Wog Boys

When I make comments regarding Italians I, of course, am not talking about them Northern blondie types (spit to the ground) No siree Bob! (practically Scandinavian in my way of thinking) I'm talking black hair, olive skin, dark eyes, smouldering looks. The types who's great grandmothers were raped by the Turks.

Them dark hooded-worms with minds of their own still get me where I live. Oompa, Oompa! That fine turn of cheek, both upper and lower, that an Italian boy masters from the age of, now let me see, a young Italian man has a peculiar beauty not found in any other race on God's earth. That fine bone structure, that twinkle of eye, that trouser monster type of walk... Italian girls must be the luckiest bitches on this earth. No wonder they're always smiling with the genes in their men folk's jeans.

"Wop it to me again, TONY! Put them thick, hairy thighs to good use!"

All I'll say is, GOD LOVE THEM WOG BOYS. Ma nature knew what she was doing when she made them. I just want to roll around in the mould like a sweaty little piggy on heat. Where do you think the original wog boy mould would be kept? Mount Sinai? Like a mummy case transformed into a club for one. Could you imagine being inside one of them and floating around in their juices? Drenching every pore, curing what ails ya. (Like a sexual Being John Malcovitch) Amyl anyone? He, he, he.

I know, I know, I've heard that it is about to be classified as a mental illness. Right behind foreskin insistence. (Give me none of those pasty skinned befreckled Frenchy types. A stand must be taken!)

But that being said, I am taken right now with all things Athenian... his stomach is flat, he has those beautiful lines marking out each side of his abdomen. Black hair, green eyes, olive skin. Yum! His torso flowers into the most beautiful chest I have ever seen; stomach and chest covered in the downy hair, natch. His nipples are like strawberries and with one tug his eyes glaze over and his heat, intensity, bumps up many notches. His face flushes a gorgeous pink and his eyes turn all dewy as his lips part gently to receive mine. As he lays on top of me and we kiss and our hard cocks rub together, as his abs gently caress mine (I wish) sometimes my breath is clean taken away.

He smells good, he tastes good, he's so very good.

And apparently, he only has eyes for him...um...me. So there you go.

Which brings us to a little history lesson, namely the daughter of emperor Augustus, Julia the Elder. She bedded half the virile youths of first-century Rome. Now there's a girl to be admired. Imagine all those togas and Roman sausage. If you laid them out end to end, I wonder how many kilometres they would cover? It makes me fair shiver just thinking about it. Apparently, her life time tally is recorded at 80,000 young (Italian) men. I think I need a lie down.