Outwardly, Israele was a tough guy. Heavily tattooed and pierced, with a habitual macho swagger, he looked like the proverbial guy you wouldn’t want to meet by chance in a dark alley—or even on a busy street there in Florida, at the blaze of noon! Actually, though, he was kind of sweet.
He wasn’t all that well educated, though, especially when it came to geography.
“So, how are things going, back home in Austria?” he asked Sandor and me, shortly after Brash introduced him to us.
“Ah—Emeric and Sandor live in Hungary,” Brash pointed out.
Israele was puzzled. “Same thing, isn’t it?”
“Not quite,” I explained. “Maybe a hundred years ago—” But a history lesson about the Austro-Hungarian empire, and its eventual demise, probably wasn’t called for. We changed the subject.
Subsequently, I made a point of talking with Israele, getting to know him. I always liked to establish contact with the guys I’d be working with, on a porn shoot. He was quite candid about his relationship with Brash. Israele had fooled around, sexually, with some of his buddies, but he was still rather inexperienced when Brash picked him up—on the street, one day. It was a classic kind of an encounter—the sight of Israele had turned Brash’s head, Brash had caught up with him, handed him his business card, and asked, “Ever thought about being in a movie?” Tactfully, Brash hadn’t specified what kind of movie he had in mind, until they were having a drink together in a nearby bar. Then, after taking care to sound Israele out about his attitude toward homosexuality, Brash had revealed the sordid truth about his occupation.
They’d had a brief, but intense, affair. Israele found it exciting to be a porn star’s lover, and it didn’t take much for Brash to talk him into going into the business. With Brash as his mentor, Israele had appeared in the new studio’s first two videos, paired not only with Brash, but with other guys.
Now that they had a business relationship, the two guys were fuck buddies rather than lovers, but I could see that they still had warm feelings for each other. Brash was protective and almost paternalistic toward Israele, which was interesting to observe, given the fact that Israele could give the illusion of being such a hard ass.
Anyway, I thought Israele was damn hot, and I was looking forward to having sex with him. Sandor, who’d developed a real obsession with Hispanic males since our arrival in Florida, was envious.
“Lucky you, to fuck that Latino thug,” he told me.
“Um, I’d say the ‘thug’ thing is mostly a pose,” I responded.
“Everything else about him looks authentic, though.”
“Yeah, especially that big bulge in his pants. Guess I’ll find out for myself, soon enough,” I told Sandor, yanking his chain.
Israele and I shot our scene first thing one morning, after breakfast, and we did it outdoors, beside the pool, using natural light.
Even at that early hour, the Florida sun was intense, making us perspire. I pointed out to Brash that Israele and I were already damp with sweat.
“I like natural, realistic sex,” Brash said. “Sweat’s okay. I like the way it looks.”
We had bottled water handy, to keep ourselves hydrated.
The setup, such as it was, was that Israele and I were relaxing on the terrace by the pool, sunbathing. We both wore skimpy swimsuits, and we made quite a production number out of coating our own bodies, and each other’s, with suntan oil. The oiling became an excuse for quite a bit of muscle rubbing and massage.
At length, though, I stretched out on one of the chaise longues, basking in the sun, my oiled skin glistening. Nearby, Israele sat on an air mattress, which Brash had inflated and spread out over the terrace’s flagstones.
This mattress was a vivid, indeed almost a neon, bright orange color. We’d fuck on it.
“Your skin tones will look great, guys, with you lying on that mattress, contrasted against the orange,” Brash had enthused. The guy had delusions of grandeur, I thought. Who’d he think he was, Michael Powell, making a Technicolor epic? But I played along.
Anyway, as I said, there Israele and I were, both oiled up, broiling under the Florida sun, with Jerry’s camera voyeuristically scanning every detail of our nearly naked bodies. Of course, the scenario called for us to get totally nude, before too long.
“I’m going to take this off,” Israele announced. He wriggled out of his swimsuit, and tossed it aside. “Yeah, that’s better. Now my junk can breathe,” he informed me, with a leer. “And what I’ve got needs a lot of breathing room.” In his case, that wasn’t idle boasting. Taking his big uncut penis in his hand, he began to masturbate.
“Jerking off—that’s for kids,” I remarked, idly.
“Why don’t you get naked, too?”
“Maybe I will. Then we can try out some adult activities.”
This improvised dialogue may not have been the height of eloquence, but it served its purpose, which was to get the sexually explicit part of our interaction going.
“Let me take that thing off you,” Israele suggested, sitting up straighter, staring at me, and licking his lips. He leered at me like an oversexed young satyr.
I had to hand it to him. He was a natural, as a sex performer. He seemed to have an instinctive knack for jacking up the homoeroticism. I realized that this was no doubt the result of Brash’s influence. The much more experienced porn star had taught his protégé well!
I got off the chaise longue and I stood there motionless for a moment, while Israele tugged my swimsuit down my thighs and calves, to my ankles. I stepped out of the garment, and Israele pressed his body in between my legs and massaged the muscles of my thighs. When he touched my cock, it was already stiff and hard, jerking back and forth in front of my belly, while Israele’s busy fingers rubbed lightly up and down its length.
“Damn, that’s a big piece of Hungarian meat!” he exclaimed. “You sure you aren’t part Puerto Rican?”—an unexpected question which almost made me giggle, which wouldn’t necessary have spoiled the scene, but wouldn’t have been compatible with the mood of intense eroticism we were trying to create.
“I’m afraid not. But we grow them big in Europe, too,” I replied.
“So I see! Come over here,” Israele urged me, in a throaty, sexy whisper. Tugging on my dick, he drew me toward the air mattress. I stood on it, my feet pressing down into it, and, also cushioned on the mattress, he resumed his kneeling position between my legs. He continued to grasp and stroke my prick. Jerry, with his video camera on his shoulder, followed us, of course, moving in closer. I hoped he was capturing the contrast between our skin tones and that orange mattress! To say nothing of the rivulets of sweat dripping down both our bodies as the hot morning sun lit us up.
“I like this cock,” Israele murmured. “I want it.” He pushed his face forward and he planted a warm, wet kiss on my glans. “Tastes good,” he reported, in the same soft, sultry tone of voice. Darting his tongue out from between his lips, while holding my dick firmly in his hand, he began to lick it from its tip right down to the base, wielding his tongue like a paintbrush, coating every bit of my penis flesh with his saliva, making it gleam in the strong sunlight.
Gradually, we lowered ourselves onto the air mattress, until I was seated on it with my legs spread wide, and Israele was lying on his stomach with his head in my lap. Instinctively, I extended my arms, and my hands grasped the round bulges of his tattooed shoulders.
His head dipped down and that thick, wet tongue of his began to rub over the hairy sac containing my balls. My hands tightened their grip on his shoulders, and my cock began to jump about wildly, as though it was frantic for direct stimulation. Israele widened his lips and he pushed his face up, taking both of my testicles inside his mouth, with surprising ease. His tongue began to work on them even more forcefully, rolling them slowly and provocatively from one of his cheek to the other, and back again. His lips applied a strong, steady suction on my nuts, while he washed them in his warm spit. None of this did anything to
lower my level of arousal. My cock looked and felt so agitated that I expected it to spew out its charge of semen at any moment.
“Yeah,” I moaned. “That feels damn good! Keep working on my balls like that!”
His fingers dug harder into my thighs, and his mouth and tongue moved faster and faster. Suddenly, though, he stopped, and he slid his lips off me. His tongue stroked the base of my cock, and then it licked its way quickly up along my throbbing shaft to its hypersensitive tip. His mouth yawned wide open and descended on my manhood. His handsome face, flushed with excitement and beaded with drops of sweat, slid down, forcing all of my rock-hard dick deep into his mouth. He gagged when my glans jabbed against the back of his throat, and he backed up for an instant. But then he pushed his lips back down around my erection, and this time he held all of it firmly inside his mouth and throat. Pleased by his perseverance, I realized that if he was the habit of deep-throating Brash’s massive endowment, he wasn’t likely to have any trouble handling mine.
He kept my cock all the way inside his mouth for a moment, not moving on it at all. But then, slowly, in a way which I knew would look good on the completed video, he began to slide his lips up the length of my shaft, while his tongue-tip tickled its prominent veins. Reaching my cockhead, Israele kept just that much of my meat between his lips. He sucked hard on me, and then eased his mouth back down toward my balls, with his hot tongue lapping away on my flesh.
He was a damn fine cocksucker! Careful to keep his lips curled over the edges of his teeth to cushion then, and doing a good job of suppressing his gag reflex, he slowly pumped his mouth back and forth on my bulky male organ. He’d mastered the refinement of applying a strong suction from deep in his throat, so that my dick was constantly being tugged by both his lips and his throat, often in two directions at once, which jacked up my arousal to fever pitch. Increasingly excited, I blessed Brash for having taught the boy so well.
Jerry was perspiring as freely as we were. Stripped down to a pair of shorts, the cameraman was padding about silently, barefoot. He had his camera in close, capturing every phase of the blow job, every nuance. I had a good view, myself. From my sitting position, I could look down and see Israele’s head bobbing up and down between my legs, and my cockshaft going in and out of his mouth. His eyes had this veiled look of sheer ecstasy in them, as though my penis was seeping not pre-cum—which I could feel it was—but some sort of intoxicating drug. Watching the young Hispanic stud blow me, with a hunger which belied his macho appearance, was almost as exciting as the physical sensations resulting from the act itself. Israele was feeding voraciously on my cock. His cheeks were puffed out and reddened by his oral exertions. His lips formed an obscene oval around my erection, drooling saliva onto its root and onto my balls, below. His nose rubbed into my thicket of pubic hair each time he recklessly went down on my dick all the way. Lewd grunts of delight emerged from his throat as he worked on me so skillfully and unselfishly.
I felt unusually strong pulsations spread through my groin, and I knew I was in danger of coming too soon. I gripped Israele’s head in my hands and I urged him to remove his mouth from my cock.
“I want to suck yours, too,” I said. “Come on, let’s blow each other. Let’s sixty-nine!”
“Fuck, yeah!” he exclaimed, with boyish enthusiasm.
I got us into the right position. His erect cock protruded toward my face. I grasped his penis in my hand and I guided it to my mouth, at the same time pushing my own thighs, crotch, and boner closer to Israele’s head. I locked my lips around his thick round glans and I began to suck on it, but that first taste of fresh young male meat wasn’t enough to satisfy my hunger. Wantonly, I slid my mouth down around his shaft, taking him all the way to his balls.
For a moment, he just lay there, moaning with delight while I sucked him. I pressed my thighs still closer to either side of his head, and then I felt his hand wrap itself around my shaft, pulling my glans toward his mouth. An instant later, he was sucking me again, at least as passionately as before. Locked in our sixty-nine position, we fed greedily upon each other. Having Israele’s big hard cock in my mouth while he slurped on mine was much more exciting than going down on each other separately.
For several blissful minutes, we pumped out mouths back and forth on each other’s erections, thrusting them between each other’s lips, driving our cockheads down into each other’s throats. I played with Israele’s ass while I blew him, and he retaliated by fingering my hole. I knew my climax was imminent, and I treated myself to a few more furious sucks on my costar’s succulent young prick before, with real reluctance, I took my mouth completely off it. I replaced my lips with my fist. It was come shot time, and I decided I’d bring Israele off first, by giving him a brisk hand job.
His legs tensed and his ab muscles tightened. He lifted his behind from the air mattress and he fucked my fist. The rest of his body went taut, too. It was fascinating to see his muscles rippling, because that make the inked designs on his skin seem to move, like animated drawings. Suddenly, he let out a muffled cry from deep in his throat, and he shoved his dick more forcefully into my fist. He ejaculated, a miniature geyser of jism shooting straight up from his dick and raining thick wet drops down onto both our bodies. I went on fisting him, pumping him dry, until the more sluggish spurts of his semen coated my hand and wrist.
Then it was my turn to come. Removing my hand from Israele’s spent cock, I replaced it with my mouth. I put on a good show, sucking his dick, licking it clean. While I did so, I masturbated myself, lightly, knowing that I could make myself shoot at any moment. When I took my mouth off his cock, Israele squirmed around, effectively reestablishing our sixty-nine position. This time, though, he didn’t suck my cock. keeping his head between my thighs and his face poised quite close to my genitals, he watched, with a rapt expression on his face, while I jerked myself.
“In my mouth,” he pleaded. “Oh, shoot it in my mouth! Tu semilla! Tu semilla masculina! Dámelo!” [“Your seed! Your male seed! Give it to me!”]
A few more forceful strokes were all I had to make to bring himself off. My cock spat its fuck fluid directly into Israele’s open mouth. He let out a sustained moan of ecstasy, as though I was pouring a fine wine into his mouth and down his throat. As the initial velocity of my ejaculation lessened, I used my hand to direct some of the spurts onto his face, again to provide some variety in the visual element. Israele used his own hand to wipe the cum toward his lips, where he lapped it up with his tongue. He knew just what was required of him, as a porn performer. Even in the heat of my orgasm, I was clearheaded enough to think to myself, This is going to look good—really good! Can’t wait to see the playback!
We lay side by side, kissing and caressing each other, until we heard Brash call out, “Cut! That’s a wrap—for now! We’ll take a break, and then you guys can do the anal. That was great, guys—just great!”
I gave Israele a final, congratulatory hung, and I went to clean up a bit.
I sought out Brash, and I told him how impressed I was by Israele’s performance. “That boy is good,” I declared.
Brash flashed a sly, smug grin. “He ought to be,” he replied. “After all, I ‘discovered’ him. I taught him everything he knows.”
Chapter Seven: On the Down Low
If I thought Israele was good at cocksucking and deep-throating, I soon learned that he was equally skilled at anal intercourse. When we reconvened poolside to shoot the fucking part of our scene, we took turns. I screwed Israele. He humped me. I fucked him some more. He fucked me again. Back and forth we went, swapping the roles of bottom and top, until finally we’d provoked each other to such a fever pitch that we both had to ejaculate. We lay side by side on the bright orange air mattress, watching each other jack off, like a couple of horny schoolboys. After spraying our semen, laughing, holding hands, we jumped into the pool to cool off. Jerry filmed us horsing around in the water, until an ecstatic Brash called “Cut!”
“All that flip-
flopping started to make me feel dizzy,” Jerry joked. “I couldn’t keep track of whose cock was in whose ass from one moment to the next.”
After successfully completing my scene with Israele, I wasn’t done for the day. I had an appointment.
My second john in Florida was named Ezekiel, but he told me to call him Zeke. “Everybody does,” he said.
When I’d spoken with this guy over the phone, back home in Budapest, setting up the details of our appointment, he’d had quite a few questions—which was par for the course. He had a nice voice, deep and masculine, although like a lot of new customers, he was a bit nervous and tentative at first, during our initial contact.
“You don’t gossip about the guys who hire you, do you?” he wanted to know.
“Of course not.” (No, I should have said, I just write about them in my fiction, although I do change their names—assuming they’ve told me their real names, in the first place.)
“Because of my job, I have to keep a low profile. I can’t let word get around that I—ah—pay guys for sex.”
“No one will hear about it from me,” I promised him. (Not verbally, anyway. Just in print!)
“Good. I’m going to hold you to that. The other thing is—do you like black guys?”
“I love men of color,” I said, truthfully.
“Not prejudiced?”
“The only men I’m prejudiced against are those who don’t enjoy having sex with other guys,” I joked.
Zeke laughed. He sounded less tense.
“You’re funny,” he said. “I think you and I will get along very well.”
“I’m sure we will.”
Zeke knew the area in Florida where I’d be staying. It was, he said, not far from his own home, although he didn’t specify where that was. I told him which neighborhood Bo and Trent lived in, although of course I didn’t mention them by name, or divulge their address. Zeke said he was familiar with that part of the town. There was a motel not far from my hosts’ place, and Zeke said he’d reserve a room there. Our tryst could take place there.
Urban Delights Page 8