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It was August. The bees were in the garden. The honeybees and I were indolent around the hollyhocks. We shared the direct sunlight in our God-given attire and we shared a buzz. Perhaps both of us were having too much nectar that afternoon. Theirs was pollen and mine was a cold sweet Riesling.The ‘hocks reminded me of my home in Europe where I learned to love the bees, the sun, my nudity, and colorful flowers. If ever there could be a Mediterranean experience in Minneapolis, it would be a hot August in the garden, naked, with hollyhocks and honeybees. Maybe a few dragonflies, too.This is how things were when my grandson-by-marriage Antonio was stung by a honey bee. He was masturbating by the garden gate with me fully in his sights. He was seventeen and he was devastated when a bee stung him while his pants were around his ankles,and his cock was throbbing in his hand, and his Grandma Giulia was lying naked among the hollyhocks. He tripped when his feet became hopelessly entangled among the coils of a garden hose. He fell with his cock in hand and with a bee stuck to the inside of his thigh.Bee venom was pumping into his thigh muscle at the same time as his prick was spurting his sperma onto the garden gate.I relish my nudist time within the bricked garden walls that secret me from prying eyes. The walls permit me to leave my clothing and cares hanging on a hook near the gate; the same gate where Antonio was pleasuring himself at the sight of my nudity. The careful placement of shade hangars and greenery obscured the tall buildings that surround the estate and yet they still allow full sun to descend into the garden for things that need it: me, the honeybees, and the hollyhocks. The dragonflies don’t seem to have a preference.It was my custom to honor my late husband by stretching out nude in the sun with a cold glass of sweet white wine. William and I shared an interest in sweet wine and nudism and often spent hours reclining naked in garden loungers, having sex, and watching bees lazily Ataşehir Escort collect pollen among the hollyhocks.Beelines are never straight, you know. Bees fly in loops and partial circles and often re-trace their visits to the same bloom. I am like that. I fly lazily around relationships. I’ve sampled more than one bloom in a flight and yet I find myself returning often to the same bloom again and again until the pollen is depleted.It was one of those times when William found me on the Isle of Capri.I had recently exhausted the pollen from the bloom of a man who owned several aliscafi. His hydrofoils were newly purchased but his routes from Naples to Capri were always the same. His aliscafi always made beelines, as you Americans say, between the two cities. He, and his hydrofoil business, was quite boring.I was seeking new blooms with more pollen when William and I met in Anacapri. Six months later we married and he brought me to the United States to his estate.I was William’s second wife and a decade his junior. We had ten years together before he passed. Although he had been successful in business, he was a weak-willed man and I could dominate him whenever I chose. There was little need to assert myself though. He devoted himself to my happiness and so did I. It was a good match.His family adjusted to me as to any interloper. I wasn’t hated but I wasn’t accepted as la nonna, grandma, by anyone except the youngest grandchild Tony. I called him Antonio. He loved it when I did.When William passed, I inherited the house and gardens and one-quarter of the financial accounts while the remaining three-fourths of the financials and assets were divided equally between the siblings. His son, Edward, had two children. Antonio was the elder and Amy, the younger. William’s daughter Caroline had no children and no husband. At the age of forty, when lesbian marriages were in vogue, she took a woman as a partner. She appears to be happy with her choice. Both attended Ataşehir Escort Bayan William’s funeral and shocked the more distant relatives with their fondness towards each other.All of this returns us to Antonio masturbating at the garden gate, falling to the ground with a bee stuck in his thigh, and his sperma drying on the white paint of the garden gate.I knew he was there, of course. He came to masturbate whenever he could. He didn’t think I knew about his visits but I did. I was fifty and I was flattered to be an object of desire for a seventeen-year-old boy. I permitted it to go on. Shame on me, but then, truthfully, who really cares about a young man and his fantasies?The spaces between the gate boards never gave me a view of Antonio’s cazzo, but the flash of thighs and flesh and hands left little doubt that he pleasured himself while watching me in the nude.I teased him; you know I did. Wouldn’t you do the same? If not, you might be American.If William had been alive, he would have encouraged me to do more. William masturbated often even though I was available to do it for him. He said personal masturbation was necessary for his peace of mind. He would say the same about Antonio, I imagine, and he would likely encourage me to feed Antonio’s appetite.For Antonio’s pleasure, I would stretch out my legs or open them up or put one knee up and the other out flat. I was careful not to give him the idea I was aware of his presence. I found it pleasant to see if my movements caused him to quicken his pace. When the flashes of his thighs and his blurring hands suddenly stopped, I knew he had completed his biological relief.This is what boys do at this age when they do not have a girlfriend to do this for them. All boys. Not just Italian boys. German men and German boys were the same as Italians except for the size of their dicks. German dicks were, in general, a half-inch smaller in length than an Italian. Having had both, I didn’t see the Escort Ataşehir size of either as an issue but other women did. William was German and he was an exception. He was seven inches and it was nice to have him at a size I could fully accommodate.When I opened the garden gate and saw Antonio splayed out with his dick in hand, I could see that he had his grandfather’s dick. It was so vivid. The resemblance was stunning. Antonio looked like his grandfather in face and form and genitalia. I missed William so much at that moment.There was another characteristic of Antonio that reminded me of his grandfather. He was weak-willed. I took advantage of that now.“Don’t move. Don’t you move until I have a look at you.”I could see the bee was still embedded in Antonio’s thigh. It was not dead. It was remarkable that Antonio had not slapped at it but given his orgasm at the time maybe not so unusual. I had seen this before with William.“Antonio, this is a good day for you. Your grandfather would have treasured this moment to teach you about bees and sex. This is a good day for you to learn what your Grandma Grace originally taught your Grandpa. He, of course, passed the knowledge along to me and now I will teach you what I learned.“You must do everything I tell you. It is important. Your grandfather did this once a week and he loved the experience. Your Grandma did it, too. You loved your Grandma and Grandpa, yes? Good. And you know that if it came from them that it is good for you, yes? Ok, good. Let’s begin with what is happening. The bee is alive and it is pumping its bee venom into your leg. Your dick is still hard because the bee venom is in your blood and it’s causing your body to react to it. It is a little painful at first but the pain diminishes and leaves you simply stiff. Because you came before the bee sting had a chance to produce its effect, you will be erect for a while longer and can experience something special.“Stroke yourself now while your dick is still hard. Go on, do it.”He was seventeen and he was nervous. I saw reluctance in his eyes; not quite defiance as an average boy his age might show me but reluctance. It was evident that Antonio was weak-willed and yet, I did not want his first bee orgasm to be under duress.“You don’t want to touch yourself in front of me, is that it?”

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