Urban Delights

by Emeric Varady

  By contrast, the Florida gig was a pleasure, from beginning to end. The video crew, and the other actors, showed up at the house the following morning, and they stayed for the duration of the shoot. It was a sort of a house party. Bo and Trent in fact had more than one guest bedroom. The men slept in them, or they bedded down on the living room couches, or, roughing it, on the floor. In such an elegant, luxurious house, “roughing it” wasn’t all that onerous. The atmosphere was rather like that of a fraternity house on an American college campus, although maybe not so wild.

  We guys wandered freely around and outside the house, usually dispensing with footwear and padding about barefoot, and often keeping clothing to a minimum as well, or going naked. Trent and Bo set the example, creating a friendly atmosphere of hedonism. Of course, our hosts were no fools. They were having the time of their lives, with so many porn performers on the premises. If one or more of the young studs on the premises ended up being lured into the married couple’s master bedroom for a quick romp with them, that was fine.

  Everybody pitched in, with no nonsense about some chores being anybody’s exclusive property. Our cameraman was a friend of Brash, a young film student named Jerry. He was straight, but he cheerfully informed me that he’d studied some of Brash’s videos, and mine, to see what was required.

  “It’s all about the penetration, isn’t it?” he asked. “And the come shots?” Which, I had to agree, just about said it all. Anything else was secondary. But Jerry told me that he wanted to experiment with some shots taken from unusual angles. He didn’t want to do just porn. He aspired to art!

  “From some angles,” he rhapsodized, “a cock being sucked by a mouth, or going in and out of an asshole—it doesn’t even look human, almost. More like abstract shapes fitted together, moving together, like pieces of machinery.”

  Okay—I’d never thought of it in quite those terms. But I was willing to keep an open mind.

  Maybe because Brash’s production company was a small-scaled operation, just getting started, and trying to get its foot in the door and compete with the larger, established studios—everybody seemed to try harder, going out of his way to make the video a success. The crew fussed over me, treating me as though I was one of the industry’s biggest names, on the same level as Brash, which was flattering. I was pleased to see that they extended the same consideration to the other performers, all of whom were new to the business. They were mostly local boys whom Brash had recruited. He’d been busy, and he obviously had a discerning eye, for real talent.

  Poor Sandor, surrounded by so many fresh young studs, was agog, and in a state of perpetual priapism.

  I teased Brash, asking him whether he ran a casting couch.

  “Of course I do,” he responded, shamelessly. “Every time I go home with a guy, now, I think about whether he’d be a likely candidate to work for me. And if he’s any good in bed, then I’ll suggest it. There are plenty of hot men, right here in Florida. No need to cast my net farther.”

  “So many of them are Hispanic,” I remarked.

  “Yeah. Latino men are usually hot as hell. The only reason I imported you,” Brash claimed, teasing me right back, “is because we needed a guy with a different kind of an accent, to provide some variety on the soundtrack. We couldn’t get Istvan Erkel,” Brash claimed, naming one of my fellow Hungarian porn performers and competitors, who had, I conceded, a certain reputation and following. “He was too expensive. So we had to settle for you—the bargain-priced slut.”

  “Very funny,” I said, trying to look pissed, although I couldn’t do it. I had to laugh.

  Sandor made himself useful. He’d accompanied me to porn shoots back home on several occasions, observing the proceedings from the sidelines, and offering me moral—or rather immoral!—support. Now, he offered his services as a fluffer. If anybody experienced any difficulty getting his dick hard before he went before Jerry’s video camera, my buddy was ready and willing to use his mouth to help him work up a boner.

  The interesting thing was, even though none of my colleagues seemed to suffer from erectile dysfunction, several of them took Sandor up on his kind offer.

  “I’m not going to put you on the payroll, you know,” Brash told Sandor, mock sternly, when he saw my fellow Hungarian down on his knees, sucking away on one of the Hispanic studs’ cock with an enthusiasm and expertise which really deserved to be captured by Jerry’s camera. (Jerry did make some “home movies” during the shoot, and he gave Sandor and me copies of the unedited footage, which we enjoyed looking at when we got back home to Budapest.)

  “Sandor’s just doing that as a public service,” I said.

  Brash grunted. “More like a pubic service, from the looks of it!”

  “Let my buddy earn his keep,” I urged. “He doesn’t want to be accused of sponging off Bo and Trent.”

  “Hasn’t he already had sex with both of them? More than once?”

  “Well, yeah,” I admitted. “So have I.”

  “In your case, Emeric,” Brash insisted. “How often do I have to tell you? Save it for the camera! Stop behaving like a goddamn amateur! Your cum belongs to me. I have a contract for your cum! I have a monopoly on your cum!” Which statement, for some reason, struck me as hilariously funny. The idea of a monopoly on cum raised whole new possibilities for a certain popular board game.

  “Sorry,” I told him, suppressing my laughter, although I doubted I looked or sounded particularly repentant. After all, I prided myself on the fact that I had plenty of cum to go around.

  Sandor also volunteered to help Brash with writing the publicity materials for the video.

  Emeric Varady, in his American porn debut, cuts a swath through some of Florida’s hottest studs! That was one blurb Sandor came up with, to promote the video. He and Brash argued about the phrase cuts a swath, which Brash thought was sounded too refined and genteel—“too pissy,” as he put it.

  “Reminds me of ‘swashbuckler,’ like in all those old Hollywood movies,” he said. “What the hell is a buckler, anyway, and how do you swash it?”

  The always erudite Sandor explained that a buckler was a small round shield, and that swath and swash were quite two different words.

  Brash grunted. “Well, better to cut a swath than cut a swish, I suppose,” he punned. And, impressed by Sandor’s command of English—which was, after all, my buddy’s second language, not his native tongue—Brash finally did agree to use the phrase.

  I was well aware of my obligation to cut a swath, or however one cared to put it. And to do so with my stiff dick!

  So, when I was scheduled to perform, I was determined to deliver the goods.

  Brash wanted to get the scene between him and me done first. Then, with that safely in the can, he could concentrate on his duties as the video’s director.

  “Okay, we’ve both done this before,” Brash reminded me, when we two, and Jerry, were ready to roll. “And often,” he added, with a droll, self-deprecating inflection. “Two experienced whores like us—we know what to do. Here’s what I suggest. After the intro, we go into the bedroom, we get naked, nice and slow, we tease the viewer with a little bit of a double striptease. Then I do the muscle worship thing on you. You suck my dick. I give you a facial when I come, and then, when I’m done shooting, you put my dick back in your mouth, because you’re still so hot for it. Then you fuck me. First with me on my hands and knees, doggy style. Then I’ll sit on your cock. First facing you, then with my back to you, giving the camera a good view of the penetration the whole time. We can end up with me on my back with my legs in the air—which I have to admit is my favorite position, while I’m being fucked. When you’re ready to shoot, you pull out of me and you blow your wad all over me, and I’ll jerk myself and come again, too, if I can. Then the usual hugging and kissing, the ‘thanks for the fuck’ stuff, to wrap up the scene, and make it all look nice and touchy-feely. Sound good?”

  “Sounds fine,” I agreed.

  “Okay, let’s roll,�
�� Brash said. “Anything else, we can just make up as we go along.”

  As he’d suggested, we first filmed a sort of informal, real-life introduction to our scene. Seated on a couch, with our clothes on, with Jerry videoing us, we chatted. Brash asked me how I liked Florida, and he questioned me about what gay life was like in Budapest. We talked about our respective porn careers, comparing notes about our experiences.

  While we talked, we got increasingly touchy-feely, as Brash had put it, with our hands on each other, exploring our bodies through our clothes. Soon, we were making out, kissing, groping each other’s dicks through our pants. It was definitely “get a room, you two!” time, and before long, Brash did indeed ask me, “You ready to head into the bedroom, Emeric?”

  “You bet I am,” I assured him.

  We cut at that point. We all moved into Bo and Trent’s bedroom, which was beautifully decorated and quite comfortable and luxurious—an ideal “found” porn set. Brash and I stripped, slowly and teasingly, as the videoing resumed. Nude, we got onto the broad king size bed, with its elegant designer sheets and pillowcases.

  At last, I was doing what so many men had only fantasized about. I was touching Brash Baja’s legendary cock! And I was doing so, fondling him, in preparation for sucking that extraordinary endowment of his. My hand and my mouth would be the envy of every viewer who saw the completed video.

  When I got my first close-up look at Brash’s moneymaker, I could scarcely believe that what I saw was real. His penis was already completely erect, jutting proudly up from his groin. The foreskin was retracted. I grasped the shaft in my fist and milked it. The ball of my thumb rubbed over the exposed glans, smearing the drop of pre-cum which the piss slit was leaking over the big round bulb. With my other hand, I reached down between Brash’s legs, cupped his balls in my palm, and hefted them.

  “Kiss those nuts,” Brash invited me. I did so, tickling the testicles with my tongue.

  Then I got into sucking position. I grabbed one of my costar’s legs in each of my hands, and I guided them around me, while I slid in closer to his crotch on my knees. I made sure that Jerry had an unobstructed sight line and was getting a good shot, as he filmed me lowering my head to Brash’s groin.

  My fingers trembled a little as I lifted my hands and placed them high on Brash’s thighs. I bent my head down lower and I began to kiss the inner surfaces of his thigh muscles, running my tongue slowly and teasingly up and down on the hairy, musky-scented flesh between his legs. I could feel his muscles tightening and twitching as I tickled him with my tongue. Each time, I licked a little higher, until I could feel the bridge of my nose pressing against his ball sac. I lapped his hairy “taint”—the rigid perineum muscle which connected his anal opening to his scrotum. I positioned my mouth, tantalizingly, right against the twin weight of his balls. I kissed them. Then, squeezing my hands hard into the solid flesh of his thighs, I touched my lips to his nuts and I began to lick them with my tongue, wetting them with my spit. Exhaling, I bathed the testicles in my warm, moist breath.

  “You cocksucker!” Brash moaned.

  Well, yeah! I was a cocksucker. Big surprise! What gay man who had a successful career as an escort and a porn performer wasn’t? But first, I’d prove to Brash’s satisfaction that I was also a ball sucker.

  Parting my lips in an obscene oval, I nuzzled my face right up against his hairy scrotum. I sucked one of his balls inside my mouth. Brash gasped, and his hands tightened their grip on my shoulders. Encouraged by his response, I drew his testicle deep inside my mouth and I began to rinse it in my saliva while I licked it with my tongue. The orb pulsed hotly within its sac, responding to the contact of my wet, swabbing tongue. I could feel the other testicle resting and throbbing against my cheek, and I opened my mouth wider, until that ball, too, was inside my mouth.

  Now I knew how a squirrel felt when he stuffed his cheeks full of nuts!

  I mouthed his balls passionately for some time. But I wanted to suck his cock. I let his testicles, wet and slippery with my spit, pop out from between my lips, one by one. I took a deep breath to prepare myself for the prolonged act of fellatio which I contemplated. Burning with lust, I carried out my plan.

  Holding his cock upright, maintaining a firm grip on the shaft with my fist, I opened my mouth as wide as I could force it, and then, slowly, provocatively, putting on a good show for the camera, I lowered my lips to Brash’s glans. When my mouth touched that solid ball of flesh, I felt a frisson of pure erotic delight rush through me, and the sensation only intensified when I slipped the cockhead inside my mouth. Brash’s dick looked large enough in his videos. But the reality was even more impressive, in fact a bit intimidating. I wasn’t sure that, as skilled a cocksucker though I was, I’d be able to take all of him without choking on it. He was hung really big! It was a truly magnificent piece of meat, hard and hot, thick and inflexible.

  I closed my lips around his prickhead, just where it swelled out at the top of his shaft. Removing my fist, I eased my mouth down on him inch by inch, taking my time, teasing Brash—and all the viewers who’d eventually see me going down on him, in the completed video.

  “Oh, yeah, dude!” my costar exclaimed. “Your mouth feels so good on my cock! That’s right—go on—take it all the way!”

  I intended to do just that, of course. I needed no encouragement or coaching. But Brash was a pro, too, and he knew how to make our scene look good for the camera. Pretending to be impatient, eager to be swallowed whole and sucked, he placed his hands on top of my head, his fingers brushing through my hair. He pushed down, but very gently. “Come on, quit fucking around! Take the rest of it in your mouth. Don’t be such a goddamn prickteaser. Suck it all!” he demanded, with a rough edge in his voice which implied he was forcing me, which he really wasn’t. We were playacting. “Get it in your mouth and down your throat!”

  My wet lips inched their way down his shaft, still not moving too rapidly, making it look as though I was resisting him. I grunted, as though in discomfort, to make it sound good. Finally, I felt his cock knob press itself insistently against the back of my throat, and I had to pause and take stock, assessing the situation, before I actually did gag, for real. There was still an inch or so of his shaft outside my mouth, but I honestly wasn’t sure I could take him the rest of the way. The son of a bitch was just hung too big! Freaking hell, they grew them large in the States!

  But my professional pride kicked in, spurring me on. With an effort, I suppressed my gag reflex. Doing a sort of mind over matter exercise, I told myself that my mouth and throat were both infinitely elastic, and that I could stretch them at will until they fit perfectly over Brash’s awesome phallic bulk. I persuaded myself that his dick was smaller than it really was—and believe me, that required a lot of imagination! Yawning, jacking my jaws wide apart, I thought about how some snakes could actually dislocate their jaws, enabling them to swallow their prey whole. Recklessly, indifferent to any discomfort it might cost me, I forced myself to take that last bit of Brash’s cockshaft between my lips, which nuzzled against his pubic hair. His thick prickhead slid down into my throat, which spasmed around it. But I held on. I didn’t choke on that huge cock. I was taking it! Sucking it! Deep-throating it!

  “Shit,” Brash gasped, in what sounded like unfeigned admiration. “Man, you really know how to suck!”

  You ain’t seen nothing yet! I wanted to retort. But, of course, my mouth was full, rendering me incapable of coherent speech. All I could do, to express my delight, was emit grunts and groans of appreciation as I fed on Brash’s giant sausage. Oh, what a meaty male organ that was! A real mouthful! A real throat choker!

  I moved in closer to Brash, kneeling on the mattress and crouching over him. I spread his legs wide, making sure that they wouldn’t get in the way and obstruct the cameraman’s view. Digging my fingertips into Brash’s muscular thighs, keeping a firm grip on them, I began to suck his cock like the experienced whore I was.

  He moaned and squirmed i
n response, and this time he wasn’t acting. I had to maintain my hold on his thighs to prevent him from writhing right out from under me. He still had his hands on my head, but now he really did push down on it with some force, while he pumped his pelvis up at me, fucking my face and throat.

  “You Hungarian whore!” he yelled. “Suck that cock! Uh, fuck!” His hands tugged on my hair, clutched at my ears, and stroked my cheeks while I blew him. “Fucking hell! What a hot mouth!” he gasped, praising me.

  I continued to do my best to keep things visually interesting. I moved my mouth slowly and deliberately, taking his cock all the way down to its base and pausing there for a long, suspenseful moment, with his glans jammed down my throat. Then I retreated, exposing the steely column of flesh inch by saliva-coated inch, until just the knob was still trapped between my lips. Slurping on that fat prickhead, licking it with slow motion strokes of my tongue, I finally went back down the shaft and I once again demonstrated my ability to swallow it all. I could feel the veins running along the erection pulse against my lips as I used them to caress the massive cylinder.

  “Jesus, stud—!” Brash howled, as my oral administrations coaxed him ever closer to ejaculation. If he was faking his degree of arousal, which I doubted, then he was an even better actor than I’d given him credit for being. But I was confident that the effect I was having on him was real. Spastic convulsions racked his big, powerfully muscled body, which thrashed about from side to side on the bed. No longer holding my head down on him, which wasn’t necessary, because I was sucking him with such nonstop fury, he pounded his fists against the mattress on either side of him. His heels hammered the bed, too, his toes curling in pre-orgasmic tension.

  “Chupar! Chupame, maldito Dios, y chupame bien!” [“Suck! Suck me, goddamn you, and suck me good!”] Brash shouted, in Spanish.