MASTURBATION PULP!

Originally posted by Craig on his blog, GayVentures.

Flashback, 1992

My early years were spent deep in the closet. Totally confused as to what I was experiencing. In High school I was consumed with sports, American football mainly. I remember being aroused by nude bodies in the shower and the locker room. I remember waiting for my “favorite” team mates to make their way to the showers before I would go. In the back (way back) of my mind I knew I was gay. Yet I had not yet been with a woman or seen a vagina in person. I thought once I did my arousal would change and I would be forever attracted to women. That day came stereotypically by way of prom night. I had heterosexual sex. Intercourse with a blond female. I was erect as she sat on my penis and kissed me. It was proof to me that I wasn’t gay. Of course at 18 years old a fly can land on your cock and cause an erection.

Over the next few years I had two more sexual experiences with girls, one a hand job and one blow job. Both occasions I envisioned it was one of my attractive friends doing it and that’s what took me from erection to ejaculation. Football was my life. But I was beginning to realize there was something else. I lived equal distance from two junior colleges that wanted me to play football for them. I chose LA Valley over Pierce College for the sole reason my friend Jeff would be attending and playing football there.

Jeff and I were good friends. We both loved football and shared many common interests, except girls. He didn’t know I was gay nor did I suspect he did. At 21 I was quite fit. 6 feet and 225 pounds (16 Stone) I played linebacker on defense. Jeff was also on the team but was slimmer than I. Jeff, also 21, weighed about 165 pounds, 6′1 and was gorgeous. He had many women chasing him and he enjoyed being admired. I dreamed he was gay but knew he was not just by the way he looked at girls and how he spoke of them.

It was torture being around him and not being able to kiss him. Jeff had a nice tan smooth chest and a great ass. I had seen him naked many times in the showers after practice. He was also well endowed and had the most beautiful cock on the team. He was a very loyal friend and trusting. He was quite shy when it came to showering in front of guys. He would wait until most of the guys were finished. He would make me wait as well. He would lie down on the bench in the changing rooms and talk about the tiring game or practice. I was, of course, happy to wait, but did not want it to be obvious. So once I told him I was going to shower while he was lying on the bench and he told me, “Hang back,” that he did not like all those guys in the shower at once. He was not shy around me. We would be in the shower for 20-30 minutes sometimes, again with his waiting for everyone to leave the locker room.

It drove me crazy being naked with this boy-god just a few feet away. A couple times he had a full erection. He would look at me and laugh. He would say, “Does yours do that on its own”?

Looking back I wish I would have made a move, you never know, straight lads are up for it sometimes. But I was too shy and afraid. Idiots in our youth. I dreamed that my first gay sex experience would be with Jeff. It would be at Jeff’s house, only not with Jeff. Jeff had a younger brother. Joey. He was 18 when we were 21. He was even better looking than Jeff. He was small and boyish, 5′8 maybe 115 pounds. Spiky blondish brown hair, deep blue eyes and bright red lips. Very intelligent and naturally sexual, he liked to massage your neck and put his arm around you. He was a great kid. He wore boxer shorts and no shirt in the evenings and walked around the house parading his beautiful smooth body. I had known him for a few years and we got on quite well.

One morning in May of 1992 I had slept over at Jeff and Joey’s house. Their parents were in Mexico. Jeff and I had had gone drinking the night before and didn’t get to bed until about 3am. I was on the sofa. Joey came in the room at about 9am to watch a baseball game. He was wearing track suit bottoms and no shirt. He turned on the TV and sat next to my legs and woke me up. We watched the game and talked baseball for about 30 minutes. I was horny just looking at him.

We made fun of each other and then I grabbed him and we wrestled playfully. I was becoming aroused with the body contact and we were both giggling. I got him flat on his stomach and sat on his hamstrings and held him down. I began tickling his armpits and he was laughing and trying to keep his arms from allowing me into his armpits. I slapped his right buttock hard with an open hand. He laughed so I did it again. I started lightly punching both buttocks with my fists. Nice tight ass he had. I had seen it before: He had mooned me and some of Jeff’s other friends before. He clinched his buttocks and I had a good view. He had no underpants on. I spanked him again and said, “That was for being an annoying little punk”. He felt that one and said “Ouch! That one fucking hurt!”

He immediately slid his legs towards his torso and out from under me into a position on his hands and knees. His butt was right in front of me. He pulled his suit down to his mid-ham string area exposing his great ass. It was better than his brothers.

He looked back and said, “Is it red”?.

I spanked his naked ass and said, “It is now”.

He said, “Hey!” in some disbelief.

He went back on his stomach and went to pull up his track suit, I grabbed them and pulled them down to his knees and sat on his hamstrings again.

He said, “Hey you faggot!” but did not offer any resistance. I looked at his butt and told him it was red.

He responded, “Don’t fucking spank me any more you fucking queer”.

He was just motionless, laying flat oh his belly, head turned to his left watching TV. I looked at his butt, I was in heaven. I said in disbelief, “You got a nice ass!”

He just said in a soft voice, “You’re such a queer.”

I didn’t know what to do next so I sat up off his legs.

His track suit was down close to me by his ankles. He took his left foot and forced the suit down off his right and then flicked the suit off his left foot onto the ground and just laid there completely nude.

I said in Shock, “Are you just going to lay there naked?”

He said “You’re the one who took them off”. I corrected him and said he showed me his butt and asked if it was red.

He had a perfect body, hairless legs and thighs. Smooth tight little butt. He lied there for several minutes, periodically clinching his buttocks. I was feeling a bit light headed from the arousal. I thought what if Jeff walks in? Not much of a chance, as he is a late sleeper on the weekends. I tried to decide my next course of action.

Joey sat up facing the TV covering his penis with his right hand and slightly leaning forward. He reached with his left hand for his track suit bottoms on the floor in front of me. No chance, I thought. I grabbed them and shoved them into the cushion behind me. He gave me a look of disbelief and then pushed himself back to the opposite end of the three cushion sofa so he was facing me. He still had his right hand covering his cock. I wanted so badly to see it.

He said, “Give me my pants!”

I responded, “Come and get them.”

He was sitting upright and with one motion he removed his right hand while saying, “I don’t care, I will just sit here naked. Here’s my dick”.

I could see everything. His dick was amazing - a small patch of hair above it, he had a half-erection, without foreskin (like most Americans), leaning to his right. He was slightly bigger than average about 4 to 5 inches semi erect. His legs were wide open with the left one outstretched along the base of the sofa and the right one touching the floor, bent at the knee.

He looked at me, he seemed upset. I said “You’re the one who wanted to get naked”.

He grabbed his dick and began masturbating slowly with his right hand.

He said, “I’m going to jackoff and I’m telling my brother you jacked me off.”

I said, “I haven’t touched you,” again terrified what Jeff might think.

Joey shifted to face the TV. Now he had a full erection with his bright red knob in full view. He was in full stroke and seemed oblivious to my presence and glaring admiration. I had never seen another guy masturbate. Not even my brother.

He starting taking full breaths and slowing down. He turned and looked at me and nodded as if to say, “Go on.” He then said, while slightly out of breath, “You never jerked in front of your friends before?”

I lifted my butt and with one pull took down my trousers and undies. I was rock-hard already, of course. I began on the other end of the sofa. I knew I couldn’t last long, I was in a fantasy. I would look at him and have to look away or I was going to squirt. I did not want to cum before him.

I had a few strokes and slowed down. I looked over at Joey again and he was going hard. His muscles had tensed. But best of all he was staring at my cock. He shot a load straight up in the air and some trickling after that. I had never seen another guy cum before especially not a boy-god. He got some on the wood floors and on the sofa. He stood up with his lovely erection and nude body and walked away holding his cock.

He was a beauty to watch walk. The muscles in his ass so tight. He returned quickly with paper towels and wiped the sofa and the floor. He looked at me and said, “You’re not finished.”

I said, “Well, I never jerked in front of a guy before.”

I was close. He was standing in front of me completely nude with some cum still on the tip of his dick and some in his small batch of pubic hair. He was turned slightly to the TV and then he took his hand of his penis and folded his arms. His dick was at a 90 degree angle to his abdomen, perfectly straight, pointing at the TV. I lost the battle of fluid retention and ejaculated so intensely as to go dizzy for the first time ever.

He threw me the towels. Joey cleaned off the rest of himself and then just remained there naked. I said to him, “Thanks, that was fun”.

He smiled and said, “Me and my friends do it all the time”.

I said, “Who?”

He responded laughing, saying he wasn’t telling. I put my underpants back on and expected Joey to get his bottoms back. I was satisfied. I had seen Joey naked and much more. But, he surprised me again. He turned from his sitting position and lay down on his back with his head resting on my right thigh. I had a great view of his entire nude body. His dick was limp and was only about 2.5 inches. It was unreal.

I was getting an erection again. He titled his head slightly toward the TV and I played with his hair a bit. He was relaxed. He had just masturbated in front of me. He started asking me what it was like having sex with girls, Like I was an expert. I told him they were soft and it was nice to put your dick into them.

He was shy and curious. He said he had opportunities before but the girls were too active and had bad reputations and were too forward. I gave him the usual line about how you will meet the right one…blah, blah. By this time I was stroking his hair. He did not mind. I began caressing his chest slowly. He was getting a slight erection again.

He continued talking about sex. He asked if “getting blown was better than jerking off?“ I told him it was far better by 10 to 1. He seemed interested in me explaining. I told him it was hard to explain.( I had been sucked once by this time, and with closed eyes, thinking of my friend, his brother).

I knew what he wanted but also knew he would never ask or suggest it. So I did. I said, “I’ll suck you if you suck me…and you can’t tell Jeff.

He said, ”I’m not telling him; he will call me a fag.“ Then he hesitated, saying, “I don’t want to.”

I said, “You don’t want to what?”

“Suck you” he said very softly.

“You don’t have to. Just give me a hand job” I said.

“All right,” was his reply, but in a (let’s get it over with tone). We decided to go to Joey’s room and lock the door. He got up and took his bottoms from the sofa, but walked naked to his room.

He had a semi again. We went to his bed and he lay down on his back. I had never sucked a dick before so I just went for it, again filled with sexual arousal for Joey. I started kissing his exposed knob. I licked the bottom of his shaft. I was playing with his balls. I told him, “I don’t know what I’m doing; I’m just copying what girls do”. He didn’t say anything.

He had no hair around his balls and I was enjoying licking them. I sucked him and jerked him and he groaned with pleasure. He lifted his knees up and I could see his anus just under his balls. It was hairless and bright pink. I had never seen an anus before and was curious. Only if I knew then what I know now…

I continued with his dick. He came - a lot less this time - but his breathing was very heavy. I tasted his cum and it was hot and sweet. I jerked him slowly until it was all out. I caressed his inner thigh and kissed around his dick.

He was very nervous when it was his turn to please me. He went very quickly and caused me some pain with my tight foreskin.

“How come you have skin like the Mexicans?” he inquired.

“Cuz I was born in England and they don’t cut it off,” I educated him.

He had soft hands and I had a good view of his nude ass so I came quickly. We lay there for a few minutes and didn’t clean ourselves. Joey was on my left, lying on his back on his queen size bed. I gently moved him on his side and so he was facing away from me and began caressing his butt. He let me go on for a while before saying, “You’re gay, aren’t you”?

I didn’t answer directly. I just said I was trying to make him feel good.

He got up and went into the bathroom and I heard the shower. He came out with a towel around his waist. I was still nude. He went to his dresser and put briefs on under the towel, as if he were then shy. He got fully dressed and said, “I’m going to the store.”

We remained good friends for several years, We had one more gayish encounter a year later. We never did anything else after that nor spoke about it. It lives as a great first, same-sex experience. He is married now and has two kids. He is about 200 pounds has a beer belly and a hairy chest. I am happy to have pleased him during the blossom of his youth.

There really was no going back after that.

At the local gay dive, no one was surprised when the boy and the man came in together.

Not because the boy was known as a rent boy and not because the man was known to sometimes buy rent boys. But rather because, as soon as they sat next to each other, and adjusted the distance between them, and simultaneously ordered two beers, and laughed when they did, and again adjusted the distance between them to a closer one, the natural way they inhabited one another’s space put everyone, after a few seconds of raised eyebrows and speculations, at ease.

The wall-eyed, bald bartender was not worried; he’d seen this before. He nodded at the couple, because that’s what they were, then and now, and drew their beers.

The tranny and her entourage were not concerned, because why should they be — they’d already had the boy and had decided he was not what they needed to increase their social caché. Still, sitting at the next table, they clinked glasses and wished them well, with only the tiniest of sneers.

If any were surprised, it was the boy and the man.

The boy had another man waiting for him at home; this man didn’t like beer, did not like dives.

For a long time, the boy had wondered whether he was gay or straight or bi or what. He eventually had decided, being both practical and idealistic, that he would let his dick decide. If it worked with a man, he’d go with it. If it wanted pussy, he’d indulge it in that. But only men had ever been patient enough with him to provide him some kind of homelife. He was OK with that.

The man had several boys. Chicago, at this time in the late-80s, had no shortage of boys, for-sale and for-free: street boys, gay boys wanting out of their suburban hells, desperate boys with hard cocks, a habit, and empty pockets. The man’s bed was rarely empty. He’d fuck and get fucked and be satisfied. Yet he’d not had a boy he’d truly liked in quite a while.

The boy liked this man. He often thought he liked this man more than he liked the man who didn’t like beer, although his regard had remained at a distance for some time.

At a party a couple years ago, the boy and the man had traded blow-jobs, along with everyone else in the room. It had happened, like their entry into the bar, naturally and without premeditation or elaborate seduction. Simply, they had looked at one another, and for some reason had been able to hold one another’s eyes while laughing and without looking away. A small courage, starting something.

But the man and the boy had never had sex again, as people don’t who are involved with someone, something else at the time; but, they’d never forgotten the ease, or the taste. They’d remained friendly and had often found themselves in the same social situations and the same bars. They also shared something else: A lack of guilt about what others might consider infidelities. Life is grand, they both thought, in their own ways, and their lusts too big and broad to be contained by a single relationship, a single type of sex. Neither had put the other entirely out of his mind.

So here they were again, alone together for the first time since the first time. The man had been buying lube from one of the local sex shops. The boy had been wandering Halsted Street, hands in his Levis pockets, scuffing his combat boots on the concrete and walking as slowly as he could, thinking about grabbing a quickie in the adult book store — if he could persuade the chubby bear at the door to let him in for free. He and his man had had a fight, over money, and so he was without any.

These gay businesses were next door to one another and the Chicago gay ghetto, although dense, was not so big. There was nothing about fate in how they ran into one another. It was a statistical inevitability.

“What’d you buy?” the boy asked.

The man took the tube of lube out of the small black plastic bag and showed the boy.

The boy grinned.

“Uh huh,” he said.

The laughs. The steady gaze. They remembered.

“I feel like a beer. How ’bout you?” the man offered.

The boy loved that the man’s thoughts were mostly about lube and beer. He had a quick fantasy about masturbating to porn with this man and shoving his cock in the man’s mouth just as he came.

“Sure, I’ve got nothin’…”

What he meant by that he didn’t know. The man thought he meant that he had no money.

“On me,” the man said, and they walked one block to the dive.

The dive had a jukebox, and both the boy and the man loved music, and not the “normal gay shit,” as the boy described disco and show tunes. After depositing half a pocketful of quarters intended for the laundry later, the man punched in his favorite songs:

Loose, The Stooges.
You Shook Me All Night Long and Back in Black by AC/DC, out of the album’s order.
Next, a couple Patsy Clines, one Johnny Cash, and then, unpredictably, Night Moves.

The boy wanted Aerosmith and Kiss. The one Clash song he liked, This is Radio Clash, kept skipping and the bartender had to reset the ‘box. They surprised each other by both wanting to play Everyday is Halloween, which they liked even though they both thought it was a little cheesy. The boy did not realize the man actually knew Al Jourgensen, although this wasn’t a difficult thing to claim in the city at the time. The man instructed the boy that he needed to listen to Naked Raygun and Big Black if he knew what was good for him. With a dull pen, the boy wrote the names down on the back of his hand, scraping his dry skin. Red lines spelling out important ideas.

Together they agreed on Real Emotion, and sang along together, embarrassing or annoying everyone in the dive except themselves and the bartender, who was straight. The tranny and her tribe left in the middle. In those days, it was still possible to play real music in a gay bar, but someone was bound to object.

Neither the boy nor the man liked gay bars as much as was supposed. They spent the rest of the evening haunting Chicago’s punk and aging New Wave bars. At Exit, they slammed to No Empathy and skanked to I Will Refuse, played twice during the night. Sweaty arms over each other’s shoulders, they dragged each other around the dance floor until they fell down. The boy pulled the man’s shirt off. He rubbed the man’s tattoos. The man stared at the patch of hair on the skin around the boy’s navel. At Club 950, they swayed and mugged to New Order and Depeche Mode. At Neo, they had more New Order and some Sisters of Mercy. They both liked the all-ages Medusa, but they couldn’t drink beer there. They didn’t stay long.

They ended up at the diviest all-night Cash ‘n’ Carry on Division, where off-key Mexican music clattered out of the one tiny working speaker behind the bar. The bar was full of local middle-aged drunks of all colors and white Wicker-Park alterna-types, unwilling to accept the finality of the city’s last calls. No one blinked when the boy put his head on the man’s shoulder and told him he was tired.

“My apartment is just down the street,” the man said. “You can crash with me if you want.”

“I know,” the boy said, in between the man’s two sentences, overlapping the last. His eyes were closed and his boots were untied and he was happy.

The man and the boy, whose story this is, would like me to stop here, I think. Or maybe they would like me to embellish or change what happened, or rather what didn’t happen. This isn’t a porn story, one with a stroke, a penetration, a release. But it’s worth telling a story that only has beginnings. A story with momentum, I hope, that can carry you off where you like, wherever your imagination, the commonest you have or the most errant, would like it to go. But perhaps it has a journey to make, that neither you nor me, nor the man and the boy, realized before was worth taking. But, no one will be surprised if you stop here.

The man’s roommate was an actor in musical theater. He was playing Sondheim when the man and the boy came in the door.

Exclusive you!
Elusive you!
Will any person ever get the juice of you?

He was also smoking a joint, which he immediately offered to the boy and the man. They accepted and smoked in silence, the boy leaning into the man, the man leaning on the boy. The boy said, “This isn’t too bad. What is it?”

You’re crazy,
You’re a lovely person,
You’re a moving,
Deeply maladjusted,
Never to be trusted,
Crazy person yourself.

The man’s roommate thought he was talking about the pot.

“It’s ganja. Our director just got back from Jamaica.”

The boy had been talking about the song but, anyway, thought this was unlikely. The boy just smiled and toked.

So they were both high and very, very drunk when they finally went to the man’s room and fell together on his bed.

The next morning the man’s roommate, as he was making coffee, chuckled and said to the man, “Sounded like you had a good time last night.”

He paused. “Kept me up.”

When the man didn’t answer, his roommate said, as a kind of apology, “It didn’t bother me…”

The man thought he had things to do, and still didn’t answer. The boy had left around 7. He had thought it was time to go back home. He wasn’t sure he wanted to patch things up with his boyfriend, but he didn’t think there was a point in hanging around with the man, either. He didn’t really know what he wanted.

Before the man left for the day, perhaps to see a movie, perhaps to sit and read by the lake, he went back to his room and looked at the disheveled bed. The boy had torn off the fluorescent armband put on him by the doorman at Smart Bar, indicating he was under 21 and not able to buy alcohol. He didn’t want the man who didn’t like beer to know where he’d been or guess what he’d been up to.

The man sat on the side of the bed and played with the armband. He wasn’t exactly sad and had had enough experience of all-night benders to realize that however full his holes of sadness at the moment, it was probably just a hangover. The tube of lube was still in the black plastic bag, unopened. He didn’t understand why nothing had happened last night. Yet, he couldn’t regret what had happened, which was:

At first they’d laid together, pressing bodies fully clothed, looking at each other. Their eyes had never closed. Despite the amount of alcohol they’d drank, the proximity and the power of the memory they shared had kept them pushing. They ate each other’s faces. Neither one of them liked romantic kisses. They both wanted to fall into the other’s mouth, and be swallowed. Teeth, tongue, gums, backs of throats, lips, teeth, tongue, teeth. The man knew he’d be bruised tomorrow. The boy knew the man’s scruff was burning his face red.

They rolled around, never letting go. It became wrestling, in that the pressure they applied, the strength of their squeezes - from all arms and legs - was a demand for the other to submit. Neither submitted. A couple of punches landed on sore pecs; they rubbed their suedeheads together until it hurt. They did this for at least an hour, grunting and growling and making each other laugh. These were the sounds the roommate had heard. He didn’t know better than to interpret them any other way. Although the man and the boy were very, very aware of the other’s hard cock, cock was not their focus.

Finally, the boy had pulled back from the man’s mouth and looked at him, right into his eyes, as always. His grin was as wide then as it had been when he was trying to bite the man’s lips off his face.

“I like you so much,” the boy said, and the man knew it was true.

© 2007 Rick Powell
All Rights Reserved

The Czech slang word for testicles, as in Spanish, literally means “eggs.” Vejce.

“Do my eggs,” is what Marek tells me when he wants me to suck his balls and rub his perineum. The first time he said that I laughed and laughed more when he indicated I wasn’t doing it right. He showed me - a curled index finger pressing and massaging with the knuckle, just beneath his sac; the other hand softly grasping both balls, pulling them away from his body slightly; my mouth fellating him - and I guess I got good at it because it always makes him noisy and then he cums.

“Rick, you no have eggs. You have baseballs!” he said the other morning after I got up off the bed after we’d both cum. My butt was practically in his face and he saw my assets hanging.

I know my balls are big but I had to correct him.

“More like golf balls, Mark,” I said, then had to show him what golf balls were, with a mimed swing at an imaginary green.

“Big balls, ay hah!” he said, laughing. Then he had to add, “Big balls, small cocks,” and sniggered. He always makes “cock” plural. I don’t know why. It was nice for him to have noticed anyway. Marek has only been down in my crotch once and that was Christmas Eve when we took such a long time breaking in our first real bed together.

Still, I was tired of his selling me short. The next time we were both hard together, I gathered us up in one hand and compared them, cock to cock. His is a little longer than mine and noticeably thicker but he by no means dwarfs me. When he’s soft I look thicker.

He conceded but also pointed out, through a lot of showing off and waving it about, that his is about, oh, a billion times prettier than mine, being brown and uncut and Mark’s. I had to agree and then showed him how much I meant it.

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I’m sure I don’t have the right to post this story, especially considering that the boy whose sexuality I’m going to be indiscreet about is currently supporting my whole household with his, ahem, labor. Still, like most of his countrymen, his attitude about people knowing his business, and his biznis, can be summed up with the sentence, “I don’t give a fuck.” He’s even told his foreign girlfriend what he does for a living. His insouciance is one of the reasons I like him and continue to cut him slack even though most everyone in this scene has written him off, mostly because of his aggressive neediness. So while I might be taking a risk it’s possible it wouldn’t bother him anyway. I’ll find out when he gets around to reading it.

I knew something was up one night a couple weeks ago because he came home much earlier than he usually does - around 2 am, instead of his usual 6 or 7 or even 8. While I’m sure he does look for biznis, I know his real reason for staying out so early is to keep boozing it up for as long as he can. He’s a heavy drinker. Even when he doesn’t have money he manages to find someone to pay his tab. He brags that 25 beers plus dozens of vodkas and Red Bulls are a normal night out for him.

This particular night, however, he was only a little tipsy and not that interested in getting drunk. He was interested in something else. I was outside on the terrace when he came in. He said hello, patted me on the shoulder and asked if it were okay for him to watch a porno. I shrugged and said I didn’t mind. He went back inside and put one on. When I had finished posting I came back inside. He was sitting on the edge of the sofa biting his nails. He looked at me coming in out of the corner of his eye.

“Where is Mark?” he asked as I walked by.

“Dunno. Station, maybe,” I answered.

“Is he coming home?”

That’s the line that made me sure what he was after.

“You know him. Possibly yes. Possibly no,” I said.

“Uh huh.”

I fiddled around with the MacBook for a bit, washed some dishes and waited for the inevitable request.

“Rick, can I sleep with you tonight?”

“You’re lonely, yes?” I asked him. His girlfriend had gone back home a couple days before. I knew he was feeling her absence and after spending 3 weeks straight with her, I wasn’t surprised. What surprised me is that he could consider me as any sort of surrogate.

I thought of telling him no. I used to be attracted to him, and not just because he has a big dick. I like small guys with some definition and he was always willing to show off. I began to lose interest in him about the time his sweat started smelling nasty and his feet began to stink. He’s more like my lost little brother now. I feel sorry for him. Pity suck. That’s what I anticipated and it’s what happened.

But not before I made him ask for it. When we got in bed, I rolled over away from him and pretended to settle down for sleep. On his side of the bed, he sighed and tossed and turned. I had to stifle a chuckle. Too proud to beg. I let him stew a few more minutes and then gave him some encouragement.

“When are you going to tell me what you want?”

I could see his head turn towards me in the dark. He sighed and whispered, even though there was no one else in the flat, “I have to say?”

“Yes, you have to say!” I said, cracking up.

He made his intentions clear and we did what he wanted. As usual, I was the aggressor. He says he doesn’t kiss his clients but he kissed me, gasping and sputtering and groaning while doing so. He still doesn’t open up his mouth wide enough for my tastes. I didn’t come myself and realized as I was “helping” him, as he put it, that there was very little excitement in the act for me. But I like him and I know how it feels when you need to bust a nut and when busting a nut will keep you from feeling a little less like shit. He misses his family, and his country, and he misses his girl. He says I’m the only friend he has in Prague. How could I not prove it by doing the easiest thing in the world for a cocksucker like me.

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Ghost trees on Flickr - Photo Sharing!

At the risk of starting another “series” that I never finish…

The following events originated on night tram #54, sometime during the winter of 2006, between the hours of midnight and 5 AM.

1.

I turned my head slightly when I felt someone or some thing brush my shoulder. Because of the two hoodys I was wearing, seeing anyone behind me was difficult, even if I turned my head. I ignored the touch as accidental. But it happened again. This time, grabbing my big backpack and securing it between my knees, I turned completely around and pretended to look past whoever was seated behind me, surveying the relatively quiet riders on the half-full tram.

I could see, out of the corner of my eye, a scruffy young man sitting behind me. Dirty blonde curls emerged scrunched up from under a worn-out ballcap. I met his eyes as I began to turn back to the front; I thought I’d seen his eyebrows raise. Maybe he was cute, I wasn’t sure. However, it was 3 in the morning at least. I’d spent the evening in Valentino, drinking, suckin’ a couple dicks in the cabins. Tired, ready to bunk down in the park, in my regular spot, alone.

A few minutes passed. Just as we were crossing the river, the young man said something close to the back of my head. Something about having drank too many beers that night. Even with my head away from him, I could smell his beer breath. His voice was hoarse and creaky but deep. A rough arousal took me quickly. If he’d said, “I’m so drunk I could have sex with anybody,” it would not have had as sure an effect. His voice had woke me up.

I swiveled again to face him. He rested one arm on my seat back.

“Ja taky,” I said, probably slurring a bit. Me too.

He raised his brow again and said, “You iss England?”

“Ne, Ameri?an,” I said.

“Ah hah,” he said, nodding and smiling, drunken eyes half-lidded and rolling.

I didn’t know what to say then, although I wanted to say something. What could I say? Come back to the park and fuck me in my sleeping bag?

He leaned forward, put the other arm on the back of my seat and then rested his head there. I have trouble remembering exactly what he looked like. At that time of the night, and after many beers, I must have thought he was handsome. I remember flushed cheeks, which could have meant alcohol or drugs or both, an angled, square jaw, long lashes and big green eyes, which I saw only when he managed to keep them open. Oh, and sexy crooked teeth, all there, just ill-fitting.

“Kam deš?” he said, hoarsely and low again. I started to answer, inappropriately, home, but before I could get the word out, he asked me if I would buy him a beer. He was out of money.

I hesitated only a fraction. “OK, ale kde?” I answered. OK, but where?

He shrugged and kept his head down. There was a non-stop herna bar sitting at the entrance to the park where I slept. I’d never been there before but I’d seen men coming and going at all hours, cops and taxi drivers particularly. From the outside, it looked like a cabin in the mountains, but I’d seen coolers full of bottled beer inside as I’d walked by, along with a few tables and, of course, at least a dozen gambling machines.

“Výstavišt?,” I said, finally. “Herna.”

“Dobre“, he said, easing himself back in his seat and folding his arms. Mission accomplished, maybe he thought.

No one else occupied the bar when we came in; in fact, we had to wake up the young, stocky barman from his sleep in the back, head down on a table and his arms hanging at his sides like a kindergarten kid taking a nap. He seemed happy to see us, though, and he and my new friend struck up a conversation that died as soon as the barman found out I was American. He put his hands on his hips, looked at me strangely and retreated to the back to gamble with the money we’d just given him for our two bottles of Budvar 12° and bag of ?esky chips.

The young man, whose name I remember as being Karel, sat next to me with his legs spread wide, one hand on his knee, his other arm braced by the table, holding the bottle of beer loosely and never putting it down, even when he lit a cigarette, my cigarette. Whenever our stop-start ?zechlish conversation would lull, he’d lean forward, take a drag, and begin to say something, opening his mouth for a few seconds, but was never able to bring his thought forward. I knew what he wanted to say, or at least the direction he wanted to point, but thought it better not to have it spelled it out. If there had been talk of money beforehand, I would have probably backed out. From his body language, I knew what was likely to happen anyway.

So did he. When I said, Let’s go, and hoisted my bag on my shoulders, he followed me out without a word. He must have been pretty desperate to follow me into the park.

The park gets dark fast on its perimeter, away from the paths, which I left about 100 meters in, looking for the shadow of a tree where we could do it. Finding a suitably big one, I took a piss first, and he came up next to me and did the same. He kept looking at his dick, and swayed while doing so, and his stream wagged back and forth, but I could see a smile, even there in the dark. I watched him finish and didn’t let him zip up, instead taking both his hands and moving them away from his crotch. I leaned into him and forced him back against the bark.

Lamplight on Flickr - Photo Sharing!

My pack was still on, and when I paused to take it off, he pushed down his boxers and his jeans and left his balls and dick hanging out. I moved forward to kiss him and he relaxed against the tree, putting his head back and closing his eyes. He was shorter than me, so it was easy to put an arm around his shoulders and then encircle his balls with my fist. As I began to eat his mouth, with his head tilted back, mouth open wide and taking my full tongue, my hand massaged his genitals; I felt, ridiculously, in control. He kept his hands at his sides, half-open, fingers moving, grabbing nothing, occasionally raising them to hold me lightly, then letting them fall.

By the time I dropped onto my knees, after getting him mostly hard with my hand, I’d forgotten about the piss that had pooled around the bole of the tree. After sucking a few at Valentino, you’d think I’d had enough or that I would have had the sense to move. I was too into it by this time. He had been moaning and relaxing considerably as I manipulated him; I’d scratched my fingers through his full bush and felt up his flat, smooth tummy underneath several layers of shirts, its muscles contracting, contracting as he breathed hard: I’d take him wherever we were, or in what. Wet knees seemed irrelevant, yet appropriate somehow.

His short, fat cock filled my mouth and banged the roof. He was determined. His load, when it came, overflowed. I thought I could keep it all in but when I pulled off his dick to wipe my mouth, quite a bit escaped down my chin. I could hear him gasping and muttering, “Ty vole!” several times above me.

I thought that would be it but when I staggered to my feet, he pulled me into him and kissed me - breath still beery - grabbed my crotch and started almost violently rubbing away. I’d provided my own orgasms at Valentino; no one had touched me. This boy got me going farther with his hand and his kisses than even the nice dicks fucking my mouth had done. I unzipped, pulled his hand up and hockered into it - my spit was still a little spermy - and put him back on my dick. He had to dig a little into my baggy cargoes but he managed to get me out in the open. I ended up coming with him behind me, one hand jackin’ me, the other reaching around and pulling me hard into him as he leaned against the tree. He had laced one leg through mine from the back and my butt rested on his crotch and upper thigh. The winter clothes made it less enlivening than it might have been, but you’d be surprised how little one’s cock cares about the cold when that drunk and that horny.

While I zipped up, he bent down and wiped his hand off in the grass. I stood swaying, wondering if we were finally going to get around to money. He surprised me instead by giving me a hug/shoulder-bump and shaking my hand, both ours still damp.

“Dobre?” he asked, making sure it was good for me.

“No, no, moc dobre,” I said, assuring him it had been very good for me.

He didn’t let me go, and stood looking at me, open-eyed, having sobered up a bit. So with my other hand, I took out my wallet, at which point he released me. Just then, one of Prague’s little toy cop cars toured slowly nearby on one of the park’s thoroughfares. They either didn’t see us or didn’t care. Once your eyes adjusted, you realized that enough sodium light penetrated to see by, and we were very close to the entrance. The boy moved away from me a couple steps, first taking the 200 K? that I offered, neither surprised nor insulted.

He seemed OK with the amount, and kissed me on the mouth one last time. “Diky moc,” he said, turned, waited for the cops to disappear down the hill, then walked away.

Mouth on his balls, back on the bed, head hanging over the side, both my hands gripped David’s tensed and flexed thighs. He was standing, almost straddling my head, and jackin’ off. If someone had been sucking me or jacking me off when I first touched him and felt how hard his legs were, with just a light covering of boyish fuzz, I would have come right then.

Watching his bulging curves, outlined by the light from my half-open curtains and with his loose sack bouncing around on my face and his dick grazing my lips every so often, I was having a good time; but, it wasn’t how I’d expected him to finish himself off.

I’d tried my hardest earlier, when we were both together, lying on the bed; but, I just couldn’t make him come. Sucking made him happy. (Nezastavit, nezastavit! Don’t stop, don’t stop! he said when I took a breather.) Tweaking his nipples and jackin’ him made him really happy and he’s even an more passionate, involved and experimental kisser than Kuba was. Still, no sperma.

After what seemed like hours - I’d already shot off once rutting into his deep and rich butt crack - I told him “Nevadí, nevadí,” meaning I didn’t care if he came or not.

“Vadí,” he’d said, meaning it mattered to him.

That’s when he got up off the bed abruptly and stood by my desk, one hand balancing himself on a chair and the other hand furiously wanking himself. I suspect he probably did it to get away from the ‘mo and concentrate on the holka in his head, but maybe he just likes standing up and jacking off. In any case, he looked like such a butch stud standing there, even in the half-light, or especially in the half-light, with his stocky little legs spread and his shoulders bunched like a boxer’s. His muscles, although they show mass when relaxed, had deceived me into thinking he was soft. When busy, however, they thicken and harden quite a bit. Even his small, lightly-defined pecs puff out substantially when he’s masturbating.

So I put my face underneath his balls, mouth open and tilted up, and waited for the climax, which splattered all over me, all over the floor and all over the edge of the bed, in what seemed like dozens of little drops. He huffed and gasped, his shoulders rising and falling like he was working a bellows. I made him stick his softening cock in my mouth so I could come again but he’d emptied it by the time I got my lips around it. I came anyway. I’ve got this thing for half-hard, sticky dick, settling down in my mouth.

Afterwards, I hauled myself back up with difficulty, grabbing the cum rag off the floor as I did, patted him on the back and hugged him. I wiped us both off and then pulled him back onto the bed. He was snoring within minutes, tucked under one of my arms. He’s so short that when curled up his feet only reach my knees.

He made me write this.

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It’s been years since someone has ejaculated while sucking me, not since I had a proper boyfriend in Chicago - that one also liked to be slapped lightly in the face while doing it, his nips tortured as well, mouth blubbering out spit and gasping as he sucked. Such a crazy, pervy boy.

Nice enough to find a rent boy who stays hard while sucking, a boy like Kuba or like gypsy Petr, so that a 69 position was possible. But no, this boy, new Slovak boy Petr, stayed on his knees in front of me, in the cabins in Valentino last weekend, kissing and rubbing his face into my crotch, mumbling fuck-knows-what in an alluring and urgent voice, and had jacked himself into a frenzy while going down on me. I’d suspected he might be gay earlier in the night, because he took to deep-kissing me so willingly, after first confirming that we were in fact, in a gay bar, and because every time I stuck my hand down his pants and stroked, he got hard. But it wasn’t until I bent down with a tissue and wiped a few drops of cum off the steel toes of my big black boots, that I knew for sure.

Even more remarkable considering that I never got more than half-hard, suffering as I still am, missing Prague’s Best Cock and Best Pubes. Maybe Petr’s mumblings had been encouragement for me, I don’t know. After I’d pulled him upright and sat him on the vinyl bench to clean his dick off with my tongue, I’d apologized for my pitiful erection. He’d said, “Ne vad’í,” but had asked me if he was perhaps, no good, and maybe I wasn’t attracted to him.

It wasn’t that. I’d had a good time kissing him and sucking him off. He has a fat, short cock with a tight, sensitive, splotchy foreskin and while I was slobbering all over it, I’d lost myself. Nothing wrong with his own technique either. I wouldn’t have gotten up at all if he hadn’t worked so hard at it. Also, earlier in the night I’d realized whom he looked like: British actor Jamie Bell. Petr had grabbed a white hat off the head of an ultra-friendly, pretty American expat woman and had been mugging and dancing around with it. At the point where he grabbed the hat by its crown, his small ears sticking out to the sides, and saluted our table from the dancefloor, it had struck me. Bell’s cuter, and more innocent-looking, but as long as Petr kept the hat on, he was a 20-year old, Slovak Billy Elliot. I actually pointed and shouted, “Billy Elliot!” to Petr’s confusion. The Americans saw it right away.

Petr assured me that we’d try again later to get me off, that it would be no problem. He took the money I gave him - the 300 K? blow job had become the 400 K? blow job, partly in apology and partly because I really had had a good time with him all night - but then Petr pulled a Pavel. He spent all the money he’d just earned buying shots and beers for the both of us, and even for a couple expats at our table. So, by the time I felt horny again and suggested we go back to the cabins for a reprise, he’d decided that he didn’t owe me anything.

“How much?” he asked, in English, and with a cruel grin.

That took me off him immediately. I sat down next to him in the booth, deflated, and wouldn’t touch him. He realized he’d made a mistake and tried to make up, but I gently and firmly took his hand from my knee. I’d told him to be careful and not spend his money - I would continue to keep us drunk - but he wouldn’t listen, instead showing off in the way that young guys do on a Friday night when they’ve just cashed a fat paycheck. Except, it hadn’t been a fat paycheck. It had been enough to get him a bed in a hostel, and not much else.

Equally cruelly, I said, “I go,” got my jacket and backpack and left him slumped down in the booth, broke, and by this time, alone. If I’d sobered up a bit, I would have probably forgiven him, if not given more money for biznis. Still, these days I find it better policy to let a boy know my limits and what I’m made of, rather than giving him a wedge to take advantage of me in the future. Partying all night and letting me pay the bill is one thing, and part of the deal; reneging on a promise is another.

I saw Petr at Rudolfa the night Pavel and I reunited properly, and although I wouldn’t call his behavior jealous - he might be gay but he’s still a rent boy and I’m a punter - but he barely kept his eyes off us the whole night, occasionally wagging a warning finger at me from across the room, and parrying Pavel’s displays of affection with ones of his own, performed on an older Rudolfa regular. No one could keep up with Pavel and me, however, and I noticed that Petr turned his head away whenever the man tried to kiss him on the mouth. Possibly because he liked me better but more likely because he thought I had more money than the Czech man.

Pavel and I made to leave and Petr called me over and begged me not to.

“No go sleep, Riki, no go sleep,” he whined. “Go toilet a suck.”

It wasn’t even tempting. I went home alone. Maybe I’ve learned a thing or two? Or maybe my dick’s just waiting on Marek.

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Portrait of Pavel, under the fast food umbrella on Flickr - Photo Sharing!

Every punter needs a regular boy like Pavel: Easy-going, if not so easy to get-going, utterly relaxed about anything and everything sexual, 110% non-homophobic, flexible on price, in no hurry whatsoever, provides his own cigarettes and often buys beer, and last but not least, the best kisser, straight or gay or female, I’ve ever known. I said in a recent post that I saw no reason to ever do biznis with Pavel again but then something happened that made me a little lonely. So I called him up, knowing that even if we didn’t have sex, he’d still be willing to come over and get drunk with me, which is what I needed more than anything.

Before we had even opened the first beer bottle, which Pavel did with his teeth, I told him first, that it would only be “small biznis” and that second, I had been having trouble with getting a full erection lately so he would have to help me out more than usual. He looked at me with mock-shock and said, “You? Scandal!” and then asked, “Why?”

I didn’t go into the whole Marek thing, mostly because it would have been a real buzz-killer but also because Pavel’s never been all that sympathetic to my boy-problems. Perhaps because he thinks he’s better than all of them, and certainly less trouble. He may be right. I just told him I didn’t know why, and left it at that.

So Pavel and I sat ourselves in front of the MacBook with our pants off. I surfed over to YouPorn while Pavel opened our first couple of pivo. I made an attempt to find something appropriate but gave up. I was sure my requirements for a tolerable hetero video were different than Pavel’s anyway. Pavel insisted on lesbian sex. It wasn’t hard to find but if there’s anything about straight boys that’s consistent, when they watch porn they do a lot of fast-forwarding and rewinding and pausing. It’s been my experience that gay guys don’t watch porn like that. We might fast-forward to the start of the good stuff, but then we let it play, matching stroking to the pace or interest of the video. Pavel’s straight and at first tried fast-forwarding, which doesn’t work so well for Internet video on a slow connection. I finally told him to just be patient and took his hand off the mouse. He sighed and sat back.

Rather than a typical session with a rent boy, I wanted it to be me and my straight buddy drinkin’ beer, smokin’ cigs and watchin’ porn together. Mostly, I’d be watchin’ Pavel. I needed the camaraderie as much as I needed the orgasm. When it was appropriate, we’d give each other a helping hand, or mouth. I couldn’t have scripted a better time. When Pavel got hard he first kissed me then forced my head down into his crotch, like a straight buddy should do to his gay admirer. As I was sucking him, I realized that I’d never done it before, or couldn’t remember having done it very much. Pavel and I have only had biznis twice and once was a quick fuck in the cabins at Valentino. Both times had been about servicing me. This time I discovered what a nice fat cock Pavel has and what fun it was to worship it down between his knees. When I came up for air, he told me I was very good. The quick intakes of breath, his tummy moving up and down, had told me that already.

I got up after awhile and sat next to him. He immediately turned his head, giving me that open, hungry look that makes him look gay, grabbed my dick and started deep-kissing me. I was hard and he commented that I seemed to be having no problem. And I wasn’t. I was up almost immediately. It must be the high comfort level that I have with Pavel. Anyway, we traded hand-jobs and blow-jobs, but mostly I watched Pavel turn in on himself and focus on the movie. He jacked himself pretty quickly, and the muscles in his chest and shoulders flexed. As I’ve said, he’s become quite the solid young man up-top, not from going to the gym, or even from good genes, but rather from lifting heavy things all day long. Sexy mutha. I rubbed his pecs and played with myself.

I’d already told Pavel that when he came I wanted his sperm. He let me know ahead of time and I got back down on my knees to suck it up. He’d told me he hadn’t come for three days and it showed. Stayed out of my eyes, thank fuck, but squirted all over everywhere else. And kept squirting. I tried to keep up. Pavel then thoughtfully offered me what was on his hand and I snuffled around in his crotch and happy trail to lick up the stray drops, which made Pavel laugh.

“Dog!” he said.

“Guilty,” I said, which he didn’t understand.

We smoked another couple cigarettes and opened another set of beers before it was my turn to nut. I called Pavel over to the bed and we started rolling around, frotting and making out. His hand was on my dick immediately. I reached over his back and fumbled for the tube of lube that was the floor, squirted some into his hand and he went to work. He massaged my balls and stuck a finger up my ass, at which point I nearly passed out. I can’t even remember the last time anything, never mind a dick, was up there. Could it have been Kuba’s? Long time.

I’ve often wondered if Pavel fakes his passion. Seems likely, because he is straight, and yet he goes at it aggressively, initiates and continues, and pulls me back when I pull away even a little. He looks me in the eyes, he grabs my ass and has no problem with my own corresponding aggression and passion. If my cock’s gettin’ manipulated by a guy and I’m facing him, when I get close, I start flailing around and usually end up pounding the guy on the back or shoulders. That’s what I did to Pavel and he took it in stride, and in fact, pounded me back, anything to get me and keep me excited.
Afterwards, I regretted having spent most of my reader’s donation on two boys whom I didn’t even know, for one mediocre session and one good one, when I could have had 7 dates with Pavel for the same amount of money. More importantly, I would have had a better time and helped someone I care about.

Pavel stayed two hours or so after I came, ignoring the threatening calls and SMSes from his girlfriend, another thing I love about him. He seems to genuinely like hanging out with me. We went and bought more beer and cigarettes - he tried to pay for half but I wouldn’t let him - and then came back and talked some more. I showed him my blog, which he’d seen before, and he asked to see the pictures I took of him which are on flickr now. I assured him that the nudes were not available out on the wide open Internet but were only available privately to my friends. He waved this away, saying, “No problem for me.”

He said things aren’t going well between him and his girlfriend and he might soon need somewhere to stay. I’ve heard this before and they’ve always managed to patch things up. Still, I told him if I could I’d give him someplace to crash.

Living with Pavel…hmmm…that might be a lot of fun.

I earned a little money, um, making introductions last week so I decided to pump it back into the local rent boy ecomony.

I wanted to fuck, and as I told the entire household one night, “I want a goddamn blow job once in awhile!” Vasile cackled. Valentýn grinned. Marek shook his head and said, “Rick, no problem, you suck,” and grabbed his bulge.

I jumped him and tried to force this head down into my crotch.

“No problem, huh?”

“No, no, no, no!” he said, wiggling out of my grip and throwing a fake punch at me as he dodged away. I knew Marek’s boundaries anyway. I had already planned on going to the station and trying to find at least one of the two new gypsy boys that Clint had fucked a couple times. Gypsies who do biznis aren’t that rare but ones that get fucked are, at least in my experience. Both of the ones I had in mind were good-looking if too skinny for what I really liked. I hate fucking bony asses. In truth, Marek is just on the edge of being too skinny for me. Luckily he has a very nice, full ass; so nice that I don’t even mind my dick’s never gone inside.

I said goodbye to the flat and spent a couple hours cruising hlavní nádraží with no luck. As happens so often these days, no one was about: no boys and no punters. Not those two gypsy boys, not the tall Slovak with green eyes and not the one with a chiseled jaw, sharp nose and flawless mocha skin.

I had given up and was headed outside when Vasile and Valentýn showed up. With them was a small butch gypsy boy I’d met before when I’d visited Valentýn at his security job. The top of his head hit me just about my chest but he was built like a wrestler. Dark chest hair curled out of the top of his shirt, buttoned up to the collar. His black hair was parted in the middle of his head and slicked back. It looked awful. His face, however, was handsome: A Roman nose, high cheekbones and a square jaw. Like most gypsies his brown eyes were so dark they were black. This one, whose name was Petr, looked at me with a sly sweetness when he shook my hand and remembered my name.

I’d asked Valentýn several weeks back if Petr did biznis. Valentýn had scoffed at the suggestion but looking Petr over now, as he looked me over in turn, I wasn’t so sure. Still, I knew it wasn’t the prudent thing to ask him in front of his friends and a former workmate if he would get fucked for money.

The boys were headed to Cross Club to smoke up so I waited until I got outside to SMS Vasile and introduce the idea of Petr’s doing biznis with me. There must have been a short discussion about it, about me. I can only imagine what Valentýn and Vasile might have told Petr. It wasn’t until I was back in the flat making dinner that I got my first answer. The answer was yes and he would suck me, no problem. Surprised, I pushed my luck. I SMSed back that I would pay him 500 K? for him to suck me, and he must kiss. I was sick of the on-again, off-again smooching habits of Marek. I texted: If Petr would get fucked I’d give him 1000 K?. I didn’t have much hope of that - he was the butchest gypsy I’d met in awhile - but the SMS came back quickly. No problem. The sweetest phrase that a boy can ever say.

The whole gang came back at the arranged time, with marijuana and the intention to party a little. I sent Vasile and Valentýn out for beer - Marek was konked out on one of the sofas and could not be roused - intending to sample Peter while they were gone. He was already in my room on a chair, an unlit cigarette in his hand. He looked up at me as I came in and grinned and nodded. I sat down in a chair next to him and lit his cigarette. Then I leaned over to kiss him. His mouth opened as I approached him slowly. Our lips met and his mouth stayed open, his tongue touching mine. He passed the first test.

I reached my hand out to see how hard his body was. His chest was small but shaped well. Not gym-body hard but not soft either. I started to unbutton the top button of his shirt so I could get a look.

“Moc chlupy, no?” I asked him. I wanted a hairy man just then.

He shrugged and said, yes. I leaned back and watched him unbutton his shirt. As he did so, he looked down and arranged the placket so one nipple was visible. His chest bore a patch of swirling black fur. His tummy, which pooched just a little, was not as hairy as his chest but the contrast was cute. Then he looked at me, smiled, leaned back in the chair and took a drag. If I could write the word swoon without my prose turning purple, I would. Suddenly though, I did feel light-headed and even hornier than I had been.

I got up and laid down on the bed, pulling him after me and pulling open his shirt even more. He put his arms around me and pressed up against me, immediately starting to rut. His breathing quickened about the same time mine did and we made out until the other boys came back. I figured that if he did end up sucking me that I would be getting my money’s worth. Eventually we heard Vasile’s keys rattling in the door and we separated.

Then Valentýn rolled a joint, Vasile passed out the bottles of Braník and Marek laid there snoring softly. The boys got high and I got a little tipsy before shooing the non-partcipating individuals out the door so that Petr and I could get busy.

Petr had no problem doing most of what he was supposed to do. He was a voracious and aggressive kisser, he sucked me, he paid attention to my dick. He seemed genuinely excited, his breathing accelerated, his hands all over me. When hard, his cock measured a very respectable 7, I’d guess. He kept his eyes on it as I sucked him. And he was in no hurry. His chest and nipples were incredibly sensitive so whenever we’d pause for a breather, I’d rub and massage him there, slapping his pecs lightly. He put one arm over his head, his other around my shoulders and stretched out as I worked over his chest. Whenever his hard-on flagged, this is what I’d do. I loved looking at him, butch boy that he was. His hair formed a pattern that swooped up from under his pecs, like a black flame, like a pair of cupped hands. At those moments, he looked me right in the eyes and smiled. I pushed his stupid hair back from his brow and looked at him, kissed his cheek. He really was handsome.

I’d asked him if he wanted to take a shower beforehand but when he declined I’d taken Valentýn aside and told him to make sure that Petr washed his ass. When he disappeared into the shower room, I’d assumed that was what he was doing. Later when I finally got around to flipping him over on his tummy and discovered that while he might have washed something it wasn’t his ass. I’ve established that I’m not so fastidious when it comes to hygeine but if it’s bad enough that a boy’s ass leaves skidmarks on the comforter, as his did, I have to take a pass on the ass-play. It wasn’t the smell, which was minimal, it was the juiciness. Okay, and useful, internally; but, in the crack, not so much.

I briefly considered letting him fuck me - although long he wasn’t so fat - but I hadn’t douched as I normally do. No one was getting fucked that night. Because he hadn’t washed, the boy missed out on doubling his fee. Still, I’d had fun, and after he made me come, he impressed me by insisting on his own orgasm. A boy who wants his own turn is a keeper. It means he’s at least partially invested in the sex and that he’s not a pro. As a result, I tipped him a hundred crowns, which he grabbed and waved around like he’d won the lottery. At least, I don’t think it was ironic.

Through the whole thing, Marek was still sleeping on the sofa. He woke up only after everyone else had left again, off to use my money to buy some more weed. I told him I’d had sex, and with whom. He didn’t believe it.

“Petr? No. Petr no biznis boy,” he asserted.

“Well, he did biznis with me,” I countered, adding, “You speak you no biznis boy and you have sex with me.”

“Uh huh,” Marek said. He paused, “Uh huh. Ale I no hear you uh uh uh. No normal. For you,” he said, laughing. He’d heard my coming with Valentýn many times.

“Just because you didn’t hear it doesn’t mean it didn’t happen. Next time I’ll wake you up.”

He worked my English out for a few seconds and then laughed. He stood in the middle of the room and bowed from the waist.

“No, thhhhhhhank you!” he said, exaggerating the pronunciation. An hour later, he had something real to thank me for.

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At first my new Romanian got in bed with all his clothes on. Uh-uh, sorry, but that’s just an insult. From spending time with him earlier I’d realized very quickly that he was excruciatingly shy; but, that was no excuse.

“You can take your clothes off. I won’t rape you, you know,” I teased.

He immediately did so.

“No problem, no problem,” he said, throwing his jeans across the radiator.

Within a minute of lying beside him I could tell that making something sexual happen would be, not easy, but accepted and probably welcomed. There was simply too much electricity in the air. I don’t know why I luck out so often with new ones. I’m no great prize and I certainly benefit from the almost universal secrecy practiced by Central European boys whose sexualities veer from the mean. They fear being themselves among their peers but put them in a gay-for-pay situation and their relief is so great that they’ll fuck just about anything, whether they’d be inclined to do so in a completely equal society or not. Like that exists anywhere. It’s not different from the situation in the U. S. not so many years ago, and as it still is among certain cultural groups. It’s just it never benefited me much in America.

Still, I was too tired to do anything. We didn’t get in bed until almost 5. In addition, it’s usually my policy to let the boy make the first move, or at least, drop so many hints that we both feel comfortable moving forward.

In my new Romanian boy’s case, it was sighs, sleeplessness, sideways glances and smiles - augmented by a raised arm and revealed pit - pointed conversation and, in the morning light from the window, an erection that wouldn’t go away even after he’d pissed twice. It looked massive enough already, pointed off to his left and completely filling up his bikinis.

“Nice hard-on,” I said as he walked back to the bed, parading in front of me almost on his tip-toes.

“Thanks. Yes, I know.”

But really, I’d no idea. Ended up he was only about 75% hard. After I started playing with his naturally snake-bit nipples, his cock popped all the way out of his briefs, showing me a wet, red, torpedo-shaped head. Fat shaft, uncut, of course.

I took my time with him. He told me he loved my rubbing his suede. I told him I liked it, too. I could feel him getting more excited just from the body contact. I decided to take my time and discover what sort of response I could get out of him.

Turned out his tiny nipples were incredibly sensitive but he’s a tough one - allowing me to bite, stretch, manhandle, not just his tips but his whole chest. He arched his back and gasped. Eventually, he got impatient with the foreplay, took off his undies and pushed off the comforter. I played reluctant but he put one hand on my head and showed me what he wanted.

He came in less than a minute. A small, tasty load. I couldn’t tell how happy he was with the orgasm just from listening to him but a couple minutes later he said it had been very good. I noticed his erection hadn’t gone down and commented on it. He said it was normal and that he could come again pretty quickly. Aha, another Marek.

Instead of blowing him again I decided to test some limits. He was on his back and I started off with a massage - back, shoulders, full muscular butt - head-to-head rubs (he twisted his head, dog-like, marking me), and then I got on top of him and put my dick between his cheeks, underwear still on. I rutted and massaged his shoulders, put both hands underneath him and tweaked his nipples hard, squeezed his whole body. He seemed to like all this as much as he liked the severe nipple-chewing. He thrust his butt up into me, just a little, enough for me to get deeper in his crack. I never took our underwear off but he inhaled and exhaled harder and faster and reached a plateau, pausing expectantly between breaths. I thought he was going to come. I eased off him, satisfied. No sense pushing it. I’d found out what I wanted to know. His butt’s wide open is my opinion, despite the fact that he’d told me earlier he was active only.

Is he gay? He says he doesn’t know. He’s fucked about ten guys, he said, but also fucks women. Cool. I don’t need any more encouragement than that.