Tamely Told

06: Sicilian Sausage

I'd met him on a spring break getaway to Italy a few years ago. Sicily, in fact. I'd tried various sausages with cream, until his had become the only one I needed. He still didn't speak a lick of English, while I didn't speak a lick of Italian. But lick, I did. Every. Single. Time. What a nice thing to have when coming here on vacation. I visited as often as I could, mostly him. What could I say? He captivated me and made me all his. Now, here we were around a wall of large rocks at the sunlit seacoast with no one near us to witness anything. The crashing waves couldn't compare to the crash of our passion. On my bare knees, I worked my tongue while gazing deeply into his dark eyes, my arms high enough to circle his nipples with my thumbs. He was usually silent, but the steady breathing told me everything. Eventually, he grunted softly as his warning, and it was my cue to be greedy with his warm love and not let any of it go to waste. He loved when I did this, our main activity whenever I came here. Meanwhile, I loved when he rewarded me with lying on the white sand with me the way most men didn't do. Naked we were, in each other's arms. His affection was everything to me, the ultimate finale. We might have not understood each other in speech.

But we did in body and heart.