A few of these proposals were bogus. They were guys who just wanted to get me in their “studios,” naked, so they could “photograph” me without taking the lens cap off the camera, if you catch my drift. But most of them were legit.
I posed nude for many photographers. I also began doing lots of advertising and commercial work as a fitness model. For example, I became the poster boy for one of Debrecen’s largest gyms—not the one in which I actually worked out, ironically enough. The iron pit where I trained was smaller, grittier, and more hardcore. My image was also used to sell workout attire, swimsuits, underwear, exercise equipment, energy drinks, and nutritional supplements. In these advertisements, I was invariably shown at least stripped to the waist, if not nearly nude.
My most amusing gig was a series of television commercials for a local bank, of all things. The gimmick was that depositing your money in this bank, or allowing it to invest your money for you, was “the strongest investment you can make.” In the commercials, I was stripped down to a kitschy gold lamé loincloth which was barely decent—and my exposed body was painted gold, all over. I was shown in the bank vault, holding up stacks of (fake) banknotes, or posing with (fake) gold ingots, and, of course, flexing my muscles all the while. In one of these commercials, I gazed soulfully upwards while striking a double biceps pose, while (equally fake) gold coins rained down upon me from above. For the record, the fucking things were surprisingly heavy, and I had to force myself not to wince as they bounced off my flesh.
My friends teased me unmercifully about these television spots, but I had the last laugh, because I was paid a residual fee each and every time one of the damned things was aired. And the gig looked good on my resumé. When I applied for other modeling jobs, I was often told, “Oh, you’re that guy in the bank ads! Yes, we definitely want you.”
The best part about modeling was, of course, the extra money which came trickling in. That income, along with a succession of part-time jobs, enabled me to move into my apartment, which was small and drab, but cheap. And I had the place all to myself—no roommate. This had two advantages. I could be lax about housekeeping, and I didn’t have to worry about having a third party on the premises when I brought a guy home with me for sex.
I was trying to improve my English, and so I had enrolled in a course in English literature. The campus library had more than one men’s room, and I discovered that the john near the English Lit stacks happened to be a popular cruising spot. The row of toilet stalls, which were tucked away around a corner, out of sight from the entrance door, was a favorite spot for blow jobs—and, if a couple of particularly daring students happened to pair up, they might even risk a quick fuck.
One night I was in the library, doing research for a term paper on A.E. Housman. After a couple of hours of reading and notetaking, I needed a break—and I needed to take a leak. The possibility of recreational sex also popped into my head.
I was disappointed to find no one else in the men’s room, at first. I chose one of the urinals, and I was standing there, getting ready to piss, when I heard the entrance door swing open and closed.
A big guy with sandy blond hair and pink cheeks came into the john. He wore khaki slacks, and a tight-fitting T-shirt which had the name and logo of a brewery printed across the chest.
The T-shirt clung to his large, curved shoulders and pecs. His nipples formed firm little tent poles under the fabric. His biceps bulged almost as large as mine.
If he was a beer drinker, he hadn’t begun to develop a beer belly yet. Underneath those impressive pecs, he had an enviably flat, hard stomach.
He stepped up to the urinal next to mine and whipped out his junk. With his left thumb, he held down his trousers and undershorts. His long, limp cock rested in his other hand. He was standing a little farther back than most guys do when they’re pissing, as though he didn’t care that his equipment was in full view. I couldn’t tell if he was showing off for my benefit, or not. He just seemed intent upon hitting the urinal’s drain hole. As we stood there, side by side, unloading, he barely glanced at me.
Dismissing him as a sexual prospect, I concentrated on relieving myself.
The other dude and I finished our business at approximately the same time. I looked over at him, trying my best to be subtle about it, but no doubt failing. Aware of my interest, he turned his head slightly toward me, and he smiled. I started to play with myself, under the pretense of coaxing the last drops of urine from my penis. Immediately, I began to get hard. I peeled my foreskin back and forth over my dickhead. All this while, he stood there, looking at me. Brazenly, I pointed my stiff fuck pole in his direction, and I returned his smile.
We stared at each other, neither of us blinking.
Finally, he asked me, “It looks like you’re having fun doing that.”
“It doesn’t feel bad,” I replied.
Smirking at me, he said, “But I bet it could feel even better.”
“You bet.”
Somewhat to my disappointment, his cock was still soft and flexible. He held it in the palm of his hand and he hefted it, almost as though he was offering it to me for my inspection. I wasn’t quite sure he meant the gesture as a signal that he was willing to play around. But the more I looked down at his big, thick cock, the harder my own fuck tool became. My cockhead quivered with pent-up need. The veins along my shaft bulged. I was ready for action—but I didn’t seem to be eliciting any visible response from his sluggish dick.
“Nothing shy about you,” he commented. “You like to show off your cock to other guys, huh?”
“Sure. Why not? And you don’t seem too damn shy about letting another guy see yours,” I retorted. “Too bad you can’t work up a boner,” I dared to taunt him.
I was risking a punch in the mouth. Instead, he leered at me.
“You think I can’t? Just try me,” he suggested. Before I could respond to this latest verbal sally, he peered at me more intently. “Hey, wait a minute. I thought you looked familiar. You’re the guy in those bank commercials, aren’t you?”
“That’s right.”
He laughed. “Those commercials are so goddamn gay.”
I bristled. “In what way?”
“You’re practically butt naked, and you’re sprayed with that sleazy gold paint, all over. It’s like an interior decorator’s beat-off fantasy come to life.”
“Fuck you.”
He said nothing. For several long seconds, we stood there, staring at each other and at each other’s cocks. I was the first to break our eye contact. Feeling uncomfortable, I struggled to stuff my stiff cock back inside my briefs. While I zipped up my pants, the other guy also quickly adjusted his underwear and his khakis.
But then he caught me completely off guard. Moving away from the urinal and passing behind me, he leaned over and whispered directly into my ear, “If you really like to fuck, I’ll be back there.” He made a jabbing gesture in the air with his thumb.
I watched him swagger toward the toilet stalls. He chose the last one in the row, the one which was the farthest away from the men’s room entry. He didn’t deign to look back at me. He went into the stall, and its door swung shut.
I experienced a moment of indecision.
I wanted his fat cock. I could almost taste that oversized dickhead filling my mouth. I could feel it sliding up my asshole. But there was something sordid about screwing around in a men’s room.
My common sense told me to leave and get back to my studying. But my stiff dick, which was trying to push its way out of my confining briefs, was sending me a quite different message.
And suddenly, I remembered some lines from one of Housman’s poems, which I had just been studying:
Others, I am not the first, have willed more mischief than they durst … and through their reins in ice and fire fear contended with desire.
At first I’d been puzzled by the word “reins,” thinking it must be a misprint for “veins.” But then I’d discovered that it meant the loins, w
hich had once been thought to be the place in the body where inward impulses, affections, and passions originated.
I didn’t want to be afraid to take risks to get what I wanted. I didn’t want to have regrets about what I might have enjoyed, had I only had the daring to pursue it.
I headed toward the last stall, glancing down at the spaces between the bottoms of the stall doors and the floor to make sure that the other stalls were unoccupied.
The door to his stall was unlatched, and slightly ajar. I pushed it open. I did a double take, and my cock pulsed inside my trousers in response to what I saw. Stepping inside the stall, I pushed the door shut with my butt, and I fumbled behind me for the latch, which I secured.
The guy I’d been flirting with was sitting on the toilet, with his pants and undershorts pushed down around his ankles. He’d stripped off his T-shirt and had draped it over the toilet paper dispenser. His nicely muscled chest was covered with sandy blond hair, and his nipples were enticing twin cones. His thick cock protruded from his groin, swollen into full, beckoning erection.
There was barely room enough in the small space for one guy, let alone two large ones. We were jammed in there together, closely, intimately.
“Come here,” he whispered. “I want your cock.”
Before I could react to the invitation, he took charge. He pulled me toward him and he unfastened my pants, shoving them, along with my underwear, down to my knees. He grabbed my bare buttocks and held onto them as he leaned forward and brought his mouth to my cock. Without the least hint of hesitation or difficulty, he swallowed me whole. I gasped. I was suddenly the lucky recipient of an exceptionally hot, skilled blow job. This butch, brawny cocksucker knew exactly how to stimulate my manhood with his lips and tongue. My foreskin got such a workout that I wondered if I’d end up with a circumcised glans before he was done with me. It didn’t take long for him to tease me dangerously close to an eruption.
He must have tasted my freely flowing pre-cum, because just as I thought it was about to climax, he stopped sucking and pulled his mouth away from my dick. He stood up and caught me in his arms in a rough embrace which I couldn’t break—not that I wanted to free myself from it. Our lips met, and I discovered that he kissed the same way he sucked cock—full force, with nothing held back. His tongue explored the inside of my mouth and probed toward my throat. Down there between our bodies, our overexcited cocks rubbed together. Once again, he brought me very near to ejaculation.
My fellow student seemed to sense how hot I was for him, and he pulled away from me.
“I want to fuck you,” he said.
“I only do that with a rubber.”
“No problem.” He reached down for his khakis and he pulled out a small plastic zip bag. In it was a condom packet, and a small tube of lubricant.
I had to laugh. “Are you always this well prepared?”
“Hell, yes. You never know where or when you might meet somebody.” He tore open the packet and rolled the condom down over his cock. “Bend over and put your hands on there,” he instructed me, briskly, indicating the toilet tank.
Quickly, I got into the position he wanted, and I spread my legs. “This is kind of dirty and disgusting,” I suggested.
“Yeah, isn’t it?” he agreed, with an audible relish. “That only makes the sex hotter, of you ask me.”
I supposed I’d soon find out whether he was right. “Go easy at first,” I told him. “You’ve got a big dick, and I’ve got a tight hole. I’m not boasting, you understand. That’s just what other guys have told me.”
“Don’t worry. This ought to help.” He applied some of the lubricant to his latex-encased erection, and then he smeared a second blob of it over the crack of my ass. He inserted a finger deep inside me and worked it around for some time. Then he pushed a second finger through my pucker, and diddled me with both of them. It felt good. Really good!
“Hurry up,” I urged. “I’m ready.”
Withdrawing his fingers from my ass, he moved up behind me and spread my butt cheeks. I felt his cockhead press against my hole. Slowly, he penetrated my sphincter and eased his way up my ass. He was thick, all right, and I winced. Even though he was gentle with me, I still felt as though I was having a beer can shoved up my ass.
When his cock was inserted in me as far as it could reach, and his bristly pubic hair brushed against my butt crack, he leaned over and kissed the back of my neck. He played with my nipples until they were painfully hard and responsive. Gradually, my anus relaxed its instinctive defenses, and it welcomed the massive intruder. Now I was all his—his to use. I was his bitch!
“Fuck me,” I invited him.
He got to work. He was a really good fuck, one of the best I’d had in a long time. He slid his cock back and forth within me in slow, deliberate strokes, almost pulling out all the way but then driving back in. My sphincter flexed hotly around the bulk of his shaft, and my prostate tingled in response to every direct hit it received from his glans. While our bodies remained locked together like that, he played with my tits and massaged my pecs, or he’d reach lower to roll my balls in his hand or pump on my prick, working my foreskin back and forth over my own cockhead. What really drove me wild, though, was when he grabbed my hips and moved my pelvis to match the thrusts which his cock made deep into me. He manipulated my big, heavy, muscular body as easily as though I was a puppet.
“Damn, you’re so masculine to look at,” he commented, at one point during our sex. “With all those muscles! It’s hard to believe you’re such a man snatch, once you’ve got a dick in you.”
Far from being offended, I took his remark as a compliment.
“I am a man snatch,” I assured him. “Go ahead and fuck me the same way you’d fuck a pussy … a cunt. Pretend my asshole is a nice, tight, juicy cunt!”
“You bitch, You slut!” he insulted me.
His verbal abuse only inflamed me the more.
“Fuck me!” I demanded, like a shameless whore. “Oh, fuck me hard and hot!” I didn’t bother to keep my voice down. I didn’t care who might come into the men’s room and hear me.
I lost track of time. I had no idea how long we’d been at it. We were both panting for breath and moaning loudly. But not so loudly, though, that we didn’t hear a voice coming from outside the stall.
“Campus cop coming this way,” the stranger warned us.
“Goddamn,” I groaned.
The campus security officers patrolled the campus, and they’d been known to roust students whom they caught having sex in the johns. Sometimes the offenders would be let off with a warning, but at other times they’d be written up and forced to report to the administration for possible disciplinary action.
My fucker and I disengaged ourselves. Pulling out of my ass, he peeled off the condom, dropped it into the toilet bowl, and flushed it away. Quickly, we both zipped up.
On our way out of the men’s room, we nodded our thanks to our benefactor, a cute young student who seemed amused by the whole thing. He went over to a urinal to take a piss. We went through the door just as the uniformed security officer strode in. He glanced at us, suspiciously—and for good reason, because our faces were red, our clothes were awry, and our cocks were still hard and visibly so stuffed down our pants. Slipping past the guard, we made good our escape.
“Talk about bad timing,” I complained.
“You said it. I’m going to go crazy unless we finish our business.”
“My place is near here.”
“It had better be. I’m about ready to burst.”
As we walked rapidly toward my apartment, I learned that my pickup’s name was Istvan.
We were so hot for each other that, the moment we got inside my apartment and I closed the door behind us, we began to make out. I didn’t even bother to turn on a light as I guided Istvan to my bed. We stripped, lay down together, and embraced, roughly, like two wrestlers fighting for dominance. He kissed me on the mouth, slipping me his tongue, and I seized his coc
k.
“I want you to finish fucking me,” I told him.
“Oh, I’m going to do just that,” he vowed. “But first I want to do a few other things with that incredible body of yours.”
The first item on his agenda was sixty-nine. We went down on each other, and my lips slid hungrily up and down around his long, thick shaft. I could tell I was giving him some pretty head by the way he reciprocated. He breathed noisily through his nostrils while he serviced my rod with the same enthusiasm I was displaying on his.
Being naked in bed with him was much better than fooling around in the toilet stall had been.
Next, he drew away from me. “Squat over me,” he gasped. “Sit on my face. Let me suck your ass.”
When I complied, he pulled my ass cheeks apart, buried his face between them, and began to swab out my asshole with his tongue. He licked it eagerly, and my hole loosened up in response. Every time he pushed his extended, stiffened tongue deep inside me and worked it around, I let out a stifled yelp of delight. He was so good at rimming that I was tempted to make myself ejaculate while his tongue was still cleaning me out like that.
I grabbed my cock and started to jerk myself. My hand was still very sticky with my pre-cum. My cockhead was hotly stimulated by the way my foreskin moved over it, especially over the ridge. To my frustration, Istvan cupped my buttocks in his palms and pushed me up, breaking that tantalizing contact between his tongue and my hole. He observed my masturbation for a moment, but then he interrupted it.
He slapped me hard on my butt and he said, “Cut that out. Save your cum for later.”
“All right. But I can’t hold out forever. Come on,” I begged. “Get your cock in there, where your tongue was a minute ago. I’m really hot to get fucked some more. I’ve got rubbers and lube right here.”
I rolled a condom down over Istvan’s rigid shaft, and he smeared my bunghole with some of the lubricant. After giving him a quick kiss, I asked him, “How do you want me? Which position?”
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