#3012: Calabria, Italy
Original photo: @diaspora.art
For Nicola and Paolo, the mountains of Southern Italy are more than just a place—they're a rhythm, a ritual, a spark. After a day of climbing sun-drenched trails and breathing in wild beauty, they surrender to the night’s heat and each other, letting desire bloom under the stars.
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Transcript
The sun was only beginning to peek over the mountains as Paolo and I finished getting ready for our hike. We both knew it was better to start early, so we could rest during the heat of midday. It was a Saturday morning—lazy for some—but we preferred adventure. We’d both lived in Calabria our whole lives, and to us, the mountains were like old friends; each curve and ridge etched into our memories.
The morning air was crisp, carrying the scent of sage and warm wood from the forest. As we stepped outside the small house we’d shared for the past year, I felt the weight of my backpack on my shoulders. It was a familiar drag, and yet every time I put it on, I had that fleeting thought—this time, I might not make it to the top. But I always did.
The trail we chose that day was familiar. Maybe that’s why I loved it so much. Every stone and twisted root held memories. My feet moved effortlessly. Paolo walked slightly ahead, his silhouette dark against the golden glow of sunrise. I loved watching him navigate the land like he was born of it—as if the mountains were his real home.
As we climbed higher, the forest began to thin. Fewer trees, more wildflowers dancing in the breeze. The mountains always felt alive to me. Even as a little girl, I believed in their magic. They made the familiar feel foreign in the best way.
We stopped for water, catching our breath. I looked down into the valley below, drinking in the timeless beauty of the place where we grew up. The break felt too short before we pushed onward. The path grew steeper. My legs burned, but I welcomed it. I listened to the crunch of gravel underfoot, the wind in our faces, and nothing else. I followed Paolo, as I always did.
We met a few years ago through a local hiking group. I wanted to explore the mountains but had no one to go with. Paolo was confident—maybe even a bit cocky—but he slowly won me over. He cared deeply. He helped me through life’s steepest climbs, never made me feel small, never made me feel alone.
During our hikes, we barely spoke—partly to save energy, partly because silence allowed us to truly feel the places we visited. Over time, I grew to love that quiet. It was its own kind of closeness.
Hours later, clouds shifted and revealed the Tyrrhenian Sea in the distance, its surface sparkling like it had been dusted with silver. I could almost taste the salt on the breeze. No matter how many times Paolo and I reached a summit, it always felt like a shared victory. The feeling was massive—bigger than both of us.
We found a flat stone warmed by the sun and sat down to eat. Bread, cheese, olives—simple food, but up here it tasted divine. As we ate, the shadows lengthened and the sky began to shift. It was time to set up camp before the sun sank fully into the sea.
Paolo set up the tent, cracking jokes as he worked. He never shied away from effort. He always made sure things were done right—one of the many reasons I loved him. I started the fire, and we sat together in the grass, warmed by its glow.
Up here, worries didn’t follow us. The world below melted away. We just were—together, in the stillness of the mountains.
I looked at Paolo, his shoulder pressed against mine, and felt the warmth between us. The fire, the stars, the silence—it all stirred something inside me. Desire. Familiar, slow-building, undeniable.
There was something primal about being up here, above everything. Sex in the mountains always felt more intense, more raw. I moved closer to him, seeking not just warmth but connection.
I reached for his shoulders, pulling him into a kiss. It started slow but deepened quickly—hunger taking over. My fingers tangled in his hair. His lips moved to my jaw, to my neck. When he sucked gently beneath my ear, I moaned, unable to hold back. My skin burned for more of him.
We lay back on the blanket beneath us and started to undress. I laughed watching Paolo fumble with my clothes, more than happy to help. The sky above was dark, stars blinking down like ancient witnesses.
Naked, we felt wild and free, like we were part of the land itself. Paolo’s hands roamed over me, igniting fire in every inch of my body. His mouth brushed my breasts, and I arched into him, needing more. I wrapped my leg around his, pressing into him, urging him on.
He laughed softly at my eagerness, then kissed me again. His hand slipped down, finally reaching the heat between my legs. First, he teased—light strokes, maddeningly gentle—but soon his fingers found their rhythm, pressing into me just right.
I begged him for more, my voice rough with need. And he listened.
I felt his cock press against my entrance, and I gasped as he filled me. No matter how many times we made love, it never lost its thrill. My hands clutched his shoulders. Above him, the stars shimmered. Around us, only the night heard our cries.
He kissed my neck, my lips, my soul. I opened my legs wider, taking all of him, welcoming every thrust. He knew exactly how to push me closer to the edge—and he didn’t hold back.
The pleasure built inside me, fast and wild. I wanted him to feel it too—to see him unravel the same way he unraveled me. Our rhythm quickened. His groans deepened. My name spilled from his mouth like a prayer.
I cried out his name as the orgasm hit me, my whole body tensing, trembling. I opened my eyes to see Paolo falling apart, his body shaking as he came with me.
He collapsed on top of me, breathing hard, chest slick against mine. Then he rolled us over, pulling me on top of him. I knew what he wanted: more.
And I gave it to him.
Much later, we lay beneath the stars, wrapped in each other. It was a perfect moment—untouched by anything but us and the sky above.
Paolo kissed my hair and whispered something soft. I didn’t need to hear the words. I already knew.
When the sun rose, we’d leave our secret spot behind. But not for long.
We’d be back.