There's an old saying, "See Naples and Die," which sounds rather ominous, but that was not Johann Wolfgang Von Goethe's intention. He meant that before you die you must experience the beauty and magnificence of Naples. But in our case, the more sinister meaning was closer to the truth.

This particular day was a beautiful late October one, the sun shining on the Bay of Naples and Vesuvius across the way. A dark pillar of steam rose from the volcano opposite. I got a glimpse of this view from my third floor room in a cheap hotel on a side street. If I looked down, all I could see was line after line of washing stretched across the street by the inhabitants of the apartments surrounding the hotel.

It was a good day for sight-seeing, and I intended taking in Vesuvius up close as well as the ruins of Herculaneum, a resort town buried at the same time as Pompeii. I picked up my little Eumig 8mm movie camera and headed down to the lobby.

I was still in the lobby, looking over tourist brochures on the rack there, when a young man approached me.

"Hey there," he said, smiling. "You American?" From his accent, it was obvious that he was. He was about 19, with blondish short-cut hair, a nice-looking kid, ten years or more younger than I. Call me a pervert if you like, but my eyes went immediately to his crotch. He looked to be well-packed in that area for a young kid.

"No, I'm Canadian," I told him.

"Close enough," he smiled. "At least you speak English. I'm getting tired of trying to speak Italian all the time. What you up to?"

"Off seeing the sights today," I told him. "Heading to Vesuvius and Herculaneum."

"What's Herculaneum?" he asked>

"It was a resort town in Roman times," I explained to him. "It got buried when Vesuvius exploded."

"Sounds interesting," he commented. "Mind if I tag along? I'm sick of my own company." I knew how he felt. You tend to get that way travelling alone in strange places.

"Sure," I said. "I could do with some company. I'm Joe," I told him.

"and I'm Billy," he responded, and we shook hands.

During the walk to the station and the twenty minute train trip south, I learned a little about my young blonde. Billy was part Italian, from Brooklyn. He had been holidaying with his grandparents - his mother's parents - who lived in the north, near Venice, but had convinced them he was mature enough to go touring Italy by himself. As I had guessed, he was nineteen, taking a year out of school, having graduated high school and done a year of preparatory courses at a regional college. He was vacillating between medicine and pharmacy. This year would help him decide.

I asked him whether he had a girlfriend, hoping he would tell me he was gay, but he skirted the issue by saying that there was no time for serious relationships in his life at this time.

Unfortunately, this was not fated to be Billy's day, as you will hear, but I would make it up to him in the end - nice guy that I am!

A shuttle bus from the little square in front of the station at Ercolano Scavi took us the the chair lift at the base of Vesuvius about 10 minutes away. Billy and I paid the small fee, and clambered aboard. I was rather awkward getting on and off, not being used to chair lifts, never having been ski-ing in my life. Even at the lower elevations a miasma of sulphorous fumes polluted the air and partly obscured the sky. At the top the smoke and fumes were even denser, and there was a sort of twilight gloom and an oppressive heat.

The crater rim was a lifeless, blue-black world of ash and cinders and steam and sulphorous fumes. Roped paths guided visitors around the crater, with signs in several languages warning of the dangers. It was on the lip of the crater that Billy's bad day really began.

We were posing at the edge of the drop into the maw of the volcano while a fellow visitor passing by took our photo with Billy's camera. We seemed w quite safe really, even though there was a steep drop behind us and steam escaping from the crater walls.

Without any warning, the edge of the drop where Billy stood broke away, and he slid down into the crater. The drop was steeply sloped and he ended up on another ledge, maybe only fifteen feet below, but he had tumbled over a couple of times in the descent.

As he picked himself up below, I called,

"Are you OK?"

"Think I've got a few cuts and scrapes" he replied, "but other than that, I'm alright."

He carefully crawled back up the crater wall-face, often slipping on the loose cinder material. When he reached the top, we both checked him over carefully. He had grazes on both wrists and hands where he had tried to stop his descent on the rocks, and the leg of his jeans was ripped in the thigh area. His thigh looked to have a gash in in from some sharp outcropping, but it was not bleeding much, and we dabbed at it with a handkerchief until it stopped bleeding completely.

We had seen and smelled enough of the volcano by now, and made our way back to the chairlift for the descent to the shuttle bus and back to the station.

We had a light lunch in a trattoria close to station before hiking down the hill to the arch which was the entryway to the excavations of ancient Herculaneum. The gash on Billy's leg was still bleeding , but not too badly. There was a small farmacia right beside the shop where we ate, and I bought a cheap gauze bandage, thinking maybe we could wrap Billy's leg in a washroom somewhere. Of course, the thought that I might get a glimpse of the ample goodies he was hiding in his jeans didn't enter my mind. Who am I kidding?

The excavations at the site were impressive by their very size alone. They extended over several acres, some 30 feet and more below the level of the current town, so deep had they been buried by the volcanic ash. It was like looking down into the past.

At the gates, we paid our small entry fee and also bought a cheap and rather lurid paper guide from a street vendor. The guide looked to have been written to emphasize the shocking and the sensational rather than the historic, especially since the museum inside the excavations was mounting a display this fall of erotica associated with both Herculaneum and Pompeii.

When we descended to street level of the ancient city, it was even more impressed on us how deep this place had been buried. We had to look up steep banks of the excavations to see the modern city perched above us.

Billy was particularly impressed by the fact that so many had perished here in an instant, and been buried for centuries to be excavated and opened to the public view in modern times. We wandered around the streets and in and out of the buildings and areas open to the public.

There were few other visitors this day, a Wednesday, and we had been told why at the ticket booth at the gate. The excavations were normally closed to the public on Wednesdays to allow upkeep and restoration, but as they were bringing in materials from Pompeii for the upcoming exhibit, it was easier to keep the gates open. There were no guided tours, however. We had to rely on our lurid little paper guide book.

Concerning one open building, the book informed us that it was one of the many brothels scattered through the city, but this one was different. It was a male brothel, catering to both male and female customers. The book pointed out the cock and balls symbol above the lintel, and the low stone beds in most of the small rooms, and the remains of what had been a steam room, with its troughs criss-crossing the floor and stone benches around the walls.

It was in this inner room that Billy noticed that his thigh wound was bleeding once more.

"It's time to bandage that up properly," I told him. "Slip your jeans off." Yes, I know. You are thinking I just wanted to see his cock. That's true, but I really was concerned that his wound might get infected.

He seemed embarrassed about something.

"What's wrong? Are you shy? Don't worry. I've seen plenty of cocks in my life!" I told him.

"Well, it's not that so much," he admitted. "I've got a bit of a woody from thinking about being in a male brothel," he told me.

I laughed. "I'm a bit swollen myself," I confessed.

"What if someone comes?" he asked.

"Don't worry," I assured him. "We'll here them long before they get here on these stone floors."

He eventually unbuckled his belt and slid his jeans down. His nice young cock popped free. I tried to ignore it bobbing there as I kneeled and tended to his wound. I cleared the dirt away from it as best I could with spit and my handkerchief, then wrapped the gauze bandage lightly around his leg and the wound, fastening it with a piece of tape which came with the bandage. As I wrapped it around his leg, my hand brushed against his firm ball sac, and his cock got even stiffer and bobbed up and down. He was uncut, but the tightening shaft caused his foreskin to retract of its own accord, and it slid back of the bulb of his cock.

"Nice cock," I said, looking up and smiling. "Can I suck it?"

Even as I asked, his cock got harder still.

"If you want," he agreed.

"Let's get naked," I suggested. "No-one will see us. "

"OK," he agreed, and we both slipped out of the rest of our clothes.

Billy had a lovely young body, and for all his blonde hair, he was lightly furred with brown hair on his belly and crotch.

I knelt once more and kissed his cock on its lips before I took the head in my mouth gently."

"Oh, fuck," he moaned. "That's so fucking good!" I took it further into my mouth, savoring the sweet taste and scent of man-cock, sliding my face up and down on it. I kept it up until I could feel him tensing up, his balls retracting, ready to cum. I took my mouth from his cock and let the urge to cum subside.

"You want me to suck you?" he asked.

"I'd love it," I replied.

Billy got down on his knees as I stood, and we changed places. The boy teased me for a bit, sliding my foreskin back a little, spitting on the end of my dick, rubbing his tongue around the lips if my penis. Finally he opened his mouth a little and pushed his face down onto my cock, rubbing his teeth along the shaft all the way to the hilt. It was heaven.

But it was at that very instant that we heard a roar from the doorway.

"Hey! What you do, eh?"

It was one of the security guards. I thought we would hear anyone coming, but I never thought that anyone might be wearing crepe soles!

Billy and I leapt apart, aghast, and scrambled for our cast off clothes.

The guard appeared to be fuming.

"Putta your clothes on! Presto! Presto!" he demanded. There was no way out of the room, except past him, so, red-faced, we did as he ordered. Billy looked stricken. This was just not his day!

"You come with me," the guard ordered when were were dressed.

He led us back out of the building into the sunlight. There were a couple of other visitors on the street, and they looked at the three of us curiously, but then went on about their sight-seeing.

The guard marched us down the street to one of the maintenance buildings, where we expected he would call the police. He led us into this relatively modern building, probably built in the 1930s, but now crumbling like the others surrounding it. He locked the door behind him.

I thought it was to stop us from getting out, but it turned out to be to stop others from coming in.

He was a big man, well over six feet, with close cropped hair and a few days' stubble.

Turning to us, his scowl softened, and he said,

"You want to get out, you suck-a my cock, and I not call the polizia." He unzipped, and flipped out a very large uncut cock.

"No," Billy objected, "I can't!"

"Sure you can," I told him. "I'll go first,"

"Fretta, fretta," insisted the guard. He was looking anxious, and I presumed he meant get on with it.

I did as he ordered and kneeled in front of him. Billy followed my lead.

As I leaned toward the man's cock, I could smell the warm man-smells of male genitals - sweat, and piss, and head-cheese. It made me hungry for man-meat. I opened my mouth and drove my face down onto his member, then closed around it, sucking and tonguing.

"Ah! Buono! Buono! Good!" the guard exclaimed. I gave his cock my undivided attention for a couple of minutes, until he pushed my head away.

"Now the blonde boy," he demanded, shoving his crotch toward Billy, who rather reluctantly took the man's prick into his mouth. Once he had started work on the man's cock, however, he quickly warmed to the task, and was soon giving him an enthusiastic blow-job.

The man gave a huge bellow as he came into Billy's mouth. He shot a huge load, evidenced by the cum dribbling from the edges of Billy's mouth as he endeavored to swallow it all.

Finished, he zipped up his fly, while Billy wiped the remaining cum from his chin with a tissue.

"Vieni," he motioned, "Come." He unlocked the door and led us out into the sunshine once more. The shadows were lengthening. The day was wearing on.

I thought for sure he was taking us to the police, but he led us not to the gates, but to the museum building where the erotica display was to be exhibited. There were armed guards at the doorway, protecting the treasures inside, but our guard spoke to them briefly, nodding toward us. The two armed guards gave us big smiles and waved us on.

"I tell them you are New York professori," he explained. "I show you the very sexy exhibit."

And so Billy and I got a guided tour of the exotica exhibit before anyone else, before it was packed up and sent on a world tour, to London and New York.

The guard was particularly proud of three pieces:

The first was actually the painstaking reproduction of a mural. It was a portrayal of a sit-fuck, with a man lying on a bed with another person, maybe male, maybe female, sits on his erect penis and satisfies them both.

The second was the famous Drunken Hercules, a large statue of the riotous hero, either drunk or insane. His erect penis had once been a waterspout for a fountain, but was now mostly broken away.

And the final piece, from nearby Pompeii, was the infamous Pan Fucking a Goat which was to cause such a controversy in later years when it was displayed in London and New York.

When he had shown us the exhibit, our guard led us back to the main gates, indicating that it was close to closing time. It was in fact, after 5 o'clock. By the time we had climbed the hill back up to the station, it was closer to six, and the sun was close to setting.

The square in front of the station was in deep gloom from the shadows of the surrounding buildings. As we crossed the square, a group of children, maybe a dozen of them, the oldest maybe twelve or thirteen, danced out of the shadows and surrounded us. We thought they were playing at first, but then they started begging. I had heard of the groups of street urchins. Scugnizzi, they call them. They are roving groups of child robbers, tiny thugs. Before I could even warn Billy, who had pulled out his wallet to give them some small notes, they were upon him, dragging him down and tearing his wallet from his grip. . The sheer weight of them forced him to the ground. Then they began kicking him.

I went to his rescue, and they turned on me. I was still carrying my little camera. Although small, the camera body was made of cast pot-metal. It had a fairly solid hand grip on the top. I swung this at one of my attackers hard. I heard and felt it crunch into the child's face, and bone splintering. He let out a terrible scream, and they all stopped. They grabbed the screaming boy, and all dispersed into the shadows, and we were alone again. To this day, I still can hear the crunch as that camera hit that child's cheekbone.

I helped Billy to his feet, and we hobbled into the station, where in broken Italian it told the station-master what had happened. In broken English, he told me that there was not much to be done about it. By the time the polizia would arrive the scugnizzi would have disappeared .

So Billy was out about fifty dollars, one wallet, and some dignity. Luckily, most of his valuables were locked in the hotel safe. I was luckier. My camera seemed to be still in working order.

Back in Naples, we stopped for a meal at a ristorante close to the hotel, but it was not till we were safely inside the hotel, and had climbed the stairs to the third floor, where we both had rooms, that Billy felt safe from this bad day.

He headed down the hall to his room, while I unlocked mine and went inside. I had no sooner closed the door behind me, than there was knocking on the door. "Joe! Joe!" Billy was calling.

I opened the door.

"My room's been broken into!" he exclaimed. I followed him down the hall to his room. Sure enough, the door lock had been smashed, and Billy's belongings were strewn everywhere.

"What did they steal?" I asked. He rummaged around.

"Nothing much, as far as I can tell," he said. "Most of my valuables are in the hotel safe."

We reported the break-in to the clerk at the front desk, who in turn reported it to the polizia, who said they would investigate "tomorrow or the next day" as there was nothing of value taken and no-one hurt.

But there was no way Billy was sleeping in that room.

"Can I sleep with you?" he asked. You don't really think I would turn down a boy in need, do you?

Of course, it was some time before we got round to doing any sleeping.

When Billy felt my hard-on underneath the sheets, he immediately wanted to suck it. While he gobbled on my cock, we both finger-fucked each other's assholes.

"I've never fucked a guy," he confided in me. "But I have been fucked."

"Do you want to try fucking me?" I asked. I didn't mind if he fucked me, but what I really wanted was to fuck his young ass.

"You bet" he replied.

I found some lube in my knapsack, and returned to the bed. I lubed his dick and my ass. I propped myself up against the pillows and lifted my legs in the air.

"Like this," I told him. When he closed it to enter me, I lowered my legs onto his shoulders. His long, slim penis went into me easily.

"Oh, man, that feels good," he murmured.

"Sure does," I agreed, while he slowly pushed in then pulled out again, repeatedly. Resting on his arms and knees, he could reach his face forward to my face and we could kiss and lick each other as we fucked.

It didn't take him long to cum inside me. After he had pulled out of me, he assured me, "You can do me, now, if you like." I liked.

We changed places, and I did him in very much the same way he had done me — the first time. The second time I fucked him that night, we were spooned together, he curled against me, my dick buried in him. And we did it like that again the next morning.

So we saw Naples, and we didn't die, but things did get pretty nasty at times. And Billy may have had a bad day up till then, but as I have said, I made it up to him in the end. Yes, I know it's a bad double entendre, but it's the truth, and Billy loved it - every inch of it!

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