Tedi lusts for the macho butcher Giacobbe Vanzetti, and he just might taste that meat in the end! That’s cuz Signor Vanzetti needs a soft, warm touch, which Tedi is eager to provide. Can Tedi handle that much meat?
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The Vanzetti butcher shop was on Costenoga Boulevard in downtown Seaside Heights, near the ocean but far enough away the crashing waves were only barely audible at night. It was a tiny shop with a big window out front and a display case piled high with sausages, steaks, cutlets and premade beef wellingtons. A heaping jar of Vanzetti family ragu sat in the case as well. Everyone in the neighborhood swore it was the best.
Tedi agreed. But he wasn’t here for ragu. He came to the Vanzetti butcher shop for sausage, both literal and figurative.
And for Signor Vanzetti, who was an intense sort of man, all hand gestures and beefiness, with a pushy, booming voice. He wore his butcher’s apron unbuttoned, so his curly black chest hair popped out the edges. His broad chest stretched the apron, which was stained with pale red meat juices, and his well-worked biceps were revealing by the sleeveless shirt he wore under the apron.
Some people in the neighborhood — young people, squeamish types, hipsters — complained about the armpit hair in the meat. Not Tedi. He kind of liked it. There was something viscerally appealing to it, Tedi thought.
Plus, he challenged the world to identify one solitary disease that could be spread by armpit hair.
And oh god, those were good armpits. Tedi could go to town on those. Thinking about that made Tedi hold back a giggle. He was standing outside the shop then, looking in and watching Signor Vanzetti’s muscular body work its magic. He was chopping up pork chops from a primal cut.
When Tedi came in a few minutes later, Signor Vanzetti stood at the entrance to the cold room in the back. “You lazy bum-uh!” he shouted back there. “I tell-uh-ed you what-ta do! Cut off-uh zhe rounds-eh and leave-uh zhe rest-eh!” It was obvious from his tone that he spoke to family, then he muttered, “No good-uh lazy do-fuh-nuzhin’ boy…” He sucked on his teeth.
He turned around and saw both Tedi and the steely handsome woman in front of him, whose wiry black hair protruded from her shawl. He nodded at Tedi, then said to the woman, “Signora, what can I do for you?”
“A quarter pound of chicken thighs, please,” she said. Her voice was wobbly and thready, but she had a certain steely confidence in it too. She looked up at Signor Vanzetti and quaked at his bigness.
“For you, signora, bellissima, I haff-uh saved-uh the best ones,” he said, with a grand hand gesture and a florid smile. He handed her the chicken thighs, all wrapped up in parchment paper. He winked at her.
Because Tedi stood behind the woman, he didn’t see her reaction to his wink. But it made Signor Vanzetti smile.
A deep melange of vowels came from his chest. “Eh, Signora? Come see me sometime.” He flashed a cocky middle-aged smile at her. Signor Vanzetti was a widower, but was the woman a widow as well? Tedi was unsure. Her shawl was black as though she was in mourning, but a lot of older Italian women wore black to mourn someone other than their husband. When she turned around to leave with her chicken thighs, she saw Tedi behind her and blushed like she would have behaved differently if she knew there was an audience.
But she said nothing. She just scurried out, shawl dragging behind her in the breeze out on the street. The open door sent a burst of salty ocean air into the shop, contrasting with the earthy meatiness of the display case. Then the door swung snugly shut.
The butcher shop was quiet and serene. The smell of her perfume vanished, replaced by the intense odor of male sweat and clean cold meat. More faintly, whiffs of salt and spices danced in the back of Tedi’s nostrils. The whirrs of the air conditioner and the freezer in back were the only sound.
“I’ll have a pound of the sausage links,” Tedi said. He stepped closer to the case.
“Sweet or hot?” He had a great booming voice, no trace of charm now that there was no woman in the butcher shop to seduce. He grunted at Tedi as he opened up a case of sausages. Tedi didn’t mind his brusqueness. As a keen admirer of the male form, Tedi did not crave kindness or gentility from men. He liked them gruff, rough and tough.
“Sweet,” Tedi said with a smile. “You know, if you ever want to meet a woman, you should come by Lipsweet. The bar, two blocks east. There’s a woman there named Gloria who would love you. I work there as a bartender sometimes. She’s wonderful, and you’re exactly her type, signor.”
“Really? Oh… No, no, I was only kidding-uh,” he said with another inscrutable hand gesture. “I kidduh, I kidduh. My wife-uh died only less than one yea’ ago. I must be true to her memory.” His square jaw aimed down as he chewed on his lower lip. “I will love-uh again. I have my boy to occupy my time.” He nodded towards the back. “The ungrateful bum-uh.”
Tedi nodded. “You deserve to have a little affection, Signor Vanzetti,” he said. He blushed. He took the package of sausages from Signor Vanzetti, and Tedi’s delicate fingers clutched the firm muscles of Signor Vanzetti’s forearm. He rubbed a trail up to his powerful biceps. “Don’t let it build up.”
His flesh was firm and warm, and Signor Vanzetti hesitated. Tedi waited to see if he would invite Tedi somewhere more private. He looked like he wanted to, like his dick was throbbing and demanding attention.
But he only shook his head. He thanked Tedi for his business, then went into the back again to scold his deadbeat good-for-nothing son, who was approaching thirty but still had nothing going on and no woman in his life. He didn’t explain all that to Tedi at the time, of course. It came up later.
Tedi left, and he went home. After cooking up a sausage for himself for dinner, he went out to Lipsweet to get a drink. Not alcohol, because he didn’t drink any more — he was avoiding the calories — but he liked to have seltzer and hang out.
Lipsweet was a crowded bar full of mostly men, divided into tables in corners that were unofficially designated for the different families and Italian regional identities that filled Seaside Heights. There were frequent conflicts. There was a Roman corner and a Neapolitan corner and a Genoese corner and a Puglian corner and a Calabrian corner and a Sicilian corner and a Sardinian corner, which was a lot of corners for a small square building. Plus there was a Ranzello family table tonight, a group of carpenters from Delorenzo and Sons, and a hodgepodge of darkly-clad men that Tedi suspected were mafioso, not to mention the inevitable Armenians, a handful of Greeks, Gypsies and Turks.
They spread through the tables, segregating themselves and sneaking harsh looks at each other. All of their behavior confirmed all the stereotypes of the other tables, and they all strictly defended the honor of the waitresses from the gropey fingers of the others while ignoring the gropey fingers of their own tables. Tedi liked to hang out here and watch the men flirt, and some of the women were enjoyable as well.
Tonight though, Lipsweet was quiet, and some Italian family and hangers-on had multiplied until they took up like half the bar and other groups mostly found somewhere else to drink tonight. The Cavollo family was celebrating the college graduation of one of their own, so they drank and caroused all night, as loudly and vociferously as possible.
He wasn’t lying to Signor Vanzetti — Tedi really did have a female friend, Gloria Gavalieri, who hung out here a lot. Not a lot of women came to Lipsweet except for waitresses and prostitutes, and there was a lot of overlap between those two groups. Gloria was neither. She just liked men, especially Italian men. She was over at a table in a corner right now with another woman whose name escaped Tedi’s recall. They giggled like hags as they looked over the men of the bar and judged the merit of the Cavollos.
That’s when he saw Giacobbe Vanzetti enter.
He cleaned up well, his salt-and-pepper hair slicked back. He wore an old-fashioned suit that was too small for him — he likely had only ever worn one suit, and that was it — and his tie was crooked. He looked awkward, like he thought someone was going to tell him he had to leave because he hadn’t mourned his dead wife long enough, and as soon as the door behind him swung shut, he made a face like he regretted coming here.
Before Tedi could get to him, Haykh Gregarian approached him. He was a tall slim man in a fine suit, a straightlane with a crooked nose and one swollen ear, walking across the bar floor with a herky-jerky step like he resented the universe for inventing the concept of distance. The ever-present bluetooth headset in his ear was connected to his “boys” — cousins, supposedly, dubiously — the Armenians who ran Lipsweet and, most importantly, ran the women of Lipsweet. Haykh’s father owned this bar, and many of the prostitutes here worked for Haykh. Or all of them, probably. No doubt a prostitute was exactly what Haykh offered to Signor Vanzetti, but Tedi was glad to see Signor Vanzetti shake his head with a firm frown.
Haykh let out a laugh, and he said something Tedi couldn’t hear but it had the cadence of an insult. Sure enough, Signor Vanzetti erupted in florid Italian, which was mostly hand gestures, and before Tedi knew it, they were trading fists.
The bar whooped, and the crowd separated like the Red Sea to give the men space to fight. Signor Vanzetti seemed glad to throw down, to have an achievable goal that didn’t require a clean shirt — though his shirt was clean for now — and he cackled up Haykh’s ugly-falcon face. Haykh looked perma-serious, and the more the crowd cheered and clapped for more, the more serious Haykh looked.
Tedi went out there. He didn’t like violence, and he called for calm, but nobody heard his voice over the roar and boom of the watching men. A few ne’erdowells pumped their fists and chanted for more. People were such brutes.
Signor Vanzetti sent Haykh sprawling with a fat fist. A few drops of spit from Haykh’s mouth splattered on the side of Tedi’s face. Haykh carried himself like a tough guy, but he was no tough. Tedi knew the type. Vanzetti stood over him as though surveying conquered land.
“You bastard!” Haykh cried out, and he kicked Signor Vanzetti on the leg. That sent the stout butcher stumbling to his knees, and the crowd booed either him or Haykh, Tedi couldn’t tell. Haykh was on his feet now, lording over Signor Vanzetti, and he could have continued the fight. But he wisely and/or cowardly decided to slink away, out the front door of his own father’s bar.
Probably because the crowd in the bar were mostly Italians, and Haykh knew they’d never be on his side. Regional rivalries would fall aside in their rush to side with the Italian, and even the Armenians had no love for Haykh.
With a snarl and a slur, Signor Vanzetti got back up on his feet. “Basta!”
Arms crossed over his powerful chest, Signor Vanzetti watched Haykh leave out the front door. The crowd dispersed and chilled and sat themselves down in their seats, with an underhushing of both relief that the fight had not gone too far and disappointment for the same reason. Signor Vanzetti went to the bar and sat down.
Tedi approached him. “You came,” he said with a dry smile. He patted Signor Vanzetti on the back.
He looked around. “Me and my wife-uh… I still missuh her. I thought…” He paused and kissed his crucifix. He made the sign of the cross.
“Of course you do, Signor Vanzetti.”
“I do not know whattah-I was thinkin-eh,” he said. “I am too old-uh for this-uh.” He turned around and walked out of Lipsweet, having never drunk a thing or even looked at the bartender.
Costenoga Street was busy with traffic and young people laughing their way between restaurants and bars. It wasn’t yet the busy season — the heights of summer — but the weather had turned warm enough to begin to attract crowds. Guidos in backwards baseball caps roamed the neighborhood still, not yet outnumbered by the hipsters and city sluts. A lone cop on the beat scowled at all of them, pretending not see any of the hooligans and goombahs littering the streets, nor the handful of weathery hobos begging at the corner.
Tedi followed him out, abandoning his undrunk seltzer at the bar. “Are you okay?” he asked when they got far enough away from the nightlife and hobos to have a private conversation. “Giacobbe?”
Giacobbe Vanzetti said, “I loved my wife-uh. She could be trying-uh at times, I just wanted to strangle-uh her…” He let out a miserable chuckle. “But now I miss-uh her so much-eh.” He sighed and wiped a tear out from under his eyes.
Tedi said, “You don’t need to feel bad. I’m sure your wife would want you to love again.”
Signor Vanzetti shrugged. “I do not want to love again-uh. You’s following me. What do you want-uh?”
“You just seemed upset. I wanted to talk to you, to make sure you’re okay,” he said. “You don’t need to fall in love to feel good. Do you want me to jack you off?”
Signor Vanzetti nodded again. He had walked back to his butcher shop out of instinct, so he took his keys out of his pocket. They jangled loudly.
Tedi came into the butcher shop behind him. Signor Vanzetti went behind the meat counter, and Tedi followed. Signor Vanzetti stood there like he expected Tedi to tell him what to do next, but Tedi just smiled and dropped to his knees. “You ready, Signor?”
With yet another hand gesture that Tedi had never seen before, Signor Vanzetti nodded. Tedi got the gist of it anyway: do what you want.
So his hands gently massaged their way up Signor Vanzetti’s flat belly to his chest, over his plain white shirt at first, then under it, as Signor Vanzetti moaned with desire. His muscles all flexed and tensed at once.
He had a broad hairy chest and a cock that pulsated through the fabric of his suit trousers. Tedi kissed that pulsating bulge a couple times, smiling at each peck of his lips making Signor Vanzetti’s whole body twitch — he obviously craved an affectionate touch very badly indeed. He could feel the hot shaft of his cock through his pants.
Then Tedi planted his lips on Signor Vanzetti’s bulge, and he kept it there, producing enough spit to make his pants wet. Signor Vanzetti moaned again, his hands reaching up to his own powerful pecs to play with his nipples, as Tedi did the same thing with his own small, delicate fingers.
“Oooooh, I need-uh this…” Signor Vanzetti said. He closed his eyes and leaned against the meat display case. He sighed like Tedi was scratching an itch Vanzetti was only now learning he had.
At last, Tedi pulled Signor Vanzetti’s cock out through the fly of his pants. It was hot and thick and soft as could be, but it twitched and hummed with a need to get hard. Tedi let its heavy thickness flop around on his face, while he smiled up at the dour face of Signor Vanzetti.
“I haffn’t-uh chacked offuh since-uh she die,” he said softly, his great deep voice filling the tiny butcher shop.
Tedi clucked his tongue, one hand stroking Signor Vanzetti’s limp shaft. “You poor baby…” He put his mouth on it, and the taste of clean meat and stale sweat flooded his mouth.
For a few seconds, nothing happened. Tedi wondered if Signor Vanzetti was impotent from grief. But then, all at once, it twitched and pulsated, then nearly exploded into full erection, like it had forgotten it could have done this before.
In moments, it was as firm as overcooked beef, and it jammed deep into Tedi’s mouth. Tedi’s hands reached up to Signor Vanzetti’s chest once again, first over his shirt then under it, so he could play with his powerful muscles and dense chest hair.
His exquisitely sensitive flesh flexed beneath Tedi’s grasp. He was hard as rocks beneath a layer of hairy flesh, and Tedi massaged every inch of his powerful body. His asscheeks shook as his cock firmed up and throbbed in Tedi’s mouth.
“Oh si, I need-uh this real bad…” Signor Vanzetti murmured soft as goose fat.
Tedi nodded without taking the dick out of his mouth. “-e ‘oo,” he said, then blushed and giggled at how slutty it sounded to speak with his mouth full of cock.
But Tedi was only just getting Signor Vanzetti started. He moved his head up and down, teasing and squeezing every inch of Signor Vanzetti’s shaft, while he covered it in enough to spit to make it run down in rivulets and wet his corse black pubic hairs into a sticky mat. Signor Vanzetti stayed still at first, then began undulating his body very slowly, making love to Tedi’s throat.
The salty taste of precum filled his mouth. Tedi swallowed every drop. He looked up at Signor Vanzetti to make eye contact, but Signor Vanzetti had thrown his head back and scrunched his eyes shut tight. He moaned out loud, dipping his knees as he began to piston his hips back and forth.
That meant he humped Tedi’s throat. His dick worked deeper with each thrust, and Tedi slurped his tongue over every inch of that throbbing shaft. His cock was warm and veiny, its thickness filling Tedi’s throat and making him croon for more.
In no time at all, a year’s worth of widower jizz spurted into his mouth. Signor Vanzetti let out a chest-rattling grunt. He gripped Tedi’s head and pumped his dick in and out, his inhibitions seemingly melting away.
“Hmmmm-uuuuhh…”
Cum filled Tedi’s mouth. More and more kept pouring in, most of it leaking out Tedi’s lips and down his chin. A little puddle of it grew on the floor at Tedi’s knees, but Tedi didn’t let the mess slow him down in the slightest. His cockshaft throbbed where it rubbed against Tedi’s tongue.
His balls must have been full to overflowing, Tedi thought, he was sure telling the truth about not jacking off for a whole year!
Still more came out, with each thrust of Signor Vanzetti’s cock down his throat. It pulsated and spasmed, and Tedi felt each vein in the shaft throbbing in his throat. Jizz came out in a long continuous flow that went on for several seconds.
The taste was bright and sunny, intensely salty but not unpleasantly so. It was thick and creamy too, indulgent, and it coated Tedi’s throat in a delicious sensation that he craved as soon as it was gone.
They both stopped moving then, as Tedi shot his own wad on the floor of Signor Vanzetti’s butcher shop. His cum added to the puddle already there, and he didn’t stop licking the sensitive cock in front of his face until he had fully drained his balls as well. Signor Vanzetti never even noticed Tedi was jacking off, so he just assumed the mess on the floor was his own jizz, which it mostly was.
“Thank-eh you,” Signor Vanzetti said when he was finally done. His pulsating slab of meat popped out of Tedi’s mouth and dangled in front of his suit pants. Long strands of spit connected it to Tedi’s lips.
“Hmmm… I was glad to help you, Signor Vanzetti,” Tedi said, his voice still gaspy from lack of oxygen.
“Do not-uh go anywhere-uh,” he said. “Let me make you dinner-uh, and then I will ramrodduh you.”
That was an enticing offer indeed, and Tedi wouldn’t dream of refusing. He was hungry, both literally and figuratively, and he told Signor Vanzetti so.
He cooked lamb. Tedi didn’t mind sitting and watching him, starting with a primal cut that he slashed with a primal swipe of his blade, and he hunked off a piece of meat. The meat was fresh as dew, and he sliced it thin so he could grill it behind the butcher shop. It was enjoyable to watch an expert ply his trade, and Signor Vanzetti was expert indeed.
As he cooked and then served the lamb, Signor Vanzetti told stories of his boyhood in Italy. With flatbread and tzatziki, Tedi ate the lamb til his belly was full, and then he ate more because it was delicious and because Signor Vanzetti urged him to.
When Tedi had had his fill and then some — and Signor Vanzetti did too — Tedi took the dishes into the back to the big utility sink. Before he could start washing them, Signor Vanzetti bade him come closer, which Tedi did with a growing sense of anticipation.
He’d been wanting to get Signor Vanzetti’s manhood in him for a long time, and he was excited that the dream was finally coming true.
“I will-uh makkeh you feel-uh so goo-ood-eh,” he said in a low thrumming murmur. “Puttuh ya hands-uh on the wall-uh.”
Tedi let a shimmy of desire work its way through his system and he shook his add in Signor Vanzetti’s direction. He lifted his dainty arms, jutting his ass out to give Signor Vanzetti easy access to it.
But Signor Vanzetti was engaged — he found himself a tub of beef fat. It was from the rump, which he said was the best lubricant. He smeared a big fistful of it on his giant cock, then he put some in Tedi’s asscrack too. It was solid in the tub, but Tedi’s body heat turned it to liquid goop soon.
He rammed his dick in Tedi’s ass. A burst of pressure hit him, followed by sense of warmth, as Signor Vanzetti pressed his chest against Tedi’s back. His hairy pecs and belly rubbed on Tedi’s shoulders and the small of his back, and his gentle but firm arms wrapped around Tedi’s head — like a chokehold, but not like a wrestler, he did it with ease and docility, and it made Tedi felt secure in the warmth of his body.
The awkwardness was intense at first, and Tedi felt that familiar ache in his behind. His whole body tightened, but Signor Vanzetti kissed him tenderly on the cheek, on the neck, on the earlobes and more, and that made Tedi relax enough he could take every inch of Signor Vanzetti’s magnificent manhood.
Mind-blowing ecstasy flowed through his veins, Signor Vanzetti’s cock ramming against his prostate and upping the sensations to the next level again and again. Each thrust of his hips brought Tedi closer to his climax, and he cried out, the sound swallowed by the wall he clutched with both hands.
When he could not hold back any longer, Tedi shot his wad onto the wall. The most intense orgasm of his life wracked his body, and he begged for more in two languages. He shot a voluminous load of cum that dripped down the wall and to the floor, and before he was even done, he felt Signor Vanzetti’s orgasm too. He sensed it through the throbbing of his cock in his ass and the rippling of his muscles where they rubbed against Tedi’s back.
“Hmmm, aaaah!” Signor Vanzetti cried out, adding a few Italian words Tedi didn’t know.
Signor Vanzetti filled his ass with a load of his creamy seed. He shot almost as much as his earlier orgasm. The heat of his climax seeped to every corner of Tedi’s flesh. Vanzetti gasped and moaned, the baritone sound of which reverberated in Tedi’s back where it pressed against his chest.
When it was done, he let his cock plop out of Tedi’s ass. It was followed by a flood of jizz, which ran down Tedi’s legs to his feet and the floor below. Both men stood there, dazed by the ongoing hum of their orgasm. Tedi took a deep breath and moaned, while Signor Vanzetti smeared sweat in his chest hair.
“Thank you,” Tedi said with a breathy moan. “I think I’d like to set up a regular meat delivery.”