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Tenting Tonight
- Thread starter comeagain
- Start date
Well, you've got both!
Tenting Tonight, chapter 23
When Ze’ev flew back to Israel, there was a perceptible change in Russlan. He was not yet ready to open up more. It was already clear to us that there was a great deal more he wanted to tell us - but not yet. Paul L counseled all of us to go easy on Russlan. He had been away from us for years. He had revealed that a schoolboy relationship with the son (though from an early, long-ended marriage) of KGB Director Yuri Andropov, later to head the Soviet regime briefly, had propelled him into a lifetime of fear, and unfortunately, the fear may have been warranted.
This Andropov was the same KGB director who entertained a scheme to cripple or maim Rudolf Nureyev, the ballet superstar whose defection to the West was seen as treasonous in the USSR. And whose encore had been similar plans to injure the ballerina Natalia Makarova after her defection. You have to wonder about a man whose first son, though from an estranged marriage, was essentially abandoned, and when he learned that son was “blue,” Russian slang for “gay,” apparently sanctioned his execution, according to Russlan’s story.
No wonder Russlan was desperate to find a way to the West. No wonder that after his own refusal to go back to the USSR (details of which he hadn’t discussed with us), he lived in fear that agents of the KGB would have special reason to hunt him down. And when people he believed were KGB agents attacked his own boyfriend, Robert, and the boyfriend’s brother, Liam, Russlan believed that the attack had really been against him. He really believed that except for an accident of fate that put red-haired Liam at Robert’s side, and red-haired Russlan waiting in a lobby nearby, both he and Robert might be dead, instead of only Robert. Our Liam had almost lost an eye in that attack, but he had survived.
Something still bothered me, though. Liam had told us that just as the attack began, one of the young men attacking Robert and Liam had said, “Is this your faggot brother,” or words to that effect. I kept turning the words over and over again in my mind. If they thought Liam was Russlan, why would they have said that? To whom were the words addressed? To Robert? To Liam, whom Russlan told us they thought was Russlan? I decided that once Paul L thought it was OK to discuss things with Russlan, I’d try to raise this with him and get it clear in my head. Maybe there was an easy answer. Maybe there was no answer. I just hoped that Russlan was finally being completely open with us.
Russlan. I wondered what he had whispered in Paul’s ear that evening before Ze’ev’s return to Israel. He’d been fucking my Paul, and he had said something that apparently drove Paul wild with desire. There was a change in his sexuality, too. We’d usually seen Russlan as a bottom, mainly. Russlan would fuck other men one on one, but there was another side to him, the obsessive bottom who always wanted to be fucked by everyone present. I’d also wondered about that. Was Russlan a collector of numbers (shades of John Rechy’s novel, Numbers)? Was he just obsessive? Why the need, sometimes, to have sex until it hurt? Was it the hurting that turned him on? He never showed other signs of masochism, and he was a skilled and loving top. But every once in a while, maybe when the moon was right, he wanted every cock in the room rammed into his ass, over and over again. Even inveterate bottoms had topped Russlan. He would turn them on so - once in a while, an older friend of Paul L’s would join us for dinner, some men as old, perhaps, as 80... but if this divine madness struck Russlan, then the elderly professor or in once case, confessor, would wind up with his penis in Russlan’s charming and talented rectum, sometimes having sex for the first time in years, much to his own amazement (and delight).
Or put another way, Russlan’s ass would go to the top of any gay man’s Must Fuck list, and probably join a good many lists of natural wonders.
I turned the history over and over in my mind. Russlan had gone missing in January, 1984, when the year was barely three days old. I remember how upset our Liam was. Liam went to London to study in the fall of 1988, and his Pan Am flight home for Christmas went down in Lockerbie, Scotland. Ze’ev had gone home to Israel at the time of the first Gulf War, and Frank had decided to retire to Florida, which is technically still his residence, but Paul L insisted that Frank remain on the payroll as director of security for his business interests, telecommuting at times, but flying up to Boston if we needed him, and we needed him for most holidays. Paul L had assigned Frank to figure out if the phantom figure we saw lurking on the street across from Lindoro’s was Russlan or not. The moment he was needed, Frank was in Boston. Having given up his apartment when he moved to Florida, Frank now had a room in Paul L’s residence above Lindoro’s.
When Russlan disappeared in 1984, Paul L had instructed his staff to give us a summary of any developments in the case. There were very few, and gradually, this became a monthly memo on events of the day that might have any bearing on the case. That was why we were well-informed about Boris Yeltsin’s surprising (to us, as to many in the West and in Russia) liberalization of laws regarding gays. The new Russia that was envisioned after the fall of communism never materialized.
The US had spent a great deal of money helping get Europe on its feet, economically, after World War II. President Harry Truman, a student of history, a veteran of World War I and a victim of the post-war recession that followed, had the broad, strategic vision to see that a Europe with a healthy economy would be a natural ally for the US and a natural bulwark against communism. Truman’s vision had extended even further: he had named the resulting plan for a national hero, Gen. George C. Marshall, then serving as Truman’s secretary of state, rather than allowing it to be credited to himself, so that the plan would pass Congress, as it did.
An instructive parallel: Gay life in Germany had flourished in the 1920s, but the rise of fascism in the form of German national socialism had led to a Holocaust not only for the Nazis’ first target of choice, the Jews, but also for gays, gypsies, and a host of others “unfit to live.” Many of those who became visible in the 1920s became prisoners or ashes in the 1930s-40s. American investors like Henry Ford, seeking a bulwark against Bolshevism, had financed both the rise of national socialism and the subversion of the new democracy by fascists. American investment in Russia in the 1990s favored some of the worst elements in Russian national life, and the US will pay for Poppy Bush’s willful negligence for decades.
Had the US had a president with any real vision even a spine, in 1991, when the USSR collapsed inward on itself, the US might have had a natural ally in the new Russia. Not Poppy Bush, who disdained what he called “that vision thing.” In the critical winter of 1991-1992, the coldest in decades, when the Soviet police state was gone and it became clear that Soviet infrastructure for delivery of basic human needs had only worked under a police state, Poppy turned his backy on the Russkies, play wicky-wacky with his gallabiah-clad oil cronies. His failure to provide assistance ensured the rise of crime-lord-ruled oligarchies in Russia that robbed the state of any future as a democracy, and led directly to the return of KGB elements to rule Russia. Gay life had emerged from the closet under Yeltsin at first, but when the worst elements in the Russian psyche took control control, de facto if not de jure discrimination became the norm once again.
At Lindoro’s, we learned about all this through Paul L’s staff reports that kept alive, for us, the dream that Russlan would come back to us. But what, if anything, had events in Russia to do with Russlan’s reappearance in our lives? Was he himself somehow connected to the KGB? Could we trust him 100%? Everyone hoped we could. I wondered.
We began, gradually, to realize that Paul L was grooming Liam10 as his eventual successor at Lindoro’s, and we were all happy for Liam10. The two of them make a wonderful couple. Paul L and Liam10 were the ones among us who reached out the most to Russlan, who sometimes joined them as a threesome in their large bedroom. Russlan’s English began to improve again - it had clearly deteriorated in the years he had been away - but he never lost either the accent or the syntax of a speaker of Russian. Paul L asked him one evening if he still had anyone in Russia to visit, and he just shrugged. I wondered.
For whatever reason, and perhaps because he felt some guilt around Bobby’s death, Russlan had a habit of coming to our bed as well, and offering himself to my Paul. It was Paul, more than anyone, who still suffered actively around the death of our Lingam, and Russlan seemed to feel that he could assuage Paul’s grief by offering him his red-haired body and his Energizer bunny ass. Paul and I discussed this, and I never discouraged him from taking Russlan up on his offer. I myself enjoyed fucking Russlan from time to time as well.
Russlan had an odd way of making himself available, sexually. Almost after the fashion of a tribal slave, any expression of desire, or any physical affection, led Russlan to begin doffing his clothing, anywhere in the residence. It was as if he wanted to be seen, to be seen to be submissive, to be seen to be regretful, to humiliate himself. Although none of us ever got into humiliation in the sexual arena per se, it was very odd to greet someone with a kiss at the door and have him immediately strip naked and offer his ass on the welcome mat. I don’t say it put us off any... over the months that followed, I’d take the Lindoro’s elevator up, the door would open, and there, on the carpet in front of the elevator, would be Russlan, naked, lubed, his legs spread, his ass winking and ready. More than once, I simply opened my fly and went in. (And ruined an Italian silk suit with lube that wouldn’t come out.)
Or the door would open, and there would be my Paul, seated on a chair that Russlan had pulled up opposite the elevator door, and Paul would be reading his mail while Russlan, naked, on his knees, would be blowing Paul or sometimes rimming him. Eventually, the mail would be tossed aside as Paul got into fucking Russlan. Sometimes, I’d find Paul just nosing Russlan’s red pubes, as if trying to find something. And once in a while, Paul would be rimming Russlan prior to fucking him. The rarest of all was to find Russlan fucking Paul, which always happened at Paul’s request, and usually was a prelude either to a threesome in our bed, or to Paul’s wanting to be fucked deeply and wildly. I was more than willing to comply.
Liam10, also, was the object of Russlan’s desire. Liam10 too would get off the elevator and find Russlan on his knees, his mouth poised at just the right height. At first, Liam10 would laugh it off, but eventually, the steamy sight of that naked body with the lips and tongue that worked wonders on a glans won out, and it got to the point where sometimes Liam10 would get on the elevator downstairs and open his fly, getting himself hard (if he wasn’t already hard) on the way up, so that the elevator door would open, and if Russlan was there, Liam would plug in. One time, the elevator door closed on Liam10, and he was just lucky that his foot was in the right position, or the elevator door would have closed on his hardon. Ouch!
For me, Russlan selected rimming as his prime offering. We were often naked in the evenings, all of us, or all but Paul L, who would wear a silk dressing gown but could easily be persuaded to take it off. One evening, when I was watching television with everyone, sitting on an easy chair just like my Paul’s, I was startled to feel the easy chair give way beneath me. I jumped up and looked down, only to see Russlan’s face where my ass had been. It turned out that he had scoured the local stores for a similar chair to mine, and he had cut open a trap door just under the seat. He had reinforced the seat so that the person - almost always I, let’s face it - seated there would not fall through. But it allowed him to scoot under the chair, narrow as he was, and to lick his way to my heart.
You would think that the furniture at Lindoro’s would be all stained with cum from all of the sex we had non-stop. First, it wasn’t non-stop, exactly. We did have lives, jobs, other interests. And I haven’t mentioned the Lindoro’s staff.
When we first got to know Paul L, I kind of wondered what his sex life had been like before us, since once he had us as his friends, we became so close. The answer was not clear for a while, because we did not yet realize that he had been keeping Albert’s memory alive and his own insecurities in check by pretending to the world that Albert WAS alive. When we knew that and still loved him, he became dedicated to us more than ever, and we built our lives with him. We were concerned always that he not think us parasites who hung with him for his money, but we had hung with him long before we knew he was anything but the maitre d’hôtel at Lindoro’s. He was not celibate during those years that he was alone. Far from it. Paul L always found people in need and made their need into a cause in which he could do good.
With all the students who come to Boston every year, there are always a certain number of young men of limited means who find that they can stretch their dollars by making themselves available, on a limited basis, for sex. There was at one time, as has been mentioned earlier, an all-male brothel on the Fenway, at which Ivy League college students made a few extra bucks, or made up for money lost gambling or lost through other pursuits. I never saw the place; it was gone before my time in Boston, but I have heard older gay men swear to its existence. I confess I would like to have been able to visit the place. I like the idea of all these students, no doubt some gay, some straight, serving as escorts. I know, I know, I suppose it was deeply demeaning for a straight man to offer his ass for payment, or to learn to take phalli into his mouth for filthy lucre, but knowing some of the frat types and hoity-toity legacies who are at the social center but the academic periphery of the Ivy League, I would like to have seen it. I suspect it would have been amusing. Maybe not.
Gay establishments pre-Stonewall and pre-liberation had a tenuous existence, often at the mercy of organized crime, who found in illegal homosexual venues a source of income and protection money. After Stonewall, in the early 1970s, gay clubs began to spring up and flourish in the decade of sheer hedonism before we all learned how vulnerable (and how despised by some government bigwigs) we were. Friends, including some classical musicians of note, who were students at that time say that there were places where older and younger mixed freely, without the sharp divisions in today’s gay club scene. There were always places where young could meet young, but there were also plenty of small clubs where old and young could mingle and meet and mate. At some of these, students who didn’t ordinarily hustle might become hustlers of opportunity for some older men, or for other students who had means, and some romances were born under those circumstances.
Nevertheless, there were always guys who were taken advantage of by someone or other, gay guys who had been down on their luck and had peddled their asses, supposedly straight guys who had found it necessary or convenient to be gay for pay and had found themselves in over their heads; guys who had discovered their gay selves and had been disowned by their families, guys who had various substance abuse issues... guys who had a strike of one kind or another against them, and who needed a friendly hand up to help them regain a toehold in life. Paul L did not set out to collect stray cats, but his generous nature and his personality were such that he always helped guys without taking advantage of them, guys who might otherwise have wound up in serious trouble of one kind or another. We had noted early on that quite a few of the Lindoro’s staff were very easy on the eyes, to put it mildly. As we got to know Paul L better, we realized that quite a few of them were guys down on their luck who had turned to Paul L for help without strings. They might turn to Paul L for help with school after dropping out for lack of funds and hustling for a while. They might get to know him through friends who were patrons of Lindoro’s and then turn to him when they needed help because not every sugar daddy was benign in his intentions, and they found they needed protection. Paul L had found Albert in a similar way, when Paul L was still escorting and Albert was his client. Paul L told us that Albert had never held it against him that he had been a sex worker, especially after hearing about Paul L’s grandfather. He had never treated Paul L with anything but affection and respect, and that by itself told Paul L that Albert was worth getting to know. Eventually, they had a life together, and when Paul L was left alone, he continued to be of help to those in need. My Paul and I wonder what it was about us and our Lingam that drew Paul L to us, and we kid him that we are also among his stray cats. He laughs, but he does not contradict us.
Among the young folk who worked for Paul L over the years that we have known him, several stand out:
Sharunas, a Lithuanian violist trying to establish himself as a concert artist, played chamber music at Lindoro’s, sometimes with world-class colleagues who ate there when on tour in Boston. Sharunas is a tall young man, dark and handsome, with large hands that mesmerize those who see him play; those same hands fiddle erotically with a select, very lucky few. If he did not have the position at Lindoro’s, perhaps he would be out hustling, perhaps not. I think not, but you never know. Playing at Lindoro’s is a way station in his musical career.
Stephanie is a collage artist who has struggled for recognition in Boston’s art scene. Paul L subsidizes her studies, in return for which she creates original works to decorate the restaurant seasonally. There are other young women who work for Paul L, and we have gotten to know a few of them, some straight, some lesbians, all congenial.
Jesús is an Argentinian-American chef in his early 40s. His parents were “disappeared” by the military junta that ruled Argentina in the 1970s-1980s. His mother’s parents managed to make their way out of the country with the 10-year-old, but his grandfather was arrested for traveling with false papers in Chile. Sent back to Argentina, he was never seen again. Jesús’s grandmother secured a position as an instructor of Spanish literature at a private school near Boston, but the loss of her family and the strains of a life in peril had taken a toll on her health. Jesús was just discovering his attraction to men when his grandmother died, and he applied for a job at Lindoro’s. Paul L sensed the potential in the young man, and sent him to a culinary institute where he blossomed. Paul and I met him when we told Paul L that a particular meal had been extraordinarily fine. Paul L, with a twinkle in his eye that we should have known meant something was up, offered to introduce us to the chef. Whatever he told Jesús, the chef arrived explaining a complaint about his cooking... that led to confused explanations, apologies, a drink together, and a torrid night of sandwiching.
Per is an impossibly blond waiter from Iceland who came to Boston to study dance and stayed to study men.
Chuku is a Nigerian man who came to the US as a refugee after surviving the civil war that resulted when a breakaway Republic of Biafra tried to establish independence from Nigeria. A short, handsome, muscular man, Chuku had had schoolboy experiences with other students, but had no serious sexual encounters with men as an adult. He kept himself celibate for years, until he had to admit to himself that he was drawn to other men. This jeopardized his immigration status in the US at that time, and it also meant that he could not return to Nigeria. Had he been Catholic, he might have become a priest - but that was no solution. After being introduced by a fellow student to Paul L, he had become friendly with Paul, though they were never involved romantically. However, at Lindoro’s Chuku was able to find a family in which he felt able to explore his desires, and today he shares his life with a former Mennonite fellow from Ottumwa, Iowa, Clem, a young lad who came to Boston as a student and stayed - like so many of us.
Don’t get me wrong. Lindoro’s is not an elaborate social experiment. It’s a highly profitable, functioning business. But Paul L has drawn together a group of friends and colleagues who do form a kind of family around the place. Paul has others who find ways to make themselves useful to our extended family upstairs. There are twin Korean men, Jun and Gun, gymnasts originally, whom Paul helped establish a massage therapy practice. I am quite certain that their many clients do not get the same kind of massage that I saw them give Paul L late one night, but it made me curious to know if kim chee could really make you ejaculate that much that far. They outdid themselves for distance, and their hips were poetry in motion.
One night, Jun and Gun asked Paul L, somewhat sheepishly, from what I could see, if they could offer pleasure to his friends, meaning my Paul and me. Paul L had sent them to our table at dinner. They sat with us, saying that they saw what joy we brought to their friend Paul, and they wanted to bring us joy and pleasure. We demurred, but they came back a few months later and tried again. We demurred a second time, but it finally dawned on us that these two handsome twins simply found us attractive. We adjourned dinner to our bedroom, where Jun began to take my clothes off, and Gun began to take Paul’s off. They were both soon naked, and we found that they were as identical as you could imagine. We’d never been with brothers who were sexual with each other before, and it was a bit odd at first, but Jun and Gun were each versatile, and before the night was out, Jun had fired his gun in my ass, I’d fucked Gun, Paul had fucked Jun, and Gun had sucked Paul and me each off. Then the two had gotten out of bed, at 3 AM, to do an amazingly erotic gymnastics routine, tumbling onto each other, jumping and turning into combinations that always ended up, amazingly, with one’s cock in the other’s ass. They could end a joint tumbling pass (which made a lot of noise at Lindoro’s) with an amazing flip into insertion and the bottom shooting immediately routine. They could each cum on demand, it seemed, a skill they told us they had worked years to perfect. I kind of wondered where you studied that sort of thing. I wanted to apply.
As Russlan became settled back into life at Lindoro’s we waited for him to tell us more about the lost years of his life. We held off asking questions until we thought he felt comfortable with us. We knew that not sharing feelings was bred deeply into him from growing up in a society based on centuries of terror, where a large percentage of the population spied on other parts of the population, including many spies whose job it was to spy on other spies. Paul L counseled us to be wary of pushing Russlan too far too soon, and we waited for him to say that he thought the time was right.
One evening, we were sitting at dinner, Paul L, Liam10, Russlan, my Paul, and I, and chatting in very open terms about what we were going to do sexually that night. I told my Paul that it was his turn to fuck me, and that I wanted him to use a new herbal lube we had bought that supposedly gave quite a tingle. (Secretly, I hoped it tickled Paul; over the years, I have enjoyed his ticklishness hugely, because I have learned to manipulate it for his orgasmic pleasure, and mine.) I was not subtle that evening. I was holding a pickle in my hand and moving it in and out of my mouth. Liam10 was laughing. My Paul was blushing (goes with his ticklishness), but I persisted in giving anatomic details down to the particulars. (“I can just feel your corona popping into my sphincter. I’ll tighten up, and you’ll push through, so that my ass-lips can hug your glans as you...” I enjoyed talking like that, combining anatomical terms with open, naked sex talk. I like that; some guys like having other guys pee in their mouths. Water sports do nothing for me; dirty talk does. Different strokes for different folks.)
Liam10 had a wicked glint in his eye, and he turned to Paul L and asked, “What shall we do with your penis tonight? I was hoping to begin by licking your balls until you shoot, and then on turning you over and...”
“Liam, how would you feel about inviting Russlan to join us?”
“Sure.”
“Let’s all move over to the sofas,” Paul L said. And when we settled down, he continued, “So, Russlan?”
“You want me? Of course I will come.”
“I want you to fuck Liam here.”
Liam10 looked a bit surprised, but not unwilling.”Why, do you want sloppy seconds on me?”
Paul L kissed Liam10 and whispered something in his ear that made Liam10 sit upright. “Pete,” Paul L said, “do you think you could forego Paul’s fucking for tonight?”
“What did you have in mind, big boy?” I minced, giving him my best Mae West, which was none too good.
“Last week every one of us fucked Russlan in turn. I want to turn the tables on him. I want him to fuck each of us, with all of us in one bed. I want us to hold him, massage him, fondle him, while he tops us one by one. Russlan?”
“I can, of course. But why? You all like my ass, I think.”
“Your ass is not in doubt. Your ass is a work of art. Someday we will have to talk about making a plaster cast of your ass and donating it to the Museum of Science...”
“The Smithsonian,” my Paul interrupted.
“The Louvre,“ I said.
“The Imperial War Museum,” Liam10 added, cracking us up, even Russlan.
“But not the Hermitage?” Paul L looked directly at Russlan.
“Not Hermitage.”
“And not Winter Palace?”
“Ass spent enough time in cold.”
“Is there a motion on the floor?” I said, in my best Chairman of the Board voice.
“The only motion on the floor is my foot, aiming for your butt,” my Paul said, sticking his tongue in my ear and putting his arms around me.
“His ass is a combination safe,” I said. “But it’s an odd combination. His ass is tighter than Fort Knox but more open than the Grand Canyon.”
No one laughed. They looked at me oddly. “Okay, I thought it was funny, I said.
“One thing...” Paul L said, taking charge now, returning to his point. “I want to video it. Is that OK with all of you?”
Paul L had surprised us that time. He had never shown the least interest in keeping a video record of our sex lives. I never knew him to be obsessed with pornography of any kind. But if he wanted it, generous as he was, I would certainly agree. “I’m willing,” I said.
“Me too,” my Paul added.
“I always wanted to be on the silver screen,” Liam10 did, in his deep, gruff Vanessa Redgrave voice, following it by leaping up and showing us a little dance step, capped by his Betty Boop imitation: “Boop a doop a doop a doop, boop-boop-a doop!”
“Russlan?”
Russlan seemed frozen. A video record? I wondered what was going through his mind. Why so easy about fucking (or getting fucked) by a crowd of men, but so uncomfortable about being taped?
“Earth to Russki,” Liam 10 chimed in. When Russlan did not reply, he got between Russlan’s legs and buried his face in Russlan’s crotch. His voice was muffled now. “Earth to Russki... where did I put that microphone?”
Even Russlan started laughing nervously when Liam10 opened his fly and pulled out his cock, which was semi-hard, and talked into it as if it were a microphone, as we all remembered from another evening long ago.
“Da, da. I will fuck you all tonight. Perhaps one or two of you will fuck me while I fuck you?”
“It’s Paul L’s party,” I said.
“If you wish,” Paul L said to Russlan. I could tell that Paul L was not just playing sex games. He had something in mind. I’m sure Liam10 was in on it as well, though later my Paul told me that Liam10 had told him it came as a surprise to him.
“Would anyone else like some more wine?” Paul L asked? No one replied, so he pushed a button in the wall that signalled the waiters that we were exiting the room. They would clear the table and clean up while we were in the bedroom. I kind of hoped that Per might be on duty and might join us, but it wasn’t in the cards for that night.
“Who first?” Russlan said, when we were all seated on the large bed.
My Paul’s turn: “I keep telling you, it’s ‘who’s on first?’ If you don’t get baseball down, we may have a serious problem with your balls.”
“I must swallow baseball?” Russlan was being deliberately dense. It was one of his ways of being humorous.
“A bat is more like it,” I said, rubbing my Paul’s crotch.
“Paul,” Paul L said, you do the honors. We all enjoy watching you exercise your red hair fetish. My Paul blushed good-naturedly, and he began taking his clothes off.
Russlan was naked in no time, and Paul joined him at the center of the bed. Russlan lay on his back, his hard cock now standing like an obelisk. I jumped in and lubed him with my mouth, then slipped a condom (yes, we did use them already) onto him, snapping it several times so that Russlan jumped. I then pushed my Paul back over onto his back and plunged my tongue into his butt, slathering him with spit. When he was well lubed, I moved away, and my Paul clambered over to Russlan, moved astride him, placed the head of Russlan’s cock at his hole, and sat down, firmly.
Russlan moaned a bit as Paul slowly sank onto him, and the Russian’s cock entered Paul’s ass centimeter by centimeter. I had a strong urge to bend Paul down and shove my cock up alongside Russlan’s, but I wouldn’t do that to Paul without at least giving him 2 seconds’ warning! Plus, I’d already done that, and he owed me one.
Liam10 had opened Paul L’s shirt and was nuzzling on the older guy’s nipple, which was always a way to get to Paul L. Paul L, for his part, had his arm around Liam10, and he was cradling Liam10’s ass with his other hand. They looked contented and in love.
My Paul was being very aggressive that night, bouncing up and down and trying to manipulate Russlan’s cock so it struck his prostate every time. When Paul had sex with Russlan, there was something primal about it, and everyone, including Paul and including Russlan, understood that Russlan was sitting in (or thrusting in, in this case) in place of our Lingam. Russlan’s red hair brought back a deep urge in Paul, as if he could somehow fuck him back to life if he just fucked hard enough, if he thrust in hard when he was topping, or if he crammed Russlan’s cock into himself when he was bottoming. He was the most aggressive bottom I’ve ever seen, including some real tough guys and including in porn.
Paul L whispered something into Liam10’s ear, and he nodded and crawled to the middle of the bed, having shed his clothes first. He got down under Paul and began tonguing Russlan’s balls, and occasionally taking one or both balls into his mouth and sucking them in deep. I noticed that he also, gradually, was inserting his hand into Russlan’s ass, not so much as you could call it real fisting, but he had four fingers a good way in. Russlan was lying on his back staring into my Paul’s eyes, his body taut and tense, his eyes boring holes in my Paul’s eyes. Russlan could sometimes go into a kind of ecstatic trance when he was having sex. Usually, though, it was when he was bottoming. This time, he was seeing whatever it was that was running through my Paul’s brain.
I got up then, and I moved around so that I could press my hardon against Russlan’s mouth. He smiled at me and opened wide, allowing me to shove my cock in so that my pubes were against Russlan’s lips. His tongue began its usual traveling act, pressing into my cock slit, moving around to the frenulum, tracing all the pleasure spots, while his mouth seemed to rotate around my cock. What was unusual that evening was that a deep, sudden grunt of pleasure from my Paul suddenly triggered my orgasm only two minutes after I had shoved my cock in Russlan’s mouth. I gave him a mouthful of sperm, and as always, he pooled it on his tongue so that when I kissed him afterward, our tongues bathed together in my semen, which ran out of our mouths and down the sides of Russlan’s face.
I felt shots of sperm on my neck and back, and I knew that Paul was cumming, and I quickly moved to share my mouthful of my own semen with him. He began to bounce up and down again on Russlan, and damned if he didn’t shoot a second time. I went down on his cock just as he was beginning to shoot, so that I now had two loads of sperm to slosh around in my mouth.
Paul got up, and Russlan’s cock made a “pop” sound as it pulled free. I changed condoms on Russlan quickly, knowing that he liked to have sex without pause. I saw a pair of legs next to me, and I knew that the next insertee was ready. Liam10 leaped onto Russlan and impaled himself in one hop, and the two of them kind of mashed themselves together, so that although Russlan’s cock didn’t come out of Liam10’s ass, there was a great deal of movement that both of them clearly enjoyed. Liam10, as always, was hard as a rock while being fucked. Myself, I always enjoy a guy who stays hard when I’m fucking him, but I find it hard to stay hard while I’m getting fucked. I’m every bit as turned on, but some nerve in my back or somewhere simply turns the hardon off. I’ve always envied guys who could stay hard while being fucked. But the same guys can probably fuck standing up and cum standing up. I can fuck standing up, but I’ll never cum that way - I need to have no pressure on my spine for me to go into full orgasm.
Liam10 was bouncing up and down very enthusiastically, and I had a vision of the very neat, buttoned down Liam10 as I had first seen him, when our Liam wasn’t sure whether Liam10 was gay or straight or what. I knew he’d fucked girls at home in Wales, and he said he’d enjoyed it, but to see him with a leg on either side of Russlan, with Russlan’s hardon drilling inside him, and with a look of sheer enjoyment on Liam10’s face was a rare sight indeed. My Paul, recovered now, but still with sperm running down his legs, got between my legs and began to rim me, while I lay down on my belly and jerked Liam10 off with my hand.
Russlan came first, with a deep, bass growl in his throat that startled us all. The vibrations set Liam10 off, and feeling me humping, my Paul turned me around and took my cock in his mouth. I rewarded him with a small load. I looked at Paul L, who nodded to me that I should go next. Again, I changed the condoms on Russlan and squatted over him. Then I had a better idea. I asked Liam10 and my Paul to lift me, each with an arm around me and supporting a thigh with his other hand, and they lowered me onto Russlan. Russlan’s hardon slipped into me without much effort, and my two guys kind of jerked Russlan off using me as a gigantic fuck toy. I didn’t want to let things go that easily, so as they pulled up, I clamped my ass muscles to pull Russlan’s cock up with me on each lift. Paul had a foot against Russlan’s ass, and I noticed that as I looked down that his foot seemed to be moving. I figured out later that he had shoved his big toe into Russlan, who had grabbed it with his sphincter, and there was a whole different sex act going on beneath me that the one happening in my ass.
Russlan finally came with a moan, and I locked my ass on him so that he could not pull out. I held my ass muscles tight for as long as I could, until he begged me to let go. Then I clamped harder. I only let loose because I heard Paul L whisper into my ear, “Leave some for me.”
Paul L lay down on his side, his shapely ass lubed and ready. My Paul changed Russlan’s condom, and Russlan kissed Paul L’s ear and then placed his cock at the lips of Paul L’s ass. Liam10 placed one hand behind Russlan’s ass and spread the other on Russlan’s muscular belly and moved the Russian forward, so that he entered Paul L. The rest of us made a circle and encouraged both Paul L and Russlan, touching, nipping, biting, tickling, fingering, smearing, pressing with hands, with feet, with elbows, with knees... but Russlan could not be made to be anything but gentle with Paul L. He could fuck me, or my Paul, or Liam1o like a jackhammer, but he was a lover with Paul L, making love to him. Little by little, we all began to breathe in unison, and when at last Russlan began to squirm and breathe heavily, all of us did. I oozed a few more drops of cum; Paul L actually was standing above me and got some cum in my ear! Liam10 had knelt over Paul L’s head, and I realized that Paul L was tonguing his redhead’s ass as Liam10 shot a load all over everyone. (Liam10 has prodigious amounts of semen. I wish I could figure out where on his lithe body it comes from!)
Russlan’s orgasm came in the form of some hip movement and deep breaths, punctuated by sighs of pleasure. Paul L’s cock did not explode as much as erupt, but by then, my Paul had Paul L’s foreskin in his mouth, so that the cum created a reservoir under the foreskin. Paul had a way of moving the foreskin around so that the cum drained off to one side, running down into his mouth. He then got up, stood over Russlan, and drooled a load of sperm into Russlan’s hair.
We sort of deflated together, lying there and savoring each other’s presence. By now, everyone was lying in a clump of humanity on the large mattress, enjoying the feeling of naked flesh against each other. My Paul still had a toe in Russlan’s ass, I could see from the movement of his foot and Russlan’s body that they were still having toe-sex. I watched as Paul changed the angle of his foot and got several toes more inside, but this was Russlan, who could accomodate a battleship, three cocks, a partridge in a pear tree, and the Red Army, while staying hard. Paul must have been touching the right nerves inside Russlan, because Russlan gasped and began to cum. Only as he began to cum, he hiccuped, and soon he was shooting sperm and hiccuping, again and again.
This set off a round of laughter that took almost 20 minutes to quiet down. Russlan was lying with his face pressed on Paul L’s chest. Liam10 was on the other side of Paul L, and my Paul and I were making out in each other’s arms. Russlan was almost asleep when Paul L asked him, “Russlan, don’t you feel safe?”
I knew that in Russian, asking “don’t you... X” is more polite than asking “do you... X,” whatever X is. So Paul L was being polite, and Russlan seemed to appreciate that.
“Safe, da.”
“You know that we will do nothing to hurt you?”
“Nothing.”
“You know that you are welcome here for a long as you want, and that my security staff will protect you?”
“I believe.”
“Then,” Paul L said, a little more seriously, “it is time for you to tell us more about the years that you were away.
Russlan looked up, with Paul L’s arm still around his neck, so that Russlan’s chin was on Paul L’s chest. He began to shiver.
“You are safe, Russlan. But you must be honest with me, with all of us.”
Russlan began to weep, his tears running all over Paul L’s chest. He shuddered several times, and took a deep breath, and said, “I tell.”
When Ze’ev flew back to Israel, there was a perceptible change in Russlan. He was not yet ready to open up more. It was already clear to us that there was a great deal more he wanted to tell us - but not yet. Paul L counseled all of us to go easy on Russlan. He had been away from us for years. He had revealed that a schoolboy relationship with the son (though from an early, long-ended marriage) of KGB Director Yuri Andropov, later to head the Soviet regime briefly, had propelled him into a lifetime of fear, and unfortunately, the fear may have been warranted.
This Andropov was the same KGB director who entertained a scheme to cripple or maim Rudolf Nureyev, the ballet superstar whose defection to the West was seen as treasonous in the USSR. And whose encore had been similar plans to injure the ballerina Natalia Makarova after her defection. You have to wonder about a man whose first son, though from an estranged marriage, was essentially abandoned, and when he learned that son was “blue,” Russian slang for “gay,” apparently sanctioned his execution, according to Russlan’s story.
No wonder Russlan was desperate to find a way to the West. No wonder that after his own refusal to go back to the USSR (details of which he hadn’t discussed with us), he lived in fear that agents of the KGB would have special reason to hunt him down. And when people he believed were KGB agents attacked his own boyfriend, Robert, and the boyfriend’s brother, Liam, Russlan believed that the attack had really been against him. He really believed that except for an accident of fate that put red-haired Liam at Robert’s side, and red-haired Russlan waiting in a lobby nearby, both he and Robert might be dead, instead of only Robert. Our Liam had almost lost an eye in that attack, but he had survived.
Something still bothered me, though. Liam had told us that just as the attack began, one of the young men attacking Robert and Liam had said, “Is this your faggot brother,” or words to that effect. I kept turning the words over and over again in my mind. If they thought Liam was Russlan, why would they have said that? To whom were the words addressed? To Robert? To Liam, whom Russlan told us they thought was Russlan? I decided that once Paul L thought it was OK to discuss things with Russlan, I’d try to raise this with him and get it clear in my head. Maybe there was an easy answer. Maybe there was no answer. I just hoped that Russlan was finally being completely open with us.
Russlan. I wondered what he had whispered in Paul’s ear that evening before Ze’ev’s return to Israel. He’d been fucking my Paul, and he had said something that apparently drove Paul wild with desire. There was a change in his sexuality, too. We’d usually seen Russlan as a bottom, mainly. Russlan would fuck other men one on one, but there was another side to him, the obsessive bottom who always wanted to be fucked by everyone present. I’d also wondered about that. Was Russlan a collector of numbers (shades of John Rechy’s novel, Numbers)? Was he just obsessive? Why the need, sometimes, to have sex until it hurt? Was it the hurting that turned him on? He never showed other signs of masochism, and he was a skilled and loving top. But every once in a while, maybe when the moon was right, he wanted every cock in the room rammed into his ass, over and over again. Even inveterate bottoms had topped Russlan. He would turn them on so - once in a while, an older friend of Paul L’s would join us for dinner, some men as old, perhaps, as 80... but if this divine madness struck Russlan, then the elderly professor or in once case, confessor, would wind up with his penis in Russlan’s charming and talented rectum, sometimes having sex for the first time in years, much to his own amazement (and delight).
Or put another way, Russlan’s ass would go to the top of any gay man’s Must Fuck list, and probably join a good many lists of natural wonders.
I turned the history over and over in my mind. Russlan had gone missing in January, 1984, when the year was barely three days old. I remember how upset our Liam was. Liam went to London to study in the fall of 1988, and his Pan Am flight home for Christmas went down in Lockerbie, Scotland. Ze’ev had gone home to Israel at the time of the first Gulf War, and Frank had decided to retire to Florida, which is technically still his residence, but Paul L insisted that Frank remain on the payroll as director of security for his business interests, telecommuting at times, but flying up to Boston if we needed him, and we needed him for most holidays. Paul L had assigned Frank to figure out if the phantom figure we saw lurking on the street across from Lindoro’s was Russlan or not. The moment he was needed, Frank was in Boston. Having given up his apartment when he moved to Florida, Frank now had a room in Paul L’s residence above Lindoro’s.
When Russlan disappeared in 1984, Paul L had instructed his staff to give us a summary of any developments in the case. There were very few, and gradually, this became a monthly memo on events of the day that might have any bearing on the case. That was why we were well-informed about Boris Yeltsin’s surprising (to us, as to many in the West and in Russia) liberalization of laws regarding gays. The new Russia that was envisioned after the fall of communism never materialized.
The US had spent a great deal of money helping get Europe on its feet, economically, after World War II. President Harry Truman, a student of history, a veteran of World War I and a victim of the post-war recession that followed, had the broad, strategic vision to see that a Europe with a healthy economy would be a natural ally for the US and a natural bulwark against communism. Truman’s vision had extended even further: he had named the resulting plan for a national hero, Gen. George C. Marshall, then serving as Truman’s secretary of state, rather than allowing it to be credited to himself, so that the plan would pass Congress, as it did.
An instructive parallel: Gay life in Germany had flourished in the 1920s, but the rise of fascism in the form of German national socialism had led to a Holocaust not only for the Nazis’ first target of choice, the Jews, but also for gays, gypsies, and a host of others “unfit to live.” Many of those who became visible in the 1920s became prisoners or ashes in the 1930s-40s. American investors like Henry Ford, seeking a bulwark against Bolshevism, had financed both the rise of national socialism and the subversion of the new democracy by fascists. American investment in Russia in the 1990s favored some of the worst elements in Russian national life, and the US will pay for Poppy Bush’s willful negligence for decades.
Had the US had a president with any real vision even a spine, in 1991, when the USSR collapsed inward on itself, the US might have had a natural ally in the new Russia. Not Poppy Bush, who disdained what he called “that vision thing.” In the critical winter of 1991-1992, the coldest in decades, when the Soviet police state was gone and it became clear that Soviet infrastructure for delivery of basic human needs had only worked under a police state, Poppy turned his backy on the Russkies, play wicky-wacky with his gallabiah-clad oil cronies. His failure to provide assistance ensured the rise of crime-lord-ruled oligarchies in Russia that robbed the state of any future as a democracy, and led directly to the return of KGB elements to rule Russia. Gay life had emerged from the closet under Yeltsin at first, but when the worst elements in the Russian psyche took control control, de facto if not de jure discrimination became the norm once again.
At Lindoro’s, we learned about all this through Paul L’s staff reports that kept alive, for us, the dream that Russlan would come back to us. But what, if anything, had events in Russia to do with Russlan’s reappearance in our lives? Was he himself somehow connected to the KGB? Could we trust him 100%? Everyone hoped we could. I wondered.
We began, gradually, to realize that Paul L was grooming Liam10 as his eventual successor at Lindoro’s, and we were all happy for Liam10. The two of them make a wonderful couple. Paul L and Liam10 were the ones among us who reached out the most to Russlan, who sometimes joined them as a threesome in their large bedroom. Russlan’s English began to improve again - it had clearly deteriorated in the years he had been away - but he never lost either the accent or the syntax of a speaker of Russian. Paul L asked him one evening if he still had anyone in Russia to visit, and he just shrugged. I wondered.
For whatever reason, and perhaps because he felt some guilt around Bobby’s death, Russlan had a habit of coming to our bed as well, and offering himself to my Paul. It was Paul, more than anyone, who still suffered actively around the death of our Lingam, and Russlan seemed to feel that he could assuage Paul’s grief by offering him his red-haired body and his Energizer bunny ass. Paul and I discussed this, and I never discouraged him from taking Russlan up on his offer. I myself enjoyed fucking Russlan from time to time as well.
Russlan had an odd way of making himself available, sexually. Almost after the fashion of a tribal slave, any expression of desire, or any physical affection, led Russlan to begin doffing his clothing, anywhere in the residence. It was as if he wanted to be seen, to be seen to be submissive, to be seen to be regretful, to humiliate himself. Although none of us ever got into humiliation in the sexual arena per se, it was very odd to greet someone with a kiss at the door and have him immediately strip naked and offer his ass on the welcome mat. I don’t say it put us off any... over the months that followed, I’d take the Lindoro’s elevator up, the door would open, and there, on the carpet in front of the elevator, would be Russlan, naked, lubed, his legs spread, his ass winking and ready. More than once, I simply opened my fly and went in. (And ruined an Italian silk suit with lube that wouldn’t come out.)
Or the door would open, and there would be my Paul, seated on a chair that Russlan had pulled up opposite the elevator door, and Paul would be reading his mail while Russlan, naked, on his knees, would be blowing Paul or sometimes rimming him. Eventually, the mail would be tossed aside as Paul got into fucking Russlan. Sometimes, I’d find Paul just nosing Russlan’s red pubes, as if trying to find something. And once in a while, Paul would be rimming Russlan prior to fucking him. The rarest of all was to find Russlan fucking Paul, which always happened at Paul’s request, and usually was a prelude either to a threesome in our bed, or to Paul’s wanting to be fucked deeply and wildly. I was more than willing to comply.
Liam10, also, was the object of Russlan’s desire. Liam10 too would get off the elevator and find Russlan on his knees, his mouth poised at just the right height. At first, Liam10 would laugh it off, but eventually, the steamy sight of that naked body with the lips and tongue that worked wonders on a glans won out, and it got to the point where sometimes Liam10 would get on the elevator downstairs and open his fly, getting himself hard (if he wasn’t already hard) on the way up, so that the elevator door would open, and if Russlan was there, Liam would plug in. One time, the elevator door closed on Liam10, and he was just lucky that his foot was in the right position, or the elevator door would have closed on his hardon. Ouch!
For me, Russlan selected rimming as his prime offering. We were often naked in the evenings, all of us, or all but Paul L, who would wear a silk dressing gown but could easily be persuaded to take it off. One evening, when I was watching television with everyone, sitting on an easy chair just like my Paul’s, I was startled to feel the easy chair give way beneath me. I jumped up and looked down, only to see Russlan’s face where my ass had been. It turned out that he had scoured the local stores for a similar chair to mine, and he had cut open a trap door just under the seat. He had reinforced the seat so that the person - almost always I, let’s face it - seated there would not fall through. But it allowed him to scoot under the chair, narrow as he was, and to lick his way to my heart.
You would think that the furniture at Lindoro’s would be all stained with cum from all of the sex we had non-stop. First, it wasn’t non-stop, exactly. We did have lives, jobs, other interests. And I haven’t mentioned the Lindoro’s staff.
When we first got to know Paul L, I kind of wondered what his sex life had been like before us, since once he had us as his friends, we became so close. The answer was not clear for a while, because we did not yet realize that he had been keeping Albert’s memory alive and his own insecurities in check by pretending to the world that Albert WAS alive. When we knew that and still loved him, he became dedicated to us more than ever, and we built our lives with him. We were concerned always that he not think us parasites who hung with him for his money, but we had hung with him long before we knew he was anything but the maitre d’hôtel at Lindoro’s. He was not celibate during those years that he was alone. Far from it. Paul L always found people in need and made their need into a cause in which he could do good.
With all the students who come to Boston every year, there are always a certain number of young men of limited means who find that they can stretch their dollars by making themselves available, on a limited basis, for sex. There was at one time, as has been mentioned earlier, an all-male brothel on the Fenway, at which Ivy League college students made a few extra bucks, or made up for money lost gambling or lost through other pursuits. I never saw the place; it was gone before my time in Boston, but I have heard older gay men swear to its existence. I confess I would like to have been able to visit the place. I like the idea of all these students, no doubt some gay, some straight, serving as escorts. I know, I know, I suppose it was deeply demeaning for a straight man to offer his ass for payment, or to learn to take phalli into his mouth for filthy lucre, but knowing some of the frat types and hoity-toity legacies who are at the social center but the academic periphery of the Ivy League, I would like to have seen it. I suspect it would have been amusing. Maybe not.
Gay establishments pre-Stonewall and pre-liberation had a tenuous existence, often at the mercy of organized crime, who found in illegal homosexual venues a source of income and protection money. After Stonewall, in the early 1970s, gay clubs began to spring up and flourish in the decade of sheer hedonism before we all learned how vulnerable (and how despised by some government bigwigs) we were. Friends, including some classical musicians of note, who were students at that time say that there were places where older and younger mixed freely, without the sharp divisions in today’s gay club scene. There were always places where young could meet young, but there were also plenty of small clubs where old and young could mingle and meet and mate. At some of these, students who didn’t ordinarily hustle might become hustlers of opportunity for some older men, or for other students who had means, and some romances were born under those circumstances.
Nevertheless, there were always guys who were taken advantage of by someone or other, gay guys who had been down on their luck and had peddled their asses, supposedly straight guys who had found it necessary or convenient to be gay for pay and had found themselves in over their heads; guys who had discovered their gay selves and had been disowned by their families, guys who had various substance abuse issues... guys who had a strike of one kind or another against them, and who needed a friendly hand up to help them regain a toehold in life. Paul L did not set out to collect stray cats, but his generous nature and his personality were such that he always helped guys without taking advantage of them, guys who might otherwise have wound up in serious trouble of one kind or another. We had noted early on that quite a few of the Lindoro’s staff were very easy on the eyes, to put it mildly. As we got to know Paul L better, we realized that quite a few of them were guys down on their luck who had turned to Paul L for help without strings. They might turn to Paul L for help with school after dropping out for lack of funds and hustling for a while. They might get to know him through friends who were patrons of Lindoro’s and then turn to him when they needed help because not every sugar daddy was benign in his intentions, and they found they needed protection. Paul L had found Albert in a similar way, when Paul L was still escorting and Albert was his client. Paul L told us that Albert had never held it against him that he had been a sex worker, especially after hearing about Paul L’s grandfather. He had never treated Paul L with anything but affection and respect, and that by itself told Paul L that Albert was worth getting to know. Eventually, they had a life together, and when Paul L was left alone, he continued to be of help to those in need. My Paul and I wonder what it was about us and our Lingam that drew Paul L to us, and we kid him that we are also among his stray cats. He laughs, but he does not contradict us.
Among the young folk who worked for Paul L over the years that we have known him, several stand out:
Sharunas, a Lithuanian violist trying to establish himself as a concert artist, played chamber music at Lindoro’s, sometimes with world-class colleagues who ate there when on tour in Boston. Sharunas is a tall young man, dark and handsome, with large hands that mesmerize those who see him play; those same hands fiddle erotically with a select, very lucky few. If he did not have the position at Lindoro’s, perhaps he would be out hustling, perhaps not. I think not, but you never know. Playing at Lindoro’s is a way station in his musical career.
Stephanie is a collage artist who has struggled for recognition in Boston’s art scene. Paul L subsidizes her studies, in return for which she creates original works to decorate the restaurant seasonally. There are other young women who work for Paul L, and we have gotten to know a few of them, some straight, some lesbians, all congenial.
Jesús is an Argentinian-American chef in his early 40s. His parents were “disappeared” by the military junta that ruled Argentina in the 1970s-1980s. His mother’s parents managed to make their way out of the country with the 10-year-old, but his grandfather was arrested for traveling with false papers in Chile. Sent back to Argentina, he was never seen again. Jesús’s grandmother secured a position as an instructor of Spanish literature at a private school near Boston, but the loss of her family and the strains of a life in peril had taken a toll on her health. Jesús was just discovering his attraction to men when his grandmother died, and he applied for a job at Lindoro’s. Paul L sensed the potential in the young man, and sent him to a culinary institute where he blossomed. Paul and I met him when we told Paul L that a particular meal had been extraordinarily fine. Paul L, with a twinkle in his eye that we should have known meant something was up, offered to introduce us to the chef. Whatever he told Jesús, the chef arrived explaining a complaint about his cooking... that led to confused explanations, apologies, a drink together, and a torrid night of sandwiching.
Per is an impossibly blond waiter from Iceland who came to Boston to study dance and stayed to study men.
Chuku is a Nigerian man who came to the US as a refugee after surviving the civil war that resulted when a breakaway Republic of Biafra tried to establish independence from Nigeria. A short, handsome, muscular man, Chuku had had schoolboy experiences with other students, but had no serious sexual encounters with men as an adult. He kept himself celibate for years, until he had to admit to himself that he was drawn to other men. This jeopardized his immigration status in the US at that time, and it also meant that he could not return to Nigeria. Had he been Catholic, he might have become a priest - but that was no solution. After being introduced by a fellow student to Paul L, he had become friendly with Paul, though they were never involved romantically. However, at Lindoro’s Chuku was able to find a family in which he felt able to explore his desires, and today he shares his life with a former Mennonite fellow from Ottumwa, Iowa, Clem, a young lad who came to Boston as a student and stayed - like so many of us.
Don’t get me wrong. Lindoro’s is not an elaborate social experiment. It’s a highly profitable, functioning business. But Paul L has drawn together a group of friends and colleagues who do form a kind of family around the place. Paul has others who find ways to make themselves useful to our extended family upstairs. There are twin Korean men, Jun and Gun, gymnasts originally, whom Paul helped establish a massage therapy practice. I am quite certain that their many clients do not get the same kind of massage that I saw them give Paul L late one night, but it made me curious to know if kim chee could really make you ejaculate that much that far. They outdid themselves for distance, and their hips were poetry in motion.
One night, Jun and Gun asked Paul L, somewhat sheepishly, from what I could see, if they could offer pleasure to his friends, meaning my Paul and me. Paul L had sent them to our table at dinner. They sat with us, saying that they saw what joy we brought to their friend Paul, and they wanted to bring us joy and pleasure. We demurred, but they came back a few months later and tried again. We demurred a second time, but it finally dawned on us that these two handsome twins simply found us attractive. We adjourned dinner to our bedroom, where Jun began to take my clothes off, and Gun began to take Paul’s off. They were both soon naked, and we found that they were as identical as you could imagine. We’d never been with brothers who were sexual with each other before, and it was a bit odd at first, but Jun and Gun were each versatile, and before the night was out, Jun had fired his gun in my ass, I’d fucked Gun, Paul had fucked Jun, and Gun had sucked Paul and me each off. Then the two had gotten out of bed, at 3 AM, to do an amazingly erotic gymnastics routine, tumbling onto each other, jumping and turning into combinations that always ended up, amazingly, with one’s cock in the other’s ass. They could end a joint tumbling pass (which made a lot of noise at Lindoro’s) with an amazing flip into insertion and the bottom shooting immediately routine. They could each cum on demand, it seemed, a skill they told us they had worked years to perfect. I kind of wondered where you studied that sort of thing. I wanted to apply.
As Russlan became settled back into life at Lindoro’s we waited for him to tell us more about the lost years of his life. We held off asking questions until we thought he felt comfortable with us. We knew that not sharing feelings was bred deeply into him from growing up in a society based on centuries of terror, where a large percentage of the population spied on other parts of the population, including many spies whose job it was to spy on other spies. Paul L counseled us to be wary of pushing Russlan too far too soon, and we waited for him to say that he thought the time was right.
One evening, we were sitting at dinner, Paul L, Liam10, Russlan, my Paul, and I, and chatting in very open terms about what we were going to do sexually that night. I told my Paul that it was his turn to fuck me, and that I wanted him to use a new herbal lube we had bought that supposedly gave quite a tingle. (Secretly, I hoped it tickled Paul; over the years, I have enjoyed his ticklishness hugely, because I have learned to manipulate it for his orgasmic pleasure, and mine.) I was not subtle that evening. I was holding a pickle in my hand and moving it in and out of my mouth. Liam10 was laughing. My Paul was blushing (goes with his ticklishness), but I persisted in giving anatomic details down to the particulars. (“I can just feel your corona popping into my sphincter. I’ll tighten up, and you’ll push through, so that my ass-lips can hug your glans as you...” I enjoyed talking like that, combining anatomical terms with open, naked sex talk. I like that; some guys like having other guys pee in their mouths. Water sports do nothing for me; dirty talk does. Different strokes for different folks.)
Liam10 had a wicked glint in his eye, and he turned to Paul L and asked, “What shall we do with your penis tonight? I was hoping to begin by licking your balls until you shoot, and then on turning you over and...”
“Liam, how would you feel about inviting Russlan to join us?”
“Sure.”
“Let’s all move over to the sofas,” Paul L said. And when we settled down, he continued, “So, Russlan?”
“You want me? Of course I will come.”
“I want you to fuck Liam here.”
Liam10 looked a bit surprised, but not unwilling.”Why, do you want sloppy seconds on me?”
Paul L kissed Liam10 and whispered something in his ear that made Liam10 sit upright. “Pete,” Paul L said, “do you think you could forego Paul’s fucking for tonight?”
“What did you have in mind, big boy?” I minced, giving him my best Mae West, which was none too good.
“Last week every one of us fucked Russlan in turn. I want to turn the tables on him. I want him to fuck each of us, with all of us in one bed. I want us to hold him, massage him, fondle him, while he tops us one by one. Russlan?”
“I can, of course. But why? You all like my ass, I think.”
“Your ass is not in doubt. Your ass is a work of art. Someday we will have to talk about making a plaster cast of your ass and donating it to the Museum of Science...”
“The Smithsonian,” my Paul interrupted.
“The Louvre,“ I said.
“The Imperial War Museum,” Liam10 added, cracking us up, even Russlan.
“But not the Hermitage?” Paul L looked directly at Russlan.
“Not Hermitage.”
“And not Winter Palace?”
“Ass spent enough time in cold.”
“Is there a motion on the floor?” I said, in my best Chairman of the Board voice.
“The only motion on the floor is my foot, aiming for your butt,” my Paul said, sticking his tongue in my ear and putting his arms around me.
“His ass is a combination safe,” I said. “But it’s an odd combination. His ass is tighter than Fort Knox but more open than the Grand Canyon.”
No one laughed. They looked at me oddly. “Okay, I thought it was funny, I said.
“One thing...” Paul L said, taking charge now, returning to his point. “I want to video it. Is that OK with all of you?”
Paul L had surprised us that time. He had never shown the least interest in keeping a video record of our sex lives. I never knew him to be obsessed with pornography of any kind. But if he wanted it, generous as he was, I would certainly agree. “I’m willing,” I said.
“Me too,” my Paul added.
“I always wanted to be on the silver screen,” Liam10 did, in his deep, gruff Vanessa Redgrave voice, following it by leaping up and showing us a little dance step, capped by his Betty Boop imitation: “Boop a doop a doop a doop, boop-boop-a doop!”
“Russlan?”
Russlan seemed frozen. A video record? I wondered what was going through his mind. Why so easy about fucking (or getting fucked) by a crowd of men, but so uncomfortable about being taped?
“Earth to Russki,” Liam 10 chimed in. When Russlan did not reply, he got between Russlan’s legs and buried his face in Russlan’s crotch. His voice was muffled now. “Earth to Russki... where did I put that microphone?”
Even Russlan started laughing nervously when Liam10 opened his fly and pulled out his cock, which was semi-hard, and talked into it as if it were a microphone, as we all remembered from another evening long ago.
“Da, da. I will fuck you all tonight. Perhaps one or two of you will fuck me while I fuck you?”
“It’s Paul L’s party,” I said.
“If you wish,” Paul L said to Russlan. I could tell that Paul L was not just playing sex games. He had something in mind. I’m sure Liam10 was in on it as well, though later my Paul told me that Liam10 had told him it came as a surprise to him.
“Would anyone else like some more wine?” Paul L asked? No one replied, so he pushed a button in the wall that signalled the waiters that we were exiting the room. They would clear the table and clean up while we were in the bedroom. I kind of hoped that Per might be on duty and might join us, but it wasn’t in the cards for that night.
“Who first?” Russlan said, when we were all seated on the large bed.
My Paul’s turn: “I keep telling you, it’s ‘who’s on first?’ If you don’t get baseball down, we may have a serious problem with your balls.”
“I must swallow baseball?” Russlan was being deliberately dense. It was one of his ways of being humorous.
“A bat is more like it,” I said, rubbing my Paul’s crotch.
“Paul,” Paul L said, you do the honors. We all enjoy watching you exercise your red hair fetish. My Paul blushed good-naturedly, and he began taking his clothes off.
Russlan was naked in no time, and Paul joined him at the center of the bed. Russlan lay on his back, his hard cock now standing like an obelisk. I jumped in and lubed him with my mouth, then slipped a condom (yes, we did use them already) onto him, snapping it several times so that Russlan jumped. I then pushed my Paul back over onto his back and plunged my tongue into his butt, slathering him with spit. When he was well lubed, I moved away, and my Paul clambered over to Russlan, moved astride him, placed the head of Russlan’s cock at his hole, and sat down, firmly.
Russlan moaned a bit as Paul slowly sank onto him, and the Russian’s cock entered Paul’s ass centimeter by centimeter. I had a strong urge to bend Paul down and shove my cock up alongside Russlan’s, but I wouldn’t do that to Paul without at least giving him 2 seconds’ warning! Plus, I’d already done that, and he owed me one.
Liam10 had opened Paul L’s shirt and was nuzzling on the older guy’s nipple, which was always a way to get to Paul L. Paul L, for his part, had his arm around Liam10, and he was cradling Liam10’s ass with his other hand. They looked contented and in love.
My Paul was being very aggressive that night, bouncing up and down and trying to manipulate Russlan’s cock so it struck his prostate every time. When Paul had sex with Russlan, there was something primal about it, and everyone, including Paul and including Russlan, understood that Russlan was sitting in (or thrusting in, in this case) in place of our Lingam. Russlan’s red hair brought back a deep urge in Paul, as if he could somehow fuck him back to life if he just fucked hard enough, if he thrust in hard when he was topping, or if he crammed Russlan’s cock into himself when he was bottoming. He was the most aggressive bottom I’ve ever seen, including some real tough guys and including in porn.
Paul L whispered something into Liam10’s ear, and he nodded and crawled to the middle of the bed, having shed his clothes first. He got down under Paul and began tonguing Russlan’s balls, and occasionally taking one or both balls into his mouth and sucking them in deep. I noticed that he also, gradually, was inserting his hand into Russlan’s ass, not so much as you could call it real fisting, but he had four fingers a good way in. Russlan was lying on his back staring into my Paul’s eyes, his body taut and tense, his eyes boring holes in my Paul’s eyes. Russlan could sometimes go into a kind of ecstatic trance when he was having sex. Usually, though, it was when he was bottoming. This time, he was seeing whatever it was that was running through my Paul’s brain.
I got up then, and I moved around so that I could press my hardon against Russlan’s mouth. He smiled at me and opened wide, allowing me to shove my cock in so that my pubes were against Russlan’s lips. His tongue began its usual traveling act, pressing into my cock slit, moving around to the frenulum, tracing all the pleasure spots, while his mouth seemed to rotate around my cock. What was unusual that evening was that a deep, sudden grunt of pleasure from my Paul suddenly triggered my orgasm only two minutes after I had shoved my cock in Russlan’s mouth. I gave him a mouthful of sperm, and as always, he pooled it on his tongue so that when I kissed him afterward, our tongues bathed together in my semen, which ran out of our mouths and down the sides of Russlan’s face.
I felt shots of sperm on my neck and back, and I knew that Paul was cumming, and I quickly moved to share my mouthful of my own semen with him. He began to bounce up and down again on Russlan, and damned if he didn’t shoot a second time. I went down on his cock just as he was beginning to shoot, so that I now had two loads of sperm to slosh around in my mouth.
Paul got up, and Russlan’s cock made a “pop” sound as it pulled free. I changed condoms on Russlan quickly, knowing that he liked to have sex without pause. I saw a pair of legs next to me, and I knew that the next insertee was ready. Liam10 leaped onto Russlan and impaled himself in one hop, and the two of them kind of mashed themselves together, so that although Russlan’s cock didn’t come out of Liam10’s ass, there was a great deal of movement that both of them clearly enjoyed. Liam10, as always, was hard as a rock while being fucked. Myself, I always enjoy a guy who stays hard when I’m fucking him, but I find it hard to stay hard while I’m getting fucked. I’m every bit as turned on, but some nerve in my back or somewhere simply turns the hardon off. I’ve always envied guys who could stay hard while being fucked. But the same guys can probably fuck standing up and cum standing up. I can fuck standing up, but I’ll never cum that way - I need to have no pressure on my spine for me to go into full orgasm.
Liam10 was bouncing up and down very enthusiastically, and I had a vision of the very neat, buttoned down Liam10 as I had first seen him, when our Liam wasn’t sure whether Liam10 was gay or straight or what. I knew he’d fucked girls at home in Wales, and he said he’d enjoyed it, but to see him with a leg on either side of Russlan, with Russlan’s hardon drilling inside him, and with a look of sheer enjoyment on Liam10’s face was a rare sight indeed. My Paul, recovered now, but still with sperm running down his legs, got between my legs and began to rim me, while I lay down on my belly and jerked Liam10 off with my hand.
Russlan came first, with a deep, bass growl in his throat that startled us all. The vibrations set Liam10 off, and feeling me humping, my Paul turned me around and took my cock in his mouth. I rewarded him with a small load. I looked at Paul L, who nodded to me that I should go next. Again, I changed the condoms on Russlan and squatted over him. Then I had a better idea. I asked Liam10 and my Paul to lift me, each with an arm around me and supporting a thigh with his other hand, and they lowered me onto Russlan. Russlan’s hardon slipped into me without much effort, and my two guys kind of jerked Russlan off using me as a gigantic fuck toy. I didn’t want to let things go that easily, so as they pulled up, I clamped my ass muscles to pull Russlan’s cock up with me on each lift. Paul had a foot against Russlan’s ass, and I noticed that as I looked down that his foot seemed to be moving. I figured out later that he had shoved his big toe into Russlan, who had grabbed it with his sphincter, and there was a whole different sex act going on beneath me that the one happening in my ass.
Russlan finally came with a moan, and I locked my ass on him so that he could not pull out. I held my ass muscles tight for as long as I could, until he begged me to let go. Then I clamped harder. I only let loose because I heard Paul L whisper into my ear, “Leave some for me.”
Paul L lay down on his side, his shapely ass lubed and ready. My Paul changed Russlan’s condom, and Russlan kissed Paul L’s ear and then placed his cock at the lips of Paul L’s ass. Liam10 placed one hand behind Russlan’s ass and spread the other on Russlan’s muscular belly and moved the Russian forward, so that he entered Paul L. The rest of us made a circle and encouraged both Paul L and Russlan, touching, nipping, biting, tickling, fingering, smearing, pressing with hands, with feet, with elbows, with knees... but Russlan could not be made to be anything but gentle with Paul L. He could fuck me, or my Paul, or Liam1o like a jackhammer, but he was a lover with Paul L, making love to him. Little by little, we all began to breathe in unison, and when at last Russlan began to squirm and breathe heavily, all of us did. I oozed a few more drops of cum; Paul L actually was standing above me and got some cum in my ear! Liam10 had knelt over Paul L’s head, and I realized that Paul L was tonguing his redhead’s ass as Liam10 shot a load all over everyone. (Liam10 has prodigious amounts of semen. I wish I could figure out where on his lithe body it comes from!)
Russlan’s orgasm came in the form of some hip movement and deep breaths, punctuated by sighs of pleasure. Paul L’s cock did not explode as much as erupt, but by then, my Paul had Paul L’s foreskin in his mouth, so that the cum created a reservoir under the foreskin. Paul had a way of moving the foreskin around so that the cum drained off to one side, running down into his mouth. He then got up, stood over Russlan, and drooled a load of sperm into Russlan’s hair.
We sort of deflated together, lying there and savoring each other’s presence. By now, everyone was lying in a clump of humanity on the large mattress, enjoying the feeling of naked flesh against each other. My Paul still had a toe in Russlan’s ass, I could see from the movement of his foot and Russlan’s body that they were still having toe-sex. I watched as Paul changed the angle of his foot and got several toes more inside, but this was Russlan, who could accomodate a battleship, three cocks, a partridge in a pear tree, and the Red Army, while staying hard. Paul must have been touching the right nerves inside Russlan, because Russlan gasped and began to cum. Only as he began to cum, he hiccuped, and soon he was shooting sperm and hiccuping, again and again.
This set off a round of laughter that took almost 20 minutes to quiet down. Russlan was lying with his face pressed on Paul L’s chest. Liam10 was on the other side of Paul L, and my Paul and I were making out in each other’s arms. Russlan was almost asleep when Paul L asked him, “Russlan, don’t you feel safe?”
I knew that in Russian, asking “don’t you... X” is more polite than asking “do you... X,” whatever X is. So Paul L was being polite, and Russlan seemed to appreciate that.
“Safe, da.”
“You know that we will do nothing to hurt you?”
“Nothing.”
“You know that you are welcome here for a long as you want, and that my security staff will protect you?”
“I believe.”
“Then,” Paul L said, a little more seriously, “it is time for you to tell us more about the years that you were away.
Russlan looked up, with Paul L’s arm still around his neck, so that Russlan’s chin was on Paul L’s chest. He began to shiver.
“You are safe, Russlan. But you must be honest with me, with all of us.”
Russlan began to weep, his tears running all over Paul L’s chest. He shuddered several times, and took a deep breath, and said, “I tell.”
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I went to Paul, who motioned downward. I put my face on his abs and felt him shoot his load against my face. I let him finish, and I tongued his navel for a moment, then kissed my Paul deeply, his sperm running all over our faces. I whispered to him, he nodded, and then I went back to Liam10. I kissed him deeply. He recoiled momentarily, feeling the remains of Paul’s cum all over my face, and then he attacked me with his mouth, kissing me, sucking my cheeks and my lips, kissing deeper and deeper, breathing heavily.
I have had a hard time finding time to get back to your story but have now finished Chapters 10 and 11. I must say that Chapter 10 kept me hard the whole way through until I blew my load when Liam10 and you kissed, with Paul the Waiter's cum all over your face. Cum? Hell, I exploded. The chapter had kept me on edge. The sexual tension among your wonderful and complex characters so engrossing.
And with Chapter 11, you gave me pain and uncertainty as you and Paul the Waiter tried to meet the demands of Liam10. When guys demand what they don't really want . . . At least the guys he demanded to fuck him were sympathetic, caring patient and . . . of course, horny too. At last there was the chance for your guys to catch their breath before . . . a cliff hanger. OMFG, what a ride you are giving me.
Thanks until you make me cum again!
I have had a hard time finding time to get back to your story but have now finished Chapters 10 and 11. I must say that Chapter 10 kept me hard the whole way through until I blew my load when Liam10 and you kissed, with Paul the Waiter's cum all over your face. Cum? Hell, I exploded. The chapter had kept me on edge. The sexual tension among your wonderful and complex characters so engrossing.
And with Chapter 11, you gave me pain and uncertainty as you and Paul the Waiter tried to meet the demands of Liam10. When guys demand what they don't really want . . . At least the guys he demanded to fuck him were sympathetic, caring patient and . . . of course, horny too. At last there was the chance for your guys to catch their breath before . . . a cliff hanger. OMFG, what a ride you are giving me.
Thanks until you make me cum again!
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I'm not the fastest reader among your many fans, but I read carefully taking every detail in as I go. And I know from my reading that you love readers to respond and to let you now how much you are getting them off. (I can appreciate that since I love the same reaction to my projects on JUB.) So being a good HardReader I'll tell you . . .
I have just finished Chapter 15, not your sexiest to date by any means, but enough to get me hard. As always, I found myself sitting in front of my computer, my hard cock throbbing in my hand as I slow stroked and read . . . and sometimes reread . . . passages of your story. I don't call myself HardReader for no reason at all. My cock is hardwired to my brain. It can process and react to anything my brain can and so when reading good erotic porn like Tenting of course it responds. That means I can feel what your characters feel, want what they want, get aroused when they get aroused. I can feel the mouths on their cocks, taste the cocks in their mouths, the taste of pre-cum on their tongues. My cock can feel the aching of Liam10 as he struggles not to shoot his load and Paul and you try to tease it out of him. Yes, I was throbbing and aching and needing relief right along with you. And when Liam10 finally came . . . Well, to be honest, I have more willpower than Liam10 and I know I want to read more, so I am still hard and throbbing and aching and slow stroking and so fucking ready to read more right now. But I wanted you to know and to enjoy as I am enjoying. With writing like this, you deserve to be hard all the time. Thanks.
I have just finished Chapter 15, not your sexiest to date by any means, but enough to get me hard. As always, I found myself sitting in front of my computer, my hard cock throbbing in my hand as I slow stroked and read . . . and sometimes reread . . . passages of your story. I don't call myself HardReader for no reason at all. My cock is hardwired to my brain. It can process and react to anything my brain can and so when reading good erotic porn like Tenting of course it responds. That means I can feel what your characters feel, want what they want, get aroused when they get aroused. I can feel the mouths on their cocks, taste the cocks in their mouths, the taste of pre-cum on their tongues. My cock can feel the aching of Liam10 as he struggles not to shoot his load and Paul and you try to tease it out of him. Yes, I was throbbing and aching and needing relief right along with you. And when Liam10 finally came . . . Well, to be honest, I have more willpower than Liam10 and I know I want to read more, so I am still hard and throbbing and aching and slow stroking and so fucking ready to read more right now. But I wanted you to know and to enjoy as I am enjoying. With writing like this, you deserve to be hard all the time. Thanks.
I'm in low gear for the holiday season, and having posted the 2nd of two long chapters in ST, I'm taking a break to catch up on someone else's hard work. I love this story.
. . . Well, to be honest, I have more willpower than Liam10 and I know I want to read more, so I am still hard and throbbing and aching and slow stroking and so fucking ready to read more right now.
But are you as cute as he was at that moment, his black hair all tousled over his eyes, and his uncut hardon pointing to heaven?
Besides, I'm writing from the perspective of one who's enjoyed his sex, and I haven't sampled yours...
Yet.
But are you as cute as he was at that moment, his black hair all tousled over his eyes, and his uncut hardon pointing to heaven?
Besides, I'm writing from the perspective of one who's enjoyed his sex, and I haven't sampled yours...
Yet.
Tenting Tonight, chapter 24
Russlan looked tired and scared. We knew he hadn’t slept well lately. He asked for a bottle of vodka, and Paul L nodded to Liam10, who. surprise surprise, had a bottle ready in a cabinet. Russlan took a gulp, washed his mouth out with it, took a deep breath, and began.
“You must understand, in my country, or my was country, nothing is not seen, no word is not heard. Slava must knew father would find out he blue. I knew when hear Slava dead, was father. Nothing happen without this Andropov, those years. Brezhnev like dead already, many years. Andropov is Chekist, they hold many cards. May wait years to play card but always keep you like bug under glass, make look big, how...”
“Magnifying glass?” my Paul asked.
“Da, magnify glass. They keep you such. I learn signs. Building soviet, where my family live, always have dzhurnaya, woman who watch who enter, who go, always. But now dzhurnaya look me in eye. This woman, I know since I little one. She look me and tell me, ’You, Russlan, understand, I not to blame, you seen, they looking.’”
"What is ‘Chekist?’” Liam10 asked. Before Russlan could answer, Paul L did. “You remember when we saw the film of ‘Doctor Zhivago,’ the one with Omar Sharif? Alec Guinness played Zhivago’s brother, Yevgraf. Remember how when he visited Zhivago’s father-in-law’s house, taken over for collective housing, the building’s party officers were afraid of Yevgraf? He is a high ranking officer in the KGB, which had many names over the years. The first name for the secret police under communism was, ‘Cheka.’ The word ‘Chekist’ is still used to describe someone who wields secret police power ruthlessly. Am I not right, Russlan?”
“Da, exactly. Andropov was Chekist.
“I see clerk at bread store for chornaya khleb, black bread, make mark on pad when see me in line. I stand in line, I watch, I see man look behind me, I wait, then I turn, I see man sitting, watching, smoking. I know.
“Is old memory, my country, small blue truck say KHLEB on side, not always bread. In Stalin time, blue KHLEB trucks also take prisoners away.
“They come, one morning, early, I going out from house, they waiting, they take me to small truck...”
“Did it say, KLEB?”
“KHLEB, no. Color black. I am taken for inquiry. I nervous. They know Slava blue, Slava dead. They know I blue, maybe I dead.”
“Did they know?” I asked.
“Da, they know. But not to kill me. Officer play me like toy. We alone in one small room, I wear only towel, they take my clothing. He have pointing stick, he lift towel when talk me, I see he look my penis, I wonder, no, not this man blue, but he is showing me they can crush my eggs...”
“Your balls.”
“Balls, da. They may to crush. They have already in hand.”
“Why? What did they want?”
“Recruit.”
“Recruit?”
“They say, ‘Perhaps you blue for us, so you have way be blue and not go prison.’”
“They offered you a job? A sex job?”
“No, no. Not sex. This man talk me, I blue, so what? No problem. But I understand that only words. They want me know they know, put pression on me.”
“Pressure.”
“Pressure. They say not like old time, but still not legal. Blues go prison. In prison blue, vey bad. Even not blue, young man is victim. Must be blue for prisoner chief, he say you go suck such an one, you must, or you hit, you fucked, maybe you die.”
“They say I smart, perhaps I wish work for KGB. I not want be Chekist, but what my mother? my family? I not Chekist, they may lose work, maybe apartment also.”
“They hold me four days, maybe five. Cold. I remember cold. No clothes. They say, ‘You want warm?’ They offer tea. They offer vodka. They bored. I see they not care, I blue, I not blue. They care only I under them, I not think possible say them no.
Paul L. was connecting dots ahead of the rest of us. “Are you saying that they sent you to the US?”
“Official, no. Unofficial, they decide all such in Soviet time.”
“So your student visa...” Liam10 started to ask.
“Was real student visa, Liomka, like yours. Only you may apply as one, I must apply through my university, my university must apply to foreign office, foreign office must send application through KGB. All goes to KGB, all. All. I must go to university and study and not be sent out, and if I want make love with man, make love, but perhaps they will send me to a man, a professor, an official, or to company that do business with Soviet government, I offer Russian cock, I offer Russian hole, I say many nice words, I make love... they take photo, they make recording, they use such as they wish. I must only be cock, only ass; blue they not trust, no, never. I know, you say, Yeltsin change things, but Yeltsin is now hero, in 5 years who knows? Yeltsin is man of now only. In end, gray man always take place of man of now, always in my country. Was so under tsar, was so under church, was so in time Ivan the Terrible, was so time Peter the Great, and I whisper, was so in time Stalin.
“When I come America, I see many things first time. I contact embassy, they tell to call my control, he tell me if they have work, he tell me if they happy or no, he meet me once time one month, but if I find blue dot above my door, I must to call.
“When I first come, I amazed one hot boy in line, then one more, then many. They not afraid be blue. Maybe some afraid, but together no. I spend time with blue, they like my red hair and Soviet body, I can make friends if they can fuck me, this Soviets teach me but secret I already know, I already learn before Slava even. Handsome boy can always find man with hard cock who want him, or can make cock hard. In first week, when I think KGB not see, I make love many times. Then control tell me names, dates, even what i do, and then I know, I under them even in America. They have select my room, they have microphone or camera, they know all this.
“I spend time also in library. I supposed study English language course, but never good in languages. I am not stupid, but not in languages. If I grow up Moscow, Leningrad, maybe, but in Novosibirsk, who hear English? Maybe one man work in airport hear, but not student like me.
“In American library, I find newsreels. I watch many hours, I learn another look at world. I find Stalin do many things I not know. I find Nikita Sergeyevich Khrushchev better we think him. I find names like devil, Trotsky, Bukharin, even Zinoviev, they not devils only who lose. I drown in choices, suddenly. I like in ocean. I must choose ideas. I must choose my side. I must choose book to read. I may choose who cock go in me. In my country, all is decided for me. I must not choose book except book they tell me. I must not see film except film they show me. I go cafeteria, they have many foods on menu, but without price, because menu is game, is not real, they never have such things, every day they have salo, this cooked pig fat, what you call it?...”
“Lard?” my Paul said, looking sick to his stomach.
“I thought your father pastor, Pavel, he believe in Lard.”
“Russlan, God is Lord, not ‘Lard.’ One has an ‘o,’ the other has ‘a,’pronounced ‘ah.’ Pig fat is “lard,’ not ‘lord.’ That is disgusting. They eat straight lard?”
“I not know, Pavel.” Russlan was smiling for the first time. “Maybe pig gay, maybe straight, but when get to lard, who cares if straight?”
Paul L. commented: “He’s right, guys. That is a good joke, Russlan.”
“I learn.” Russlan was relaxing and beginning to be himself. “I decide I must be Russlan, blue. But I must be careful my mother die.”
“Your mother is alive, isn’t she?”
“Perhaps. But my tell that Mother dying just around time Brezhnev die. She has seen much, he tell me. I know, she is worn, old. In Novosibirsk, man, woman more than 40 years is get old. Life not easy like here. I know you not think easy, but when I compare struggle for bread, in lines, struggle for clothes, struggle for love, for house, for future, I must think life easier in America than in my country. I not say this I hate Motherland. I hate people rule Motherland, not Motherland. I hate people make good, nice blue boy feel dirt, feel pain. I hate such people.”
Paul L. pulled us back to reality. “What did they actually make you do, Russlan?”
“They tell me I must visit mother but first is professor who like blue boys, I must go and be his sabaka for few days, his... dog woman?”
“Dog woman?”
“Woman dog.”
“What is he trying to say?”
“Bitch.”
“Bitch, da. This is word I know before I go away. My English not so good now like before.”
“It will come back. So did you sleep with this professor?”
“I go to him, he nice to me, I see he hard for red-haired Russian boy with big cock, but he not treat me like dirt, he treat me like nice Russian boy, he not expect fuck me and send me away like Party member might do, he good man. And then I think, what I doing here, perhaps Mother sick, why Rodina send me to fuck with this man when Mother perhaps dying? Or is Mother dying? I know this, if I go to Novosibirsk, I never travel again, I never receive passport to travel, I blue and slave to KGB for life.”
“But did you...?”
“I try with man, but then I cannot want this man to hate me, I tell him truth. I take him on walk on campus and I hold his arm and I tell him. I hold hand over mouth, they not read lips, they not see too much.”
“What did he do?”
“He tell your government, and they visit.”
“The American government called you?”
“No. Registrat, how you say, of uni `versity...”
“Registrar?”
“Da Registrar. I remember. He send me note I must explain why I get certain grade. I not understand question, I tell control they want check my registration, my papers in university. He say go. I go. When they talk, I understand. They know red-haired Russlan is small blue spy.”
“Did they threaten you?”
“No, no, they tell me they can help me. But they tell me I must not to be blue, because new American president not like Russia, not like Russians, not like blue.”
Paul L. murmured to me that I must listen very attentively, because he wanted to talk this over with me afterward.
“They tell me they help me, I help them. They say that professor knows to report this, they say he know that I not make decision. I want they tell him I like him, I respect him. But do they tell him such, I not know. I know that in weeks after this talk with Americans, I begin see more KGB mans in street, in class. I not talk them, but I ask control what problem is, and he say, ‘Your mother want you tell Rodina all truth. When they say my mother, I understand something is happen. How control forget that tell me Mother is dying? Then I know everything is lie. I must be silent and think.”
“Russlan,” I piped up. “When this was happening, you already knew us. We made love in this room. Why...”
“Robert die, your Bobby, my Robert. And I know that men from Russian do this, they look for me. And father of Slava is like king all Soviet Union. And these men are looking red-haired boy. I understand that Andropov order me dead.
“Why didn’t you tell us?” my Paul asked.
“And if I will tell, you will try help me. Maybe you dead. Maybe Liomka dead like Robert. I only know Liomka short time, but I love him like never Slava, like never Robert. Is strange, I see red-haired boy and I think I see Russlan, and I like this Russlan, and I not feel this way ever, I always afraid. With Liomka I not afraid of life. I afraid for Liomka, for you, Pitr, for Pavel and Pavel, for other Liomka, for Frank, for Zeevuchka. Not just because I kiss your cocks. Not just you fuck me, I fuck you. I afraid and I love.
“So I decide I must die. In Novosibirsk, we say, ‘Here in Siberia, hard not to die. To live hard. To die, easy.’ I go to forest, walk, maybe wolves find me, maybe i find small lake in forest. I go there when is cold, I swim, I fall asleep. No more KGB. No more danger.
“But in Boston, Massachusetts, America. Not easy to die here. Easy kill me, easy even I kill me. But for me is not easy, I must give up much to die. I say me, I have much. I have Liomka, I have his friends, I have place at Lindoro, I have love.
“You see? I must leave so you be safe, but I not want leave. I want you safe. I think, I go to harbor, I swim, I fall asleep. But find body, many questions. So I decide I must change body.”
“Change body?” Paul L interrupted. “Russlan, what are you talking about, change body?”
“In my country, only Muslim and Jew cut penis, and that is not allow but they do. I think, if Russian boy Russlan found, they expect skin. They find no skin, they say not Russlan.
I take knife from downstairs and i take bottle vodka. I drink almost all bottle, then I put penis in glass vodka. Alcohol burn, but I put ice. When penis not feel, I cut.”
Every one of us was sitting with his legs together, held tightly. How had he not been screaming in pain? We had seen the results only hours later, when all of us fucked him. How had he stood the pain?
“Russlan, when you wanted us all to fuck you, you had bloody underwear. Was that...? Were you already...”
“You cut yourself? Yourself?”
“Oh my God, how could he do that? It makes me squirm just to think...”
“Sha!” Russlan began to take charge, finally. “Sha! You must understand, I know will hurt if all of you fuck me. I want hurt in back to cover hurt in front. And hurt I must leave you.”
Paul L utterly astonished us at that moment. He began to weep and he opened his arms to Russlan. Russlan looked around, and Liam10 went over to him and sort of dragged him over to Paul L. Paul L put his arms around Russlan, beckoning to Liam10, and the two of them encircled Russlan with their arms and bodies. Liam10 and Paul wept quietly, and Russlan seemed stunned.
My Paul and I stood up and joined them. We felt their bodies against ours, and with my hand playing with my Paul’s balls, as I often did, I could feel that he was getting hard again. And I knew the reason.
Paul’s soul was mine, his body was mine, his cock was mine, his balls were mine. Forever. But his cock was hard for a red-haired love that we both shared. And for the battered Russian who had come back to us.
“Russlan, perhaps you’d continue tomorrow. We’re all a bit tired,” Paul L murmured, his lips nuzzling Russlan’s neck and his hands searching for Liam10’s nipples.
When the emotions began to blur, we stepped back, all of us. Russlan kissed us each, in turn, not a romantic kiss, but a love kiss. When he came to my Paul, he turned to me and winked, and I winked back and cocked my head, “Go ahead.” I saw him buck his hips forward so that his crotch nudged my Paul’s. I didn’t have to look to know that my lover was hard. My Paul could resist earthquakes, I think, hurricanes, anything, but not our Lingam, never our Lingam, and never our Russlan either.
My Paul came to me, then, and he kissed me, his tongue feeling its way around my mouth, rubbing against mine. I sucked his tongue into my mouth, something that could drive my Paul wild. I felt his hardon against me, and he whispered, “Let’s go to our bedroom.”
As we made to leave, Paul L asked us to stay a moment. We stood, arm in arm, with my Paul’s left hand cupping my ass, and his middle finger indicating what he intended to do to me shortly. Paul L said he wanted to introduce us to someone.
The elevator door down the hall opened, which startled Russlan. He looked panicky for a moment, but Paul L stood and put his arms around Russlan again, and whispered, “You are safe.”
A new waiter who had recently joined Lindoro came in with a bottle of champagne and an ice bucket. I saw Russlan look at Paul L, and Paul L chuckled and nodded to the waiter, who left and was back a minute later with a bottle of vodka. Liam10 was eyeing the young waiter, whom Paul had told us was Brazilian. Paul L was conscious of the difference in ages between him and Liam10, and he would occasionally invite a lad whom Liam10 admired to join them in bed, or he would suggest to Liam10 that he invite the lad for dinner. Paul would have been happy to go to bed and let Liam10 have sex without him. He was secure in Liam10’s love. But Liam10 would not do it. He might sleep with someone who attracted them both, but only with Paul L present.
I saw that the new waiter fit his clothing exceptionally well. He was tall, with fine black skin and green eyes, the ebony darkness of his face setting off the glowing emerald eyes. He had come to the US as a visiting student, Paul L had told us, but his mother, a cabinet minister in Brazil, and his father, a lawyer, had been assassinated during Claudio’s second year in the US. I remembered, them, hazily, an handsome couple whose easy affection with each other had impressed me when I met them at dinner in the restaurant many months before. Paul L told us afterward that the father had studied in Boston two decades earlier, and that the two had had a torrid affair, before they parted so that the young man could go home to marry his fiancée in Brazil. The friendship had continued.
Claudio had been advised by his embassy to return immediately, but he was suspicious of the haste they suggested. He asked Paul L his opinion, and Paul L had suggested that he come live at Lindoro’s for a while, officially as a waiter, but actually as a guest, and let Paul L help him get political asylum. I know that Liam10 had helped Claudio get settled, and the two of them had taken to watching football (soccer) games together. What else they did with balls together, I could only imagine. The last few days, they’d watched a World Cup match with Russlan.
Paul L got very formal, all of a sudden, which was a trick he used sometimes to crack us up. “My lords and ladies,” he said, looking around to see who reacted to ‘ladies,' be upstanding, and I mean just you, not just your cocks. Meet Claudio. He’ll be joining us for a while.”
We all knew that “a while” might mean a few weeks or it might mean permanently. We toasted Claudio with champagne, except for Russlan. I got the impression that the two of them had already met, and knowing Russlan, there were probably a good many Brazilian sperm swimming about in his intestines, from one direction or another. Russlan poured himself a champagne glass of vodka and joined the toast to Claudio.
Again we turned to leave, but this time it was Russlan who stopped us. “One moment. I have toast for Liomka. He must drink it.”
Maybe Russlan was channeling our Lingam, because he then put his hands into the back of Claudio’s pants, pulling them down. Beneath his tuxedo pants, Claudio was wearing a bright red jockstrap, and the straps framed his muscular ass impressively. But a moment later, even Claudio was surprised when Russlan pulled the jockstrap down.
Now, there were some fine cocks in the room, and among us, we’d probably sucked or ridden several miles of hardon. But Claudio was impressive, even for this group. His cock was long and thick, and his foreskin hung down to a pucker half an inch below the tip of his cock-head. Russlan, vodka bottle in hand, settled on his knees alongside Claudio, holding this python of a cock in his hand. He winked at me and said, “Pitr, help.”
I stepped over, and he handed me Claudio’s cock. I whispered a greeting to Claudio, who seemed to be taking all this in with an air of amusement.
“Hold up, Pitr. Hold cock up. Good. Now stretch foreskin open.” I did as Russlan was asking, and he took the bottle of vodka and poured the stretched, upward facing cup formed by Claudio’s foreskin full of vodka. I saw Claudio flinch, once, and I wondered what the alcohol in vodka felt like in contact with the tender skin of the slit in a cock-head.
“A toast to football players of Brazil! Drink, Liomka!”
He took the still flaccid but vodka-laden cock back from me, and he motioned with it to Liam10, who was giggling. Liam10 looked at Paul L, who shrugged with a grin, and Liam10 bent, put his lips against the stretched foreskin, and sipped the vodka.
“Again,” Russlan said, pouring more vodka into the skin chalice that Liam10 was holding. But when Liam10 began moving it to his lips, the cock began to acquire a life of its own. Claudio was young and full of vodka, it appeared, because he was glass-hard in no time at all, and his hardon curved up to meet his 6-pack closer to his nipples than to his navel. I had no doubt that he could suck it himself, and I made a mental note to check this out the first opportunity I had.
My Paul’s hardon was still nudging me from behind, and I could feel a tickling feeling in my ass, a feeling I often had when anticipating Paul’s thrusts into me. I reached around and cradled his hardon in my hand, and the two of us stepped off to one side. Paul L nodded to me as we left, quietly.
We barely made it back to our bedroom. Paul was barely able to contain his desire, and I didn’t want to contain it. i reached for the first bottle of lube I could find on the night-table, still looking into Paul’s eyes. I saw him glance downward and then up into my eyes, his eyebrows moving in a way that I knew spelled gentle humor. I rubbed my ass with the lube and turned around. My hole felt oddly hot, tingly. Paul was not tonguing me yet. I looked at him, and I could see that he was holding in a laugh. My ass was really tingling now, almost burning.
Suddenly, I looked at the bottle of lube I had used. It was wintergreen and menthol cough medicine! I had to laugh also, and Paul, now laughing with me, pushed me down onto my belly and began to lick the cough syrup out of my crack, out of my hole.
This kind of sex was the sweetest of all. We were mellow, we were horny, we laughed as we fucked. Paul finished cleaning me up and then shoved a fingerful of regular lube into me, followed a moment later by his hardon. He knew I enjoyed this kind of rough opening, and he did it to please me. I felt his cock stretching me, and I shoved my ass back at my Paul. I clamped, I clenched, I massaged his hardon with my ass muscles.
Paul never failed to find my prostate and to play it with his cock the way a violinist plays his violin. He could rub against it, press into it, and drive me wild with the sensations. Paul would keep doing this until I was grunting and begging him to shoot within me. We each knew the other’s desires and l limits, and so he played me like a virtuoso. More than half an hour of fucking left us both panting, wanting to cum but each wanting more to be sure the other had a supreme experience of pleasure. Sometimes we fucked for so long that we took a break and napped, still joined by a column of flesh running into my ass, or Paul’s.
Now, though, I could tell from years of making love with him that Paul was determined to get me off first, and I allowed him to push me over the edge. My ass spasmed around his hardon, which danced its way into me and did a tap routine against my prostate. I was soon shooting as well
Paul turned me around and put his forehead against mine. “What have I done,” he asked, “to deserve such happiness? You make me feel like Superman.”
“Wait until one night you get into me and find I’ve got an ass-full of kryptonite!”
“What a way to go!”
“No, not green kryptonite. Red kryptonite. The kind that makes you act bizarrely.”
“You mean there’s more bizarre than a former KGB agent pouring vodka toasts into a Brazilian’s foreskin and inviting a Welsh lad to have a sip?
“Oh, sure. That’s everyday fare, in our lives.”
I started chuckling, and soon we were laughing, almost wrestling each other in bed. We got hard again, but we just played with each other rather than getting into fucking again.
“Paul?” I said.
“Hmmm?”
“Paul, what did you mean?”
“Hmmmmm?” Paul was saying something, half asleep, his mouth buried against the fleshy part of my thigh, so that his tongue could lick into my groin where my thigh met my torso.
“Paul, what did you mean by that?”
“Whaaa?”
“When you asked what you did to deserve such happiness.”
Paul began stirring more, and he pulled up so that our mouths were against each other and I could feel his breath on my face. “I meant,” he said, “that I must have done something great to deserve you. Anyone else would be jealous, but...”
I pressed my lips against Paul’s and didn’t let him finish the sentence. Feeling my Paul against me, breathing his breath, gave me a physical sensation to go with the love I felt for him and from him. I considered tickling him to orgasm again that night, but I let him drift off to sleep, and I thought about what he said.
My Paul gets hard over red-haired boys because they remind him of our Liam. He can’t fuck Liam any more, so he fucks me. Or I fuck him. Or once in a while, we both fuck a guest to our bed. At various times, we’ve entertained Paul L and Liam10, or just Paul L, or just Liam10. Or Russlan. When he’s around, Frank, or Ze’ev, is welcome.
Other guests also join us occasionally. We befriended Steven, a young Californian who was a guest conductor of the Boston Symphony Orchestra. He’s not closeted, but he’s not widely advertised as a gay conductor. He’s always welcome, and we enjoy knowing that we’ve each had a turn on his fully 12 inch baton. (We measured. It’s 12 inches, no joking.) He lives a very disciplined life, conducting in Hong Kong, in Tokyo, in Santiago de Chile, in Amsterdam, and in Vienna. He sometimes conducts at the Metropolitan Opera, or the Dallas Opera. We have flown to Europe, sometimes, just to hear his performance and enjoy his company in bed. He calls us his “safety valve,” because we massage him until his valve blows off steam, a decompression that allows him to live his high-powered life.
I thought about feeling Steven’s log (Liam10 refers to him as our “Sequoia”) inside me while I suck my Paul’s cock. I concentrated on that as I drifted off.
It’s good to be in love.
Russlan looked tired and scared. We knew he hadn’t slept well lately. He asked for a bottle of vodka, and Paul L nodded to Liam10, who. surprise surprise, had a bottle ready in a cabinet. Russlan took a gulp, washed his mouth out with it, took a deep breath, and began.
“You must understand, in my country, or my was country, nothing is not seen, no word is not heard. Slava must knew father would find out he blue. I knew when hear Slava dead, was father. Nothing happen without this Andropov, those years. Brezhnev like dead already, many years. Andropov is Chekist, they hold many cards. May wait years to play card but always keep you like bug under glass, make look big, how...”
“Magnifying glass?” my Paul asked.
“Da, magnify glass. They keep you such. I learn signs. Building soviet, where my family live, always have dzhurnaya, woman who watch who enter, who go, always. But now dzhurnaya look me in eye. This woman, I know since I little one. She look me and tell me, ’You, Russlan, understand, I not to blame, you seen, they looking.’”
"What is ‘Chekist?’” Liam10 asked. Before Russlan could answer, Paul L did. “You remember when we saw the film of ‘Doctor Zhivago,’ the one with Omar Sharif? Alec Guinness played Zhivago’s brother, Yevgraf. Remember how when he visited Zhivago’s father-in-law’s house, taken over for collective housing, the building’s party officers were afraid of Yevgraf? He is a high ranking officer in the KGB, which had many names over the years. The first name for the secret police under communism was, ‘Cheka.’ The word ‘Chekist’ is still used to describe someone who wields secret police power ruthlessly. Am I not right, Russlan?”
“Da, exactly. Andropov was Chekist.
“I see clerk at bread store for chornaya khleb, black bread, make mark on pad when see me in line. I stand in line, I watch, I see man look behind me, I wait, then I turn, I see man sitting, watching, smoking. I know.
“Is old memory, my country, small blue truck say KHLEB on side, not always bread. In Stalin time, blue KHLEB trucks also take prisoners away.
“They come, one morning, early, I going out from house, they waiting, they take me to small truck...”
“Did it say, KLEB?”
“KHLEB, no. Color black. I am taken for inquiry. I nervous. They know Slava blue, Slava dead. They know I blue, maybe I dead.”
“Did they know?” I asked.
“Da, they know. But not to kill me. Officer play me like toy. We alone in one small room, I wear only towel, they take my clothing. He have pointing stick, he lift towel when talk me, I see he look my penis, I wonder, no, not this man blue, but he is showing me they can crush my eggs...”
“Your balls.”
“Balls, da. They may to crush. They have already in hand.”
“Why? What did they want?”
“Recruit.”
“Recruit?”
“They say, ‘Perhaps you blue for us, so you have way be blue and not go prison.’”
“They offered you a job? A sex job?”
“No, no. Not sex. This man talk me, I blue, so what? No problem. But I understand that only words. They want me know they know, put pression on me.”
“Pressure.”
“Pressure. They say not like old time, but still not legal. Blues go prison. In prison blue, vey bad. Even not blue, young man is victim. Must be blue for prisoner chief, he say you go suck such an one, you must, or you hit, you fucked, maybe you die.”
“They say I smart, perhaps I wish work for KGB. I not want be Chekist, but what my mother? my family? I not Chekist, they may lose work, maybe apartment also.”
“They hold me four days, maybe five. Cold. I remember cold. No clothes. They say, ‘You want warm?’ They offer tea. They offer vodka. They bored. I see they not care, I blue, I not blue. They care only I under them, I not think possible say them no.
Paul L. was connecting dots ahead of the rest of us. “Are you saying that they sent you to the US?”
“Official, no. Unofficial, they decide all such in Soviet time.”
“So your student visa...” Liam10 started to ask.
“Was real student visa, Liomka, like yours. Only you may apply as one, I must apply through my university, my university must apply to foreign office, foreign office must send application through KGB. All goes to KGB, all. All. I must go to university and study and not be sent out, and if I want make love with man, make love, but perhaps they will send me to a man, a professor, an official, or to company that do business with Soviet government, I offer Russian cock, I offer Russian hole, I say many nice words, I make love... they take photo, they make recording, they use such as they wish. I must only be cock, only ass; blue they not trust, no, never. I know, you say, Yeltsin change things, but Yeltsin is now hero, in 5 years who knows? Yeltsin is man of now only. In end, gray man always take place of man of now, always in my country. Was so under tsar, was so under church, was so in time Ivan the Terrible, was so time Peter the Great, and I whisper, was so in time Stalin.
“When I come America, I see many things first time. I contact embassy, they tell to call my control, he tell me if they have work, he tell me if they happy or no, he meet me once time one month, but if I find blue dot above my door, I must to call.
“When I first come, I amazed one hot boy in line, then one more, then many. They not afraid be blue. Maybe some afraid, but together no. I spend time with blue, they like my red hair and Soviet body, I can make friends if they can fuck me, this Soviets teach me but secret I already know, I already learn before Slava even. Handsome boy can always find man with hard cock who want him, or can make cock hard. In first week, when I think KGB not see, I make love many times. Then control tell me names, dates, even what i do, and then I know, I under them even in America. They have select my room, they have microphone or camera, they know all this.
“I spend time also in library. I supposed study English language course, but never good in languages. I am not stupid, but not in languages. If I grow up Moscow, Leningrad, maybe, but in Novosibirsk, who hear English? Maybe one man work in airport hear, but not student like me.
“In American library, I find newsreels. I watch many hours, I learn another look at world. I find Stalin do many things I not know. I find Nikita Sergeyevich Khrushchev better we think him. I find names like devil, Trotsky, Bukharin, even Zinoviev, they not devils only who lose. I drown in choices, suddenly. I like in ocean. I must choose ideas. I must choose my side. I must choose book to read. I may choose who cock go in me. In my country, all is decided for me. I must not choose book except book they tell me. I must not see film except film they show me. I go cafeteria, they have many foods on menu, but without price, because menu is game, is not real, they never have such things, every day they have salo, this cooked pig fat, what you call it?...”
“Lard?” my Paul said, looking sick to his stomach.
“I thought your father pastor, Pavel, he believe in Lard.”
“Russlan, God is Lord, not ‘Lard.’ One has an ‘o,’ the other has ‘a,’pronounced ‘ah.’ Pig fat is “lard,’ not ‘lord.’ That is disgusting. They eat straight lard?”
“I not know, Pavel.” Russlan was smiling for the first time. “Maybe pig gay, maybe straight, but when get to lard, who cares if straight?”
Paul L. commented: “He’s right, guys. That is a good joke, Russlan.”
“I learn.” Russlan was relaxing and beginning to be himself. “I decide I must be Russlan, blue. But I must be careful my mother die.”
“Your mother is alive, isn’t she?”
“Perhaps. But my tell that Mother dying just around time Brezhnev die. She has seen much, he tell me. I know, she is worn, old. In Novosibirsk, man, woman more than 40 years is get old. Life not easy like here. I know you not think easy, but when I compare struggle for bread, in lines, struggle for clothes, struggle for love, for house, for future, I must think life easier in America than in my country. I not say this I hate Motherland. I hate people rule Motherland, not Motherland. I hate people make good, nice blue boy feel dirt, feel pain. I hate such people.”
Paul L. pulled us back to reality. “What did they actually make you do, Russlan?”
“They tell me I must visit mother but first is professor who like blue boys, I must go and be his sabaka for few days, his... dog woman?”
“Dog woman?”
“Woman dog.”
“What is he trying to say?”
“Bitch.”
“Bitch, da. This is word I know before I go away. My English not so good now like before.”
“It will come back. So did you sleep with this professor?”
“I go to him, he nice to me, I see he hard for red-haired Russian boy with big cock, but he not treat me like dirt, he treat me like nice Russian boy, he not expect fuck me and send me away like Party member might do, he good man. And then I think, what I doing here, perhaps Mother sick, why Rodina send me to fuck with this man when Mother perhaps dying? Or is Mother dying? I know this, if I go to Novosibirsk, I never travel again, I never receive passport to travel, I blue and slave to KGB for life.”
“But did you...?”
“I try with man, but then I cannot want this man to hate me, I tell him truth. I take him on walk on campus and I hold his arm and I tell him. I hold hand over mouth, they not read lips, they not see too much.”
“What did he do?”
“He tell your government, and they visit.”
“The American government called you?”
“No. Registrat, how you say, of uni `versity...”
“Registrar?”
“Da Registrar. I remember. He send me note I must explain why I get certain grade. I not understand question, I tell control they want check my registration, my papers in university. He say go. I go. When they talk, I understand. They know red-haired Russlan is small blue spy.”
“Did they threaten you?”
“No, no, they tell me they can help me. But they tell me I must not to be blue, because new American president not like Russia, not like Russians, not like blue.”
Paul L. murmured to me that I must listen very attentively, because he wanted to talk this over with me afterward.
“They tell me they help me, I help them. They say that professor knows to report this, they say he know that I not make decision. I want they tell him I like him, I respect him. But do they tell him such, I not know. I know that in weeks after this talk with Americans, I begin see more KGB mans in street, in class. I not talk them, but I ask control what problem is, and he say, ‘Your mother want you tell Rodina all truth. When they say my mother, I understand something is happen. How control forget that tell me Mother is dying? Then I know everything is lie. I must be silent and think.”
“Russlan,” I piped up. “When this was happening, you already knew us. We made love in this room. Why...”
“Robert die, your Bobby, my Robert. And I know that men from Russian do this, they look for me. And father of Slava is like king all Soviet Union. And these men are looking red-haired boy. I understand that Andropov order me dead.
“Why didn’t you tell us?” my Paul asked.
“And if I will tell, you will try help me. Maybe you dead. Maybe Liomka dead like Robert. I only know Liomka short time, but I love him like never Slava, like never Robert. Is strange, I see red-haired boy and I think I see Russlan, and I like this Russlan, and I not feel this way ever, I always afraid. With Liomka I not afraid of life. I afraid for Liomka, for you, Pitr, for Pavel and Pavel, for other Liomka, for Frank, for Zeevuchka. Not just because I kiss your cocks. Not just you fuck me, I fuck you. I afraid and I love.
“So I decide I must die. In Novosibirsk, we say, ‘Here in Siberia, hard not to die. To live hard. To die, easy.’ I go to forest, walk, maybe wolves find me, maybe i find small lake in forest. I go there when is cold, I swim, I fall asleep. No more KGB. No more danger.
“But in Boston, Massachusetts, America. Not easy to die here. Easy kill me, easy even I kill me. But for me is not easy, I must give up much to die. I say me, I have much. I have Liomka, I have his friends, I have place at Lindoro, I have love.
“You see? I must leave so you be safe, but I not want leave. I want you safe. I think, I go to harbor, I swim, I fall asleep. But find body, many questions. So I decide I must change body.”
“Change body?” Paul L interrupted. “Russlan, what are you talking about, change body?”
“In my country, only Muslim and Jew cut penis, and that is not allow but they do. I think, if Russian boy Russlan found, they expect skin. They find no skin, they say not Russlan.
I take knife from downstairs and i take bottle vodka. I drink almost all bottle, then I put penis in glass vodka. Alcohol burn, but I put ice. When penis not feel, I cut.”
Every one of us was sitting with his legs together, held tightly. How had he not been screaming in pain? We had seen the results only hours later, when all of us fucked him. How had he stood the pain?
“Russlan, when you wanted us all to fuck you, you had bloody underwear. Was that...? Were you already...”
“You cut yourself? Yourself?”
“Oh my God, how could he do that? It makes me squirm just to think...”
“Sha!” Russlan began to take charge, finally. “Sha! You must understand, I know will hurt if all of you fuck me. I want hurt in back to cover hurt in front. And hurt I must leave you.”
Paul L utterly astonished us at that moment. He began to weep and he opened his arms to Russlan. Russlan looked around, and Liam10 went over to him and sort of dragged him over to Paul L. Paul L put his arms around Russlan, beckoning to Liam10, and the two of them encircled Russlan with their arms and bodies. Liam10 and Paul wept quietly, and Russlan seemed stunned.
My Paul and I stood up and joined them. We felt their bodies against ours, and with my hand playing with my Paul’s balls, as I often did, I could feel that he was getting hard again. And I knew the reason.
Paul’s soul was mine, his body was mine, his cock was mine, his balls were mine. Forever. But his cock was hard for a red-haired love that we both shared. And for the battered Russian who had come back to us.
“Russlan, perhaps you’d continue tomorrow. We’re all a bit tired,” Paul L murmured, his lips nuzzling Russlan’s neck and his hands searching for Liam10’s nipples.
When the emotions began to blur, we stepped back, all of us. Russlan kissed us each, in turn, not a romantic kiss, but a love kiss. When he came to my Paul, he turned to me and winked, and I winked back and cocked my head, “Go ahead.” I saw him buck his hips forward so that his crotch nudged my Paul’s. I didn’t have to look to know that my lover was hard. My Paul could resist earthquakes, I think, hurricanes, anything, but not our Lingam, never our Lingam, and never our Russlan either.
My Paul came to me, then, and he kissed me, his tongue feeling its way around my mouth, rubbing against mine. I sucked his tongue into my mouth, something that could drive my Paul wild. I felt his hardon against me, and he whispered, “Let’s go to our bedroom.”
As we made to leave, Paul L asked us to stay a moment. We stood, arm in arm, with my Paul’s left hand cupping my ass, and his middle finger indicating what he intended to do to me shortly. Paul L said he wanted to introduce us to someone.
The elevator door down the hall opened, which startled Russlan. He looked panicky for a moment, but Paul L stood and put his arms around Russlan again, and whispered, “You are safe.”
A new waiter who had recently joined Lindoro came in with a bottle of champagne and an ice bucket. I saw Russlan look at Paul L, and Paul L chuckled and nodded to the waiter, who left and was back a minute later with a bottle of vodka. Liam10 was eyeing the young waiter, whom Paul had told us was Brazilian. Paul L was conscious of the difference in ages between him and Liam10, and he would occasionally invite a lad whom Liam10 admired to join them in bed, or he would suggest to Liam10 that he invite the lad for dinner. Paul would have been happy to go to bed and let Liam10 have sex without him. He was secure in Liam10’s love. But Liam10 would not do it. He might sleep with someone who attracted them both, but only with Paul L present.
I saw that the new waiter fit his clothing exceptionally well. He was tall, with fine black skin and green eyes, the ebony darkness of his face setting off the glowing emerald eyes. He had come to the US as a visiting student, Paul L had told us, but his mother, a cabinet minister in Brazil, and his father, a lawyer, had been assassinated during Claudio’s second year in the US. I remembered, them, hazily, an handsome couple whose easy affection with each other had impressed me when I met them at dinner in the restaurant many months before. Paul L told us afterward that the father had studied in Boston two decades earlier, and that the two had had a torrid affair, before they parted so that the young man could go home to marry his fiancée in Brazil. The friendship had continued.
Claudio had been advised by his embassy to return immediately, but he was suspicious of the haste they suggested. He asked Paul L his opinion, and Paul L had suggested that he come live at Lindoro’s for a while, officially as a waiter, but actually as a guest, and let Paul L help him get political asylum. I know that Liam10 had helped Claudio get settled, and the two of them had taken to watching football (soccer) games together. What else they did with balls together, I could only imagine. The last few days, they’d watched a World Cup match with Russlan.
Paul L got very formal, all of a sudden, which was a trick he used sometimes to crack us up. “My lords and ladies,” he said, looking around to see who reacted to ‘ladies,' be upstanding, and I mean just you, not just your cocks. Meet Claudio. He’ll be joining us for a while.”
We all knew that “a while” might mean a few weeks or it might mean permanently. We toasted Claudio with champagne, except for Russlan. I got the impression that the two of them had already met, and knowing Russlan, there were probably a good many Brazilian sperm swimming about in his intestines, from one direction or another. Russlan poured himself a champagne glass of vodka and joined the toast to Claudio.
Again we turned to leave, but this time it was Russlan who stopped us. “One moment. I have toast for Liomka. He must drink it.”
Maybe Russlan was channeling our Lingam, because he then put his hands into the back of Claudio’s pants, pulling them down. Beneath his tuxedo pants, Claudio was wearing a bright red jockstrap, and the straps framed his muscular ass impressively. But a moment later, even Claudio was surprised when Russlan pulled the jockstrap down.
Now, there were some fine cocks in the room, and among us, we’d probably sucked or ridden several miles of hardon. But Claudio was impressive, even for this group. His cock was long and thick, and his foreskin hung down to a pucker half an inch below the tip of his cock-head. Russlan, vodka bottle in hand, settled on his knees alongside Claudio, holding this python of a cock in his hand. He winked at me and said, “Pitr, help.”
I stepped over, and he handed me Claudio’s cock. I whispered a greeting to Claudio, who seemed to be taking all this in with an air of amusement.
“Hold up, Pitr. Hold cock up. Good. Now stretch foreskin open.” I did as Russlan was asking, and he took the bottle of vodka and poured the stretched, upward facing cup formed by Claudio’s foreskin full of vodka. I saw Claudio flinch, once, and I wondered what the alcohol in vodka felt like in contact with the tender skin of the slit in a cock-head.
“A toast to football players of Brazil! Drink, Liomka!”
He took the still flaccid but vodka-laden cock back from me, and he motioned with it to Liam10, who was giggling. Liam10 looked at Paul L, who shrugged with a grin, and Liam10 bent, put his lips against the stretched foreskin, and sipped the vodka.
“Again,” Russlan said, pouring more vodka into the skin chalice that Liam10 was holding. But when Liam10 began moving it to his lips, the cock began to acquire a life of its own. Claudio was young and full of vodka, it appeared, because he was glass-hard in no time at all, and his hardon curved up to meet his 6-pack closer to his nipples than to his navel. I had no doubt that he could suck it himself, and I made a mental note to check this out the first opportunity I had.
My Paul’s hardon was still nudging me from behind, and I could feel a tickling feeling in my ass, a feeling I often had when anticipating Paul’s thrusts into me. I reached around and cradled his hardon in my hand, and the two of us stepped off to one side. Paul L nodded to me as we left, quietly.
We barely made it back to our bedroom. Paul was barely able to contain his desire, and I didn’t want to contain it. i reached for the first bottle of lube I could find on the night-table, still looking into Paul’s eyes. I saw him glance downward and then up into my eyes, his eyebrows moving in a way that I knew spelled gentle humor. I rubbed my ass with the lube and turned around. My hole felt oddly hot, tingly. Paul was not tonguing me yet. I looked at him, and I could see that he was holding in a laugh. My ass was really tingling now, almost burning.
Suddenly, I looked at the bottle of lube I had used. It was wintergreen and menthol cough medicine! I had to laugh also, and Paul, now laughing with me, pushed me down onto my belly and began to lick the cough syrup out of my crack, out of my hole.
This kind of sex was the sweetest of all. We were mellow, we were horny, we laughed as we fucked. Paul finished cleaning me up and then shoved a fingerful of regular lube into me, followed a moment later by his hardon. He knew I enjoyed this kind of rough opening, and he did it to please me. I felt his cock stretching me, and I shoved my ass back at my Paul. I clamped, I clenched, I massaged his hardon with my ass muscles.
Paul never failed to find my prostate and to play it with his cock the way a violinist plays his violin. He could rub against it, press into it, and drive me wild with the sensations. Paul would keep doing this until I was grunting and begging him to shoot within me. We each knew the other’s desires and l limits, and so he played me like a virtuoso. More than half an hour of fucking left us both panting, wanting to cum but each wanting more to be sure the other had a supreme experience of pleasure. Sometimes we fucked for so long that we took a break and napped, still joined by a column of flesh running into my ass, or Paul’s.
Now, though, I could tell from years of making love with him that Paul was determined to get me off first, and I allowed him to push me over the edge. My ass spasmed around his hardon, which danced its way into me and did a tap routine against my prostate. I was soon shooting as well
Paul turned me around and put his forehead against mine. “What have I done,” he asked, “to deserve such happiness? You make me feel like Superman.”
“Wait until one night you get into me and find I’ve got an ass-full of kryptonite!”
“What a way to go!”
“No, not green kryptonite. Red kryptonite. The kind that makes you act bizarrely.”
“You mean there’s more bizarre than a former KGB agent pouring vodka toasts into a Brazilian’s foreskin and inviting a Welsh lad to have a sip?
“Oh, sure. That’s everyday fare, in our lives.”
I started chuckling, and soon we were laughing, almost wrestling each other in bed. We got hard again, but we just played with each other rather than getting into fucking again.
“Paul?” I said.
“Hmmm?”
“Paul, what did you mean?”
“Hmmmmm?” Paul was saying something, half asleep, his mouth buried against the fleshy part of my thigh, so that his tongue could lick into my groin where my thigh met my torso.
“Paul, what did you mean by that?”
“Whaaa?”
“When you asked what you did to deserve such happiness.”
Paul began stirring more, and he pulled up so that our mouths were against each other and I could feel his breath on my face. “I meant,” he said, “that I must have done something great to deserve you. Anyone else would be jealous, but...”
I pressed my lips against Paul’s and didn’t let him finish the sentence. Feeling my Paul against me, breathing his breath, gave me a physical sensation to go with the love I felt for him and from him. I considered tickling him to orgasm again that night, but I let him drift off to sleep, and I thought about what he said.
My Paul gets hard over red-haired boys because they remind him of our Liam. He can’t fuck Liam any more, so he fucks me. Or I fuck him. Or once in a while, we both fuck a guest to our bed. At various times, we’ve entertained Paul L and Liam10, or just Paul L, or just Liam10. Or Russlan. When he’s around, Frank, or Ze’ev, is welcome.
Other guests also join us occasionally. We befriended Steven, a young Californian who was a guest conductor of the Boston Symphony Orchestra. He’s not closeted, but he’s not widely advertised as a gay conductor. He’s always welcome, and we enjoy knowing that we’ve each had a turn on his fully 12 inch baton. (We measured. It’s 12 inches, no joking.) He lives a very disciplined life, conducting in Hong Kong, in Tokyo, in Santiago de Chile, in Amsterdam, and in Vienna. He sometimes conducts at the Metropolitan Opera, or the Dallas Opera. We have flown to Europe, sometimes, just to hear his performance and enjoy his company in bed. He calls us his “safety valve,” because we massage him until his valve blows off steam, a decompression that allows him to live his high-powered life.
I thought about feeling Steven’s log (Liam10 refers to him as our “Sequoia”) inside me while I suck my Paul’s cock. I concentrated on that as I drifted off.
It’s good to be in love.
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Hi, Pete! 
It's GREAT to hear from You, even if "just" through your Fantastic story!
I have to admit, I had begun to wonder how you were, since we hadn't heard from you for some time. I hope your busy month has also been productive and fulfilling!
Your story is truly Amazing! And, though I lived through the same Times, Russlan's tale has given me a "new" perspective of that which was happening all around us, as we were experiencing our own "take" on Life, and missing so much of what was right there, in front of our eyes! I find it "Humbling" that so many of us were oblivious to the "Big Picture", of which we were also a small part!
I was 12, nearly 13, when I was in West Berlin, at "Checkpoint Charley", looking at the Brandenburg Gate, over "The Wall", only about a month after JFK had delivered his "I'm a Berliner" speech. (I'd attempt his German, but would likely terribly mangle it!)
And, though I was "aware", I wasn't Completely "Aware"!](/images/smilies/bang.gif "Brick wall ](*,)")
Sorry for that "drift"! ...
Your descriptions of your Friends' mutual Love, Respect, and, Oh, Yes!, SEX!, is absolutely astounding! I'm HORNY as Fuck!, and completely Envious! Looking forward to hearing much more about Claudio!
And, Steven! 
THANK YOU! for sharing this! 'Tis AWESOME!!
Keep smilin'!!
Chaz
It's GREAT to hear from You, even if "just" through your Fantastic story!
I have to admit, I had begun to wonder how you were, since we hadn't heard from you for some time. I hope your busy month has also been productive and fulfilling!
Your story is truly Amazing! And, though I lived through the same Times, Russlan's tale has given me a "new" perspective of that which was happening all around us, as we were experiencing our own "take" on Life, and missing so much of what was right there, in front of our eyes! I find it "Humbling" that so many of us were oblivious to the "Big Picture", of which we were also a small part!
I was 12, nearly 13, when I was in West Berlin, at "Checkpoint Charley", looking at the Brandenburg Gate, over "The Wall", only about a month after JFK had delivered his "I'm a Berliner" speech. (I'd attempt his German, but would likely terribly mangle it!)
And, though I was "aware", I wasn't Completely "Aware"!
Sorry for that "drift"! ...
Your descriptions of your Friends' mutual Love, Respect, and, Oh, Yes!, SEX!, is absolutely astounding! I'm HORNY as Fuck!, and completely Envious! Looking forward to hearing much more about Claudio!
And, Steven! THANK YOU! for sharing this! 'Tis AWESOME!!
Keep smilin'!!
Chaz
Thank you for a wonderful update. I've missed this story
Tenting Tonight, chapter 25
Later that night, very late, I was awakened by a soft knock at our door. I got out of bed, naked, and went to the door - anyone who would be at the door in the private residence had already seen and perhaps even tasted whatever I had. It was Russlan. He wanted to talk to me. I slipped out into the hallway with him.
“Pitushka,” Russlan said to me, “you believe what I tell?”
“I guess so, Russlan. I dont see what it matters, really. I’m glad you’re back with us. We never wanted anything bad to happen to you.”
“I not think you do. But I suffer very much feeling that I cause deaths. Robert dead. And I hear about Liomka. I see newspaper in street.”
“Where were you? Where did you live?”
"Pitushka, only you I tell, then you tell others, I cannot look them when I tell, you understand?”
“But why? What’s so terrible?”
“I first think like always, my ass can earn money. People like fuck smooth red-haired boy. Men like fuck me. And if must to live, can fuck a woman too sometimes. So I think. Not work when I try, but so I think in beginning.”
“You were hustling? All this time?”
“No. I try. I live first month in street, near where they find Robert, under highway. Are there many men with no house.”
“I know. This country didn’t used to be that way, Russlan. I can remember seeing one homeless persion, only one, until Reagan was elected and the government started changing its policies.”
“For me is normal. Homeless, yes? No house? We have such in my country, but cannot survive winter in our part Siberia without home, some home. People sleeping on street they arrest, if more than once, they send to camp.”
“I thought that kind of thing ended when Stalin died.”
“You think. Khrushchev open some gates, not all. Brezhnev period of stagnation is long, sometimes Stalin is God, sometimes not. But camps stay. Then Andropov, he is like son Stalina, he believe, he arrest many who drink, any man who have dollar, he think arresting will end problem, arrest, arrest, arrest. What since then, i not know, now maybe different, Soviet Union disappear from map, I not there many years already. But I not believe land will not suffer. Suffer is part of our life there.”
“But your life is here now.”
“Only if I think you all are safe. I know, I know, you think I crazy, or I parallel... no, para... how you say? very, very fear?”
“Paranoid? Afraid everyone is out to get you?”
“Da, so I think. I know you think this of me.”
“Sometimes.”
“Pitushka, I say you truth, with my eggs between your teeth, I say you believe me, I see many things in life. I see Slava gone, Robert gone, Liomka gone, Mother gone, so many dead, so many, what I can hold onto?”
“Russlan, you know that Paul L and my Paul and Liam10 and I all care for you.”
“But I hurt you all, I not want, but I do.”
“We all forgive you. We see you suffer because of this, and we want only that you believe we love you. And Paul L will keep you safe. You don’t have to worry about that.”
“And will he love me?”
“We all love you.”
“Is love and is love. Two different. Will anyone love me like you love Pavel, like he love Liomka?”
“Russlan, I can only speak for myself. You are like a brother to me. A brother that I enjoy fucking around with, but a brother. But I cannot tell you if you will have a lover or not. I can tell you that you are lovable. I can tell you that you are beautiful in my eyes and in all of our eyes.”
“But I not 18 now. I older. In my country, I should be father, I already get old.”
“This is your country now.”
“This my home, but my country always there. My Motherland.”
“OK. Russlan, you still haven’t told me where you have been for so long.”
“Pitushka, I tell now. My eggs between your teeth, I tell.”
“That’s a strange expression. I get what you mean, “with my balls in your mouth” or something like that. But what are you trying to say?”
“I mean, I tell you truth so that even if you may bite my balls off, you will not because I tell truth.”
“Do people in Russia really say that? To me it’s a strange expression.”
“Some expressions are one city, one village. I hear someone say this, I say it. Why strange?”
“I can’t see saying “my balls in your mouth” to that many people I don’t know well.”
Russlan seemed to lighten up. He chuckled a little. “I guess is strange, yes. Imagine you hear this in school. I hear it there. Very tough girl in my class say this.”
“A girl???”
“I know, is strange and funny. She is very tough girl, Soviet tough, and she beat many children in my school when she is student.”
“A bully?”
“Please?”
“A bully. Someone who bosses people and hits or threatens to hit if they don’t listen to him.”
“Her. She is bully. She talk about her balls. I laugh. She hit me, in school corridor. Hard, like boy.”
“What did you do?”
“I am small red-haired boy. Are bigger, are tougher than Russlan. I say “yes” to her and then I plan how attack her. I see they are making some construction on school, I find bag of fast, fast concrete, very burn if you touch while it still wet...”
“And? What’d you do with it?”
“She have small box with lock where she keep clothes while does sport in my school. I go to where girls dress, teacher think I go bathroom, I place fast cement powder in lock and put drop of water in lock also. It like rock. This girl with balls is washing, she come back, have no way to get dressed. I watch from inside cupboard. She have muscular body. I get hard, look her.”
“You were attracted to her?”
“A little. But then I think about her say her balls, and I picture this, this girl’s hard body with balls, with cock, and i hard like tree. I think, balls make me hard, maybe I blue.”
“Well, we know that. And I like YOUR balls, you know.” I put my hand in his lap and rubbed.
“Is nice, Pitushka. You want make fast sex?”
“No.”
“No?”
“No, I want to bring you to our bed and for Paul and me to give you so much pleasure that you cannot think we do not love you.”
Russlan’s eyes teared up. “Is possible you care so much you share Pavel with me some time?”
“Of course.”
Russlan had tears running down his cheeks, and his tongue was tasting the salty drops that came near his mouth. I put my head forward and sucked his tongue into my mouth. Russlan moved against me and I felt his hardon poking against me. I moved lower, pulled his cock out, and sucked it deep. Russlan gasped.
My tongue found the rough, uneven patch, the scar where Russlan had circumcised himself, using only vodka as both disinfectant and anesthetic. I couldn’t begin to imagine being so desperate I’d hurt myself like that. But he had been. The thought made me throw my arms around him and hug him. I wanted to give him pleasure. And hope. I whispered in his ear, “Fuck me now, right away, fuck me.”
Russlan turned me on my side on the hallway sofa where we were sitting, and he thrust his tongue into ass. He had a long, curvy tongue that could be amazingly adept at probing, and the feeling of his tongue snaking as far as it could into my anal canal made me frenzied. “Now! Put your cock in me now! Shove it in! Hard! Put it in. I want to feel your cock in me. I want to feel the head of your cock moving inside me. I want your cum, your sperm, your seed, your liquid. i want to take a mouthful and lick your face with my mouthful of your cum. Au, that’s good. Put it in me hard. Yeah...awwwwwww, yes, yes, yes, yes, yes, pull it out, let me squeeze...”
Russlan loved it when I clamped my ass muscles on his hardon and refused to let go. I clamped so hard that he screamed for God, and I squeezed again. Russlan was now deep inside me, and i could feel the rough skin of his circumcision scar rubbing against my inner walls, and sometimes against my prostate. I grunted deeply.
A door opened. My Paul poked his nose out and asked what I was doing out here. “Getting fucked,” I said. He stepped out, naked as a jaybird and hard as a rock, his handsome hardon curving upward, as always.
“Give me,” I said, and he pushed his hardon into my mouth and down my throat. “Kiss me, Pavel,” Russlan said, and I thought i could hear slurping noises. I reached my had around and began to finger Paul’s ass, moving in ways that I knew would please him. At some point, my thumb sank into his ass, and he groaned loudly, but the sound was somewhat muffled because he and Russlan were kissing deeply.
Another door opened. Claudio strode out of his room, naked. His body was magnificent, like Michelangelo’s David, but with a bit more muscle, and with a cock that just didn’t quit. His huge cock was swinging with each step, and he came over and asked if he could join us. I moved my ass around as best I could, without letting Russlan slip out, and I said, “The more the merrier. Slip in next to Russlan.”
I was sore but smiling for days afterward, but feeling that long, thick cock rubbing inside me was amazing. I was stretched out, and I was worried that I might bleed, but my ass had gotten used to a lot of workouts. Claudio was so hot I could scarcely believe it. His smooth chest and abs were warm against my back as he continued the double fuck. His chest felt as if it was burning hot, but it was a wonderful feeling for me to have this young god fucking me together with Russlan. I saw movement to my side and realized that Claudio was also jerking on my Paul’s cock, which was not far from my face. I kept sticking my tongue out, hoping that Paul would move in close enough that I could jab his cock slit with the tip of my tongue, something that I found always put him on a short fuse.
I heard a bit of a commotion, and we were joined, suddenly, by Liam10, whose 10 inches were sticking out in front of him. I loved the way his foreskin would conform to the shape of his cock-head, but it would not retract until he, or you, or I retracted it. I always enjoyed playing with his foreskin.
I heard Liam10 say, “Get it wet, right now,” and I heard a familiar voice say, “Yes, sir!” It was Paul L. So we were all out here in the corridor for this impromptu night orgy. Paul L must have sucked Liam10 to lube him, and then I caught a glimpse of Liam10 moving around us all. Suddenly I felt Claudio tense up and push further, further into me, and then he groaned loudly, almost a scream. I knew that Liam10’s 10 inches were visiting the Brazilian hinterlands tonight.
Paul L’s face came into view, and he kissed me on the forehead, and then on the nose, and then on the eyelids, and then on the mouth. A moment later, Paul L was standing up, and he presented his hard cock for inspection. It was in my mouth almost immediately.
I have to say that when I was a kid and just discovering cock and men’s bodies, I never thought I’d find gray hair attractive. Paul L’s pubes were beginning to gray, though his abs still showed the lines that come from hard workouts. Yet, as all gay men do, I found my tastes were changing. Surrounded by all these huge cocks, two of them sticking into my ass and one in my mouth, I still knew that it was not just the cocks. It had been that when I was 18, but when you’re 18, you can get hard because a bus drives by two streets over.
I think all gay men go through the quantity phase, when the number of cocks and the number of inches on each cock is critical, and the world runs in black and white. I want this cock, I don’t want that cock.
Later, you learn to make love to a human being, and the cock becomes an instrument of pleasure, not the dominant desire. Numbers begin to matter less. (Liam10, who could afford to talk, said that numbers matter less after you’ve fucked a hundred guys or sucked a hundred cocks.)
And sometimes I think that when you’re being overwhelmed by physical pleasure, your brain goes into overdrive and you just have random philosophical thoughts that thrust a mind-fuck into you while your ass is being pounded or you’re halfway down some guy’s throat. Looking back at the two paragraphs before this one, it’s a kind of philosophical babble that you get into when you’re being fucked senseless and silly.
The thrusts and stretching in my ass, plus the heavy breathing and the sound of grunting, plus the sensation of warm fluid within me led me to believe that Russlan and Claudio had climaxed inside my ass. Claudio pulled out, with agonizingly slow movements, so that I felt only joyous relaxation in my ass. I moved off of Russlan, whose cock was stil standing tall. Liam10 was still fucking Claudio, I knew, because I saw Claudio bend over and kneel, with Liam10’s arms around his chest, and Liam10 stayed in the saddle as Claudio took an ass-up, belly-down position. Russlan got up from underneath me and without ceremony shoved his dock into Liam10.
Paul L and my Paul were rolling around on a throw rug, each mouth tasting parts of the other, each cock rubbing against the other, each body moving in a wonderful dance of pleasure. I stood up, stretched, and then placed my hardon at mouth level between the two of them. They kissed each other with my cock sticking between their open mouths, so that I was engulfed by mouths moving on my hard shaft.
A wave of orgasms followed, beginning about 5 minutes. Claudio spurted cum out of that monster cock, and no doubt Liam10 was shooting within him. Paul L and Paul had me spurting, and they lapped up my gushing cum. They then kissed deeply, sharing my cum in their mouths and on their faces. I saw them make a silent decision with their eyes, and soon Paul L was buried in my Paul’s ass. I slipped around underneath my Paul and took his bobbing hardon in my mouth, so that I would not miss one drop of his precum or cum.
It was getting light out, and we were all still having quiet, mellow sex, when we heard the elevator start up toward us. When the door opened, Frank was there. He lost no time in losing his clothes, and Claudio, whom he had gotten to know fairly well, came over and kissed Frank on the lips.
Claudio then turned around and lay down, his muscular ass an inviting target, but when he turned over and his thick hardon was pointing upward, we were all intrigued. We all thought of Frank as a top, but Frank surprised us with his willingness to try new things that night, sitting down on the Brazilian’s log. Frank was perspiring and breathing heavily, and we all held him from various angles, as he eased his way down onto Claudio’s hardon. He seemed to be off in a world of his own. His cock, thick but not terribly long, was not hard, until suddenly he seemed to lurch downward. He slid down on Claudio’s cock until his butt cheeks were flush against Claudio’s thighs. I was kind of surprised Claudio’s cock wasn’t coming out of Frank’s mouth or his ears. It must have been pressing his diaphragm upward, for sure.
Claudio’s cock must also have kissed his prostate, because in the space of 20 seconds, Frank went from soft to hard to spurting. He really seemed to lose control, almost having a seizure, as we all held him and caressed him. He was embarrassed afterward; Frank was not a guy who liked losing control. But he had been drawn to the young Brazilian and wanted to try what he saw others enjoying. I don’t know if Frank ever repeated the experience, but then again, Paul L had brought him up from his other home in Florida specifically to bodyguard Claudio after his parents were killed, and they spent a lot of time together. Lucky Frank!
My Paul put his arms around me, and I saw the shadows on his eyes... he was tired. “Come back to bed,” he said to me. But when we got there, he pushed me down on the mattress and grabbed my hips, pulling me up so that he could tongue my ass. This he did hypnotically, for hours, only stopping when I threatened to tickle him. But when he stopped, he fucked me, gently, this time, and I enjoyed it when he pulled out and came all over my face.
Two nights and many orgasms later, there was another knock at our door. Paul was snoring gently,and I stepped out in the hallway to see Russlan in a kimono that i remembered a Japanese guest giving to Paul L. (That Japanese guy was a story I must remember to write about - very, very hot!)
“What’s up, Russlan?”
“You can talk again, yes?”
“Sure, for a little while. But I can’t get into another orgy with you tonight, though I’d always like to. I’m just too tired. If you want me to suck you off quickly or something...”
“No, no, is all right, I fuck Liomka and he fuck me after dinner tonight, Pavel L watch and join. I must keep promise and tell you more, you tell Pavel L so I not have to tell and look in face, all right?”
“Go on. Where were you? You said you lived on the street?”
“First winter. I know how live in forest in my country, and here is not so cold as there. I take with me Liomka’s school card, and so I may shower at university, but I careful not go when I think he may see me there. I stand outside his locker and I put my hand on it, I think many times of all you, I want you so much, but I want you safe more.”
“So you were right here that first year?”
“All time, I right here. I live in Public Garden in Boston for one winter, is not easy, many police near there, must go out during day. I use many tricks. I know when throw out old customer food at Lindoro, at other restaurant, I there, I eat. I work sometimes, collect garbage, clean driveways, shovel snow. In warm time I can fish, I good, catch many fish. But I am sure not have regular times, schedule, you say? Da, schedule, I not have, must be one day this, one day that, no one can predict where I am.”
“You must have been miserable.”
“I not happy, but I very happy you all not suffer. I see my control one time on street, I follow him, he talk to two men outside Lindoro. So I know they watch Lindoro. I stay far. I want somehow tell Frank, tell someone that Russian mans they watch Lindoro, but I not find way, until I think to write to one Russian boy I know, Nikolai, he study in Brandeis University, not far, I write and tell him I must talk him. He sometimes blue, bi, you say, and we have few nights together in Novosibirsk, then he get married, but his wife have cancer here” (Russlan indicated his chest, so I assume he meant breast cancer) “and she die.
“In Boston, before maybe 2 years, I see Nikolai once at Russian concert, I make eyes, he see me, he very good like me at know when watched. We not say one word but we know to meet 3 streets away, we meet, we walk together, I suck him, we talk, he fuck me, all Museum of Fine Arts, very quiet room. Now, I not want write so I go to library and type on Russian keyboard there, I tell him I his friend from Museum of Fine Arts, want to talk. I put this paper where I think he find it. He find, he know I write.
“We meet, he excited for my ass, he want sex, I tell him fine, can fuck me all he want, but must take word message to Paul L not tell him who tell. He say he do this, I let him fuck me, so he fuck me. Paul L get this message?”
“I remember something about it,” I said to Russlan. Paul said someone told him the KGB were watching Lindoro’s, and Liam, Paul and I asked him how present the KGB were in the US, and we talked about it. We thought the KGB might be here because you had disappeared and they wanted to know what happened. We never thought you might have been running from them. I don’t remember much more, except that Paul L told us to be aware of what was going on around us in the street, and he ordered more security cameras for the street. That’s how we knew you were somewhere around - eventually, years later, really, one of the cameras picked you up. Paul didn’t tell us until he was sure.”
“I know this camera. Andropov die, I want come back, but I har is Chernenko, old dead body with cigarette, I wonder if will come another Andropov or another Stalin, I must not make trouble for you.
“Then I know my visa run out. I not legal. I must not get caught. I stay in street. I find hotels with warm luggage areas, I find where grates are warm at night, I borrow clothes when need from small donation boxes people place old clothing, I donation, no?” He grinned. At least he had a sense of humor about this pitiful existence he’d had.
“When I hear Liomka on plane that bombed, I go crazy. I jump in river. Police find me there, almost dead. Water in river is very bad, very dirty, I am sick with infections in ass, in eyes, in mouth, in every part. I not have papers. I not want die in American prison. I see police are outside room I in with one other boy, I watch every minute, as soon as i keeping food in body, not come out mouth, not come out back, I go away. I leave hospital in just pajama, but I have clothes in places around city, I hide until can be safe.
“I go forward, not reverse. I know if have no food, nothing else, I always can sell this or this.” Russlan pointed to his cock and his ass. “But this I do only once, twice in all years I away.”
“But Russlan, ten years on the street! Didn’t you know Paul L would always find a way to help you?”
“I know, but I afraid. Is bad part of Rodina. In my country, no one believe other not want fuck him if can. All guess that other will always attack always fuck. So everyone try fuck other first. I not mean sex, you understand?”
“I do understand. But you shouldn’t have left.”
“I did what must. Is no sorry later. I lose years of life but you safe. Only Liomka not safe, and that not me, that crazy people in other part of world.”
“I cry on Liomka for two years. I cry one more year on you and Pavel, you love Liomka so, I think Pavel must be go crazy, this wonderful boy dead, this angel, this red-hair angel.”
“But when you live in street you become crazy, sometimes more, sometimes less. You stop think about time go by. You understand nothing. Politics, nothing. Only food, sleep. For three, maybe four years, I not have sex, I not get hard.”
This seemed unbelievable to me. Russlan, who could and would take on an army troop and who could shoot again and again. Russlan without sex?
“I think this part my life over. Penis will not hard, I can give ass, but who wants one Russian boy with cock not work? I stay in streets. I come and watch you all from shadows, I go away and cry. I promise I not come back. Then I must see you all well, so I come again. I stand in shadows, I not know about extra cameras. This I hear from Pavel L and from you.
“Now I think, how stupid is this red-haired Russian boy, he not think of this, that Pavel L will have cameras. How stupid think no one know I here. But on street I not think like person. I like animal. But even dog not steal from its pack, and I feel I steal from you all.”
“Russlan, what did you steal? Nothing. You went away for reasons that seemed good to you, even if I don’t think now they’re logical, you couldn’t know that, you could only go by what you had learned in your world.”
I looked at Russlan, and saw that he was beginning to weep. I put my arms around him. He began to sob like a baby, and I held him as he soaked us both with his tears. I heard a noise behind me, and without taking my arms from around Russlan, I saw that Paul L was watching us from his bedroom doorway. I nodded to him to come over. He did.
Russlan heard the footsteps and flinched, placing his arms over his head as if to ward off blows. This gave me an insight into what he expects from the world; he expects to be hurt.
But Paul L came and joined my arms around Russlan. Russlan looked up, saw Paul L, and he continued holding his hands up. Paul L understood the gesture and began kissing Russlan’s hands, and then sucking each finger in turn. He kissed Russlan lightly on the forehead and the eyes, and I felt Russlan begin to relax in my arms. Soon he was dozing, exhausted. I had cramps in my legs, but I knelt there, holding him, all night and into the morning.
That next morning, Paul L got up early, and when we sat down for breakfast together, he told me to go get Russlan. I found Russlan half-asleep, but I brought Liam10 and Russlan down to breakfast, so that around the table were Paul L, Liam10, my Paul and me, and Russlan. Claudio was still in bed, and by the sounds of it, he was bottoming for Frank, because we heard Frank’s unmistakeable bass voice making sex sounds that were echoed a moment later in Claudio’s tones.
Paul L stopped us eating halfway through breakfast, and said that he wanted to talk to us all about something. He said that first of all, he wanted everyone to connect well with Russlan, that he never wanted any issue to be so difficult that Russlan or anyone else would feel isolation was a better solution than embracing.
About this time, Frank joined us, followed by Claudio, who was walking a little bit bowlegged. My Paul and I giggled knowingly when we noticed the way Claudio was walking.
Finally, Paul L told us, he wanted us all to spend time together over the next few days, understanding what had happened with Russlan while he was away, and then he wanted us all to sit down with our calendars. He wanted to take us on a trip.
“To where?” asked Liam10, eagerly.
Paul L looked at my Paul, who grew pale and serious when he heard where Paul L wanted us to travel together.
Lockerbie.
Later that night, very late, I was awakened by a soft knock at our door. I got out of bed, naked, and went to the door - anyone who would be at the door in the private residence had already seen and perhaps even tasted whatever I had. It was Russlan. He wanted to talk to me. I slipped out into the hallway with him.
“Pitushka,” Russlan said to me, “you believe what I tell?”
“I guess so, Russlan. I dont see what it matters, really. I’m glad you’re back with us. We never wanted anything bad to happen to you.”
“I not think you do. But I suffer very much feeling that I cause deaths. Robert dead. And I hear about Liomka. I see newspaper in street.”
“Where were you? Where did you live?”
"Pitushka, only you I tell, then you tell others, I cannot look them when I tell, you understand?”
“But why? What’s so terrible?”
“I first think like always, my ass can earn money. People like fuck smooth red-haired boy. Men like fuck me. And if must to live, can fuck a woman too sometimes. So I think. Not work when I try, but so I think in beginning.”
“You were hustling? All this time?”
“No. I try. I live first month in street, near where they find Robert, under highway. Are there many men with no house.”
“I know. This country didn’t used to be that way, Russlan. I can remember seeing one homeless persion, only one, until Reagan was elected and the government started changing its policies.”
“For me is normal. Homeless, yes? No house? We have such in my country, but cannot survive winter in our part Siberia without home, some home. People sleeping on street they arrest, if more than once, they send to camp.”
“I thought that kind of thing ended when Stalin died.”
“You think. Khrushchev open some gates, not all. Brezhnev period of stagnation is long, sometimes Stalin is God, sometimes not. But camps stay. Then Andropov, he is like son Stalina, he believe, he arrest many who drink, any man who have dollar, he think arresting will end problem, arrest, arrest, arrest. What since then, i not know, now maybe different, Soviet Union disappear from map, I not there many years already. But I not believe land will not suffer. Suffer is part of our life there.”
“But your life is here now.”
“Only if I think you all are safe. I know, I know, you think I crazy, or I parallel... no, para... how you say? very, very fear?”
“Paranoid? Afraid everyone is out to get you?”
“Da, so I think. I know you think this of me.”
“Sometimes.”
“Pitushka, I say you truth, with my eggs between your teeth, I say you believe me, I see many things in life. I see Slava gone, Robert gone, Liomka gone, Mother gone, so many dead, so many, what I can hold onto?”
“Russlan, you know that Paul L and my Paul and Liam10 and I all care for you.”
“But I hurt you all, I not want, but I do.”
“We all forgive you. We see you suffer because of this, and we want only that you believe we love you. And Paul L will keep you safe. You don’t have to worry about that.”
“And will he love me?”
“We all love you.”
“Is love and is love. Two different. Will anyone love me like you love Pavel, like he love Liomka?”
“Russlan, I can only speak for myself. You are like a brother to me. A brother that I enjoy fucking around with, but a brother. But I cannot tell you if you will have a lover or not. I can tell you that you are lovable. I can tell you that you are beautiful in my eyes and in all of our eyes.”
“But I not 18 now. I older. In my country, I should be father, I already get old.”
“This is your country now.”
“This my home, but my country always there. My Motherland.”
“OK. Russlan, you still haven’t told me where you have been for so long.”
“Pitushka, I tell now. My eggs between your teeth, I tell.”
“That’s a strange expression. I get what you mean, “with my balls in your mouth” or something like that. But what are you trying to say?”
“I mean, I tell you truth so that even if you may bite my balls off, you will not because I tell truth.”
“Do people in Russia really say that? To me it’s a strange expression.”
“Some expressions are one city, one village. I hear someone say this, I say it. Why strange?”
“I can’t see saying “my balls in your mouth” to that many people I don’t know well.”
Russlan seemed to lighten up. He chuckled a little. “I guess is strange, yes. Imagine you hear this in school. I hear it there. Very tough girl in my class say this.”
“A girl???”
“I know, is strange and funny. She is very tough girl, Soviet tough, and she beat many children in my school when she is student.”
“A bully?”
“Please?”
“A bully. Someone who bosses people and hits or threatens to hit if they don’t listen to him.”
“Her. She is bully. She talk about her balls. I laugh. She hit me, in school corridor. Hard, like boy.”
“What did you do?”
“I am small red-haired boy. Are bigger, are tougher than Russlan. I say “yes” to her and then I plan how attack her. I see they are making some construction on school, I find bag of fast, fast concrete, very burn if you touch while it still wet...”
“And? What’d you do with it?”
“She have small box with lock where she keep clothes while does sport in my school. I go to where girls dress, teacher think I go bathroom, I place fast cement powder in lock and put drop of water in lock also. It like rock. This girl with balls is washing, she come back, have no way to get dressed. I watch from inside cupboard. She have muscular body. I get hard, look her.”
“You were attracted to her?”
“A little. But then I think about her say her balls, and I picture this, this girl’s hard body with balls, with cock, and i hard like tree. I think, balls make me hard, maybe I blue.”
“Well, we know that. And I like YOUR balls, you know.” I put my hand in his lap and rubbed.
“Is nice, Pitushka. You want make fast sex?”
“No.”
“No?”
“No, I want to bring you to our bed and for Paul and me to give you so much pleasure that you cannot think we do not love you.”
Russlan’s eyes teared up. “Is possible you care so much you share Pavel with me some time?”
“Of course.”
Russlan had tears running down his cheeks, and his tongue was tasting the salty drops that came near his mouth. I put my head forward and sucked his tongue into my mouth. Russlan moved against me and I felt his hardon poking against me. I moved lower, pulled his cock out, and sucked it deep. Russlan gasped.
My tongue found the rough, uneven patch, the scar where Russlan had circumcised himself, using only vodka as both disinfectant and anesthetic. I couldn’t begin to imagine being so desperate I’d hurt myself like that. But he had been. The thought made me throw my arms around him and hug him. I wanted to give him pleasure. And hope. I whispered in his ear, “Fuck me now, right away, fuck me.”
Russlan turned me on my side on the hallway sofa where we were sitting, and he thrust his tongue into ass. He had a long, curvy tongue that could be amazingly adept at probing, and the feeling of his tongue snaking as far as it could into my anal canal made me frenzied. “Now! Put your cock in me now! Shove it in! Hard! Put it in. I want to feel your cock in me. I want to feel the head of your cock moving inside me. I want your cum, your sperm, your seed, your liquid. i want to take a mouthful and lick your face with my mouthful of your cum. Au, that’s good. Put it in me hard. Yeah...awwwwwww, yes, yes, yes, yes, yes, pull it out, let me squeeze...”
Russlan loved it when I clamped my ass muscles on his hardon and refused to let go. I clamped so hard that he screamed for God, and I squeezed again. Russlan was now deep inside me, and i could feel the rough skin of his circumcision scar rubbing against my inner walls, and sometimes against my prostate. I grunted deeply.
A door opened. My Paul poked his nose out and asked what I was doing out here. “Getting fucked,” I said. He stepped out, naked as a jaybird and hard as a rock, his handsome hardon curving upward, as always.
“Give me,” I said, and he pushed his hardon into my mouth and down my throat. “Kiss me, Pavel,” Russlan said, and I thought i could hear slurping noises. I reached my had around and began to finger Paul’s ass, moving in ways that I knew would please him. At some point, my thumb sank into his ass, and he groaned loudly, but the sound was somewhat muffled because he and Russlan were kissing deeply.
Another door opened. Claudio strode out of his room, naked. His body was magnificent, like Michelangelo’s David, but with a bit more muscle, and with a cock that just didn’t quit. His huge cock was swinging with each step, and he came over and asked if he could join us. I moved my ass around as best I could, without letting Russlan slip out, and I said, “The more the merrier. Slip in next to Russlan.”
I was sore but smiling for days afterward, but feeling that long, thick cock rubbing inside me was amazing. I was stretched out, and I was worried that I might bleed, but my ass had gotten used to a lot of workouts. Claudio was so hot I could scarcely believe it. His smooth chest and abs were warm against my back as he continued the double fuck. His chest felt as if it was burning hot, but it was a wonderful feeling for me to have this young god fucking me together with Russlan. I saw movement to my side and realized that Claudio was also jerking on my Paul’s cock, which was not far from my face. I kept sticking my tongue out, hoping that Paul would move in close enough that I could jab his cock slit with the tip of my tongue, something that I found always put him on a short fuse.
I heard a bit of a commotion, and we were joined, suddenly, by Liam10, whose 10 inches were sticking out in front of him. I loved the way his foreskin would conform to the shape of his cock-head, but it would not retract until he, or you, or I retracted it. I always enjoyed playing with his foreskin.
I heard Liam10 say, “Get it wet, right now,” and I heard a familiar voice say, “Yes, sir!” It was Paul L. So we were all out here in the corridor for this impromptu night orgy. Paul L must have sucked Liam10 to lube him, and then I caught a glimpse of Liam10 moving around us all. Suddenly I felt Claudio tense up and push further, further into me, and then he groaned loudly, almost a scream. I knew that Liam10’s 10 inches were visiting the Brazilian hinterlands tonight.
Paul L’s face came into view, and he kissed me on the forehead, and then on the nose, and then on the eyelids, and then on the mouth. A moment later, Paul L was standing up, and he presented his hard cock for inspection. It was in my mouth almost immediately.
I have to say that when I was a kid and just discovering cock and men’s bodies, I never thought I’d find gray hair attractive. Paul L’s pubes were beginning to gray, though his abs still showed the lines that come from hard workouts. Yet, as all gay men do, I found my tastes were changing. Surrounded by all these huge cocks, two of them sticking into my ass and one in my mouth, I still knew that it was not just the cocks. It had been that when I was 18, but when you’re 18, you can get hard because a bus drives by two streets over.
I think all gay men go through the quantity phase, when the number of cocks and the number of inches on each cock is critical, and the world runs in black and white. I want this cock, I don’t want that cock.
Later, you learn to make love to a human being, and the cock becomes an instrument of pleasure, not the dominant desire. Numbers begin to matter less. (Liam10, who could afford to talk, said that numbers matter less after you’ve fucked a hundred guys or sucked a hundred cocks.)
And sometimes I think that when you’re being overwhelmed by physical pleasure, your brain goes into overdrive and you just have random philosophical thoughts that thrust a mind-fuck into you while your ass is being pounded or you’re halfway down some guy’s throat. Looking back at the two paragraphs before this one, it’s a kind of philosophical babble that you get into when you’re being fucked senseless and silly.
The thrusts and stretching in my ass, plus the heavy breathing and the sound of grunting, plus the sensation of warm fluid within me led me to believe that Russlan and Claudio had climaxed inside my ass. Claudio pulled out, with agonizingly slow movements, so that I felt only joyous relaxation in my ass. I moved off of Russlan, whose cock was stil standing tall. Liam10 was still fucking Claudio, I knew, because I saw Claudio bend over and kneel, with Liam10’s arms around his chest, and Liam10 stayed in the saddle as Claudio took an ass-up, belly-down position. Russlan got up from underneath me and without ceremony shoved his dock into Liam10.
Paul L and my Paul were rolling around on a throw rug, each mouth tasting parts of the other, each cock rubbing against the other, each body moving in a wonderful dance of pleasure. I stood up, stretched, and then placed my hardon at mouth level between the two of them. They kissed each other with my cock sticking between their open mouths, so that I was engulfed by mouths moving on my hard shaft.
A wave of orgasms followed, beginning about 5 minutes. Claudio spurted cum out of that monster cock, and no doubt Liam10 was shooting within him. Paul L and Paul had me spurting, and they lapped up my gushing cum. They then kissed deeply, sharing my cum in their mouths and on their faces. I saw them make a silent decision with their eyes, and soon Paul L was buried in my Paul’s ass. I slipped around underneath my Paul and took his bobbing hardon in my mouth, so that I would not miss one drop of his precum or cum.
It was getting light out, and we were all still having quiet, mellow sex, when we heard the elevator start up toward us. When the door opened, Frank was there. He lost no time in losing his clothes, and Claudio, whom he had gotten to know fairly well, came over and kissed Frank on the lips.
Claudio then turned around and lay down, his muscular ass an inviting target, but when he turned over and his thick hardon was pointing upward, we were all intrigued. We all thought of Frank as a top, but Frank surprised us with his willingness to try new things that night, sitting down on the Brazilian’s log. Frank was perspiring and breathing heavily, and we all held him from various angles, as he eased his way down onto Claudio’s hardon. He seemed to be off in a world of his own. His cock, thick but not terribly long, was not hard, until suddenly he seemed to lurch downward. He slid down on Claudio’s cock until his butt cheeks were flush against Claudio’s thighs. I was kind of surprised Claudio’s cock wasn’t coming out of Frank’s mouth or his ears. It must have been pressing his diaphragm upward, for sure.
Claudio’s cock must also have kissed his prostate, because in the space of 20 seconds, Frank went from soft to hard to spurting. He really seemed to lose control, almost having a seizure, as we all held him and caressed him. He was embarrassed afterward; Frank was not a guy who liked losing control. But he had been drawn to the young Brazilian and wanted to try what he saw others enjoying. I don’t know if Frank ever repeated the experience, but then again, Paul L had brought him up from his other home in Florida specifically to bodyguard Claudio after his parents were killed, and they spent a lot of time together. Lucky Frank!
My Paul put his arms around me, and I saw the shadows on his eyes... he was tired. “Come back to bed,” he said to me. But when we got there, he pushed me down on the mattress and grabbed my hips, pulling me up so that he could tongue my ass. This he did hypnotically, for hours, only stopping when I threatened to tickle him. But when he stopped, he fucked me, gently, this time, and I enjoyed it when he pulled out and came all over my face.
Two nights and many orgasms later, there was another knock at our door. Paul was snoring gently,and I stepped out in the hallway to see Russlan in a kimono that i remembered a Japanese guest giving to Paul L. (That Japanese guy was a story I must remember to write about - very, very hot!)
“What’s up, Russlan?”
“You can talk again, yes?”
“Sure, for a little while. But I can’t get into another orgy with you tonight, though I’d always like to. I’m just too tired. If you want me to suck you off quickly or something...”
“No, no, is all right, I fuck Liomka and he fuck me after dinner tonight, Pavel L watch and join. I must keep promise and tell you more, you tell Pavel L so I not have to tell and look in face, all right?”
“Go on. Where were you? You said you lived on the street?”
“First winter. I know how live in forest in my country, and here is not so cold as there. I take with me Liomka’s school card, and so I may shower at university, but I careful not go when I think he may see me there. I stand outside his locker and I put my hand on it, I think many times of all you, I want you so much, but I want you safe more.”
“So you were right here that first year?”
“All time, I right here. I live in Public Garden in Boston for one winter, is not easy, many police near there, must go out during day. I use many tricks. I know when throw out old customer food at Lindoro, at other restaurant, I there, I eat. I work sometimes, collect garbage, clean driveways, shovel snow. In warm time I can fish, I good, catch many fish. But I am sure not have regular times, schedule, you say? Da, schedule, I not have, must be one day this, one day that, no one can predict where I am.”
“You must have been miserable.”
“I not happy, but I very happy you all not suffer. I see my control one time on street, I follow him, he talk to two men outside Lindoro. So I know they watch Lindoro. I stay far. I want somehow tell Frank, tell someone that Russian mans they watch Lindoro, but I not find way, until I think to write to one Russian boy I know, Nikolai, he study in Brandeis University, not far, I write and tell him I must talk him. He sometimes blue, bi, you say, and we have few nights together in Novosibirsk, then he get married, but his wife have cancer here” (Russlan indicated his chest, so I assume he meant breast cancer) “and she die.
“In Boston, before maybe 2 years, I see Nikolai once at Russian concert, I make eyes, he see me, he very good like me at know when watched. We not say one word but we know to meet 3 streets away, we meet, we walk together, I suck him, we talk, he fuck me, all Museum of Fine Arts, very quiet room. Now, I not want write so I go to library and type on Russian keyboard there, I tell him I his friend from Museum of Fine Arts, want to talk. I put this paper where I think he find it. He find, he know I write.
“We meet, he excited for my ass, he want sex, I tell him fine, can fuck me all he want, but must take word message to Paul L not tell him who tell. He say he do this, I let him fuck me, so he fuck me. Paul L get this message?”
“I remember something about it,” I said to Russlan. Paul said someone told him the KGB were watching Lindoro’s, and Liam, Paul and I asked him how present the KGB were in the US, and we talked about it. We thought the KGB might be here because you had disappeared and they wanted to know what happened. We never thought you might have been running from them. I don’t remember much more, except that Paul L told us to be aware of what was going on around us in the street, and he ordered more security cameras for the street. That’s how we knew you were somewhere around - eventually, years later, really, one of the cameras picked you up. Paul didn’t tell us until he was sure.”
“I know this camera. Andropov die, I want come back, but I har is Chernenko, old dead body with cigarette, I wonder if will come another Andropov or another Stalin, I must not make trouble for you.
“Then I know my visa run out. I not legal. I must not get caught. I stay in street. I find hotels with warm luggage areas, I find where grates are warm at night, I borrow clothes when need from small donation boxes people place old clothing, I donation, no?” He grinned. At least he had a sense of humor about this pitiful existence he’d had.
“When I hear Liomka on plane that bombed, I go crazy. I jump in river. Police find me there, almost dead. Water in river is very bad, very dirty, I am sick with infections in ass, in eyes, in mouth, in every part. I not have papers. I not want die in American prison. I see police are outside room I in with one other boy, I watch every minute, as soon as i keeping food in body, not come out mouth, not come out back, I go away. I leave hospital in just pajama, but I have clothes in places around city, I hide until can be safe.
“I go forward, not reverse. I know if have no food, nothing else, I always can sell this or this.” Russlan pointed to his cock and his ass. “But this I do only once, twice in all years I away.”
“But Russlan, ten years on the street! Didn’t you know Paul L would always find a way to help you?”
“I know, but I afraid. Is bad part of Rodina. In my country, no one believe other not want fuck him if can. All guess that other will always attack always fuck. So everyone try fuck other first. I not mean sex, you understand?”
“I do understand. But you shouldn’t have left.”
“I did what must. Is no sorry later. I lose years of life but you safe. Only Liomka not safe, and that not me, that crazy people in other part of world.”
“I cry on Liomka for two years. I cry one more year on you and Pavel, you love Liomka so, I think Pavel must be go crazy, this wonderful boy dead, this angel, this red-hair angel.”
“But when you live in street you become crazy, sometimes more, sometimes less. You stop think about time go by. You understand nothing. Politics, nothing. Only food, sleep. For three, maybe four years, I not have sex, I not get hard.”
This seemed unbelievable to me. Russlan, who could and would take on an army troop and who could shoot again and again. Russlan without sex?
“I think this part my life over. Penis will not hard, I can give ass, but who wants one Russian boy with cock not work? I stay in streets. I come and watch you all from shadows, I go away and cry. I promise I not come back. Then I must see you all well, so I come again. I stand in shadows, I not know about extra cameras. This I hear from Pavel L and from you.
“Now I think, how stupid is this red-haired Russian boy, he not think of this, that Pavel L will have cameras. How stupid think no one know I here. But on street I not think like person. I like animal. But even dog not steal from its pack, and I feel I steal from you all.”
“Russlan, what did you steal? Nothing. You went away for reasons that seemed good to you, even if I don’t think now they’re logical, you couldn’t know that, you could only go by what you had learned in your world.”
I looked at Russlan, and saw that he was beginning to weep. I put my arms around him. He began to sob like a baby, and I held him as he soaked us both with his tears. I heard a noise behind me, and without taking my arms from around Russlan, I saw that Paul L was watching us from his bedroom doorway. I nodded to him to come over. He did.
Russlan heard the footsteps and flinched, placing his arms over his head as if to ward off blows. This gave me an insight into what he expects from the world; he expects to be hurt.
But Paul L came and joined my arms around Russlan. Russlan looked up, saw Paul L, and he continued holding his hands up. Paul L understood the gesture and began kissing Russlan’s hands, and then sucking each finger in turn. He kissed Russlan lightly on the forehead and the eyes, and I felt Russlan begin to relax in my arms. Soon he was dozing, exhausted. I had cramps in my legs, but I knelt there, holding him, all night and into the morning.
That next morning, Paul L got up early, and when we sat down for breakfast together, he told me to go get Russlan. I found Russlan half-asleep, but I brought Liam10 and Russlan down to breakfast, so that around the table were Paul L, Liam10, my Paul and me, and Russlan. Claudio was still in bed, and by the sounds of it, he was bottoming for Frank, because we heard Frank’s unmistakeable bass voice making sex sounds that were echoed a moment later in Claudio’s tones.
Paul L stopped us eating halfway through breakfast, and said that he wanted to talk to us all about something. He said that first of all, he wanted everyone to connect well with Russlan, that he never wanted any issue to be so difficult that Russlan or anyone else would feel isolation was a better solution than embracing.
About this time, Frank joined us, followed by Claudio, who was walking a little bit bowlegged. My Paul and I giggled knowingly when we noticed the way Claudio was walking.
Finally, Paul L told us, he wanted us all to spend time together over the next few days, understanding what had happened with Russlan while he was away, and then he wanted us all to sit down with our calendars. He wanted to take us on a trip.
“To where?” asked Liam10, eagerly.
Paul L looked at my Paul, who grew pale and serious when he heard where Paul L wanted us to travel together.
Lockerbie.
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WOW, Pete!
I'm not sure what to make of the double posts, 80min. apart, but that's an entirely different matter ...
The important thing is Your story! And, I can not put into words, anything near adequately, just how INTENSE you're presenting this, from ALL angles, from Everyone involved! I am Amazed, Astounded, Personally drawn to the core of my being, on so many different levels!
Of course, you've, once again, left Us/Me Panting for MORE!
You've effectively captured my Heart, my Mind, and "Animal"!!
I'm thinking it would be a High-Light, of my Life, to get back to Boston, just to have dinner with You, Paul, and, perhaps, anyone else that might be available for a long, in-depth, "chat"!!
THANK YOU!, for sharing this!
Keep smilin'!!
Chaz
I'm not sure what to make of the double posts, 80min. apart, but that's an entirely different matter ...
The important thing is Your story! And, I can not put into words, anything near adequately, just how INTENSE you're presenting this, from ALL angles, from Everyone involved! I am Amazed, Astounded, Personally drawn to the core of my being, on so many different levels!
Of course, you've, once again, left Us/Me Panting for MORE!
You've effectively captured my Heart, my Mind, and "Animal"!!
I'm thinking it would be a High-Light, of my Life, to get back to Boston, just to have dinner with You, Paul, and, perhaps, anyone else that might be available for a long, in-depth, "chat"!!
THANK YOU!, for sharing this!
Keep smilin'!!
Chaz
After posting, I went back to see the copy online, because it didn't seem to take when i posted it. Sure enough, it wasn't online, so I copied it from my text file again and posted it a second time. At that point, after I'd already posted it again, the first post showed up online. I know which is which because of correction of a typo. I only saw the 2nd posting when I got online this morning. Sorry.
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Nothing to be sorry about. It was well worth reading/skimming a second time!
Not sure why I even mentioned it! Just one of those "curious observations", I guess!
Keep smilin'!!
Chaz
Not sure why I even mentioned it! Just one of those "curious observations", I guess!
Keep smilin'!!
Chaz
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This story really is quite good and oh so sexy. What lives they led. What sex they enjoyed.
I'm sure the mods would be happy to delete the earlier post with the typo if you ask.
Tenting Tonight, chapter 26
We decided together as a group that if we took the trip to Lockerbie, we’d want everyone who was part of our lives to go. That meant finding a time when Frank could join us, and Ze’ev from Israel as well. We sent email off to Ze’ev; Frank was still up in Boston, so we got his schedule and figured it in.
Claudio hadn’t known our Liam, but we were all growing fond of him, not to mention his amazing body. So he was on the list. We talked about inviting our conductor friend, Steven, who had met Liam only once. We decided that his absence would not be a deal-breaker, but we’d definitely like him to join us.
In all of our conversation, no one had suggested that we contact Liam and Bobby’s parents. I thought someone should at least raise the question, and as I thought, I was shouted down. But Paul L looked at me with appreciative eyes, and I knew he thought it would be the right thing to do, even if it led to a confrontation.
Paul decided to contact them himself, and they were not happy about it. They were busy, they said, too busy to attend a memorial for their only two children. Everything Liam had said about them now turned out to be an exaggeration - in their favor. They were much worse than Liam had ever let on. If the Menendez brothers had had parents like this, they’d have been acquitted - who could have blamed them? We hadn’t known Bobby, really; we’d only met him once or twice, and he hadn’t made a very good impression. But Russlan had loved him, and we had been crazy about our Liam. We still are.
An email to Steven’s private email got a positive response. He’d be conducting at Covent Garden in the coming seasons and would certainly join us. He also told us he’d be in Boston for a guest engagement that hadn’t been announced yet, and that he might accompany a prominent baritone in a Lieder recital. (I’d attended that baritone’s last recital, and he’s very easy on the eyes... and he’d set my gaydar off to the point that now, when I hear his voice on the radio or TV, I get hard immediately. Pavlov’s dogs salivated, or barked, or something; I get a hardon. (If you saw Steven in those days, so would you. I still get one when I see him conduct a concert on TV, though he doesn’t have the glorious, young physique he had when I first met him. But I confess that I cannot see him without thinking that the baton in his hand is nothing compared to the baton between his legs!) We didn’t know the baritone, whose first name is Thomas, but when Steven said he might bring him along as well, because Steven wanted us to meet Thomas, we got the impression that the two were a couple.
There was one more guest who joined us at Lindoro’s around that time. You many think him an unlikely one. Rafiq, a Jordanian physician, had attended a medical conference in Switzerland, where he’s struck up a conversation with a handsome doctor in the hotel restaurant. They apparently spoke for hours, until there was no one in the hotel lobby except the hotel staff. They’d said good-night and gone to their respective rooms, when the handsome doctor - our Ze’ev, of course - was surprised by a knock on his door. Rafiq was there, with a packet of medical articles that they’d been discussing, but that Ze’ev had inadvertently left behind. He’d discovered it when he got to his room, and knowing that Ze’ev had to deliver a paper the next day, he wanted Ze’ev to have the material in case it bore on his presentation. Ze’ev told us he thanked Rafiq and showed him out. He also said that there were sparks between them, but it seemed too unlikely a friendship to pursue.
After Ze’ev’s lecture, which Rafiq attended, Rafiq remained in the lecture hall, sitting in a quiet corner, until all the questions had been asked and answered and most doctors had moved on to a different lecture. Ze’ev told us that during the questions and answers, he had noticed Rafiq in the audience, and that he had been unable to take his eyes off of Rafiq. They each made a point of being discreet about being seen together, because their respective delegations might be concerned for one reason or another, but they soon had dinner together in an out-of-the-way restaurant and talked about their lives, their relationships, and their careers. Rafiq told Ze’ev that he was married to the woman his parents had selected for him, and that they had each come to the marriage as virgins. Ze’ev told us that he expressed mild surprise that so handsome a young man should be a virgin at marriage, but he asked whether Rafiq’s virginity reflected his religious beliefs.
Ze’ev said that Rafiq looked him in the eye and said, “I think you understand why I was a virgin with my wife, and I think we both understand a good many things about a man’s attraction, or lack of attraction, to women.” Ze’ev said that he’d lifted an eyebrow at that remark, and that Rafiq had winked. Apparently the two of them finished dinner, tipped the waiter well, and made their way to the elevator. Once in the elevator car, the tension between them exploded, and they’d suddenly thrown themselves into each other’s arms. They’d sucked each other’s tongues and mashed mouths together, while feeling each other’s hardons expanding their pants and pressing together. They’d jumped back when the elevator door opened, but they’d discussed spending the night together, in whispered tones, and each had said it was impossible. Ze’ev was sure that he was under protective surveillance, as were most Israeli delegations to international events, because of the volatility of Palestinian nationalism. Rafiq said that he was under some kind of watch because of his access, as a physician, to the royal family. He said that anyone in Jordan who dealt with the royals professionally assumed that the government made itself aware of all possibilities for espionage. A photograph of Rafiq entering Ze’ev’s room could be grounds for anything from investigation to questioning to arrest to imprisonment.
Ze’ev told us that when the conference ended, a day later, he’d checked out, taken a cab to the Zurich airport, where he’d had a severe coughing fit that led to his being asked to fly three days later. Rafiq had arranged a similar incident, and because it was high season, all large hotels were fully booked.
By tacit agreement, they'd moved to two smaller hotels several blocks apart. Each had left a cover story, and each had made his way over the nearby border into Liechtenstein, where each had checked into a room at the same gay-friendly bread-and-breakfast inn, a kind of gay safe house. The cloak-and-dagger was laughable, Ze’ev told us, but it had given them the confidence to go on with their relationship, and they'd had a weekend of wild, uninhibited sex, flip-flopping and taking turns at everything. Everything.
Rafiq won our hearts as easily as he won Ze’ev’s. Liam10 asked Rafiq if he had any mixed feelings about coming with us to a memorial for Liam, given the circumstances, and Rafiq said absolutely not, that people who blew up an airliner with innocents aboard did not speak for him or for the Prophet in whom he believed. As for homosexuality, Rafiq could quote chapter and verse of medieval Islamic authorities who had little or no problem with same-sex love. Rafiq also said that his relationship with his wife was a good one, given what she expected from marriage, namely, a good home, servants, and children. He was an excellent provider, and he did not fail in his marital duties when they were together. He said that this was not a chore; he enjoyed sleeping with her, but his emotional ties were deeper with Ze’ev, despite all the issues with which their relationship was fraught.
It didn’t hurt their relationship that Ze’ev was fluent in the Palestinian dialect of Arabic as well as literary Arabic. The two of them would sometimes curl up on a comfortable sofa at Lindoro’s in our living area, and they’d read to each other from Arabic poetry of poets like al-Nawaji or Abu Nuwas, each a medieval poet of renown whose diwan (personal portfolio of poetry, or perhaps better translated oeuvre) included collections of homoerotic poetry devoted to the love of young gazelles, handsome young men. Rafiq told us that this poetry is rarely taught in today’s Arab world, though its existence is well known.
“You must understand that the puritans who have hijacked Islam are not unlike the Puritans who once tried to outlaw Christmas, or the puritans among the Chassidic Jews. It seems to be a universal phenomenon that there are always people who take upon themselves the goal of sucking all enjoyment out of human life. Thank God this is not a dominant trend, historically, even if it seems that way today.”
“Rafiq, does your wife know about your activities outside of marriage?” Liam10 was curious.
“You mean with men, or with Ze’ev in particular?”
“Both.”
“First, I have not been with many men. Very few. In the islamic world, such a relationship is known, and in some countries, it is even common, but usually it’s like what you read about in Ancient Greece, there’s an older man and a younger man. The older mentors the younger in return for physical affection; the younger learns from the older and gives his body out of genuine affection.
“For me, I must confess that I am troubled by the possibility of causing pain to my wife. We are not in passionate love, but we have grown together during our years of marriage, and there is comfort and familiarity.
Ze’ev said that he felt similarly; he was troubled by the possibility that his relationship with Rafiq would cause Rafiq’s wife pain if she were to find out about it. “We are very careful, very discreet, and that would be true even if both of us were single, because we come from two different and colliding worlds.”
“Romeo and Juliet,” Rafiq said, kissing Ze’ev on the neck, as we all sat in front of a crackling fire.
“And remember, I was Juliet last night, so tonight you get...”
Rafiq blushed a little and stopped Ze’ev’s mouth with a kiss.
“How did you two get so close?” my Paul asked.
Ze’ev answered him, “Think of it this way. We live on opposite sides of the looking glass. We live closer to each other than many of you live in relation to where you grew up. We live in the same climate, we feel the same wind and storms. If our people did not have political differences, we’d be friends because of our similarity, and we’ve chosen not to let our differences blind us to our similarities.”
Rafiq asked us if we’d ever heard of the Hebrew Canaanites. Ze’ev was grinning. “They were a group of artists who believed that the Jewish immigrants who joined the existing Jewish population at the beginning of the 1900s should simply declare themselves Canaanites, a term they saw as encompassing the Arabs and the Jews in Turkish Palestine. If it had worked, history would have been a lot easier...”
“...and I’d be sleeping with the first Muslim president of Hadassah,” Ze’ev joked. Rafiq threw a tiny pillow at Ze’ev, laughing. “You should be so lucky.”
“I don’t know if there’s a solution,” Ze’ev said, suddenly serious. “Me either,” Rafiq said. “Both sides have points of justice on their side. We can either hate each other or find common ground.”
“Besides,” Ze’ev said, “this piece of camel dung is an incredibly gifted doctor.”
“And you, father of none and son of hundreds, are the Jewish House.”
“Which reminds me, Rafiq, do you think we could persuade Hugh Laurie to join us for a three-way?”
“I think he’s straight, bubs.”
“We could invite him and see.”
“Your stationery or mine?”
“Dear Dr. House, and esteemed actor and comic genius Hugh Laurie, we, the undersigned, believe that in the interest of world peace and understanding, you should perform homosexual acts with us any Thursday evening of your choice, signed...”
We were all laughing at the two of them and marveling at how at ease they were with each other.
“Okay, so we’re still working the kinks out.” Rafiq chuckled.
“I thought we agreed to leave the kinks in.” Ze’ev continued.
The one thing this couple hadn’t done, at least not yet, was make love with the entire group present. Ze’ev hadn’t been shy in the past, but Rafiq was more private about his passions, and Ze’ev respected that. More that one of us hoped that eventually we could persuade Rafiq to take us up on our half-kidding offers of anything from a night of fun to a hard cock to a lubricated ass.
As it happened, Ze’ev and Rafiq stayed at Lindoro’s the same night that Steven and Thomas visited (Thomas was giving a recital at Mechanics Hall in Worcester, and Steven was in town briefly to discuss details of a class he’d been asked to offer at Tanglewood.) Lindoro’s offered each of them complete security and creature comforts, not to mention good company. There was an evening when Rafiq was teaching Ze’ev and Thomas about nargillahs, water pipes, much to Steven’s amusement. The four of them sat up together much of the night, and when we came to breakfast, they were still around their dinner table, but fast asleep, the four of them cuddling together. I don’t think they had sex, but they certainly had male-male affection.
Not that any of them were prudish or lacked curiosity if Liam10 decided to give one of his outlandish “sex lectures,” in which he would invite some of us to serve as living models. In honor of Thomas’s appearing a Mechanics Hall the previous night, Liam10 invited any and all to hear him discuss, “The Mechanics of Sucking Cock.” If Liam10 had the idea that two of us were having feelings toward another but nothing had happened so far, he might cook up one of these lectures at which he would engineer the breaking of ice. This could be awkward, but it could also be hilarious. You had to go with the flow, but not get caught by a tsunami.
Ze’ev and Rafiq did eventually join Steven and Thomas in bed, and on another occasion, Russlan and Claudio. They were simply quieter, not less sexy or less passionate. Because of our agreement that Lindoro’s was outside of normal time and space, everyone felt safe to explore fantasies there. I suspect that Liam10 was Rafiq’s choice to teach him to bottom, but I never asked them. Paul L had made Lindoro’s a kind of safe haven, like Riviendell in the Tolkien books. Like Rivendell, it was a place where people of very different backgrounds could meet and find common ground.
Rafiq or Paul L might blush, opening the door and finding Russlan bottoming for Liam10 or Claudio while others watched or played around a bit themselves. Neither the sex nor the blushing were disqualifiers or bars to mutual respect and love.
There might also be a night when a couple would choose to share its love with everyone. I remember how Paul decided he wanted to perform for everyone, and he persuaded me (not hard) to join him. We didn’t announce anything or send invitations. We simply sat down on a couch visible from most points and began taking each other’s clothes off. The particular evening I’m remembering, I wanted to give my Paul a particularly satisfying orgasm. When Russian’s hair had grown out to its original red again (though we were all a little older, needless to say), I asked him to join Paul and me for sex but to keep it a surprise. I had gotten my Paul used to wearing restraints occasionally, and he was not surprised when I asked him to put on the nylon wrist bands and then I fastened him to the headboard.
The last time we had done this, I had fucked Paul, and then his ass had been taken by Liam10 and by Claudio. Claudio had really stretched Paul’s ass, and he had moaned and whimpered for days, though he made it clear to me that he enjoyed every minute of it. This time, though, I had Liam station his ass just out of reach of Paul’s cock, just at the point where if he strained enough, he could touch the tip of his cock-lips to the beginning of Russlan’s ass canal, but no further.
I sat behind my Paul, my arms around him, and my hard cock pressed against his ass, but not going in. Not yet, anyway. Paul lay back against me, relaxed, until the sign of Russlan’s red hair and build made him crazy with desire. He began to move his hips, but no matter how hard he tried, the most he could do was to touch his cock to Russlan’s ass. I then blindfolded Paul, and a number of us spoke to him. Russlan crawled out from between Paul’s legs, and Liam10 had taken his place, this time a bit closer, so that Paul was straining to try to shove his cock into Liam’s ass. People would walk around the room talking to Paul, disorienting him, so that he didn’t know what to expect. Liam10 began to describe what he, Liam10, would feel when he sat on Paul’s cock.
I put my hands on Paul’s nipples and began massaging in circles. This was close enough to tickling that Paul was getting punchy. Next, he felt a cock against his lips. Paul L was the one speaking to Paul, telling him what to do, but the cock belonged to Rafiq, who was bound to silence. Claudio lowered himself onto Paul’s cock, and we all marveled at that muscular body, that god top, bottoming, which he only did for special occasions. Liam kept talking, and I don’t know whether Paul really knew that the ass around his cock was Liam’s or not.
While this was going on, I leaned Paul forward a bit and told Paul I just wanted to get a new kind of lube. I slipped away for a moment, and Steven took my place. I continued to whisper into Paul’s’ ear as Steven’s ballistic missile of a cock inched into his ass. Paul was groaning from the huge cock stretching his ass, and from the tight muscle clamping around his own cock. Rafiq now rubbed his cock around Paul’s face, and I saw Paul’s nostrils flare, as if he were trying to take in with his sense of smell what was going on. Steven’s fucking was always epic, and I sometimes got the impression that he was conducting the fourth movement of Beethoven’s ninth symphony in his head,with its meanderings into earlier melodies until it breaks forth into the choral ending. In any event, Steven made sure his cock was rubbing against my Paul’s prostate nonstop, and Paul was moaning with pleasure. His moaning was muffled by his face against Rafiq’s abdomen. His hips were moving in time to the fucking in his ass, filling Claudio’s Superboy butt with pleasure as well.
Just as no one could resist a chance at sex with our Lingam, who made everyone he fucked or sucked or was fucked or sucked by feel that he had invented this action just for that person’s individual pleasure, so no one could resist giving pleasure to my Paul. There is something appealing about his smile, his attitude, his whole persona. Even now, when we feel like dinosaurs if we enter a Boston gay club, since Boston’s gay scene is so dominated by young students, it never fails that some handsome young crewman or some bespectacled computer whiz will approach Paul and ask to join him in bed. One or two, I’ve kind of hoped he’d take up the offer, but Paul almost always turns them down in a kindly way. But the whole phenomenon, the attraction he holds for others, is unique in my experience, and it’s one of the reasons I feel so lucky to have him. I would walk a thousand miles on hot coals for my Paul, and I know for certain that he would do the same for me. That’s why I’m comfortable orchestrating a special event orgy where Paul’s pleasure is the central goal.
Claudio bottoms rarely, but he will bottom for Paul, always. He only bottoms for me if I beg him nicely. (OK, in case you’re wondering, I am only human, I get curious and I get a yen for the wondrous experience I hear others describe and so I just simply ask. “Claudio, may I fuck you one evening.” Simple and direct gets yes.
Liam10 has become a sexual reincarnation of our Lingam; nowadays, he will take any role with any one of us. He and Paul fuck from time to time, but I’ve also come home to find him fucking Paul while Paul watches TV or reads... just as Lingam used to do.
Steven visits only a few times a year, but he always manages to have sex with Paul during his visits... Paul brings him joy.
Ze’ev and Frank and the others feel the same way. Sex with Paul is a peak experience for them. Why should I begrudge any of them, when I live at the peak?
But to get back to the scene where we began, I asked Steven to pull out of Paul’s ass before his orgasm, and I gathered a mouthful of his sperm. When Claudio exploded, his super-tight ass muscles caressed and kneaded Paul to his orgasm, I had him pull off just at the outset, and my Paul shot his load into my mouth. Claudio’s sperm followed in short order. I spat them out into a mug that I had ready for this purpose.
When everyone was orgasmed out, I invited everyone to form a circle around Paul. I took a huge glom of mixed cum in my mouth and kissed him deeply. The sperm cocktail poured out over our faces, and Russlan and Liam10 began licking our spermy bellies, while Steven put on a condom and shoved into me, just as Claudio impaled Paul on his shaft.
Everyone not in the circle of pleasure concentrating on my Paul gravitated over to Paul L, who was surrounded by loving cocks, tongues, asses, noses, fingers, and balls. If everyone loved pleasuring my Paul, everyone was more than a little in love with Paul L.
Then, as a surprise to me (and it was, completely), my Paul pushed his tired cock into me and was joined by Claudio, who stretched me almost to bursting. Liam10 had my balls in his mouth, and this bunch brought me to a crashing orgasm.
“What was that?” Liam10 asked me. “Paul, I think he’s trying to say something. You OK, Pete?”
“Claudio, pull out of him. Pete, you OK?” Paul looked concerned.
My voice was in my throat. I could barely speak. The orgasm had taken everything out of me. I made a gurgling sound.
“Shit, I think he’s sick! Pete! Pete, you OK?”
Liam10 moved closer to me and leaned over. “I can’t hear him. He’s trying to say something.” Liam leaned further.
“Again,” I said, and I stuck my tongue into Liam10’s ear.
We decided together as a group that if we took the trip to Lockerbie, we’d want everyone who was part of our lives to go. That meant finding a time when Frank could join us, and Ze’ev from Israel as well. We sent email off to Ze’ev; Frank was still up in Boston, so we got his schedule and figured it in.
Claudio hadn’t known our Liam, but we were all growing fond of him, not to mention his amazing body. So he was on the list. We talked about inviting our conductor friend, Steven, who had met Liam only once. We decided that his absence would not be a deal-breaker, but we’d definitely like him to join us.
In all of our conversation, no one had suggested that we contact Liam and Bobby’s parents. I thought someone should at least raise the question, and as I thought, I was shouted down. But Paul L looked at me with appreciative eyes, and I knew he thought it would be the right thing to do, even if it led to a confrontation.
Paul decided to contact them himself, and they were not happy about it. They were busy, they said, too busy to attend a memorial for their only two children. Everything Liam had said about them now turned out to be an exaggeration - in their favor. They were much worse than Liam had ever let on. If the Menendez brothers had had parents like this, they’d have been acquitted - who could have blamed them? We hadn’t known Bobby, really; we’d only met him once or twice, and he hadn’t made a very good impression. But Russlan had loved him, and we had been crazy about our Liam. We still are.
An email to Steven’s private email got a positive response. He’d be conducting at Covent Garden in the coming seasons and would certainly join us. He also told us he’d be in Boston for a guest engagement that hadn’t been announced yet, and that he might accompany a prominent baritone in a Lieder recital. (I’d attended that baritone’s last recital, and he’s very easy on the eyes... and he’d set my gaydar off to the point that now, when I hear his voice on the radio or TV, I get hard immediately. Pavlov’s dogs salivated, or barked, or something; I get a hardon. (If you saw Steven in those days, so would you. I still get one when I see him conduct a concert on TV, though he doesn’t have the glorious, young physique he had when I first met him. But I confess that I cannot see him without thinking that the baton in his hand is nothing compared to the baton between his legs!) We didn’t know the baritone, whose first name is Thomas, but when Steven said he might bring him along as well, because Steven wanted us to meet Thomas, we got the impression that the two were a couple.
There was one more guest who joined us at Lindoro’s around that time. You many think him an unlikely one. Rafiq, a Jordanian physician, had attended a medical conference in Switzerland, where he’s struck up a conversation with a handsome doctor in the hotel restaurant. They apparently spoke for hours, until there was no one in the hotel lobby except the hotel staff. They’d said good-night and gone to their respective rooms, when the handsome doctor - our Ze’ev, of course - was surprised by a knock on his door. Rafiq was there, with a packet of medical articles that they’d been discussing, but that Ze’ev had inadvertently left behind. He’d discovered it when he got to his room, and knowing that Ze’ev had to deliver a paper the next day, he wanted Ze’ev to have the material in case it bore on his presentation. Ze’ev told us he thanked Rafiq and showed him out. He also said that there were sparks between them, but it seemed too unlikely a friendship to pursue.
After Ze’ev’s lecture, which Rafiq attended, Rafiq remained in the lecture hall, sitting in a quiet corner, until all the questions had been asked and answered and most doctors had moved on to a different lecture. Ze’ev told us that during the questions and answers, he had noticed Rafiq in the audience, and that he had been unable to take his eyes off of Rafiq. They each made a point of being discreet about being seen together, because their respective delegations might be concerned for one reason or another, but they soon had dinner together in an out-of-the-way restaurant and talked about their lives, their relationships, and their careers. Rafiq told Ze’ev that he was married to the woman his parents had selected for him, and that they had each come to the marriage as virgins. Ze’ev told us that he expressed mild surprise that so handsome a young man should be a virgin at marriage, but he asked whether Rafiq’s virginity reflected his religious beliefs.
Ze’ev said that Rafiq looked him in the eye and said, “I think you understand why I was a virgin with my wife, and I think we both understand a good many things about a man’s attraction, or lack of attraction, to women.” Ze’ev said that he’d lifted an eyebrow at that remark, and that Rafiq had winked. Apparently the two of them finished dinner, tipped the waiter well, and made their way to the elevator. Once in the elevator car, the tension between them exploded, and they’d suddenly thrown themselves into each other’s arms. They’d sucked each other’s tongues and mashed mouths together, while feeling each other’s hardons expanding their pants and pressing together. They’d jumped back when the elevator door opened, but they’d discussed spending the night together, in whispered tones, and each had said it was impossible. Ze’ev was sure that he was under protective surveillance, as were most Israeli delegations to international events, because of the volatility of Palestinian nationalism. Rafiq said that he was under some kind of watch because of his access, as a physician, to the royal family. He said that anyone in Jordan who dealt with the royals professionally assumed that the government made itself aware of all possibilities for espionage. A photograph of Rafiq entering Ze’ev’s room could be grounds for anything from investigation to questioning to arrest to imprisonment.
Ze’ev told us that when the conference ended, a day later, he’d checked out, taken a cab to the Zurich airport, where he’d had a severe coughing fit that led to his being asked to fly three days later. Rafiq had arranged a similar incident, and because it was high season, all large hotels were fully booked.
By tacit agreement, they'd moved to two smaller hotels several blocks apart. Each had left a cover story, and each had made his way over the nearby border into Liechtenstein, where each had checked into a room at the same gay-friendly bread-and-breakfast inn, a kind of gay safe house. The cloak-and-dagger was laughable, Ze’ev told us, but it had given them the confidence to go on with their relationship, and they'd had a weekend of wild, uninhibited sex, flip-flopping and taking turns at everything. Everything.
Rafiq won our hearts as easily as he won Ze’ev’s. Liam10 asked Rafiq if he had any mixed feelings about coming with us to a memorial for Liam, given the circumstances, and Rafiq said absolutely not, that people who blew up an airliner with innocents aboard did not speak for him or for the Prophet in whom he believed. As for homosexuality, Rafiq could quote chapter and verse of medieval Islamic authorities who had little or no problem with same-sex love. Rafiq also said that his relationship with his wife was a good one, given what she expected from marriage, namely, a good home, servants, and children. He was an excellent provider, and he did not fail in his marital duties when they were together. He said that this was not a chore; he enjoyed sleeping with her, but his emotional ties were deeper with Ze’ev, despite all the issues with which their relationship was fraught.
It didn’t hurt their relationship that Ze’ev was fluent in the Palestinian dialect of Arabic as well as literary Arabic. The two of them would sometimes curl up on a comfortable sofa at Lindoro’s in our living area, and they’d read to each other from Arabic poetry of poets like al-Nawaji or Abu Nuwas, each a medieval poet of renown whose diwan (personal portfolio of poetry, or perhaps better translated oeuvre) included collections of homoerotic poetry devoted to the love of young gazelles, handsome young men. Rafiq told us that this poetry is rarely taught in today’s Arab world, though its existence is well known.
“You must understand that the puritans who have hijacked Islam are not unlike the Puritans who once tried to outlaw Christmas, or the puritans among the Chassidic Jews. It seems to be a universal phenomenon that there are always people who take upon themselves the goal of sucking all enjoyment out of human life. Thank God this is not a dominant trend, historically, even if it seems that way today.”
“Rafiq, does your wife know about your activities outside of marriage?” Liam10 was curious.
“You mean with men, or with Ze’ev in particular?”
“Both.”
“First, I have not been with many men. Very few. In the islamic world, such a relationship is known, and in some countries, it is even common, but usually it’s like what you read about in Ancient Greece, there’s an older man and a younger man. The older mentors the younger in return for physical affection; the younger learns from the older and gives his body out of genuine affection.
“For me, I must confess that I am troubled by the possibility of causing pain to my wife. We are not in passionate love, but we have grown together during our years of marriage, and there is comfort and familiarity.
Ze’ev said that he felt similarly; he was troubled by the possibility that his relationship with Rafiq would cause Rafiq’s wife pain if she were to find out about it. “We are very careful, very discreet, and that would be true even if both of us were single, because we come from two different and colliding worlds.”
“Romeo and Juliet,” Rafiq said, kissing Ze’ev on the neck, as we all sat in front of a crackling fire.
“And remember, I was Juliet last night, so tonight you get...”
Rafiq blushed a little and stopped Ze’ev’s mouth with a kiss.
“How did you two get so close?” my Paul asked.
Ze’ev answered him, “Think of it this way. We live on opposite sides of the looking glass. We live closer to each other than many of you live in relation to where you grew up. We live in the same climate, we feel the same wind and storms. If our people did not have political differences, we’d be friends because of our similarity, and we’ve chosen not to let our differences blind us to our similarities.”
Rafiq asked us if we’d ever heard of the Hebrew Canaanites. Ze’ev was grinning. “They were a group of artists who believed that the Jewish immigrants who joined the existing Jewish population at the beginning of the 1900s should simply declare themselves Canaanites, a term they saw as encompassing the Arabs and the Jews in Turkish Palestine. If it had worked, history would have been a lot easier...”
“...and I’d be sleeping with the first Muslim president of Hadassah,” Ze’ev joked. Rafiq threw a tiny pillow at Ze’ev, laughing. “You should be so lucky.”
“I don’t know if there’s a solution,” Ze’ev said, suddenly serious. “Me either,” Rafiq said. “Both sides have points of justice on their side. We can either hate each other or find common ground.”
“Besides,” Ze’ev said, “this piece of camel dung is an incredibly gifted doctor.”
“And you, father of none and son of hundreds, are the Jewish House.”
“Which reminds me, Rafiq, do you think we could persuade Hugh Laurie to join us for a three-way?”
“I think he’s straight, bubs.”
“We could invite him and see.”
“Your stationery or mine?”
“Dear Dr. House, and esteemed actor and comic genius Hugh Laurie, we, the undersigned, believe that in the interest of world peace and understanding, you should perform homosexual acts with us any Thursday evening of your choice, signed...”
We were all laughing at the two of them and marveling at how at ease they were with each other.
“Okay, so we’re still working the kinks out.” Rafiq chuckled.
“I thought we agreed to leave the kinks in.” Ze’ev continued.
The one thing this couple hadn’t done, at least not yet, was make love with the entire group present. Ze’ev hadn’t been shy in the past, but Rafiq was more private about his passions, and Ze’ev respected that. More that one of us hoped that eventually we could persuade Rafiq to take us up on our half-kidding offers of anything from a night of fun to a hard cock to a lubricated ass.
As it happened, Ze’ev and Rafiq stayed at Lindoro’s the same night that Steven and Thomas visited (Thomas was giving a recital at Mechanics Hall in Worcester, and Steven was in town briefly to discuss details of a class he’d been asked to offer at Tanglewood.) Lindoro’s offered each of them complete security and creature comforts, not to mention good company. There was an evening when Rafiq was teaching Ze’ev and Thomas about nargillahs, water pipes, much to Steven’s amusement. The four of them sat up together much of the night, and when we came to breakfast, they were still around their dinner table, but fast asleep, the four of them cuddling together. I don’t think they had sex, but they certainly had male-male affection.
Not that any of them were prudish or lacked curiosity if Liam10 decided to give one of his outlandish “sex lectures,” in which he would invite some of us to serve as living models. In honor of Thomas’s appearing a Mechanics Hall the previous night, Liam10 invited any and all to hear him discuss, “The Mechanics of Sucking Cock.” If Liam10 had the idea that two of us were having feelings toward another but nothing had happened so far, he might cook up one of these lectures at which he would engineer the breaking of ice. This could be awkward, but it could also be hilarious. You had to go with the flow, but not get caught by a tsunami.
Ze’ev and Rafiq did eventually join Steven and Thomas in bed, and on another occasion, Russlan and Claudio. They were simply quieter, not less sexy or less passionate. Because of our agreement that Lindoro’s was outside of normal time and space, everyone felt safe to explore fantasies there. I suspect that Liam10 was Rafiq’s choice to teach him to bottom, but I never asked them. Paul L had made Lindoro’s a kind of safe haven, like Riviendell in the Tolkien books. Like Rivendell, it was a place where people of very different backgrounds could meet and find common ground.
Rafiq or Paul L might blush, opening the door and finding Russlan bottoming for Liam10 or Claudio while others watched or played around a bit themselves. Neither the sex nor the blushing were disqualifiers or bars to mutual respect and love.
There might also be a night when a couple would choose to share its love with everyone. I remember how Paul decided he wanted to perform for everyone, and he persuaded me (not hard) to join him. We didn’t announce anything or send invitations. We simply sat down on a couch visible from most points and began taking each other’s clothes off. The particular evening I’m remembering, I wanted to give my Paul a particularly satisfying orgasm. When Russian’s hair had grown out to its original red again (though we were all a little older, needless to say), I asked him to join Paul and me for sex but to keep it a surprise. I had gotten my Paul used to wearing restraints occasionally, and he was not surprised when I asked him to put on the nylon wrist bands and then I fastened him to the headboard.
The last time we had done this, I had fucked Paul, and then his ass had been taken by Liam10 and by Claudio. Claudio had really stretched Paul’s ass, and he had moaned and whimpered for days, though he made it clear to me that he enjoyed every minute of it. This time, though, I had Liam station his ass just out of reach of Paul’s cock, just at the point where if he strained enough, he could touch the tip of his cock-lips to the beginning of Russlan’s ass canal, but no further.
I sat behind my Paul, my arms around him, and my hard cock pressed against his ass, but not going in. Not yet, anyway. Paul lay back against me, relaxed, until the sign of Russlan’s red hair and build made him crazy with desire. He began to move his hips, but no matter how hard he tried, the most he could do was to touch his cock to Russlan’s ass. I then blindfolded Paul, and a number of us spoke to him. Russlan crawled out from between Paul’s legs, and Liam10 had taken his place, this time a bit closer, so that Paul was straining to try to shove his cock into Liam’s ass. People would walk around the room talking to Paul, disorienting him, so that he didn’t know what to expect. Liam10 began to describe what he, Liam10, would feel when he sat on Paul’s cock.
I put my hands on Paul’s nipples and began massaging in circles. This was close enough to tickling that Paul was getting punchy. Next, he felt a cock against his lips. Paul L was the one speaking to Paul, telling him what to do, but the cock belonged to Rafiq, who was bound to silence. Claudio lowered himself onto Paul’s cock, and we all marveled at that muscular body, that god top, bottoming, which he only did for special occasions. Liam kept talking, and I don’t know whether Paul really knew that the ass around his cock was Liam’s or not.
While this was going on, I leaned Paul forward a bit and told Paul I just wanted to get a new kind of lube. I slipped away for a moment, and Steven took my place. I continued to whisper into Paul’s’ ear as Steven’s ballistic missile of a cock inched into his ass. Paul was groaning from the huge cock stretching his ass, and from the tight muscle clamping around his own cock. Rafiq now rubbed his cock around Paul’s face, and I saw Paul’s nostrils flare, as if he were trying to take in with his sense of smell what was going on. Steven’s fucking was always epic, and I sometimes got the impression that he was conducting the fourth movement of Beethoven’s ninth symphony in his head,with its meanderings into earlier melodies until it breaks forth into the choral ending. In any event, Steven made sure his cock was rubbing against my Paul’s prostate nonstop, and Paul was moaning with pleasure. His moaning was muffled by his face against Rafiq’s abdomen. His hips were moving in time to the fucking in his ass, filling Claudio’s Superboy butt with pleasure as well.
Just as no one could resist a chance at sex with our Lingam, who made everyone he fucked or sucked or was fucked or sucked by feel that he had invented this action just for that person’s individual pleasure, so no one could resist giving pleasure to my Paul. There is something appealing about his smile, his attitude, his whole persona. Even now, when we feel like dinosaurs if we enter a Boston gay club, since Boston’s gay scene is so dominated by young students, it never fails that some handsome young crewman or some bespectacled computer whiz will approach Paul and ask to join him in bed. One or two, I’ve kind of hoped he’d take up the offer, but Paul almost always turns them down in a kindly way. But the whole phenomenon, the attraction he holds for others, is unique in my experience, and it’s one of the reasons I feel so lucky to have him. I would walk a thousand miles on hot coals for my Paul, and I know for certain that he would do the same for me. That’s why I’m comfortable orchestrating a special event orgy where Paul’s pleasure is the central goal.
Claudio bottoms rarely, but he will bottom for Paul, always. He only bottoms for me if I beg him nicely. (OK, in case you’re wondering, I am only human, I get curious and I get a yen for the wondrous experience I hear others describe and so I just simply ask. “Claudio, may I fuck you one evening.” Simple and direct gets yes.
Liam10 has become a sexual reincarnation of our Lingam; nowadays, he will take any role with any one of us. He and Paul fuck from time to time, but I’ve also come home to find him fucking Paul while Paul watches TV or reads... just as Lingam used to do.
Steven visits only a few times a year, but he always manages to have sex with Paul during his visits... Paul brings him joy.
Ze’ev and Frank and the others feel the same way. Sex with Paul is a peak experience for them. Why should I begrudge any of them, when I live at the peak?
But to get back to the scene where we began, I asked Steven to pull out of Paul’s ass before his orgasm, and I gathered a mouthful of his sperm. When Claudio exploded, his super-tight ass muscles caressed and kneaded Paul to his orgasm, I had him pull off just at the outset, and my Paul shot his load into my mouth. Claudio’s sperm followed in short order. I spat them out into a mug that I had ready for this purpose.
When everyone was orgasmed out, I invited everyone to form a circle around Paul. I took a huge glom of mixed cum in my mouth and kissed him deeply. The sperm cocktail poured out over our faces, and Russlan and Liam10 began licking our spermy bellies, while Steven put on a condom and shoved into me, just as Claudio impaled Paul on his shaft.
Everyone not in the circle of pleasure concentrating on my Paul gravitated over to Paul L, who was surrounded by loving cocks, tongues, asses, noses, fingers, and balls. If everyone loved pleasuring my Paul, everyone was more than a little in love with Paul L.
Then, as a surprise to me (and it was, completely), my Paul pushed his tired cock into me and was joined by Claudio, who stretched me almost to bursting. Liam10 had my balls in his mouth, and this bunch brought me to a crashing orgasm.
“What was that?” Liam10 asked me. “Paul, I think he’s trying to say something. You OK, Pete?”
“Claudio, pull out of him. Pete, you OK?” Paul looked concerned.
My voice was in my throat. I could barely speak. The orgasm had taken everything out of me. I made a gurgling sound.
“Shit, I think he’s sick! Pete! Pete, you OK?”
Liam10 moved closer to me and leaned over. “I can’t hear him. He’s trying to say something.” Liam leaned further.
“Again,” I said, and I stuck my tongue into Liam10’s ear.
This is world class writing and I think I'm about to have a world class orgasm
