When Fortune Smiles by Callan Smith
Date: May 22, 2022

Fortune smiled on me twice last week. I got to collect a hefty cheque that had been owing to me for ten months and I also got to check out this great guy. He was stacking trays in a cafe'. He was well-stacked too and real tall, with an Adrien Brody nose. I couldn't cash the cheque immediately as the bank was closed for lunch so I dropped by what we call a 'tavola calda' in Italy. It's the equivalent of your 'diner' I suppose. That's how I met Salvatore. He was completely absorbed in cleaning his pile of trays so didn't even notice me. He was putting all his energy into it and wiping them off, top and bottom, with a damp cloth. Strange how some normal everyday tasks can set you off on exotic trips of fantasy. They set me off anyway. Probably have the same effect on you too.

I decided to frequent the place more often. Next time, he was behind the bar serving coffee but with the same enormous energy and dexterity. He had me wondering what he'd be like in the sack and what it would take to get him there. Having an English accent sometimes helps although it doesn't always work. Also, letting your potential tricks know you're a talent scout or a casting director but there's something awful corny about that approach and anyway most guys don't fall for it anymore. Or if they want money up front. Such are the signs of today's times. Of course, on the third or fourth visit he actually acknowledged me which meant either he was interested or had accepted me as a regular customer. Or maybe both. So, I persevered and started leaving larger than usual tips. That also works sometimes. One afternoon I timed my visit with his coffee break. I sat patiently outside where you pay more for your drink but can also watch eye candy go by. He came outside to smoke as it's forbidden in most restaurants over here. Before he could light up, I'd offered him one of mine. I don't indulge myself but always carry a pack with me. Another ploy to help you get your boy. He accepted. I got a good look at his luscious legs and buns but his jeans buckled up in front. I couldn't work out if this was due to an excess of material outside or an excess of man flesh inside. Still we soon got into conversation which broke the ice a bit and served as a good foundation for the next time I saw him. Which was after he got off work one day. I'd timed that too.

There was a theatre next door and I was coming out after a matinee so it seemed quite natural to invite him for a drink some place other than where he worked. It was 'happy hour' and nobody could have been happier than me to get him finally in my clutches. Or at least halfway there. Naturally, he asked me what I did for a living so I told him and embellished things a bit by adding that I was casting a short. He laughed and said did I need anyone 'long' for my 'short' so I said why not and gave him my card. Naturally, I always carry a pack of those around with me too. Sprats to catch mackerels. I invited him to come to my studio on his day off which turned out to be the very next day. I knew that ahead of time too. Strike while the mackerel is hot, I always say!

He expressed doubts as to whether he'd be suitable as he didn't speak very good English and also said he didn't know if he'd have the time. But I knew my mackerel was hooked and that it was up to me to get him aboard and eventually flailing and threshing on my bed or the studio floor. After all I'd put a lot of thought and energy into 'casting' my fishing line (or rod) and wanted him to put the maximum energy into using his which I someone instinctively knew he would. It's just that mutual fantasies aren't built in a day and you can burst a lot of delicate bubbles if you're not careful.

I started weaving a whole delicate fabric of fanciful tales and told him the movie was set in Venice and we were looking for a gondolier. It would only be a few days work for which he'd be well paid and maybe he could get time off. There wouldn't be much speaking but there would probably be a love scene. Nobody as famous as Nicole Kidman but she'd definitely be beautiful and I mentioned the name of a young up-and-coming Italian actress to give him some idea and also some extra stimulus although of course by now he didn't need it. I also pointed out that he wasn't absolute guaranteed the part but that he'd be paid for the audition.

I'd learned from past experience never to get myself into too tight a corner and that while rough sexuality and extraordinary male beauty can sometimes go hand in hand they can often lead to a black eye and a broken nose, or worse, if your model isn't adequately compensated for his pains. But for me it was always better and more exciting than hiring a male escort. And underpaid guys like Salvatore always wanted to earn an 'easy buck.' They were even willing to fuck, or be fucked, and often came back for more although, once again, you had to be careful and 'screen' them well.

He was late for our first appointment so naturally I started thinking he wasn't coming. I'd gathered together some props such as the striped Venetian shirt and hat with red ribbon but really, I wanted him as naked as I could get him and as aroused as I could make him. So, I'd littered the place with magazines of girls in all the positions I eventually wanted to get him in. Mind you, I usually stop short of videos as they tend to distract my subjects and I like them looking straight at the camera and giving me all their attention. However, I always have lots of cigarettes and scotch on hand.

He didn't even apologise for being late but looked so drop dead gorgeous that I was happy to have him there so didn't say anything. I showed him books containing photos of my work. Naturally I'd selected quite run-of-the-mill shots of the men and given much more space to the most provocative female models. I told him I was going to take some digital photos of him as he was and then move on to some in the Venetian garb and that we could look at them on my computer and then maybe I'd take some more. He agreed. Of course, I was looking forward for the 'in-between' shots when he got to take his shirt off although it was great to see him in some stylish clothes instead of the ubiquitous white shirt and black pants of a waiter. I took my time and knew I probably wouldn't keep even five per cent of the first photos but, just like Rome wasn't built in a day, a straight man's defences aren't always so quickly broken down either. Still, over the years, I've noticed that their vanity generally wins out in the end and they get turned on by being in front of the camera and are usually willing to show more, especially if they have good bodies, and Salvatore most definitely had a good body.

He responded very well to my instructions too and highly approved of the shots I'd taken. As he took off his shirt to get into his Venetian get-up I asked him if I could take a few torso shots as the girls seemed to like those and I wanted to show some to the one he'd be working with. He agreed. That's when I was glad my camera was on a tripod. He had a swimmer's body. Broad shoulders and an endless expanse of uninterrupted muscle from stem to stern. A long smooth/hard distance from his pecs to his pack. I could already imagine my tongue surfing all the way down there to his dick. Naturally I asked him for the classic pose, thumbs inside Calvin's, so I/we could see a bit of pubic hair and then we stopped for a drink and a cigarette. Of course, as soon as he was stretched out and nicely relaxed in his chair, I took some more shots of him and told him he reminded me of Beckham. One compliment led to another and I soon had him posing in his underwear. It was only a few steps from there and a few scotches later that I had him naked as nature and Callan Smith had intended.

By then he was all too aware his poses were bordering on the porno but was all too excited to stop. I told him there was a market for centrefolds and he could make a packet showing his packet. I added that we could vet the photos together afterwards and that I would erase any that might compromise him. I must say I had a bit of difficulty doing that, as well as finding the right words in Italian, but I eventually managed to put his mind, but fortunately not his dick, to rest.

I've already told you about his torso but his dick was something else. You've probably already cum to that conclusion yourself by now. I mean the distance from his neck to his navel and the length of his nose and all that. You didn't have to be a clairvoyant to see that coming. I mean the writing was on the wall and the evidence is now on my own personal computer. Albeit on a different program to the one I showed him. I mean I really couldn't bring myself to erase some of those fabulous photos. It would have been tantamount to destroying a great work of art.

By the way, I used a big word like that to mentally prepare you for the size of his huge cock which got even huger as he drew back the foreskin over the pink shining bulb of its mushroom head. It was dripping slightly now which only made the sight of it more exciting. Quality not quantity has always been my maxim but Sal's dick made me water at the mouth. I immediately started playing with words again although what I really wanted to do was play with his cock. You will maybe have noticed that I reduced his name to Sal, as in saliva or salivate, but there was no way I could reduce the size of that cock. Not that I wanted to.

So, I asked him if he'd mind turning around so I could take some butt shots. Told him girls liked those too but I knew it was no good pretending anymore. I knew and he knew that I just wanted to check out his ass and see whether his B-side was on a par with the rest of him although I already knew quite well that it was. His crack was completely hairless, and the asshole was delicious - the anus muscles well-developed, ringing the hole itself and throwing it prominently out almost like a tiny miniature volcano. My dick had become a raging volcano itself. It was so hard it felt as though I was wearing a condom three times too small for it. In fact, Sal had made me so hot I feared I was going to come in my pants at any moment. Coupled with this, he was one of those male animals who exuded a powerful pungent smell when sexually aroused. A call of the wild to whatever other animals might be in the vicinity, male or female. My burgeoning male and female hormones were fighting a losing battle for supremacy. I wanted to fuck and be fucked by him, at one and the same time, and I'd grown tired of caressing him just with my lens. I wanted to get my hands on him.

I had a feeling he felt the same way too.

Even though neither one of us made a single move the air was bristling with sexual static.

His voice was the first to pierce the silence.

"I knew you were after my ass the moment I set eyes on you," he said in Italian.

"Did you," I said disappointed. I'd been so certain I'd been playing my cards close to my chest.

"Swore to myself I'd smash your face if you so much as laid a hand on me."

There was a long pause after this but he stayed there in front of me with his ass in the air.

I hesitated to say 'did you' again. One says the dumbest things when under sexual stress.

"Strange thing is my dick is throbbing as much as my heartbeat," he added.

I bit my lip and didn't say 'is it' either.

Besides, what he'd said sounds just wonderful in Italian.

"What about if I lay a tongue on you?" I finally said.

He didn't answer so I knelt behind him and using my tongue like a fuck-feather tentatively inserted it into his hot receptive ass. He hissed like a horny snake or a piece of porterhouse steak when you first put it on the griddle. I rimmed him a bit more letting a ribbon of spittle lubricate my entrance. He pushed his ass into my face, his butt flaps pulsing like a horny butterfly. My tongue went in for the kill and found his love button. Obviously, nobody had done that to him before and the effect was awesome. A great shudder went through him and I knew he was mine for the taking.

What follows was mostly in Italian but doesn't lose in translation as the sounds were international and mainly composed of words like 'fuck' and 'shit' and 'man' in various combinations and were a great, horny accompaniment to the ebb and super flow of our surging bodies. After my tongue had done its work, I tried with a finger. His ass opened to swallow it to the first joint, then contracted, pushing the digit out as it did so. I shoved another two foraging fingers in and awaited the desired result which was more shudders and a widening ass. This contracted a bit too when I started to work my way in there with my overheated muscle. At first, he resisted the pressure and tried to push my dick out as he had done with my finger. But my hand was free now and I wormed it under him and funnel-fucked his hot rod to distract his attention and beat down his resistance. He called me a lot of filthy rotten names in Italian but this only served to stimulate me and further turn us both on. I was determined to get command of that awesome ass. Once again, he resisted and put up a fight but this was followed by the mind and butt-boggling moment when his ass gave in and the head of my cock slipped through, and then there was the long, lovely slide into him until my bush met with his balls.

We remained still for a moment and then those well-developed anus muscles I was telling you about gripped my dick and the tiny miniature volcano began to erupt and turn into a churning crater. He was like a bucking bronco at the rodeo and it took all the strength I had to stay in the saddle and ride him to the finishing post. He bucked and I fucked. I pummelled and pounded him and then went deep diving into him. There were a lot of mirrors in the studio and at one point I caught sight of the two of us. We looked for all the world like two horny sea-horses on the crest of a rising wave and the expression on his face was living proof that I was giving him the fuck of a lifetime. I was giving myself the fuck of a lifetime too. I'd never been so turned on or so proud of myself. When I first saw him wiping those trays in the restaurant, I never for one moment imagined that I'd be putting more than twice that amount of energy into wiping the floor with Salvatore's butt.

He confessed to me afterwards that he'd never been fucked in the ass although he was curious as to how it felt as he did it to his girl-friend all the time. He also confessed that he'd fucked a few boys in his time too but that he'd never considered himself gay. Now he wasn't so sure. So, I apologised for 'leading him astray' but said that the sight of his pouting pucker had been too much to resist. I also confessed that the photo session was a put-up job but he said he knew that already. Also, that he wanted some of the photos. I said I couldn't wait to see him in his Venetian outfit and asked him to come back for another shoot. Which reminds me I haven't told you he came like a fire-hydrant and covered my studio mirrors with his cum. But you've probably read that sort of thing so many times.

Next session I think I'll put him in a Venetian mask so he can stop worrying about me posting full frontals of him on the net although I would never do that without his permission which is why my story is illustrated by another guy. He's similar in face but not quite so large in the dick department although there are some great cum shots of him. Also, he's a nose-to-nose ringer for Adrien Brody. Now there's someone I'd like to come for a photo session! Wishful thinking, I know. Fortune may have smiled on me twice but that would be stretching things a bit too far. Which reminds me, I can't wait for Salvatore to come back and personally 'illustrate' to me how he fucks his girl friend in the ass. I want to look in the mirror and see how he makes me feel. But I think I know that already.

Anyway, I'll keep you posted.