When I got to the altar, I laid Clint down on it and undressed him. He was a beautiful blond youth of no more than twenty. He had been considered somewhat of a child prodigy and had received his doctorate in archaeology at the tender age of eighteen. I had been left with the impression that he was all study and no play, but when I got his clothes off, I saw that he must have had good exercise, because his body, although lithe, was well-muscled. Not overly so, but enough to have posed for Michelangelo. And when his eyeglasses came off, his face looked angelically handsome. I knew that there would be men who preferred much younger-looking men who would ache to get their cocks inside him. His cock was small but was perfectly formed and was in proportion to his balls. There were men, I knew, who would much appreciate this too. Because we had been working under the African sun for nearly two months, his torso and legs halfway up his thigh were deeply tanned. His upper thighs and pelvis, and his nicely rounded butt cheeks, however, were a creamy white. The whiteness of his pelvis served to spotlight the youthful sex of him.

He lay on his back, breathing hard and trying to suppress his fearful whimpering, as I undressed. I fiddled around in a pocket of my shorts and came up with a small tube of lubricant and a condom packet and held these up for him to see.

“I came prepared, as you can see,” I said.

He answered with a nervous and uncertain laugh.

I then stood up to the altar at his feet and slowly pulled him down to me by his calves and then his thighs. I opened his legs and positioned them on my shoulders, and then I stroked his inner thighs with my fingers . . .