't feel comfortable in it. I much prefer the feel of silk or leather next to my skin."

Well that really got me hot, I can tell you, but all I said was, "Pity. Underwear shots are all the rage at the moment."

By then he had obligingly removed his pants and stood before me with the coat still open down the front. I suggested he close it a little. "Why?" was his answer. "Let's see how they turn out. They might be great." His dick wasn't erect or anything, but I tried not to look at it as I fiddled a bit with the lights just to make sure his pubic properties were a little more in shadow. That way you could see and yet you couldn't. Contrasts again. Then we had a break. My hands were cold and shaking, my dick hot and hard.

His, however, seemed very much at rest. It was 6.25. By now he should have been on his train to Paris. He asked me if he could call his father. That question was a real dick downer as I thought of what his father might do to me if he could read the erotic thoughts going round in my head.

He came back smiling. " It's ok," he said. "I'm going to get the night train. My father's meeting me in the morning." He looked at me. "How are we doing? Got enough photos of me?" I had taken enough to make ten erotic calendars, but I could still have taken a hundred or two more. "You got a kitchen here?" he asked as he turned and took off his Matrix coat. "I can make a great crepe suzette. It'll make your mouth water." My mouth was already watering.

I'd just got a glimpse of his gorgeous butt as he hung his coat on the back of the door. "After all we had for lunch?" I said.

"I'm a growing boy," was his reply, and he turned round. "Take a look." I took a look. His dick was pointing to the sky, and it was pointing high.

"Forget the crepe suzette!" I said, and was down on him in a flash. What more invitation did I need? He was hot and horny, and so was I. Gee, it tasted good. Even better than the roast lamb. When I'd finished the meat course, I started on his hot cross buns. After all it was Easter! They tasted good, too.

I let my hands run the whole length of his full frontal and licked the platter clean. There was a fine line of black hair running down his back which disappeared into his white butt. Contrasts, again. I sure as hell wanted to enter that station! He must have been reading my mind. "You can fuck me if you like," he said. "Don't worry, I won't tell my aunt. I won't tell anyone. I've wanted you inside me ever since I set eyes on you." I didn't hesitate a moment longer, happy to take him up on his invitation. My train entered that tunnel in a flash and almost went clear through to the other side.

He let out groans and obscenities in three languages: French, Italian and English. I speak, and therefore understand, all three, but French has always been my favourite language to fuck in. All those velvety vowels, and the famous throaty "r", which we Anglo-Saxons find so difficult to produce. A real turn on. They give you just the extra stimulus you need to get you further up a French guy's ass.

And the more arrogant he is the more you want to make him grovel until you have him weeping for your dick, and crying for mercy at the same time. You see what I mean about contrasts. Antoine's shaft was long and sensual, just like him, and he had great suction power. He soon drew the very juice out of me. I was spent.

"Should have met you twenty years ago," I cried as I stretched out on the divan.

"You did great," he said as he knelt down and kissed me. His dick was still reaching for the sky. "I want to fuck you, now," he said.

"Are you a top or a bottom?" I quipped. "Make up your fucking mind."

"I'm everything with you," he said.

So we were off again. Now it was my turn to grovel and scream for more. I stuck my butt in the air like a bitch in heat, ground it down on his groin, and sucked the juice out of him.

"God that was good." I breathed.

"I know." was his modest reply.

"You French are really something." I said. " So cocksure."

"That's because we're sure of our cocks. Something you Anglo-Saxons are not." I didn't have an answer to that one.

We showered and had a light supper. No crepe suzette, but never mind. He promised me that if I brought the photos to Paris real soon, we could "suzette" every day. I took a photo of his dick so that I had something to remember him by. Then it was time to take him to the station. Hell, I was so tempted to climb on that train and fuck the shit out of him all the way to Paris. Still wonder why I didn't. I think too much that's my problem.

His last words surprised me. "Be good to David. He likes you. He's gay, too. Just afraid to show it, that's all. Remember the door's open. You only have to try the handle." He left me standing there wondering why I hadn't noticed that myself. I certainly liked David, too. Just feared the consequences, as per fucking usual. I was too worried his mother would find out. I wondered if I'd ever find the courage.

"Why not?" I thought. "You'll never know till you try." I couldn't wait to take some more photos of him. Go all the way this time. After all why let a good butt go to waste. Maybe I should have asked Antoine to lend me his white sweater.