by Neil Plakcy
“Do we bring someone back?” one asked in broken English.
The older man answered in Russian, and I didn’t understand the word.
The three departed the showers and I headed to my locker. I knew what they looked like, so I was ready to leave.
A blond man streaked into the locker area and ripped open his locker. “The Russians are coming.” He dressed and fled.
I dried off and left soon behind him. I drove down to Canal Park and parked.
Billy waited at the front desk and smiled as he saw me. “Did you make contact?”
“I saw them in all their glory, but a lot of guys took off as they arrived.”
Billy ran his hand through his hair and pulled it back. “I’ve heard stories about what they did in the sauna…”
I stood watch at the hotel’s front door and nodded to Billy when the three arrived.
He watched as the men walked by. As they entered the elevator, I rushed over to the front desk. “I know exactly which rooms they are in.” He looked at the clock. “I’m off in twenty minutes, so when they call for room service, we’ll be ready.” He undid his pants and quickly pulled them off.
“What are you doing?”
“I’m changing before my shift is over, so I’ll be ready.”
He pulled out a pair of tight, faded jeans and paused for a moment.
“What’s wrong?”
“With or without underwear?” he asked me.
Someone was coming up the walkway to the front door. I saw them reach for the handle. “With,” I said.
Billy stepped into the jeans as the door opened. He zipped and buttoned before the guest walked by.
I let out the breath I had been holding.
“Relax, they can’t see behind the desk. I could be buck-ass naked behind here from the waist down and no one would be any the wiser.”
Charlie came to the front desk and started to prepare for the night. “How’s it going?” He saw Billy hurrying to get ready. “Are the Russians here again?”
Billy nodded.
“Damn, they’re so demanding.” Charlie put his backpack under the front desk and started to get ready for his shift.
Billy picked up two huge bottles of vodka.
“Thank you Jesus,” Charlie said. “My shift will be a breeze.”
Billy unbuttoned his shirt and switched it.
The front desk phone rang and Charlie answered it.
“Send vodka up to room 315,” a loud foreign man’s voice demanded.
“Right away, sir,” Charlie said, and hung up. “You’re on, vodka for 315.”
Billy handed me a bottle and he took one. He padded his back pocket. “Don’t wait up for us.” And we headed for the elevators.
“Just follow my lead, and we’ll party all night.” Billy unbuttoned his top two buttons as we rode up.
Room 315 stood across from the elevator. We got off and knocked on the door. It opened and the older Russian man ushered us in.
Billy walked in without a pause, I took a few halting steps and then followed.
The man closed the door and said, “Pour and drink with us.”
Billy was already setting up five glasses and cracking the seal on his bottle. He poured generous servings into them and motioned for me to hand them out.
I picked up two and took them to the men in the one bed. One looked passed out but the other one reached eagerly for the glass.
Billy took two and handed one to the older man. He looked at the last glass and I hurried over to it. As I picked it up, Billy raised his glass and said, “To the sailors of the Great Lakes.”
Everyone lifted his glass and said, “Skål.”
“To the Great Lake,” Billy said, “Lake Superior.”
Everyone drank.
“To Russia,” I said.
Everyone drank.
“To Moscow, to United States, to men, to women…” To whoever they said, we drank.
I know I took small sips, if any, but the Russians drank and needed their glasses refilled after two toasts.
I opened my bottle as Billy’s ran dry.
The one who looked unconscious when we came in was out cold. His bed mate took off his shirt and showed us his tattooed back and arms. His chest was hairy like the older one, but his back was smooth, covered in art: the Kremlin in all its glory. He unbuckled his pants and sat on the edge of the bed. He slapped the bed and waved me over.
Billy took his shirt off and unbuckled his jeans. He poured vodka down his chest, and the older Russian licked it off. He licked up to his nipple and sucked on that. Billy lay back on his bed and filled his belly button with vodka.
The older Russian took off his shirt, showing his hairy torso, and positioned his mouth over Billy’s navel. He licked inside once and then sealed his lips around it and drank.
“Na zdorovye,” he said.
Billy filled his navel again.
This time the man missed his belly and caught the mushroom head of his cock through the cotton of Billy’s underwear. He sucked on it through the material. When he came up, Billy’s underwear was almost see-through and his cock had tripled in size.
The Russian drank from his belly button and pointed again.
Billy kicked off his jeans and refilled. Vodka ran down his belly to his underwear’s waistband. He adjusted his briefs and a hairy ball fell out of the leg opening.
The Russian saw this and dove for it. He drew it into his mouth and rolled it with his tongue.
Billy tried to sit up, but the older man pushed him down before he could spill any of the clear fluid. The Russian pulled off Billy’s briefs and tossed them to the floor, bent forward and drank his body shot and took the bottle from Billy’s hand. He poured vodka on his dick and quickly licked it off. He brought the bottle to his lips and drank, filling his mouth, then took Billy’s willy into his mouth and sucked on it.
Billy squirmed on the bed, but the big hairy Russian held him in place.
My Russian had seen enough, and now it was his turn to play. He took the bottle from my hand and pushed me down on the bed. He pulled my pants off and said, “Be a sailor, see the world,” and then he filled my navel with vodka.
The cold liquid splashed on my belly and filled my belly button. Excess alcohol ran over me in all directions.
“Skål,” he said and dove for my belly.
He drank and then rolled me over onto my stomach. He rubbed along my spine, and I tensed. I felt a cool liquid run down my spine and pool in the hollow above my butt. He stopped pouring and drank. I felt his fingers pull my underwear down and expose my ass. My buttcheeks tensed together as he poured vodka down my cleft. The alcohol ran down my crack and settled in the hollow.
My Russian licked down my crease and slurped the vodka. He spread my cheeks and licked down to my hole. His rough tongue tasted my sensitive pucker and he twirled around and around, trying to get deeper.
I arched my back and opened myself to him.
He poured my vodka and drank.
I looked over to the other bed with Billy.
He sat on the hairy Russian’s lap and rode him like a horse. “The Russians are coming, the Russians are coming.” Billy’s eyes rolled back in his head as he bounced harder and harder on his cock.
I felt the lip of the vodka bottle touch my hole as he tried to pour alcohol into my ass.
“Relax, you like, I like.” His thick accent resonated.
If he wanted to drink out of my ass, whatever; I arched my back more and spread my cheeks. I tried to relax as he slipped the neck into me. I was glad it was the smaller of the two bottles. Cold liquids filled me up, and the pressure grew deep inside.
He pulled the bottle out and inserted a straw. He sucked hard, and I felt the pressure slowly release. He drank his fill and pulled the straw out and kissed my pucker. “Ahh.” He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. He slapped my ass and said, “And now we fuck.”
He unzipped his pants the rest of the way and pulled them
off. He wore baggy boxers, and a huge bulge tented the front. His hairy chest filtered down into a thicker bush above his waistband. He pulled them off, and his eight-inch cock sprang out. It slapped his belly and bounced up and down. “You like?” The foreskin dripped with precum as he stuck his cock in front of my face.
Before he could choke me with it, I grabbed his thick girth and stroked it a few times. I licked his rutter and pulled his foreskin back. His mushroom head appeared and disappeared as I stroked his cock.
He pushed his hips forward and bent over my body. He pulled my briefs off the rest of the way, and as soon as he saw my cock, he dropped to his knees and worked on my nine. He licked my balls and in the crease between my ball and leg.
Our sleeping bedmate rolled over and his hand landed on my chest. He played with my nipple for a few seconds and fell back asleep.
I felt a finger explore my ass as my Russian sucked on me. I relaxed and allowed him to penetrate me.
His finger slipped in and out as some vodka trickled out too.
My head began to tingle and spin as he deep-throated my cock.
His thumb rolled my balls as he drew down hard on me.
I could feel the buzz growing, and then realized it was the alcohol he had poured into my ass hitting into my blood stream, and not what I drank. Damn, so much for staying in control. I looked over at Billy. He was passed out and lay sprawled on the other bed. The naked Russian saw my gaze and rose. His huge uncut cock stood straight out in front of him like a proud masthead, and he sailed toward my harbor.
My Russian stopped sucking on my dick and argued with the older man for a few seconds and moved his bare ass over and allowed him to join in. My man looked at his bed mate and pushed him with both hands.
His partner rolled over the edge of the bed and hit the floor without waking up. My Russian climbed over me and took his place.
Billy’s Russian kissed me, gently at first and then deep and probing. His tongue entered my mouth as he worked his finger into the other end.
My cock was inside a hot mouth, and every nerve fiber seemed to be involved. I curled my toes as they played with me. I tasted vodka and smelled hot male desire. The alcohol washed away any inhibition I had.
I rolled onto my left side, and Billy’s sailor spooned my ass. He kept kissing my ear and stuck his tongue inside. His torpedo slipped between my cheeks and sought out its hot target.
The mouth slowly sucked along my cock and retracted to the tip. His tongue explored the slit and circled the head. He opened the bedside table and pulled out two condoms, passed one over me to the other sailor and kept one for himself. He ripped the cellophane open with his teeth and rolled the rubber, placed it over my cock’s end and rolled it down my shaft.
Behind me, the older man donned his condom and grasped my hips. Sailor sandwich? Cream filling to a Russian Oreo? And he was inside me. The pain disappeared as fast as it came.
My sailor guided his butt to my cock. He pushed back, and I was inside him.
A wave started behind me and flowed through me and into him. Pelvis to pelvis to pelvis, ebb and flow, insertion, retraction, just float.
I reached forward and grabbed his cock. My fingers combed through his bush and rolled his balls. Precum flowed out of him and lubed my hand for smooth sailing. I humped his rump as my butt was trolled.
My ear was sucked and the rate of our hips doubled. More precum flowed over my hand and I jacked faster.
He pushed his ass onto my cock, and I followed suit on the captain’s cock, encouraging him, and he took it. Our rhythm sped up and the pleasure drove me faster, deeper. My cock felt ready to explode, and I wanted that to happen inside my ass. “Harder,” I said.
No one resisted. Our waves grew bigger and bigger. The tension grew in me, and I rowed faster on the cock in my hand. I dove into him hard and felt him capsize, spilling his load all over my hand and across his bed.
My balls released in sync and I plunged in deeper and harder, sending all my swimmers into the rubber. I tensed on the one behind me and a second later, he was drooling in my ear and spasming in my ass. We clung to each other as the waves washed over us, finishing the collective orgasm that bobbed between us.
Slowly, we retracted our tentacles, and all was as it started. My sailor rolled over and fell asleep. Billy’s captain headed back to his bed. I slowly stood and found my land legs. I dressed and looked over at Billy. Leave him or take him with?
I slipped his pants and shoes on, sat him up and pulled his shirt around his back. Who knew where his underwear was, and I wasn’t going to look for it. The Russians could have it. I drag-carried him out of the room to the elevator.
As we stepped off, Charlie waved me over. “Bring him to the employee lounge.” He led the way.
I deposited him on a couch and smiled at Charlie. “Thanks.”
“I swear he sleeps here more than he does at his home.” Charlie clicked his tongue as we left.
The sex had burned off most of the vodka, and I was safe to drive home. I parked in the driveway and shed my clothes as I walked through the house. I drank a tall glass of water and took two aspirins. Dropping to bed naked felt so good; the sheets were cool and clean. I inhaled deeply and drifted off to sleep.
My cell phone rang a few minutes later, and I rolled over and answered it. “Hello?”
“The Russians are coming, the Russians are coming, again.”
And I hung up the phone.
CROATIAN SAIL
Jay Starre
Grant met Andrej in Dubrovnik. Climbing a stepped lane that served as a street in the upper part of that Croatian city, he first spotted him among the profusion of potted plants that hugged the centuries-old buildings on either side of the stairs.
He looked like he was a college student, with shoulder-length straight blond hair and a small blond goatee. His casual shorts, light shirt and sandals were a little on the expensive side, though, and on closer inspection he also looked a little older than Grant first guessed—maybe closer to his own age of twenty-seven.
Hazel eyes under blond brows looked directly at him as the stranger offered a crooked smile, one corner of his upper lip curling. He was cute and sexy.
And he was interested. “Bonjour,” he said brightly.
“Uh, hello. Do you speak English? I’m American and sadly not too good with languages,” Grant immediately confessed.
“Ah, very good. I do speak English quite okay. I am Andrej and I am Croatian.”
“Wow! A local. Maybe you could show me around. You’re definitely hotter than the usual tour guides…” He offered his brightest smile and left it at that. If Andrej was put off by the come-on, it was too bad. At least he’d played his cards.
The Croatian laughed easily and reached out to place a hand on Grant’s shoulder. That hand settled over the area where his tank top left bare flesh exposed. Flesh on flesh. Andrej squeezed lightly and looked directly into his golden eyes. “I will be glad to do so. How would you like to go for a sail? I have my boat in the harbor and my day is free. So is my night. Okay, Mr. Cute American?”
Dazzled by the gorgeous hazel eyes gazing into his own and the gentle hand warming his shoulder, Grant felt a hard-on rising in his shorts. He was ready to agree to just about anything. But sailing?
“Uh, awesome. But I’ve never sailed before.”
“Do not worry. I am a good sailor. Come, I will show you my boat and you will decide.”
Grant shouldn’t have worried about being too bold. This dude was that in spades, and spontaneous too it seemed. Exactly what he was looking for. A high school biology teacher in Des Moines, he’d grown disillusioned with his staid lifestyle. He seemed to have everything under control in his life, yes, but that was the problem. Too much control, not enough chaos. “Wow. Sure. I’m all yours, Andrej.”
That hand remained on his shoulder as the fair-haired Croatian turned him around and they descended the greenery-lined lane amidst the few other tourists who dared the mornin
g climb—and locals who thought it ordinary.
“Here, Mr. Cute American. This is a pleasant view, yes?”
Andrej steered Grant off the lane onto a little side patio that jutted out above the roofs of the city below.
“Amazing! I’m Grant, by the way. Sorry I didn’t say so earlier.”
“It is okay. There, that house with the palm tree just to the right. That is my family’s home.”
Grant spotted the building amidst a sea of other red-tiled roofs. Some of those roofs were obviously much newer than the rest, and he understood why. The war of independence from Yugoslavia in the early ’90s included a brutal shelling of this historic city, thus the newer roofs.
“My family has lived in this house for three hundred years.”
This was a stunning notion for Grant. “Amazing. How old is the house?”
“Five hundred years. And the wall you see all around the city? It was mostly built in the fourteenth century. Dubrovnik was a major maritime power and a rival to Venice during the fifteenth century and managed to remain independent right up to the nineteenth century. The salt trade and shipbuilding were our city’s mainstays. That wall, huge underground granaries and water piped in from the mountains, along with crafty diplomacy, saved us from being swallowed up by invaders for many, many centuries. Marvelous, yes?”
The setting was as dramatic as its history. Palm trees rose amidst the red tiles while the architecture was a pleasant mix of Renaissance and Gothic, and the wall, still intact, surrounded it all. The city jutted out into the harbor, where Adriatic waters sparkled in the morning sunlight. Behind them, a mountain rose defiantly. Grant could picture the town bustling with life and looking much the same hundreds of years earlier.
“We call our city the Pearl of the Adriatic. But come, we shall sail away together and I will show you more wonders of Croatia!”
Andrej laughed and squeezed Grant’s shoulder again. The American’s cock was definitely hard by this time, and he hoped it wasn’t too obvious bulging in his shorts.
By the time they reached the harbor below, the morning stillness had evaporated and a brisk breeze had sprung up, which Andrej appreciated but which made Grant a little apprehensive.