Urban Delights

by Emeric Varady

  Gratifyingly, very soon both slots were claimed. I could make some money during my stay in the States—not just my fee from Brash’s new studio, but cash from two new johns.

  Sandor and I prepared for our trip. We both had current passports, because we often traveled to other European countries. We debated about what clothes to pack. We knew we’d be in a hot, sunny, often humid climate.

  “The important thing,” Sandor insisted, “is that we’re going to have to bring along tons of sunscreen. Because we’ll be running around practically naked, most of the time. As for clothes—we’ll be living in shorts, tank tops, T-shirts, swimsuits, and flip-flops. Don’t forget sunglasses, and baseball caps, to fend off that hot sun. Maybe we should pack a few nice outfits, in case we go out on the town. And you’ll need to look good for your johns.”

  “Yeah,” I agreed. “They like to have a fancy package to unwrap.”

  “Do you think we have to worry about gangsters?” Sandor asked me.

  “Huh?”

  Sandor’s ideas about life in the United States, like mine, were influenced by the popular American television shows which were shown, with the actors’ voices dubbed, on Hungarian television stations.

  “Maybe this guy Brash is having his new porn operation financed by—you know—the mob,” Sandor suggested. He looked and sounded as though he was definitely titillated by the possibility.

  “Well, if he is, that’s his business, not mine,” I responded, with a no doubt lamentable lack of conscience or morality. “But I get the impression that it’s more like some rich gay guys realizing that porn is a good investment, almost guaranteed to turn a profit.”

  We also patronized a tanning salon.

  When I got ready to compete in bodybuilding contests, I didn’t like to acquire a deep artificial tan. It was true that the stage lighting could be very bright and harsh, tending to wash out the details of one’s hard-earned physique. A dark tan compensated for this, and helped to bring out the contours of one’s musculature. Some American bodybuilders, especially, judging by the photos and videos I’d seen, baked themselves to a crisp! But I was concerned about the long-range effects of tanning on my skin. I didn’t want my skin to become prematurely aged. And the same effect could be achieved by the skillful application of a good-quality fake tanning product—body makeup, in short.

  Still, when we arrived in Florida, Sandor and I intended to spend a lot of time outdoors, especially poolside or at the beach. We wanted to minimize our risk of sunburn by getting light base tans, before we left Budapest. We used the tanning booths just often enough to develop a subtle café au lait coloring, which wiped out the pale, pasty effect left on our bodies by a European winter.

  “We’re going to fit right in, among all those sexy American guys who spend all of their free time at the beach,” I told Sandor.

  “Next, you’ll be renting a surfboard,” he suggested.

  “Why not?”

  Chapter Two: Hungarians Abroad! Sandor and I Travel to Florida

  On a cold early-winter day, with snow flurries flying through the air in Budapest, Sandor and I flew to the United States.

  We were shocked when we stepped off the plane. We’d expected a tropical climate, of course. But the reality surpassed anything we’d anticipated, or prepared ourselves for. Florida was sunny, hot, humid, and sweltering. The glaring orange ball of the sun, riding high in a cloudless blue sky, beat down on us without mercy, overheating us. Almost at once, we began to perspire.

  “What a contrast to the cold weather back home,” I exclaimed.

  “Jesus, Emeric, look at all the hot Hispanic men!” Sandor whispered to me. He was, obviously, less interested in the climate than in the fauna. I saw what he meant, though. The airport seemed to be swarming with dark-skinned studs! Just when my eyes locked on one gorgeous number, others came into my field of vision, vying for my attention. I forced myself to stay calm, and suppress my lust—which was no mean feat, for me!

  “Down, boy,” I told Sandor, wryly, adopting a prim demeanor which was in fact definitely a bit of a pose. “Put your tongue back inside your mouth.”

  “This place is crawling with them!” he hissed.

  “It’s Florida, what did you expect? Try not to come across as too much of a horny foreign tourist who’s on the make.”

  “But I am on the make,” Sandor moaned. “Oh, I want to suck all of these sexy brown-skinned dudes. And take their dicks up my ass. I bet they’re all uncut. With thick, fleshy, juicy foreskins for days! And the bodies! Hard and hot! I want to sample them all. Puerto Ricans, Cubans, men from the Dominican Republic. Jamaicans—!”

  “I doubt if there are too many Jamaicans in Florida. Don’t they all drive taxis in New York City? Maybe I’m wrong.” (I don’t know where I got that strange idea from, in the first place. Maybe from all those American police and crime dramas shown on Hungarian television. They’d given me a pretty warped view of what urban life in the United States was like.)

  “I’ll bet there are Haitians here, too,” my irrepressible traveling companion insisted. “I want to get intimate with all of them. So intimate, that I can tell them apart, know which nationality they are, in the dark. Just by touch and taste and smell—!”

  “Can’t take you anywhere, can I? Come on. Let’s get our bags. And then try to find a cab. Try not to come in your pants yet, will you?”

  “I’ll try,” Sandor groaned. “But it’ll take an effort!”

  “Should’ve left you back home,” I grumbled.

  “As though you don’t find these men of color attractive,” he retorted.

  “I do, but I’m here to work, not to have fun,” was my prim response.

  “Ha! We’ll see about that,” Sandor predicted. Accurately enough, I eventually had to admit. He knew me too well.

  I texted our hosts, Bo and Trent, to let them know we’d arrived safely and we were on our way.

  “Take a cab from the airport to our place,” Bo had told me, when we’d talked on previous occasions on the phone. “We’ll reimburse you. But make sure the driver gives you a receipt. We can deduct it, as a business expense. We are so looking forward to meeting you—and your friend Sandor.”

  During the long ride, in the back seat of the mercifully air-conditioned cab, we looked out the windows, agog at our first sight of an American urban landscape. I found it fascinating. We passed through some neighborhoods which were no doubt commercialized and tawdry, but even they seemed exotic to me.

  “Are we going to be expected to put out for these two queens who are putting us up in their home?” Sandor asked me.

  “Probably,” I replied, with a casualness which my buddy no doubt found shocking. “But remember, I’m the whore, not you. If I can, I’ll service them both myself, and you’ll be off the hook.”

  “Could you be any more amoral?” my exasperated friend asked.

  I shrugged. “Not much. Oh, look!” I said, excitedly. “Palm trees! Growing on either side of the street, just like the trees in Budapest!”

  “Not quite like in Budapest. Those trees are deciduous, and they lose their leaves in the fall. This really is nothing like back home,” Sandor said.

  We arrived at our hosts’ house. It was located in a gated community. The house was something to see. Set in the center of quite a large expanse of beautifully landscaped land, it was a rambling one-story structure. The exterior walls, pierced by vast expanses of floor-to-ceiling windows, were faced with concrete blocks, which featured, molded in high relief, motifs inspired by the Aztec ruins in Mexico and Central America. Each of the panels seemed to be different—I saw no repetition. One, in particular, caught my eye. It depicted the Aztec bloodletting ritual, in which a cord pierced with thorns was drawn through the tongue of the worshipper. It seemed like a bizarre kind of a decoration for a private home, but I had to admit it was visually striking.

  I paid the cab driver and dismissed him, making sure I got that all-important receipt.

  “Hol
y fuck,” Sandor blasphemed. “What a spread!”

  “Somebody’s obviously got money,” I said. “Maybe I’ve sold my services too cheaply.”

  “Too late to renegotiate your contract, at this stage.”

  “Yeah, I’m afraid so. But what the hell? Look at this place. It’s a goddamn palace. We should be comfortable here. Think of the possible alternative. One of those sleazy, rundown, fleabag motels we passed on the way here.”

  “Ugh, don’t even say that!”

  Our hosts, Trent and Bo, had seen the cab pull up. Emerging from the front door of the house, they greeted us, effusively. They wanted to hug and kiss us, which was fine with me and Sandor. I was easy, and so was my buddy.

  Both men were in their late fifties, by my guess, but they were well-preserved, with fit bodies, lean and hard. They’d probably had some work done to their faces, as the saying goes. But they could presumably afford the cosmetic surgery, and they hadn’t gone overboard—the tightening of their skin was subtle, not unnatural. They scored points with me because they didn’t dye their hair. Bo had a luxuriant silver mane, worn somewhat long. Trent’s locks, just as thick, were curly, cut shorter, and they were a salt-and-pepper mix in hue.

  “Forgive me for staring,” Bo said. “But, God, you two are a couple of beautiful men! That’s no surprise when it comes to you, Emeric, of course. We’ve seen your photos, your videos. But you, Sandor—you’re absolutely gorgeous, too. Why don’t you do porn, too?”

  “I’m too shy,” my friend said, laughing. “Too modest. Too insecure. I leave that to Emeric. He’s bold enough for both of us. As you gentlemen will no doubt soon find out.”

  “Who, me?” I protested, facetiously. “Why, I’m known for my sweetness and innocence!”

  “Yeah—known worldwide,” Sandor retorted. “But not for that!”

  “Where’s Brash?” I inquired, in order to change the subject.

  “He’ll be here later. We expect him to join us for dinner,” Bo said. “And then, of course, he’ll want to talk shop. So we’d better amuse ourselves in the meantime, while we have the chance.”

  We were still standing in the entranceway of the house, chatting, getting acquainted, when a young Hispanic man appeared. He was stunningly handsome—a Floridian Adonis!

  “Oh, this is Ramon,” Trent said. “He’ll carry your bags, and show you to your room. He’ll get you settled, make sure you have everything you need. Then—before you rejoin us—why don’t you get out of those clothes?” he suggested.

  “Are we going to start filming already?” I joked.

  “No, we just want to see you guys naked,” Bo admitted, without shame. I decided I liked this guy! “Seriously, though—we thought it’d be nice to have drinks by the pool. And you might like to swim, or just soak in the water, after that long plane ride.”

  “We certainly would,” I said, and Sandor was quick to agree.

  “Your room is this way, gentlemen,” Ramon purred. He had a blend of subservience and sexiness about him which I found intriguing.

  “Lead on,” I told him.

  We got our first glimpse of the interior of the house. The Mesoamerican motifs continued inside the structure, as well. On our way, we passed through the large living room. It had a huge fireplace, which I doubted got much use in this warm climate. The oversized hearth and mantelpiece were adorned with more Aztec and Mayan carved designs. The bronze andirons were in the form of fierce-looking mythological creatures, with glass eyes, through which the fire’s flames could presumably direct their light.

  The guest room was in fact a suite. There was a bedroom, quite large, but adjacent to it was not only a bathroom, but a sort of sitting room. Everything was elegantly decorated and appointed. There was an orchid with purple blooms, growing in a handmade terracotta pot, displayed on an end table. Huge sliding glass doors, floor to ceiling, opened onto a terrace.

  “Shall I unpack for you, gentlemen?” Ramon asked. There was still a bland subservience to his manner, but underneath it I was sure I detected a smoldering sensuality. This boy could be had! And probably without exerting too much effort!

  “Ah—yeah, go ahead. Why not? Knock yourself out. Please,” Sandor blurted out, looking and sounding pretty damn gauche, which made me suppress my laughter at his expense.

  I slid open one of the glass doors, and Sandor and I stepped out onto the terrace.

  On the far side of a wide expanse of immaculately mown green lawn, dense plantings of trees, tall grasses, and shrubs formed a sort of natural barricade, separating this property from the one next door, and providing privacy. Sprinklers rotated, throwing out cascades of water to water the grass.

  “Shit,” I exclaimed. “Look at all this! If this was a motel or hotel room, it’d cost us a fortune!”

  “Yes, it’s very nice,” Sandor agreed. “It doesn’t look as though we were misled. Far from it. So far, we seem to be receiving the VIP treatment. Or, at least you are. I’m just hanging onto your coattails, along for the ride, Mr. Bigshot Porn Star.”

  “Well, hang onto them tight, my good man,” I said, mock haughtily. “Don’t fall off! Stay on for the whole ride. We’ll see where it takes us.” I glanced back into the bedroom. There, Ramon was busying himself, taking our things out of our bags and stowing them away in chests of drawers, and in the bathroom. The lad seemed efficient enough. “Well, you were all hot and bothered, over those Hispanic studs we saw before,” I whispered to my companion. “Looks like you may not have to go too far afield to satisfy your lust, if you play your cards right.”

  “Isn’t he cute?” Sandor also took care to keep his voice down. “They actually have a houseboy, for Christ’s sake! It’s like something out of an old black-and-white movie, from the Thirties.”

  “No, if it were a movie, then the houseboy would be Japanese, or Chinese—or black,” I suggested.

  “Well, I’m perfectly happy with what we’ve got.”

  “So I see.”

  “Are we supposed to tip him, do you think?”

  “Um, not now, I should think. When we’re ready to leave. Then it might be appropriate. Depending on just what kind of ‘service’ we receive, between now and then.”

  Sandor and I stepped back inside the room, closing the glass door behind us.

  “I’ve laid out your swimming trunks, here on the bed, gentlemen,” Ramon purred. There was once again that subtly exaggerated subservience about his voice and manner which I found highly provocative. The hot young slut wasn’t fooling me! “You won’t need towels, or suntan oil. There’s always a good supply of those things, out there by the pool.”

  “Thanks, Ramon,” I said.

  “Want me to help you guys undress?” he asked.

  The question startled me. Sandor, needless to say, was all for it! But I overruled him.

  “We can manage,” I said, coolly. “Thanks, anyway.”

  Sandor, however, wasn’t quite so ready to see Ramon go.

  “Oh, don’t rush off, just yet, Ramon,” my buddy said, in his most ingratiating, seductive manner. “Tell us a little something about yourself.”

  “Not much to tell,” the lad, who was all cheerfulness, said, brightly. He was giving Sandor the eye, checking him out, cruising him, as shamelessly Sandor was ogling him. What a pair of man whores! I felt positively chaste by comparison, which was unusual for me. “I live here,” Ramon said. “And you must be one of the two Hungarian guys, right? Which one are you? Varady, or Vass?”

  “I’m Varady. Emeric Varady,” I volunteered. “And this is my good friend, Sandor Vass.” He’s the one whose tongue is hanging out, at the sight of you, my boy, I was tempted to say.

  “Right. Well, I’m sort of the houseboy, here. Like I said, I live here, and I make myself useful, in exchange for my room and board. I run errands. Do the grocery shopping. Keep the house clean and tidy. I even do some of the cooking, although Bo and Trent are both really good cooks, themselves, as you’ll no doubt soon find out, so most of the time
they chase me out of the kitchen, because I just get in their way. And, of course, like any good houseboy, I take care of their sexual needs, when they’re not making love to each other, or entertaining some guy they’ve picked up.” Ramon made this unblushing, candid declaration with a bland nonchalance which I found just a bit disconcerting. “So what I guess what I’m saying, dude,” the boy continued. “Is, if you and your buddy need anything—and I do mean anything at all—then all you have to do is ask me, and I’ll go out of my way to try to provide it. That includes sex,” he added, with an impish grin. “Just in case I didn’t make that clear!”

  “Ah, I’d say you’ve made yourself perfectly clear,” I said. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

  “Please do. You’re one hell of a couple of hot-looking studs.”

  “Thanks.”

  “I like European men. You aren’t the first guys from the other side of the Atlantic who have stayed here, with Trent and Bo. You guys from overseas always seem to be so uninhibited. So wild in bed.”

  “Well, I’ve heard much the same about you American men,” I said. “And, based on the American guys I’ve met in Budapest—! You aren’t exactly sexually repressed, here on this side of the Atlantic.”

  Ramon laughed. “No, we sure as hell aren’t! Well—if that’ll be all—all you need, right now—?” he asked, hopefully. It was obvious that he hoped we’d avail ourselves of his services. No doubt by throwing him down onto the immaculately made bed and having our way with him, right then and there.

  “Yeah, we’re fine,” I told him, dismissively.

  Reluctantly, I was sure, Ramon left.