Urban Delights

by Emeric Varady

“What a little tart,” I commented, with a laugh.

  “You should’ve let him stay and do it,” Sandor rebuked me. “I’m sure it would’ve been—interesting. I’ve never been professionally undressed. I wonder if he performs that service for Bo and Trent, before they go to bed at night?”

  “I’m sure he does. And that’s just for starters,” I said. “Come on, strip down. A soak in the pool sounds good. And our hosts are anxious to see us without our clothes. Which is the least we can do for them, in exchange for their hospitality.”

  “Are you going to—?”

  “Put out for them? Of course. If they ask. Which I’m sure they will, sooner or later. And you?”

  “I’ve always had a thing for good-looking, sexy older men,” Sandor admitted.

  “So—who loses, in this deal? No one,” I insisted.

  We stripped. We pulled on our swim trunks, which were skimpy, snug-fitting, and revealing—typical bodybuilders’ exhibitionistic, attention-seeking attire. Practically nude, with our junk just about bursting out of our trunks, we left our assigned living quarters and we padded off barefoot and bulging in search of our hosts.

  Back in Europe, I was an escort, a male prostitute. I was quite prepared to provide sex, in exchange for my room and board, especially when I found myself in such luxurious living quarters. Sandor didn’t hustle. But he was no fool. He was savvy enough to take his cue from me.

  We found Bo and Trent outdoors, on another terrace, beside the pool. They were lying on two of a row of identical chaise longues, each equipped with thick, soft cushions. They’d changed, too, and they were wearing just shorts. They really did have remarkably good bodies, for guys their age.

  “Oh—you’re wearing trunks,” Trent said, looking and sounding distinctively disappointed. “Not that you both don’t look great in them. But swimsuits are optional, here. The neighbors can’t see the pool from their property.”

  “Well, when in Florida—!” Sandor said. With a boldness somewhat uncharacteristic of him, my buddy shed his trunks. So, naturally, I had to lose mine, too.

  “Drinks all around,” Trent announced, when Sandor and I both stood there, naked. “Bo will do the honors. We’re having mimosas. If you boys would like something else, just say the word. We always keep our bar exceptionally well supplied, and we pride ourselves on giving our guests exactly what they want.”

  “No, thank you, mimosas will be fine,” Sandor said, and I agreed.

  “If it’s got alcohol in it, we’ll try it,” I confessed.

  “Has Ramon been taking care of you?” Trent asked, while Bo prepared and served us our drinks. He added dry sparkling wine to orange juice and Grand Marnier, and poured it into tall crystal flutes.

  “Yes, he seems quite competent,” I said. “Tell us something about him. Where’d you find him?”

  “Oh, he goes to school, at a college near here,” Bo explained. “We don’t really pay him a salary, per se. He just works for us in exchange for his room and board—and we keep him supplied with pocket money. He’s allowed to use our cars. And the pool. He can invite his friends over. Then Trent and I play parents and chaperones, to the best of our ability, making sure the partying doesn’t get out of hand. On the whole, it’s not such a bad deal for a young guy who’s just starting out, I should say.”

  “Yes, I agree,” I said. “Young men do benefit from their older mentors.”

  “Of course, you yourself, Emeric,” Bo suggested, slyly. “You’re accustomed to receiving the patronage of older men, aren’t you?”

  I had to laugh, self-deprecatingly. “I’ve been known not to refuse—gifts. I was taught, growing up, that was rude.”

  “And you, Sandor?” Trent asked, with a smile. “Do you have sponsors?”

  “Oh, God, no. I don’t hustle,” my buddy blurted out, in an excess of honesty. “I work for my living,” he went on, perhaps rather tactlessly, the implication being that I didn’t. “I’m too used to giving it away for free.”

  “Sandor would make a good escort—or a good porn performer,” I said, smoothly. “As I keep telling him, but so far to no avail. On this trip, though,” I added, more than a little maliciously, “I’ve told him he’s really going to have to loosen up, a little. Or a lot! We’re both eager to show you guys how much we appreciate your hospitality.”

  There, I’d said it! I may have spoken with a deceptive, disarming casualness, but I assumed I’d made it perfectly clear that both Sandor and I were ready to put out, in exchange for our room and board. I was a male prostitute, after all. Sandor wasn’t a whore, in the technical, cash-in-exchange-for-sex sense, but he was open-minded enough, easygoing, and highly susceptible to sexual stimulation.

  Trent and Bo seemed to get the message. Instantly, barely perceptibly, the mood poolside was at once more relaxed, and yet charged with a lurking erotic tension, even more so than it had been before.

  “Those incredible bodies of yours better get some sunscreen on them,” Bo suggested. “I can see you’ve both got light tans, but we don’t want you to risk getting burned.”

  Sandor and I agreed. But of course we weren’t allowed to apply the sunscreen to ourselves. Trent and Bo set down their drinks while they massaged the creamy ointment all over our naked bodies. Bo took care of me, massaging the sunscreen into my skin from my head to my feet, while Trent worked just as assiduously on Sandor. Then our hosts sat down and resumed drinking, while Sandor and I, with our own refilled glasses in our hands, wandered around the perimeter of the pool, soaking up the sun, and—not so incidentally—giving Bo and Trent something to look at.

  We drank more mimosas. The potions went down easily. Maybe too easily! I couldn’t speak for my three companions, but I was well on the way to getting drunk.

  “Ah, this is wonderful,” I said. “It’s lovely here.” And it was. The sun had not yet set, but it was starting to dip low in the western horizon. There was an extraordinary sense of peace and quiet. Insects buzzed and hummed among the plants, and every now and then a bird chirped, or sang out plaintively. The air seemed dense, warm and humid, oppressive in a way, and yet at the same time soothing as it caressed our bare skin. Being naked in this private Eden seemed perfectly natural, indeed inevitable.

  “We’ll have to start thinking, soon, about what you’d like for dinner,” Trent murmured. I remembered that, according to what Bo had told me, Trent was the resident chef. “Meanwhile, though, you boys haven’t used the pool. Go on, get in, why don’t you? Get wet. Cool down.”

  Neither Sandor nor I needed any further encouragement. We romped and splashed in the pool. The water was delightfully warm, heated by its daylong exposure to the bright sunlight. Indulgently, Trent and Bo stayed in their seats, lying back languidly, sipping their drinks, and observing us, like proud parents supervising their sons. It might’ve been a scene from one of Brash’s incest-themed videos!

  After climbing out of the pool, Sandor and I didn’t bother to dry ourselves on the towels which were stacked, near at hand. We let the air dry our bodies, while we drank more mimosas. We lay side by side on two of the chaise longues, nude. This was the life! Naked in the warm, soft evening air, and acquiring a definite buzz, thanks to our steady consumption of the flavorful alcoholic beverages.

  Trent rode from his chair and he squatted down beside me.

  “Do you feel good?” he asked.

  “Never better,” I assured him.

  “Do you like being here in Florida?”

  “I love it.”

  “And Florida certainly likes you,” he suggested. His warm hand rested on my upper thigh.

  Bo had also gotten up, and he’d approached Sandor.

  “Your buddy Emeric’s a beautiful man,” Bo murmured. “But you’re not so bad, yourself.”

  “Sometimes the underdog tries harder,” Sandor declared, shamelessly. “Maybe I’m no porn star—no internationally famous—no,” he corrected himself, with a drunken giggle. “Make that, no internationally notorious escort. But
I do all right. I’ve always had men who were attracted to me.”

  “And for good reason,” Bo said, gallantly. “Count me among them. Are you in the mood to have your cock sucked?”

  “Yeah! I mean, yes, please,” Sandor, ever mindful of his manners, replied.

  “I want mine sucked, too, goddamn it!” I declared, rather belligerently.

  “No problem,” Trent crooned. “No problem at all!”

  A moment later, as the sun set and the sky began to darken into dusk, Sandor and I were both the recipients of first-class blow jobs.

  Obviously, it was time for me and Sandor to start earning our keep.

  I spread my legs wide, like the whore I was, and I let Trent go down on me. He was a damn good cocksucker! Like a lot of older gay men, he’d had not just years, but decades during which to hone his technique, and he proved, yet again, that there was no substitute for experience. His mouth was like the hose of a vacuum cleaner, locked around my dick, suctioning away on it. And, while he blew he, he used his warm hands to massage my pecs and play with my nipples, which is something I always especially like.

  Fucking Trent’s face, I lay there, pumping my pelvis upward at him, and as I did so, I turned my head, and I watched Sandor being blown by Bo, there on the other chaise longue. I listened to my buddy moaning, loudly, with undisguised pleasure, while Bo worked on him, as industriously, as unselfishly, as his husband Trent was working on me. The two American men seemed to be in a playful competition, to see which of them could do the better job of stimulating and satisfying our hot, hard, horny young Hungarian cocks!

  “Egyél húst, hogy az izom kakas!” [“Eat that meat, that muscle cock!”] I yelled, wild with lust, turned on not only by what was being done to me, but by what I saw taking place beside me—the way Sandor thrust his cock up into Bo’s mouth, and he used his hands to stroke Bo’s bobbing head and keep it pumping up and down on his prick.

  In my sexual frenzy, I’d called out in Hungarian, without thinking. Laughing breathlessly, Sandor called me on my lapse, admonishing me.

  “English, Emeric,” he gasped. “Speak English. When in Florida—! It’s only polite to—!”

  “To speak Floridian,” I agreed. “Okay. Yeah. I will. Suck! Suck my cock! Both of us! Suck our cocks! Uh, you keep this up, you guys, and you’re going to both get a mouthful of hot cum! Hot, fresh, spicy Hungarian cum!”

  But, obviously, that was just what both of our hosts wanted!

  Sandor and I had been promised dinner. Now, as twilight descended and the air began to lose some of its sultriness, turning refreshingly cool, all four of us labored away there on the terrace beside the pool, working up an appetite.

  Our cocksuckers knew how to keep us hotly aroused, how to maximize our stimulation. Busy fingers grasped, pinched, and tugged on my stiff, burning nipples. Then, abandoning my chest, the same hands claimed my scrotum, tickling and scratching my testicles inside their sac, tormenting my balls. Next, a saliva-wetted finger slipped into the cleft between my buttocks, found my anal pucker, and penetrated it. I was finger-fucked, while my cock was sucked. Lustful fever swept over my naked body, from head to foot.

  “Love you American guys. You’re so good. Almost too good! I’m going to come,” I warned Trent, who was blowing me so unselfishly, and to such devastating effect. “I’m going to shoot! You’d better back off, if you don’t want to get a big mouthful of cum! I’m warning you. This is your last chance. Aw, hell! Oh, fuck! Too late! Here goes! Here I fucking come—!”

  But Trent, obviously, had no intention of backing off. He wanted my cum! Exultantly, he received my semen in his mouth, and, triumphantly, he swallowed it. All of it! Every drop!

  And, beside me, Sandor was thrashing his way through a violent orgasm, too. He was force-feeding Bo his livid sperm, all but choking the poor guy with his torrential outpouring of jism. But Bo, like his husband, manfully held on, gratefully taking everything that Sandor had to give him.

  “Ah, te fasszopó! Van szopott meg szárazon! Megvan minden!” Sandor moaned. His voice was languid and faint, a good match for the lassitude of his limbs as he slumped down on the cushions of the chaise longue. He seemed wiped out, totally enervated by sex.

  “I don’t know what that means, but it sure as hell sounds hot,” Trent said, with a laugh. He had pulled his semen-glutted mouth off my spent prick, and he spoke a bit thickly, because he was still contending with a sticky mouthful of my cum.

  His husband still had his lips locked around the base of Sandor’s shaft. Bo was still suctioning away, still trying to extract more cum from my buddy’s cock, which was surely as depleted as my own.

  “That means, ‘Ah, you cocksucker! You’ve sucked me dry. You’ve gotten it all.’ Sandor took the words right out of my mouth,” I said. “I couldn’t agree more!”

  Bo pulled his mouth off Sandor’s cock. Both of our hosts rose. They smacked and licked their lips. No doubt, the taste of hot, fresh Hungarian cum was still strong inside both their mouths.

  “Don’t you guys want to come?” I asked. Trent and Bo both had big hard-ons visible inside their shorts, pushing the fabric outward from their crotches.

  “Maybe later,” Bo said. “At our age, we have to conserve our ammunition.”

  “Well, whenever you’re ready, just let us know,” I said.

  With perfect timing, Ramon appeared. He seemed perfectly unfazed at seeing four men, two of them naked, the other two sporting boners, all of who’d obviously just had sex, on the terrace. No doubt he was used to such things.

  “Mr. Baja is here,” he announced.

  “Just in time for cocktails, before dinner,” Bo said. “And a swim, if he wants one. He’ll be pissed, though, when he finds out what he’s just missed!” he added, gleefully.

  “Don’t bother to dress for dinner,” Trent told Sandor and me. “Just throw some shorts or something on, if you want to. How does steak sound? I imagine you studs could sink your teeth into some nice juicy cuts of meat, to keep up your strength.”

  I couldn’t have agreed with him more!

  Chapter Three: My American Porn Debut

  “You like that kid Ramon, don’t you?” I asked Sandor, that first night, while we were getting ready for bed in the guest room.

  “Oh, you mean the resident chore boy? Yes, I do.”

  “He’s more like the resident whore boy.”

  “He seems like a nice enough young guy,” Sandor said. “Sweet. Sexy.”

  “And available.”

  “Well, yes, there’s that, too. Are you tempted?”

  “Kind of. But it’s early days here, yet. We’ll see how things play out.”

  “Maybe you’d better leave any playing around with the non-professional locals to me,” Sandor suggested, more than a little slyly and maliciously. “After all, you’re going to have to save your energy—and your cum—for the porn set.”

  “I know how to pace myself,” I assured my buddy. “I have yet to go before the cameras, without delivering.”

  “There’s always a first time,” Sandor suggested. “It’d be too bad if you disgraced ourselves in front of our American hosts, by showing up to work for them limp-dicked.”

  “That’s not going to happen,” I growled.

  “I suppose they have pharmacies here, where erectile dysfunction drugs can be obtained.”

  “Ooh, you are such a comedian!” I fumed. “They also have nightclubs here, you know, which sponsor open mic nights for amateur standup comedians. You ought to sign yourself up. I’m sure you’d go over big. There must be a market for the ‘lead balloon school of humor,’ here in the United States. Meanwhile, come on,” I urged. “Let’s get some sleep. Tomorrow’s going to be a work day—for me. You’ll be free to laze about and lust after the houseboy.”

  Ramon was treated not as a servant, but as a member of the family. He’d sat down to dinner with the rest of us.

  We’d enjoyed a wonderful steak dinner, accompanied by baked potatoes loaded with s
our cream—which made us feel right at home, because sour cream is a staple of Hungarian cuisine. There’d also been salad, steamed vegetables—corn and asparagus—and that American staple, apple pie, topped with scoops of vanilla ice cream, for dessert. All this, plus plenty of wine. After having been so well dined and wined, it wasn’t surprising that I was feeling a bit groggy, ready to hit the sack.

  Brash had wanted to talk shop during dinner, as our hosts Trent and Bo had predicted, but I didn’t mind that. He’d invited me to Florida to help him make money, after all. And, after Brash and I had discussed our plans for the video to our satisfaction, all six of us sat outside, by the pool, relaxing, drinking more wine, enjoying the warm night air, and conversing about other topics.

  I complimented Trent and Bo on their beautiful home, and they explained that the house had been designed by a somewhat eccentric architect, who liked big, bold effects. “Art Deco on steroids,” Bo described the style. “Sometimes we feel as though we’re living in an old Hollywood movie set, as in, ‘bring the slaves hither, and while you’re at it, bring on the dancing boys, too.’ But we like it.”

  It was a lazy, delightful evening, the perfect way for Sandor and me to start our Florida sojourn.

  I was understandably a little nervous about making my American porn debut.

  I was no newcomer to porn, of course. I’d bared it all, and done it all, in front of cameras often enough before. My videos, made for European studios, were sold in the United States. I’d acquired, if I may be so immodest, a certain fan base there.

  Still, I wanted to do a good job on my first video filmed on American soil, by an American studio. And I liked Brash and his business associates. I was determined to do my part to make this video something special. An exceptional effort seemed to be called for.

  This was an unusually relaxed shoot.

  I wholeheartedly believed that a porn set should be run in a professional, efficient manner, but that could be carried to extremes. For example, once in Germany I’d worked on a shoot on which all of the crew members were union. They screamed bloody murder, threatening to strike and sue, if a non-union person so much as touched a piece of equipment, or performed some task which was their exclusive provenance. It was a bit nerve-wracking.