Date: 2018-11-23 05:00:00+00:00

Urban Delights

A Sensual Sojourn in America
by

Emeric Varady

Translated from the Hungarian
by

Sandor Vass

Copyright © 2018 Emeric Varady

This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination, or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales, or to persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

All rights reserved. Except for the use of brief excerpts in any review, the reproduction or utilization of this work in whole or in part, in any form by any electronic, mechanical, or other means, now known or hereafter invented, is forbidden without the written permission of the publisher.

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Published by: Emeric Varady

Cover design by: SelfPubBookCovers/ BeeJavier

Table of Contents

Chapter One: In Which I Receive an Offer I Can’t Refuse

Chapter Two: Hungarians Abroad! Sandor and I Travel to Florida

Chapter Three: My American Porn Debut

Chapter Four: We Could Get Used to This!

Chapter Five: Rented by the Hour

Chapter Six: The Porn Star’s Protégé

Chapter Seven: On the Down Low

Chapter Eight: The Rousing Conclusion to My First American Porn Stint

Chapter Nine: Wrapping it Up

Also by Emeric Varady

Chapter One: In Which I Receive an Offer I Can’t Refuse

This is the story of how I visited the United States, for the first time. I’ve gone back there, several times, and I’ve always enjoyed myself. But this first trip was special. One reason why it stood out was because I didn’t plan it, myself, in advance. It just was sort of sprung on me, out of the blue.

Maybe if I hadn’t been so damn chilled that night, I might not have succumbed to temptation. Who knows?

It was a cold, rainy autumn evening in Budapest. I was holed up, snug and warm, in my apartment. I’d gone to the gym earlier that day, and I’d put in a long, hard workout. I’d come home, where I’d divested myself of my bulky outdoor gear, including my wet, snowy boots. Now, with my muscles aching, safely installed at home, I had no desire to leave my apartment’s comfort. No desire to go out on the town, cruise the city’s gay clubs and bars, and try to find somebody with whom to hook up. I wasn’t even tempted to call one of my fuck buddies and invite him to come to my place, for some hot sex. No, I was actually looking forward to spending a quiet night alone, listening to music, reading a book. And going to bed, in due course, also alone. I could already picture myself snuggled nude under the covers, drifting off to sleep, clasped in the arms of Morpheus. Morpheus may not be an ideal sex partner, but he’s the perfect bedmate, otherwise.

With the rain, which was now mixed with sleet, rattling loudly against the windowpanes, I congratulated myself on my decision to stay holed up comfortably at home.

Then my cell phone rang. Picking it up, I didn’t recognize the caller’s number.

“Jó estét, kinek van?” [“Good evening, who’s there?”] I asked.

“I’m trying to get hold of Emeric Varady,” a man’s voice said, in English.

“This is he,” I replied, in the same language. “Who’s calling?”

“This is Brash Baja.”

Now, for the benefit of those of my readers who aren’t aficionados of gay porn, I had better explain right away who Brash Baja was. That wasn’t his real name, of course. But it was the one by which he was well known, far and wide.

Brash was part Mexican, which added a touch of exoticism to his good looks, and explained why he’d chosen “Baja” as his porn surname—from Baja California, the peninsula where he came from. As for “Brash”—that suited his personality. He was a bold, outgoing type, and there wasn’t anything he wouldn’t do, sexually speaking, either on camera or behind the scenes in his personal life.

He was a true porn star, internationally famous. He’d been in the business for two decades, starting out as a pretty young twink, just of legal age, and then developing gradually, in the course of one sexually explicit video after another, into a pumped-up, muscular young hunk. Then Brash made an equally smooth and barely perceptible transition, to a mature, hard-bodied, macho stud. Now, he was in his forties, and still gorgeous. He had begun to specialize in “hot daddy” roles, typically portraying the older man who seduces a younger guy. Brash had, recently, made a whole series of videos in which he impersonated oversexed stepfathers who seduced their stepsons, uncles who molested their nephews, and fathers—naughty fathers who had carnal relations with their gay sons’ schoolmates and boyfriends. Or, shockingly, with their very own sons! All this, of course, was just playacting—a fact betrayed by the way the young actors portraying the “nephews” or “sons” often bore no resemblance to Brash. Of course, the viewer could always assume they were adopted—if the consumer of the porn interrupted his frenzied masturbation long enough to concern himself with such fine points.

But I digress.

“Ah—when you say ‘Brash Baja’—do you mean the Brash Baja, the porn star?” I asked, all skepticism.

“Well, I don’t know about the ‘star’ part of it,” the caller said, modestly. “But my name is Brash Baja, and I have done quite a lot of porn. So have you, haven’t you?”

“Yes.” I was suddenly cautious, afraid to say too much. I was sure that one of my friends was on the other end of the line, playing a prank on me. I reviewed the possible suspects in my mind, one by one. It wasn’t my buddy Sandor Vass—I knew his voice. I was having trouble coming up with other candidates who could not only speak English fluently, but who could fake an American accent so convincingly. The guy claiming to be the American porn star had a hint of a lazy Southern US drawl.

“Ah, tell me, Mr. Baja—where are you calling from?” I asked.

“The United States, of course. Florida, to be exact. I live here, now.”

“What time is it there?” I glanced at my wristwatch. It was a few minutes before 9:00 PM.

“Well, I checked, so I know it’s nine in the evening there where you are, in Hungary. I didn’t want to try to get hold of you too late at night. Here, it’s three in the afternoon.”

I’d hoped he’d hesitate, betraying the fact that he wasn’t calling from Florida, but from right there in Hungary. But 3:00 PM, on the eastern seaboard of the United States, sounded about right. “What’s the weather like there?” I inquired, by way of a further test.

“Hot and dry, of course. Not as humid as it can be here, sometimes. Eighty-five degrees was the high today, so far! I’ve just come back home from the beach. I had a great time, swimming and sunbathing. Anyway, the reason I’m calling is—I’m branching out. Starting to get into producing and directing, as well as performing, like a lot of guys in the industry, you know? It’s a good way of extending your shelf life, after you get to a certain age. Not that you have to worry about that, just yet.”

“Well, I’m still young, but I know that nobody can work in porn—in front of the camera—indefinitely,” I said, to keep the conversation going. “Unless he wants to make the transition to hot daddy status, eventually.”

“Yeah, I’m afraid it’s only a matter of time before specializing in those parts will be the smart career move for me, if it hasn’t happened already.” Brash agreed. “The studios are already pairing me with guys who are young enough to be my sons—if I fucked women, and if I had sons! There’s even a niche market for old geezer porn—not I want to move on to that! Listen, Emeric—may I call you Emeric?”

“Of course you may.”

“And you, call me Brash. I want us to be friends. I’ve seen a lot of your videos. Hot stuff, man! You’ve never done any porn shoots here in the States, have you?”

“No. Only here in Europe.”

“Then I want you to come here and work for me. I want to be the one who sponsors your American debut. I’ve already made two videos for the company we’ve just started, me and a few investors. We’ve started out small, sure, testing the waters, but our first two ventures are selling well, making a profit. We want you to star in the third one. We’ll fly you here, you can stay with two of the investors—they’re a couple, two married guys, and they have a really nice house. You’ll be in every scene of the video, you’ll get top billing, and it’ll be advertised as a vehicle for you. We’ll pay you the going rate—and all of your expenses, while you’re here in Florida. We can work out all those details later. My people will talk to your people, like they say, and finalize things. You’re a professional. So am I. I’m sure we can do business together, and make it mutually profitable. All I want from you right now, buddy, is a ‘handshake,’ so to speak, over the phone. Tell me you’re interested, tell me you’ll do it. Everything else—that, we can work out later. Come on, stud, what do you say?”

“Are you really Brash Baja?” I asked.

“Huh? Sure. Who do you think I am?”

“One of my buddies here in Budapest, playing a joke on me.”

“Oh, your friends must be a barrel of laughs, and have a lot of free time on their hands. I’m for real. How can I prove it to you?”

“Get on your computer, and I’ll get on mine. Let’s webcam, and see each other’s faces, while we talk.”

“No problem.”

Soon, we’d put our phones aside, and we were conversing while viewing each other “live” on our laptops’ screens. Brash was seated at a desk, with a bookcase visible behind him. The shelves were filled not only with books, but with potted houseplants, a profusion of lush indoor greenery. Brash’s powerfully muscled torso was encased in a tight-fitting yellow T-shirt, which displayed his big rounded shoulders, his massive chest, and his bulging arm muscles. His naturally somewhat dark complexion was enhanced by a tan, which the bright yellow of his shirt emphasized. He wore an expensive-looking wristwatch on his left wrist, and a bracelet made up of heavy gold links on his right wrist. His hair was tousled. There was no mistaking that handsome, somewhat arrogant, face of his—all bright eyes and pouty lips. It was him, all right! In the flesh! That flesh which had been showcased in countless porn videos, inspiring gay men worldwide—myself included—to jerk themselves off to orgasm while watching Brash amuse himself with other naked men!

“Satisfied, dude?” he asked me, wryly. “Or do I have to stand up and drop my pants, and show you my dick and my ass, before you recognize me?”

“Ah, I wouldn’t be averse to seeing that,” I admitted. “But even with your clothes on, I can tell it’s you. I stand corrected. Sorry I was skeptical.”

“No problem. Sometimes weirdos try to contact me, so I understand your need for caution, dude. You’re looking damn good,” he told me. “Large and in charge.”

“So are you,” I responded. I was a bit in awe, at interacting with such a famous—or rather, infamous and notorious!—porn icon.

“I’ve been hitting the weights in the gym, hard,” he said. “Got to keep the body in shape. You must know what that’s like.”

“I do.”

“Let’s do business,” Brash coaxed me. “Let’s work together. I think it’d be fun.”

“This video you’re planning—?”

“Yeah, what about it?”

“Will you be in it? As an actor?”

Brash grinned. “Yeah, I might be persuaded to appear in one sequence, partnering you. What do you think? Does that sound good? The two of us, getting it on together, sucking and fucking? My dick up your ass, or yours in mine, buddy. Or we can flip-flop and screw the hell out of each other. Whichever way you prefer.”

“That sounds great. It’s what just may sway me.”

“I’m no pretty, dumb young twink, new to the business,” Brash declared, bluntly. “I’ve racked up a few miles, along the way. I still flatter myself that I’ve got what it takes, though.”

“Oh, you definitely do,” I assured him.

We talked at some length that night. After that first conversation of ours, I did some research on the internet. Brash seemed to be on the level. His new studio, located in Florida, had indeed released two videos. Brash appeared in both productions, his name and reputation no doubt ensuring sales, but he’d surrounded himself with unknown guys, fresh-faced, hard-bodied young studs who were new to the sex industry. Brash, admirably, had made an effort to be racially and ethnically diverse, in his search for talent. The two videos featured black guys, Hispanic guys, and Asian guys. If anything, he was discriminating against blond-haired, blue-eyed twinks! Well, those pretty bitches had been mainstays of the gay porn industry for so long, that it was time for them to step aside and give other guys a chance.

Performing with a real American star such as Brash would be a coup for me, taking my porn career to a whole new high level.

I thought about it. But not for long. I conferred with my European agent. But he, too, thought that my doing a porn shoot in the States would be a good career move.

The upshot was, I agreed to work for Brash and his studio which he was starting to get going. My current contract with one of Hungary’s porn studios wasn’t exclusive—it allowed me to do as much freelancing as I cared to. My agent took care of the negotiations, and he made all the arrangements. But, inevitably, Brash and I stayed in close contact, during this period.

I began looking forward to my visit to Florida. Brash lived on the eastern coast of the peninsula, north of Miami, and his studio conducted its operations nearby. This would be work, of course, another porn gig—but everything suggested that I might be able to squeeze in some purely selfish, hedonistic pleasure during my stay.

It occurred to me that I ought to take along a traveling companion. I’d already confided in my buddy, Sandor Vass. I never kept anything from him. I told him all about my burgeoning acquaintance with Brash and this upcoming American gig.

“You’ve got a lot of vacation time banked at your job,” I reminded Sandor. “Use some of it, for God’s sake. Come on this trip to America with me.”

“I’d love to, Emeric, but—”

“What?”

“They want you, not me. I’d be an imposition. A fifth wheel.”

“Nonsense. I’ll make it clear that I’m paying your way. They’ve said I can stay with these two married rich guys, the ones who’ve invested their money in the studio, at their house. If they don’t want to accommodate you there, too—which I find hard to believe, what’s the big deal?—then I’ll put you up in a hotel. Or I can always say you’re my ‘manager,’ and I don’t go anywhere or do anything without you. So they can take us both, as a package deal, or they can leave it. We’re still negotiating, hammering out the details. I haven’t signed a contract yet.”

Rather to my surprise, the Americans were very easy to deal with—very compliant.

For example, my host couple—they’d be delighted, they assured me, to have Sandor stay with them, as well. He and I could share the guest bedroom. The studio would even pay Sandor’s air fare, round trip, well as mine. That was how eager these guys were to obtain my services! Maybe I’d underestimated just how much of an international reputation I’d racked up, as one of Hungary’s more notorious porn whores! Okay, I admit it. Somewhere along the way, Sandor became my “personal assistant,” without whose presence and support, I insisted, I couldn’t fuck. That was a laugh, but what the hell? A free trip was a free trip, and the hardworking Sandor deserved a treat.

I had several nice phone conversations with Brash’s business partners, the married couple who’d be putting Sandor and me up. Their names were Beauregard, who liked to be called just plain Bo for short, and Trent. They were a charming couple of guys, true Southern gentlemen. The video shoot would take place at their house, which would provide “sets” and backgrounds, at no expense to Brash. They seemed concerned that Sandor and I would find it comfortable.

“We’re a few miles from the beach, so we have to drive to get there,” Bo said, apologetically. “But we do have a pool. And a hot tub. And Trent is a good cook. He promises he’ll feed you guys well.”

“It all sounds great,” I assured him.

“You Hungarian guys—you like paprika in everything, don’t you?” Bo asked me, naïvely.

“Ah—not necessarily,” I said. “I’m looking forward to sampling some typical American food, actually.”

“You and your buddy Sandor aren’t the kind of muscle men who eat nothing but pasta without sauce, raw tuna, and hard-boiled eggs, are you?”

“We’re willing to set our diets aside, for one week, and indulge in more adventurous fare.”

“Oh, good. Trent will pull out some of his favorite recipes. You’ll see. Everything he makes is tasty, and filling. You boys just bring your appetites.”

That sounded promising!

With the contract finalized, everything was set.

At the risk of sounding mercenary—I wasn’t willing to put my career as an escort entirely on whole, during my absence from Budapest. I now had the porn video’s shooting schedule, dates and times. I’d be making my contributions—my sperm deposits, so to speak!—spread out over several days.

I got on my website, and I posted a note the effect that I’d be in Florida for the period in question. On the calendar on which my clients could book my services, I blocked off the times when I now knew I’d be busy shooting porn. But I left a couple of slots, which wouldn’t conflict with the video schedule, open, and I invited any interested men on the other side of the Atlantic to hire me then. I’ll be in Florida on these dates and times, I announced, with whorish abandon, ready and eager to hook up with any Florida guys who want to pay for my services. I can’t wait to connect with some of you generous American men! God, what a mercenary slut I was!

Gratifyingly, very soon both slots were claimed. I could make some money during my stay in the States—not just my fee from Brash’s new studio, but cash from two new johns.

Sandor and I prepared for our trip. We both had current passports, because we often traveled to other European countries. We debated about what clothes to pack. We knew we’d be in a hot, sunny, often humid climate.

“The important thing,” Sandor insisted, “is that we’re going to have to bring along tons of sunscreen. Because we’ll be running around practically naked, most of the time. As for clothes—we’ll be living in shorts, tank tops, T-shirts, swimsuits, and flip-flops. Don’t forget sunglasses, and baseball caps, to fend off that hot sun. Maybe we should pack a few nice outfits, in case we go out on the town. And you’ll need to look good for your johns.”

“Yeah,” I agreed. “They like to have a fancy package to unwrap.”

“Do you think we have to worry about gangsters?” Sandor asked me.

“Huh?”

Sandor’s ideas about life in the United States, like mine, were influenced by the popular American television shows which were shown, with the actors’ voices dubbed, on Hungarian television stations.

“Maybe this guy Brash is having his new porn operation financed by—you know—the mob,” Sandor suggested. He looked and sounded as though he was definitely titillated by the possibility.

“Well, if he is, that’s his business, not mine,” I responded, with a no doubt lamentable lack of conscience or morality. “But I get the impression that it’s more like some rich gay guys realizing that porn is a good investment, almost guaranteed to turn a profit.”

We also patronized a tanning salon.

When I got ready to compete in bodybuilding contests, I didn’t like to acquire a deep artificial tan. It was true that the stage lighting could be very bright and harsh, tending to wash out the details of one’s hard-earned physique. A dark tan compensated for this, and helped to bring out the contours of one’s musculature. Some American bodybuilders, especially, judging by the photos and videos I’d seen, baked themselves to a crisp! But I was concerned about the long-range effects of tanning on my skin. I didn’t want my skin to become prematurely aged. And the same effect could be achieved by the skillful application of a good-quality fake tanning product—body makeup, in short.

Still, when we arrived in Florida, Sandor and I intended to spend a lot of time outdoors, especially poolside or at the beach. We wanted to minimize our risk of sunburn by getting light base tans, before we left Budapest. We used the tanning booths just often enough to develop a subtle café au lait coloring, which wiped out the pale, pasty effect left on our bodies by a European winter.

“We’re going to fit right in, among all those sexy American guys who spend all of their free time at the beach,” I told Sandor.

“Next, you’ll be renting a surfboard,” he suggested.

“Why not?”

Chapter Two: Hungarians Abroad! Sandor and I Travel to Florida

On a cold early-winter day, with snow flurries flying through the air in Budapest, Sandor and I flew to the United States.

We were shocked when we stepped off the plane. We’d expected a tropical climate, of course. But the reality surpassed anything we’d anticipated, or prepared ourselves for. Florida was sunny, hot, humid, and sweltering. The glaring orange ball of the sun, riding high in a cloudless blue sky, beat down on us without mercy, overheating us. Almost at once, we began to perspire.

“What a contrast to the cold weather back home,” I exclaimed.

“Jesus, Emeric, look at all the hot Hispanic men!” Sandor whispered to me. He was, obviously, less interested in the climate than in the fauna. I saw what he meant, though. The airport seemed to be swarming with dark-skinned studs! Just when my eyes locked on one gorgeous number, others came into my field of vision, vying for my attention. I forced myself to stay calm, and suppress my lust—which was no mean feat, for me!

“Down, boy,” I told Sandor, wryly, adopting a prim demeanor which was in fact definitely a bit of a pose. “Put your tongue back inside your mouth.”

“This place is crawling with them!” he hissed.

“It’s Florida, what did you expect? Try not to come across as too much of a horny foreign tourist who’s on the make.”

“But I am on the make,” Sandor moaned. “Oh, I want to suck all of these sexy brown-skinned dudes. And take their dicks up my ass. I bet they’re all uncut. With thick, fleshy, juicy foreskins for days! And the bodies! Hard and hot! I want to sample them all. Puerto Ricans, Cubans, men from the Dominican Republic. Jamaicans—!”

“I doubt if there are too many Jamaicans in Florida. Don’t they all drive taxis in New York City? Maybe I’m wrong.” (I don’t know where I got that strange idea from, in the first place. Maybe from all those American police and crime dramas shown on Hungarian television. They’d given me a pretty warped view of what urban life in the United States was like.)

“I’ll bet there are Haitians here, too,” my irrepressible traveling companion insisted. “I want to get intimate with all of them. So intimate, that I can tell them apart, know which nationality they are, in the dark. Just by touch and taste and smell—!”

“Can’t take you anywhere, can I? Come on. Let’s get our bags. And then try to find a cab. Try not to come in your pants yet, will you?”

“I’ll try,” Sandor groaned. “But it’ll take an effort!”

“Should’ve left you back home,” I grumbled.

“As though you don’t find these men of color attractive,” he retorted.

“I do, but I’m here to work, not to have fun,” was my prim response.

“Ha! We’ll see about that,” Sandor predicted. Accurately enough, I eventually had to admit. He knew me too well.

I texted our hosts, Bo and Trent, to let them know we’d arrived safely and we were on our way.

“Take a cab from the airport to our place,” Bo had told me, when we’d talked on previous occasions on the phone. “We’ll reimburse you. But make sure the driver gives you a receipt. We can deduct it, as a business expense. We are so looking forward to meeting you—and your friend Sandor.”

During the long ride, in the back seat of the mercifully air-conditioned cab, we looked out the windows, agog at our first sight of an American urban landscape. I found it fascinating. We passed through some neighborhoods which were no doubt commercialized and tawdry, but even they seemed exotic to me.

“Are we going to be expected to put out for these two queens who are putting us up in their home?” Sandor asked me.

“Probably,” I replied, with a casualness which my buddy no doubt found shocking. “But remember, I’m the whore, not you. If I can, I’ll service them both myself, and you’ll be off the hook.”

“Could you be any more amoral?” my exasperated friend asked.

I shrugged. “Not much. Oh, look!” I said, excitedly. “Palm trees! Growing on either side of the street, just like the trees in Budapest!”

“Not quite like in Budapest. Those trees are deciduous, and they lose their leaves in the fall. This really is nothing like back home,” Sandor said.

We arrived at our hosts’ house. It was located in a gated community. The house was something to see. Set in the center of quite a large expanse of beautifully landscaped land, it was a rambling one-story structure. The exterior walls, pierced by vast expanses of floor-to-ceiling windows, were faced with concrete blocks, which featured, molded in high relief, motifs inspired by the Aztec ruins in Mexico and Central America. Each of the panels seemed to be different—I saw no repetition. One, in particular, caught my eye. It depicted the Aztec bloodletting ritual, in which a cord pierced with thorns was drawn through the tongue of the worshipper. It seemed like a bizarre kind of a decoration for a private home, but I had to admit it was visually striking.

I paid the cab driver and dismissed him, making sure I got that all-important receipt.

“Holy fuck,” Sandor blasphemed. “What a spread!”

“Somebody’s obviously got money,” I said. “Maybe I’ve sold my services too cheaply.”

“Too late to renegotiate your contract, at this stage.”

“Yeah, I’m afraid so. But what the hell? Look at this place. It’s a goddamn palace. We should be comfortable here. Think of the possible alternative. One of those sleazy, rundown, fleabag motels we passed on the way here.”

“Ugh, don’t even say that!”

Our hosts, Trent and Bo, had seen the cab pull up. Emerging from the front door of the house, they greeted us, effusively. They wanted to hug and kiss us, which was fine with me and Sandor. I was easy, and so was my buddy.

Both men were in their late fifties, by my guess, but they were well-preserved, with fit bodies, lean and hard. They’d probably had some work done to their faces, as the saying goes. But they could presumably afford the cosmetic surgery, and they hadn’t gone overboard—the tightening of their skin was subtle, not unnatural. They scored points with me because they didn’t dye their hair. Bo had a luxuriant silver mane, worn somewhat long. Trent’s locks, just as thick, were curly, cut shorter, and they were a salt-and-pepper mix in hue.

“Forgive me for staring,” Bo said. “But, God, you two are a couple of beautiful men! That’s no surprise when it comes to you, Emeric, of course. We’ve seen your photos, your videos. But you, Sandor—you’re absolutely gorgeous, too. Why don’t you do porn, too?”

“I’m too shy,” my friend said, laughing. “Too modest. Too insecure. I leave that to Emeric. He’s bold enough for both of us. As you gentlemen will no doubt soon find out.”

“Who, me?” I protested, facetiously. “Why, I’m known for my sweetness and innocence!”

“Yeah—known worldwide,” Sandor retorted. “But not for that!”

“Where’s Brash?” I inquired, in order to change the subject.

“He’ll be here later. We expect him to join us for dinner,” Bo said. “And then, of course, he’ll want to talk shop. So we’d better amuse ourselves in the meantime, while we have the chance.”

We were still standing in the entranceway of the house, chatting, getting acquainted, when a young Hispanic man appeared. He was stunningly handsome—a Floridian Adonis!

“Oh, this is Ramon,” Trent said. “He’ll carry your bags, and show you to your room. He’ll get you settled, make sure you have everything you need. Then—before you rejoin us—why don’t you get out of those clothes?” he suggested.

“Are we going to start filming already?” I joked.

“No, we just want to see you guys naked,” Bo admitted, without shame. I decided I liked this guy! “Seriously, though—we thought it’d be nice to have drinks by the pool. And you might like to swim, or just soak in the water, after that long plane ride.”

“We certainly would,” I said, and Sandor was quick to agree.

“Your room is this way, gentlemen,” Ramon purred. He had a blend of subservience and sexiness about him which I found intriguing.

“Lead on,” I told him.

We got our first glimpse of the interior of the house. The Mesoamerican motifs continued inside the structure, as well. On our way, we passed through the large living room. It had a huge fireplace, which I doubted got much use in this warm climate. The oversized hearth and mantelpiece were adorned with more Aztec and Mayan carved designs. The bronze andirons were in the form of fierce-looking mythological creatures, with glass eyes, through which the fire’s flames could presumably direct their light.

The guest room was in fact a suite. There was a bedroom, quite large, but adjacent to it was not only a bathroom, but a sort of sitting room. Everything was elegantly decorated and appointed. There was an orchid with purple blooms, growing in a handmade terracotta pot, displayed on an end table. Huge sliding glass doors, floor to ceiling, opened onto a terrace.

“Shall I unpack for you, gentlemen?” Ramon asked. There was still a bland subservience to his manner, but underneath it I was sure I detected a smoldering sensuality. This boy could be had! And probably without exerting too much effort!

“Ah—yeah, go ahead. Why not? Knock yourself out. Please,” Sandor blurted out, looking and sounding pretty damn gauche, which made me suppress my laughter at his expense.

I slid open one of the glass doors, and Sandor and I stepped out onto the terrace.

On the far side of a wide expanse of immaculately mown green lawn, dense plantings of trees, tall grasses, and shrubs formed a sort of natural barricade, separating this property from the one next door, and providing privacy. Sprinklers rotated, throwing out cascades of water to water the grass.

“Shit,” I exclaimed. “Look at all this! If this was a motel or hotel room, it’d cost us a fortune!”

“Yes, it’s very nice,” Sandor agreed. “It doesn’t look as though we were misled. Far from it. So far, we seem to be receiving the VIP treatment. Or, at least you are. I’m just hanging onto your coattails, along for the ride, Mr. Bigshot Porn Star.”

“Well, hang onto them tight, my good man,” I said, mock haughtily. “Don’t fall off! Stay on for the whole ride. We’ll see where it takes us.” I glanced back into the bedroom. There, Ramon was busying himself, taking our things out of our bags and stowing them away in chests of drawers, and in the bathroom. The lad seemed efficient enough. “Well, you were all hot and bothered, over those Hispanic studs we saw before,” I whispered to my companion. “Looks like you may not have to go too far afield to satisfy your lust, if you play your cards right.”

“Isn’t he cute?” Sandor also took care to keep his voice down. “They actually have a houseboy, for Christ’s sake! It’s like something out of an old black-and-white movie, from the Thirties.”

“No, if it were a movie, then the houseboy would be Japanese, or Chinese—or black,” I suggested.

“Well, I’m perfectly happy with what we’ve got.”

“So I see.”

“Are we supposed to tip him, do you think?”

“Um, not now, I should think. When we’re ready to leave. Then it might be appropriate. Depending on just what kind of ‘service’ we receive, between now and then.”

Sandor and I stepped back inside the room, closing the glass door behind us.

“I’ve laid out your swimming trunks, here on the bed, gentlemen,” Ramon purred. There was once again that subtly exaggerated subservience about his voice and manner which I found highly provocative. The hot young slut wasn’t fooling me! “You won’t need towels, or suntan oil. There’s always a good supply of those things, out there by the pool.”

“Thanks, Ramon,” I said.

“Want me to help you guys undress?” he asked.

The question startled me. Sandor, needless to say, was all for it! But I overruled him.

“We can manage,” I said, coolly. “Thanks, anyway.”

Sandor, however, wasn’t quite so ready to see Ramon go.

“Oh, don’t rush off, just yet, Ramon,” my buddy said, in his most ingratiating, seductive manner. “Tell us a little something about yourself.”

“Not much to tell,” the lad, who was all cheerfulness, said, brightly. He was giving Sandor the eye, checking him out, cruising him, as shamelessly Sandor was ogling him. What a pair of man whores! I felt positively chaste by comparison, which was unusual for me. “I live here,” Ramon said. “And you must be one of the two Hungarian guys, right? Which one are you? Varady, or Vass?”

“I’m Varady. Emeric Varady,” I volunteered. “And this is my good friend, Sandor Vass.” He’s the one whose tongue is hanging out, at the sight of you, my boy, I was tempted to say.

“Right. Well, I’m sort of the houseboy, here. Like I said, I live here, and I make myself useful, in exchange for my room and board. I run errands. Do the grocery shopping. Keep the house clean and tidy. I even do some of the cooking, although Bo and Trent are both really good cooks, themselves, as you’ll no doubt soon find out, so most of the time they chase me out of the kitchen, because I just get in their way. And, of course, like any good houseboy, I take care of their sexual needs, when they’re not making love to each other, or entertaining some guy they’ve picked up.” Ramon made this unblushing, candid declaration with a bland nonchalance which I found just a bit disconcerting. “So what I guess what I’m saying, dude,” the boy continued. “Is, if you and your buddy need anything—and I do mean anything at all—then all you have to do is ask me, and I’ll go out of my way to try to provide it. That includes sex,” he added, with an impish grin. “Just in case I didn’t make that clear!”

“Ah, I’d say you’ve made yourself perfectly clear,” I said. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

“Please do. You’re one hell of a couple of hot-looking studs.”

“Thanks.”

“I like European men. You aren’t the first guys from the other side of the Atlantic who have stayed here, with Trent and Bo. You guys from overseas always seem to be so uninhibited. So wild in bed.”

“Well, I’ve heard much the same about you American men,” I said. “And, based on the American guys I’ve met in Budapest—! You aren’t exactly sexually repressed, here on this side of the Atlantic.”

Ramon laughed. “No, we sure as hell aren’t! Well—if that’ll be all—all you need, right now—?” he asked, hopefully. It was obvious that he hoped we’d avail ourselves of his services. No doubt by throwing him down onto the immaculately made bed and having our way with him, right then and there.

“Yeah, we’re fine,” I told him, dismissively.

Reluctantly, I was sure, Ramon left.

“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 sour 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.

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 in 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.

We were both perspiring profusely. Delivering a blow job like that was hard work—and being on the receiving end of it was physically taxing, as well! But this was no time for me to slack off. If anything, I stepped up my oral efforts. My mouth pumped up and down on Brash’s prick. My lips massaged it. My tongue swabbed and tickled it. I soaked his turgid penis flesh in my saliva, some of which escaped from between my lips and dripped down my chin and dribbled onto his balls—which looked great in the finished video.

I could tell my exertions weren’t in vain. Brash was getting close to coming, rapidly approaching that point of no return. I knew what he was going through. I knew the feeling only too well. It was like being balanced precariously, teetering, on the edge of a knife blade. On the one side, there was the increasingly overwhelming pleasure of constant, uninterrupted stimulation—which, however, was growing so intense that it had become more agonizing than pleasurable. On the other side, there was the promise of blissful release, that unique delight which only orgasm could provide.

Then Brash fell over that edge. His legs pressed in tighter against me, his thighs clamping down on either side of my face and almost smothering me. Abruptly, breathlessly, he began to pant and whimper—not loudly, but in a stifled way which made him sound, incongruously, like a frightened small animal. Every muscle in his body seemed to tense and vibrate.

“I’m there! I’m going to come!” the sexy Mexican-American stud warned me, in that same muffled tone of voice, as though his throat had swelled along with his cock and he was choking, fighting for breath. “Coming!” he repeated, hoarsely. “I can’t hold it back—!”

I knew what to do, what was expected of me. Oh, how I wanted to take his load in my mouth, to feel the full force of his ejaculation shooting into my mouth and down my throat, filling me and glutting me with his sperm! But I knew that we had to give the camera a come shot. When I felt Brash’s overtaxed prick pulsate more strongly than usual between my lips, in that telltale way which meant his ejaculation was now inevitably, I forced myself to release him from my possessive oral grip. Wrenching my head back, I freed his dick—which, as it swayed and bobbed in front of my face, looked so red and swollen that I thought it was going to explode—literally!

His piss slit gaped open wide, and then it spat out a thick white stream of semen, which smacked right onto my face. I kept my eyes and my mouth wide open. I got some jism in my eyes, which stung then, but I forced myself not to blink. I continued to stare lustfully at Brash’s prick as it unloaded, giving me a wet, slimy facial. I stuck out my tongue, and his next few jets landed right on my tongue, deliciously salty. He fired his last wads directly into my whorishly opened mouth, feeding me his cum.

When I saw that he had stopped coming, I lunged forward and I took his cock in my mouth again, sucking on it just as hungrily as I had before, making sure I milked every last drop of rich potent seed from it. Then, once again in order to provide maximum visual interest, I pulled my mouth off the cock, only to rub my face against it, sniff it, and lick it clean with my tongue. Cock whore! Yeah, I was behaving like a total cock whore, an abject phallic worshipper!

As planned, we went right on going.

“Fuck me,” Brash urged me, quickly repositioning himself, kneeling on the bed on his hands and knees, with his ass enticingly thrust backward and up, in blatant invitation. “Get your cock in there!”

I was more than ready. I hadn’t come. I hadn’t even needed to masturbate, while I was blowing him—my cock had stayed rock-hard, without any direct stimulation.

I didn’t even bother to wipe Brash’s cum off my face. I could feel its wetness on my skin, running down, dripping off me. I guessed, correctly, that it looked hot, adding a touch of nastiness to the scene. I grabbed the lube from the bedside table and I slicked up my cock and Brash’s ass. Then, kneeling behind him, I let him have it!

After inserting my cockhead between his buttocks and guiding it through his sphincter, again I paused for a few beats, just to jack up that all-important visual element. But then I lunged forward and I drove my dick all the way up my costar’s tight, warm, clenching ass. Oh, what an anus that guy possessed! It felt like a strong greased fist, grasping and stroking my cock! Brash’s obviously experienced and well-trained anal muscles squeezed my prick and massaged it like no other ass I’d never fucked!

I probably wouldn’t have had to hump him at all. I could have stayed immobile, and let that incredible talented rectum of his work on me and, eventually, inevitably, bring me off. But that would’ve looked strange, so after catching my breath, I did begin to fuck him, slowly at first, pacing myself, but gradually, almost imperceptibly, picking up speed. His body tensed and quivered under him. His glutes flexed, on either side of my penetrating shaft. His anal tunnel seemed to shrink around me, molding itself to my manhood. Those internal muscles continued to do their magic on my cock. What an ass!

“What an ass!” I exclaimed, aloud.

“Glad you like it,” Brash responded. “Make good use of it. Fuck it. Come on, stud, don’t spare me, don’t hold back! Fuck that ass! Pound that hot, dirty hole!”

“Micsoda végbélnyílás! Micsoda lyuk!” I cried. In my excitement, I’d reverted, momentarily, to my native tongue. Quickly, I corrected myself, supplying an English translation. “What an ass! What a hole!”

“Easy for you to say,” Brash quipped. Even in the heat of passion, he hadn’t lost his sense of humor. “You just go on fucking me, dude, Hungarian style! Show my hot horny American ass how you Budapest boys like to fuck!”

With Jerry capturing every nuance of our anal intercourse on his videocam, we proceeded to do precisely that!

Chapter Four: We Could Get Used to This!

Sandor and I were really enjoying our stay. We were receiving VIP treatment.

“If this is what being ‘kept’ is like, then I’m all for it,” Sandor remarked. “Where do I sign up?”

“Men have offered to keep me,” I bragged. “But I’m too damn independent to be a stud in a gilded cage.”

Sandor laughed. “Speak for yourself!”

Our hosts couldn’t have been more considerate. They spoiled us. Bo and Trent were the epitome of gracious hosts. They made sure we had everything we needed or wanted, and they went out of their way to keep us amused and entertained. But they had the knack of knowing when their guests wanted to be left alone for a little while, to just chill, without intervention.

We were served three excellent meals each day—plus snacks. When it came to the snacks, Sandor developed a taste for an American specialty—namely, massive triple cheeseburgers, consisting of three fat juicy beef patties stuffed between the halves of a bun, with lettuce, tomato, onion, pickles, slices of cheese, strips of bacon, and sauce, accompanied by onion rings on the side. Shit, sometimes, for good measure, Sandor had his tall, stacked cheeseburger topped off with a fried egg, just to provide a bit of additional flavor and decadence!

But I was no better. I lusted for “hoagies,” extravagant high-calorie meat sandwiches on split loaves of French bread, with “everything,” piled on them, as the Americans put it, and also with crispy French fries and meaty, hotly flavored chili served on the side. Big baked potatoes loaded with sour cream and chives were also offered to us as side dishes—a temptation which should never have been placed in the way of two hungry men. Shamelessly, we stuffed our faces with all of this delicious, filling junk food at every opportunity which came our way during our stay.

All this, washed down with limitless quantities of free booze—! Jesus, this was gay heaven!

Let’s not even talk about Florida’s deep dish, loaded pizza, with one’s choice of toppings, which could be ordered and delivered anywhere via a few pushes of buttons on a cell phone. Or its ice cream, gelato, and sherbet, all of which were so delectable on a hot day! To say nothing of the frigging cannoli and other pastries! What the fuck? Americans seemed to have dietary excess available and accessible to them, at a moment’s notice, at their fingertips!

God, what culinary torture!

I warned Sandor that, if we kept this self-indulgence up, we’d be hopelessly out of shape and flabby by the time we returned to Hungary. But, sure enough, Trent and Bo had one room of their sprawling house set up as a home gym. It was quite well equipped, with machines and free weights, so Sandor and I spent some time there, working out, every day. The other porn performers also used it to pump up, keeping their muscles hard and defined before they went in front of the camera.

The house was so luxurious, such a self-contained, self-sufficient refuge, that there was almost no need ever to leave it.

We did make day trips, though, to the nearby public beach, which was a real treat for us residents of a landlocked European country. Sandor and I loved swimming in the sea, and relaxing on the sand. Admiring the other virtually nude male bodies on display on the beach was a pleasant diversion, too. We began to get so brown from exposure to the sun that we could almost pass as Hispanic, ourselves!

At night, our hosts took us on “road trips,” to a few of the local gay bars and clubs. If I may be so immodest, I must say that Sandor and I were big hits, there. We were fresh, unfamiliar faces and bodies, after all. The fact that we were foreigners only seemed to increase the local boys’ prurient interest in us. We both were bombarded with blatant propositions. I was hobbled by the fact that I needed to conserve my sexual energy, store up my cum, in anticipation of shooting the next scene in our porn video.

But Sandor was under no such constraints. My man whore of a buddy cut quite a swath through the area’s gay population. To put it bluntly, Sandor fucked those Floridians like a mink! There seemed to be no end to his whorishness!

And, worse, far from trying to discourage him, Trent and Bo actually encouraged Sandor’s excesses! They told him to feel free to bring his pickups back to the house, where he could fuck them in comfort. On the living room floor. Out on the terrace, beside the pool. Under the stars. In the pool, for God’s sake, risking drowning while they screwed! While I, aware of the need to conserve my sperm, tossed and turned on the guest room’s bed alone, frustrated!

Of course, our hosts may not have been completely altruistic. With Brash and the other porn performers staying in the house, plus the various strays brought home, Bo and Trent had plenty of opportunities to observe other men having sex, and to participate in the fun themselves.

I was in the habit of whoring around, for cold hard cash. I was scarcely in a position to chastise Sandor, for giving himself to all these American men for free!

[Translator’s note: Thank you, Emeric, for that unsolicited testimonial. But may I be so bold as to remind you that you were the one, who said we should take advantage of every opportunity which came our way, to have fun, during our visit to the United States?]

[Author’s note: That’s true. But, based on our experiences in Florida, the United States would appear to be generously supplied with its own, native cum dumps. There’s no need to import them from Europe!]

Still, though, I felt obligated to make a token protest. After all, I was the one who’d talked Sandor into making this trip, in the first place. I’d lured him to this Sodom and Gomorrah by the sea!

[Translator’s note: I’m glad you admit it, buddy!]

[Author’s note: I wouldn’t dream of denying it, Sandor. Anyway, let our readers be the ultimate judges, of which of us was the bigger whore during our stay in America.]

[Translator’s note: The smart money will be bet on you—!]

[Author’s note: Aw, shut up, and let’s go on with the goddamn story!]

“You are such a whore,” I grumbled, when, finally, Sandor, having sent his latest trick home, would join me in bed.

He was unrepentant. “There’s something about this hot, humid climate which is conducive to sexual excess,” he told me, airily.

I grunted, in disgust. “What you mean is, there’s something about your ass which is conducive to whoring around!”

“Look who’s talking,” he taunted me.

Well, he had me, there! In my professional capacity, as the new stud in Brash’s stable, starring in every single one of the scenes in this third video of his, I wasn’t exactly leading the life of a monk, there in what the Yanks called The Sunshine State! If anything, the bright Florida sunshine was glaring down voyeuristically upon my own shameless activity, every day!

“Oh, go to sleep,” I told Sandor.

A veritable sex madness seemed to have taken possession of me. I was hellbent upon making sure that this video would be the hottest one I’d done in my career, to date!

I was there in Florida to work, of course, and if do say so myself, I worked hard. I threw myself into the video shoots. On the set, I was a sex pig, insatiable.

But there was down time as well, during which we could relax and have fun.

I helped Trent and Bo with the cooking, and in fact I took over their kitchen at times, making Hungarian dishes. They loved my goulash—my chicken paprika—my palacsinta [crépes]—and my Töltött Káposzta [stuffed cabbage]. When I whipped up Gesztenyepüré [chestnut purée] for dessert one night, that was a big hit, too. You see, I wasn’t just a muscular body, a pretty face, a big cock, and a hot tight ass. I had nonsexual domestic skills, too! A whore in the bedroom, but an angel in the kitchen—to coin a phrase.

Despite all his own whoring around, Sandor was still intrigued by Ramon, our hosts’ sexy Hispanic houseboy. My buddy carried on an ongoing flirtation with the lad, who didn’t seem averse to the possibility of availing himself of some prime Hungarian muscle and cock. Instead of jumping right into bed together, though, the two guys bided their time, delaying, allowing some sexual suspense to build up between them.

I found this bromance amusing, although, eventually, the way Sandor kept mooning over the object of his desire began to get on my nerves.

“Just nail him and be done with it,” I suggested to Sandor.

He smirked. “All in good time.”

I also asked the obvious question—well, it seemed obvious to me, under the circumstances. Namely, why Ramon wasn’t a budding porn performer, appearing in the video, too. I learned that Brash, Bo, and Trent had all encouraged him to do so. But Ramon had other ambitions. He was serious about his college studies, and he was afraid that, when he graduated with his degree and he embarked on a professional career, a sordid past in porn might come back to haunt him.

I couldn’t disagree with that. I had no reputation to lose, which didn’t mean that other guys shouldn’t be more circumspect, if they so chose.

One night, Brash took Sandor and me to a gay bar. For once, the cruising and flirting didn’t lead to any hookups. During the drive back to the house, we passed through a commercial strip—the road lined on either side with more bars, liquor stores, tattoo parlors, and takeout food places. When we stopped at a traffic light, we saw, on the block up ahead, the garish neon sign promoting an adult sex shop and book and video store. Forthrightly, the business was called The Ball Park, although it obviously had nothing in common with conventional athletic events.

“Hey, let’s stop in there and check it out,” Brash suggested.

“Yeah, why not?” I agreed. “I’ll be curious to see if the sex shops here are anything like the ones back home.”

“I want to see if they have my latest videos in stock,” Brash admitted. “My first two made on my own, of course, but also the ones I’ve done recently for other studios.”

Sandor was amused. “You do that?”

“Sure. On a regular basis. I ask the clerk how they’re selling,” Brash admitted.

“Okay, I must confess—I’ve been known to do that, too, back home. Not just in Budapest, but when I’m in a foreign city,” I said.

Sandor shook his head. “Nothing wrong with you guys’ egos. Narcissists!”

“Businessmen,” Brash corrected him.

Inside the store, Brash and I found several samples of our individual work on display, for sale.

“Just think,” he told me. “Soon there’ll be another one, featuring both of us.”

“Let’s hope it becomes a bestseller,” I replied.

The sales clerk, who was manning the cash register, looked bored. I engaged him in conversation. I asked him whether any customers asked for Emeric Varady’s videos. Were they popular?

“Emeric Varady?” The guy seemed puzzled. “Isn’t he that dirty Czech muscle whore who does all the barebacking videos? The guy’s a real cum dump, isn’t he? And all pumped up and ‘roided out? What a loser! Past his shelf life, from what I’ve heard.”

I guessed I was put in my place! Czech, indeed! As for the rest of the calumnies—steroids, yes. Shelf life? I begged to differ! I was still in my prime. No—I had yet to hit my prime, surely!

Everybody’s a critic!

Brash purchased several bottles of liquid poppers—a dozen, to be exact. Back in the car, he divided them equally among the three of us.

“Here you go,” he said. “These may come in handy during the next few days. On and off the set.”

“Let us reimburse you,” I offered.

“No, it’s my treat.”

Back at the house, Brash excused himself, saying he was ready to get some sleep. It was a sultry night. Sandor and I decided to go for a late-night swim, before we went to bed. We went into the pool nude. Knowing that most of the other guys were probably asleep, we took care not to make too much noise.

Ramon appeared on the terrace, wearing only a pair of shorts.

“Can I get you guys anything?” he asked.

“No, thanks,” Sandor said. “Aren’t you officially off duty?”

“Yeah. I thought I’d go for a swim.”

“Well, come on in.”

Shedding his shorts, Ramon joined us.

What can I say? Some horseplay in the pool led, inevitably, first to some more explicit physical intimacies in the water, and then to Sandor and I inviting Ramon to come to our room. After quickly drying ourselves off, we retreated there, and Sandor and Ramon finally had their opportunity to get intimate together. Far from resenting my presence, they welcomed it. Ramon made it clear he wanted a threesome! I imagine his logic was that, if one Hungarian hookup was good, then two would even better!

While I turned down the bed and dimmed the lights to a soft, seductive glow, Sandor pulled out one of the little brown glass bottles which Brash had given us, its screw-on cap sealed with cellophane.

“Let’s see whether these American poppers are anything like the kind we have back home,” he said, setting the vial down on the nightstand beside the bed.

“I’m not used to them,” I admitted. “That stuff tends to fuck up my head. But yeah, I’ll give them a try.”

“Poppers are great,” Ramon insisted, enthusiastically.

The guest bedroom was actually a quite large space. But with two big bodybuilders in it, along with Ramon’s smaller but still nicely muscled physique, it suddenly seemed to be wall to wall muscle—and wall to wall cock! None of the three of us suffered from anything which could be described as inhibitions, and each of us was already springing a boner.

In the dim light of the bedroom, it was easy to concentrate on Ramon’s beautiful brown body and large uncircumcised cock, although I also admired his handsome young face, which was distorted by a satyr-like leer at the moment.

Despite his lust for Ramon, Sandor stayed on the sidelines for a moment, casually stroking his cock with one hand and playing with his nipples with the other, watching while Ramon lay down beside me and rubbed his sleek body restlessly against mine. His breath felt hot in my ear when he showered wet kisses all over my face and neck. I felt the mattress shift under our combined weight as Ramon slid down my torso to my crotch, sucking on my nipples and darting his tongue into my navel along the way. I next felt his breath on my abs, and his hands fondling my balls, one of them releasing my testicles in order to grasp my cock and hold it up for his waiting, hungry mouth.

“Fuck, both of you Hungarian dudes have big pieces of meat. This motherfucker looks like it could be damn suckable. A real mouthful,” Ramon mumbled, and he kissed my cock.

“Go ahead and find out for yourself,” I invited him.

“Let’s all have a snort, first,” Sandor suggested.

He picked up the bottle, wrested off its cellophane wrapper, unscrewed the cap, and raised it to his nostrils, breathing in the vapor through one while pinching the other nostril shut.

“Aw, shit,” he reported. “Good stuff.”

He repeated the sniffing process on the other side of his nose, and then he handed the bottle to Ramon, who used it before offering it to me. Inhaling, I caught the full force of the aroma, which was strong and sharp, seeping through my bloodstream, firing up my brain and my lungs. I could feel my prick pulse more urgently, all readiness now.

“Feels good, huh?” Sandor asked me.

“Yeah,” I admitted.

“I want to blow you, Emeric, you goddamn muscle stud!” Ramon declared. Of course, I liked to hear that Ramon found me attractive. “You just lie back and let me suck you, stud! Yeah—you can fuck my face for me, shove all of this cock of yours right down my throat and make me choke on it! You can pretend it’s a hot, tight asshole—or a nice, juicy cunt!”

“Nobody needs pussy, when they’ve got a hot guy like you,” I assured him.

He laughed. “Thanks, man! It’s funny, though, isn’t it, how the other guy always looks better when you’ve got a hard-on? When you want to get off? When you want to suck and fuck, or be sucked and get fucked?”

“I’m so hot,” I complained. Huffing the poppers had jacked up my usual level of arousal to a whole new level.

“I can tell you are. Don’t worry, I’m going to take good care of you. I was watching you and Brash fuck, for the video. I could tell what a hot number you are. Can’t wait to find out for myself.”

“Do it, dude,” Sandor coached Ramon, excitedly. “Suck him. He’s got a beautiful cock.”

“So I see.”

“Take it from me, that’s a real mouthful.”

“A choker, huh? A gagger?” Ramon looked and sounded positively inspired, as though he was being presented with a challenge which he couldn’t resist. “Nothing I can’t handle,” he bragged. “Let’s take another hit, before I get down to work.”

He snorted the poppers again. So did I. I was flying! This American amyl was potent shit!

“Shit,” I gasped. “Now I’m even hotter!”

“Now you want me to suck you, don’t you?” Ramon teased me. “Don’t you? Don’t you, you sexy muscle stud?”

“Yeah,” I gasped. “Get your mouth on it, you prickteasing little motherfucker!”

“I thought so—” His warm hand, damp with perspiration despite the air conditioning cooling the room, squeezed my cock with a near-crushing force, and I felt as though my penis was already about to erupt in a shower of cum. I experienced such a rush of sensation, a combination of the amyl and his manipulation of me, that I almost fainted from the intensity of it. My hips rose with an aching need from the bed, thrusting my cock through his fist, aiming it blindly toward where his mouth had just been.

“Do it,” I invited, or rather I begged, him.

“You want it sucked? You want to feel my hot, dirty mouth sucking that cum from you, big guy? You want to shoot that cum right down my nasty, cocksucking throat? Are you going to make me swallow that cum?”

“Yeah,” I moaned. “Fucking hell, yeah!”

With my brain completely under the influence of the amyl, his words seemed to hang in the air, impacting my ears with an exaggerated vividness which made it seem that he was doing what he was merely saying. “Sucked!”—I could feel the wet warmth of a mouth rubbing up and down on my cock. “Sucking that cum from you!”—I groaned, as though a load of semen was in fact spurting from me. “Shoot that cum! Swallow that cum!”—I could hear him choking on my fluid as I shot it down his throat.

“You want it now, don’t you?” he taunted me, smugly, with a laugh. “Yeah, you want it—and I’m going to give it to you. I’m going to suck this big, fat cock of yours like it’s never been sucked before in your life!” He seized the poppers from Sandor’s hand and he shoved the bottle under each of his nostrils in turn, taking deep whiffs before handing it back. “Give him another hit,” he gasped.

Sandor held the vial under my nose. At the same instant when the fumes began to spread through my body, I also felt the heat of Ramon’s mouth surround my prick and take it, quickly, effortlessly, all the way down to its base.

What a cocksucker that boy was!

I went wild with lust. I lay there, panting desperately for breath, experiencing the amyl rush, my legs thrashing, my pelvis straining up from the bed to thrust my cock still deeper into Ramon’s throat. All I cared about, all that mattered to me, was that mouth of his on my dick, servicing me so well. I closed my eyes in order to concentrate on how good the blow job felt. Every muscle in my body seemed to be tensed and vibrating. I exulted in the wet, slick, tugging sensation of his warm lips sucking me. I fucked furiously in and out of his mouth, trying to drive my prick all the way down his throat and strangulate him with it. I couldn’t believe how hot it felt. I seemed to have more than one mouth down there on my cock, enveloping it, sucking me. More than one agile, slippery tongue licking my flesh. More than one hungry young stud eating my meat, swallowing it all the way to my balls, and burrowing his snub nose deeper into my bush of pubic hair in his frenzied attempt to cram even more of my cock inside his mouth.

At that moment, I thought that Ramon was the hottest, sexiest, handsomest sex partner I’d ever had! I was in love with the guy!

“Feels good, doesn’t it, buddy?” Sandor asked me, insistently. “See what a good friend I am, letting you have Ramon first? Don’t worry, I’m going to have him, too, before the three of us are done! Bo and Trent have told me what a good job Ramon does of taking care of them—usually, both of them at once. Guess we’re going to find out for ourselves just how good he is! Don’t be shy, Emeric. Don’t hold back. Give the guy what he wants, what he’s working so hard for. Come for him, buddy. Shoot that hot shit right down his throat. He wants it, he likes it. He wants to drink your cum! Here, maybe this will help.” Sandor held the poppers under Ramon’s nose. An instant later, the young Hispanic man began sucking me faster and harder, even more voraciously, as though his oral efforts up until now had been only a warm-up, and it was just now that he was really getting into devouring my cock.

The popper bottle was shoved under my nose, again, by Sandor, and with Ramon blowing me so fiercely and this fresh wave of chemically enhanced arousal surging through me, I could endure no more.

“I’m going—to come!” I moaned.

My legs lifted themselves from the bed and they wrapped around Ramon’s shoulders. I was smothering the poor guy’s handsome face between my thickly muscled thighs. My cock was all the way inside his mouth, the head lodged far down in his throat.

“Take it!” I yelled. “Take it, goddamn you, you cocksucker! I’m coming!”

“Give it to him,” I heard Sandor growl. “Give him your cum!”

“Uh, he’s going to get it—all of it—!” I warned.

“Give it to him! All of it! Shoot it all in his mouth, buddy! Feed the sexy little fucker your hot jizz! Lő, lsten átok Ön, lő!” [“Shoot, God damn you, shoot!”] Sandor was so excited that he shouted out the last exhortation in Hungarian.

“Fucking hell, I’m coming!” I cried. And I was! I was ejaculating. Helplessly! Copiously! Spewing out my full, fiery load of manly sex fluid, with no regard for whether my obviously talented cocksucker could comfortably absorb the livid torrent, or not! My semen scalded him, orally!

Ramon emitted a sound as though he was retching, strangulated by my sperm. His throat was filled with my cum, his lips dribbling the overflow from both of their corners as it came too fast for him to swallow. I could feel my semen dripping down, obscenely, onto my balls, and the awareness, the sensation, only made me seem to shoot off more and more! All of my cum came gushing out of me like a spring torrent after a thaw.

Ramon stayed down my dick all through my orgasm, until he’d drained and swallowed every drop of my jism. When he finally did lift his mouth off me, the lower half of his flushed, sweaty face was smeared with my cum. Grinning, leering at me in a way which was truly satyr-like, my hungry cocksucker pushed his face down against my balls, and he lapped up the cum which had dribbled over them, not wanting a drop of my fuck fluid to go to waste. Smacking his lips, he looked ecstatic, as though my semen was some intoxicating liqueur.

I lay there on the disordered bed, limp and exhausted, close to total collapse—fucked out! I was aware of the mattress shifting and rocking under me, as my two heavily muscled bedmates moved on it, changing their positions. I smelled the sharp, acrid aroma of the poppers, after the bottle’s cap was unscrewed again. But this time, the amyl wasn’t intended for me. I heard Sandor snorting the poppers, and then he emitted a deep grunt from far down in his throat. A moment later, the bed began to move back and forth, in a regular swaying rhythm, and the grunts from both of the other two men’s throats blended into a steady rumble.

Curious, I lifted my head and looked. I saw Sandor bent over, on his hands and knees. His head tossed wildly from side to side, his sweaty, disheveled hair flying. His eyes were glazed and gleaming with amyl-enhanced lust, and a sticky string of glistening saliva dripped from his slack mouth to his chin, and then down onto the bed. He was being fucked up the ass, quite savagely, by Ramon, who knelt behind him on the quaking mattress, jackhammering his big dick in and out of Sandor’s squirming, spasming ass. Ramon was fudge packing Sandor’s ass, and it was obvious that both men were enjoying the obscene act, immensely.

“Don’t worry, buddy,” Ramon assured me, as he humped away. “Your turn will come, in a minute. I’m going to screw you, too, as soon as I’m done pounding our buddy Sandor’s butt!”

Ramon didn’t make idle promises. The guy was an animal, insatiable once he got started. The three of us had ourselves quite an orgy.

“Infierno! Una dosis doble de pene culturista y culo!” Ramon yelled, so excited that he reverted to Spanish. I’d had sex with enough Spaniards to pick up some of the language, and I figured out that he was saying, “Hell! A double dose of bodybuilder cock and ass!” (Afterward, when I explained this to Sandor, I suggested that we ought to start offering ourselves to guys for threesomes, as “the double dose.” He pointed out that this might be misinterpreted, and make us a target for “bug chasers.” Oops!)

Ramon fucked Sandor while Sandor jacked himself off. After Sandor sprayed his jism all over the bed, Ramon didn’t come in his ass, though. He pulled out of Sandor’s butt.

Fueled by more amyl, Ramon announced that he wanted to compare the taste of our asses. Like a hog rooting around in search of food, he rimmed first me, then Sandor, soon bringing us both back to a high level of arousal, our cocks hard and ready for action again. He had an unusually broad, nimble tongue, which drove me absolutely insane with lust when he poked it deep inside my manhole and wriggled it around inside me. I’m afraid that, speaking of hoggish behavior, I was quite a sex pig, myself. After Ramon was done sucking Sandor’s ass, I selfishly pleaded with him to eat out my butthole again! Grinning, he complied. Sandor, to give him credit, didn’t seem to mind. He masturbated while he observed Ramon licking my ass.

Then Ramon fucked me. My God! What a stud he was! My ass, relaxed by the poppers and well warmed up by all of that rimming, received one hell of a pounding—which, of course, was exactly what I wanted. While Ramon screwed me, Sandor straddled my chest and force-fed me his dick, so my mouth and ass were both stuffed with hot, hard, horny male meat. Aw, shit! At that moment, getting all that cock, I was the most sexually fulfilled gay man in the whole state of Florida! No—make that in the entire eastern seaboard of the United States! I wouldn’t have traded places with anyone!

Sandor shot off for a second time, filling my mouth and throat with his foamy, salty cum. Gasping for breath, he eased his spent prick back out from between my slurping lips.

Ramon was still jackhammering away inside my butt, as though he had no intention of stopping—ever!

Sandor made himself useful, holding the poppers under each of our noses in turn, using his own fingertip to pinch our other nostril shut. Wildly high, I could feel my anus spasming around Ramon’s huge fuck tool, the inside of my body seeming to be burning hot. I half expected to see smoke escape from my hole!

“I’m going to come soon,” Ramon announced. “Want me to shoot on your face? Like you guys do in the porn videos?”

“Yeah,” I begged him. I was so hot, so frantic for sex, that I’ve have agreed to anything he suggested, no matter how perverse. And receiving a facial sounded good! “On my face, in my mouth—give me your cum!”

He plowed me for another minute or two, displaying that same impressive stamina. Then, abruptly, he yanked his dick out of my ass. I yelped when I felt his penis scrape through my cringing, burning sphincter as it made its exit from inside me!

Sliding forward on top of my body, straddling my waist, Ramon reached down and grabbed hold of his penis, jabbing it roughly, insistently toward my face. His piss slit was gaping wide open, like a fish’s mouth. I lifted my head, craning it forward, giving myself a crick in my neck, in my eagerness to get a closer look. Taking his dick in his fist, Ramon gave it two or three quick strokes—and it erupted!

Thick white streams of semen escaped from his cockhead, spewed out and showered down all over my face!

“Yeah, take that cum, dude,” he grunted, as he wet me down. “Take it all over your face. And in your mouth!”

I couldn’t respond verbally, because one wad of cum smacked right inside my open, panting mouth, coating my tongue, filling the inside of my mouth with its sticky saltiness. Ramon unloaded, his sperm ending up all over my face, in my mouth, on my pecs—I was slathered with the stuff!

“Looks like somebody could use a towel,” Sandor commented, laughing. No kidding! Obligingly, he got off the bed, went into the adjacent bathroom, and returned, with a wet washcloth as well as a towel. I wiped the cum off myself.

Ramon was calmly slumped down on the bed beside me.

“Good sex, guys,” he remarked. “Want to do this again, sometime? Before you leave?”

Sandor and I both spoke, simultaneously, and enthusiastically.

“Yeah!” we declared, fervently.

“May be difficult to fit it in, around the porn shooting schedule,” the houseboy suggested. “Brash intends to keep you pretty busy, Emeric.”

“We’ll manage,” I vowed.

And we did!

Chapter Five: Rented by the Hour

I was candid with Bo, Trent, and Brash. I admitted to them that I’d booked two hustling gigs there in Florida, during my stay. I assured them that this wouldn’t interfere with my responsibilities as a video performer.

“Go for it,” Bo told me, with relish.

“Just remember—you need to be able to get it up and keep it up, for the video,” Brash admonished me. “Don’t wear yourself out. Don’t go limp-dicked on me.”

“No danger of that,” I bragged.

I called a cab, which took me to my first appointment.

My first john was a pleasant surprise. He evidently was extremely well off. He lived in a high-rise apartment building, complete with a doorman and a security guard. The guard called upstairs on the house phone, to make sure riffraff like me was expected, before he deigned to wave me toward the elevator.

“Go right up to the penthouse, sir,” he told me.

The penthouse, no less!

My john, whose name was Lee, turned out to be a very young man, still in his mid-twenties—about my age, in fact. Very good-looking, he had a pampered look about him. And his penthouse was luxuriously, beautifully furnished and decorated, with spectacular views visible from all of its windows.

I speculated whether Lee was some kind of a precociously successful entrepreneur or business executive, or whether he was a spoiled trust fund baby, who didn’t need to work for a living. Either way, it was none of my business. I’d been paid in provide sex, in advance. Now it was time for me to do my thing, and show this young guy that I was worth my fee.

“I’ve got champagne on ice,” he announced. “You’ll have some, won’t you?”

“Yes, please,” I replied.

“After all, this is a special occasion.”

“Is it?”

“You’re the first Hungarian escort I’ve ever hired.”

I smiled. “Have you found that escorts of different nationalities do things differently? Have different skills?”

“All the ones I’ve had so far have been hot. They have that in common.”

“I’ll have to make sure I don’t do anything to break the pattern.”

“You shouldn’t have any trouble acting as hot as you look.”

While we enjoyed the champagne, Lee mentioned some of the other escorts he’d hired. I recognized a few of the names. Some were internationally well-known porn stars, and another was a bodybuilding champion who, like so many guys in the iron game, did some high-priced hustling on the side.

There was a sort of boyish naïveté about Lee which I found appealing. He was so chatty that I began to wonder whether we’d ever get down to the sex. But I’d been paid well, ahead of time, and I wasn’t about to start clockwatching. I was prepared to give Lee my undivided attention, and maybe run past the time we’d agreed upon. A wise escort doesn’t nickel and dime his johns, telling them “Oops, your time’s up! I’ve got to go!”

Eventually, though, after we’d killed the bottle of champagne, Lee got to the point of my visit.

“How do you like Florida, so far?” Lee asked me.

“I love it here,” I said, sincerely.

“Must be different from Hungary. Experiencing any culture shock?”

“A little, perhaps.”

“How’s the porn shoot going?”

“Great.”

“That’s good to hear. The truth is—I like to hire porn performers, for sex,” Lee confessed, suddenly looking and sounding extremely turned on, indeed.

“You—and a lot of other guys,” I told him. “Back home—a lot of my clients are fans. They’ve seen me in my videos, and they want to experience the real thing.”

“My thought, exactly. I’ve jacked off over your videos so many times that I wanted to take things slowly, tonight, at first. I was afraid I’d blow my wad too soon.” I hadn’t considered that possibility, which now explained why Lee had delayed. Suddenly, though, he seemed to be in a hurry—the precise opposite. “Take off your clothes,” Lee said. “Let’s get naked. And let’s do it. Have sex,” he specified, unnecessarily. “I’m not really into a lot of foreplay, you know? I always like to get right down to it. Maybe that’s crude and disgusting, but I can’t help it.”

“I understand completely,” I assured him, as I began to strip.

He lost his own clothes, too, and soon we were both nude. Instead of taking me into his bedroom, he reseated himself on the living room couch, gesturing for me to sit beside him. I did so, the leather upholstery adhering to my skin.

I pulled him against me and I kissed him quite passionately on the mouth. I have to admit it—I was really enjoying myself. Lee was a hot guy, and making love to him was more play than work. Still, I remained conscious of the fact that I was there to please him, and to earn my fee.

He responded to the kiss, opening his mouth and pushing out the tip of his tongue, to meet mine. We kissed rather intensely like that for several minutes, our tongues slithering across each other’s lips. His mouth opened wide, and mine did, too. His tongue darted inside my mouth, aggressively attacking mine, as we kissed deeper and hotter. We seemed to be in a playful competition to see which of us would run out of breath first.

Lee was the one who broke the kiss and pulled his face away.

“Damn, Emeric!” he exclaimed. “You’re everything I thought you would be—and then some, stud!”

“I’m glad you’re enjoying yourself,” I replied.

He grinned at me. “I can think of something I’d enjoy even more. A favor you could do me.”

“Name it.”

“Not here. Let’s go into the bedroom and get comfortable, first.”

Once we were lying in his bed together, I asked, “Now, about that favor—?”

“Suck me. Please.”

“No problem. I want to. But first—!” Breaking off without specifying my intentions, I slid partway off of him and I straddled his body. Bracing myself on my knees, I began to kiss and lick my way down his delectable torso. His flesh was smooth and creamy, and it tasted delicious.

I grasped each of his nipples between a thumb and forefinger, and I squeezed and pinched them until they stood out from his pecs in stiff cones. I put my mouth on each nip in turn, sucking them, forcefully, and then I licked my way down to Lee’s navel. Poking my tongue-tip into the little depression, I swabbed it out, making Lee jump and squirm in response to the tickling. I could see and feel his dick hardening, pushing up against my chest. I slid down to it and I positioned myself on my knees between my john’s widespread thighs.

His cock sagged slightly under its own tumescent weight, hovering over his abs, the shaft long and thick and solid, the head pulsing with excitement. I caressed the penis with my fingers and it twitched in reaction to my touch. I tightened my grip around the shaft, guiding the glans to my lips. Lifting the erection perpendicular to Lee’s groin, holding it straight up, I fastened my mouth around it.

Lee moaned, and he grabbed hold of my big shoulders, his fingertips pressing into my muscles but making only slight dents in them, as my lips slipped over his thick cock knob and my tongue washed it with my saliva. I held just the head of his fuck tool inside my mouth at first, sucking on it with a light pressure, teasing Lee, giving him a foretaste of coming attractions. Then I pushed my hungry mouth all the way down around his dick, taking every inch of it. I let the head of the prick penetrate my throat, and I could feel the shaft pulse hotly as my tongue stroked the root of the swollen male organ.

He was getting the Emeric Varady Special—one of them, anyway. In this case, a hot blow job, complete with deep-throating, courtesy of my well-trained and experienced lips, tongue, and seemingly elastic throat!

“God, yes!” Lee cried. “This is unbelievable! Even better than I imagined it would be. This is just I wanted—a hot stud bodybuilder going down on my cock, sucking me! Oh, damn! You’re so beautiful, and you’re sucking my cock so well! You really know how to do it—how to use that mouth of yours!”

We were off to a good start!

Bracing myself on the bed, holding Lee by his hips, I pumped my mouth up and down on his juicy young prick with faster and harder strokes. My tongue slithered all over his shaft while my lips fed it in and out of my mouth. I applied a firm suction on his cockhead from deep in my throat. In short, I did everything I could to keep Lee hotly aroused and to coax him toward orgasm.

“I can’t believe how good this is,” he moaned. “The only thing that could make it better would be—! Yeah, swing yourself around! Shove your cock in my mouth! Let me suck yours while you work on mine!”

Lee turned out to be a quite talented fellator, himself. With his hands now cupped over my buttocks and his fingers kneading them, he pushed on my ass to drive my dick in and out of his mouth. I continued to work on him orally, too, my lust undiminished.

For several long, delightful minutes, during which time seemed to stand still, we moved our hungry mouths back and forth on each other, sixty-nining, sucking dick simultaneously, thrusting our pricks into each other’s mouths and throats in the steady, rhythmic, mechanical motion of a see-saw. I knew that my john’s climax was close, and I began to suck on Lee’s cock furiously, as though my life depended on sucking his dick and drawing the manly essence from it. I wanted his cum! And, mad with thirst, I was determined to have it. Nothing was going to stop me from bringing him to orgasm and ingesting his seed.

Gasping, Lee released my dick from between his lips.

“If you keep this up—!” he warned. “Yeah! I think I’m going to come!”

His legs began to tense. I increased the speed of my oral strokes. I could feel his cock throbbing even more strongly within the clasp of my lips, and it seemed to swell thicker as I sucked it. I was giving the blow job everything I had. Abruptly, Lee dug his fingers into my glute muscles more roughly, and at the same time he thrust his lower body up from the bed, ramming his dick deeper into my mouth, plugging my throat. He came, all right, the semen spurting from him wet and thick, almost choking me, there was so much of it. The hot spray of cum filled my mouth and, when I swallowed it, it lubricated and soothed my throat.

I clung to Lee until he was finished shooting and his body went limp under mine.

For a lot of johns—and, admittedly, for a lot of guys with whom I’ve had freebie casual hookups—ejaculating is the goal, the whole point of the exercise, and anything afterward is anticlimactic. But Lee was the exact opposite. Coming only seemed to reenergize him, make him more excited, and turn him wilder. Throwing aside all inhibitions—not that he seemed to have had many, to begin with!—he attacked me, licking and sucking on every part of my body which his lips and tongue could reach, groping me everywhere with his hands, and all the while telling me how hot I was. I liked the treatment, submitting to it gladly.

Lee sucked my cock some more. He sucked my balls. He sucked my ass. He lavished oral attention on me, until my own arousal began to build to uncomfortable levels. My dick was so hard that it ached, and I started looking forward to ejaculating, myself.

Lee noticed my acute priapic state, of course.

“Huge,” he gasped, after he’d forced himself to pull his drooling mouth off my prick. “God, that thing is huge! Back in Hungary, they ought to name a sausage after you. That’s one hell of a meaty boner.”

“I can’t recall when I’ve been given a nicer compliment,” I replied.

“I’ve got a hungry hole. I need it filled! Stick that beefy fuck tool in me,” Lee told me. “Shove that big thing up my ass and fuck the hell out of me. And when you come, come in my ass. I want to tell all my friends that I’ve been bred by Emeric Varady.”

Well, that wasn’t such an exclusive club. But I wasn’t about to disillusion Lee by telling him just how many men’s butts I’d seeded, not only for money, but for free. I correctly interpreted his request to be fucked as more of a demand than a polite invitation. But I was only too happy to comply. That tempting ass of his looked highly fuckable, and I wasted no time before I tried it out.

He had a bottle of lube ready, on top of a small chest of drawers next to the bed. I greased my fuck tool up with plenty of the slippery gel. Even this brief delay made my cock throb with frustration. I was eager to get it inside Lee’s perky, boyish ass.

“Use plenty of that stuff,” he requested.

“I am.”

“You’re hung kind of big. Sometimes I have a little trouble taking the big ones, at first.”

Lee almost seemed to be having second thoughts. He looked nervous.

“I’m sure there are escorts who have small and medium-sized dicks,” I joked.

“Not many of the successful ones,” he replied. This banter, along with the champagne he’d drunk, seemed to relax him a bit. “Well,” he said, with philosophical resignation, “I wanted that big thing of yours. I might as well go through with it.”

“I’ll be gentle,” I promised.

But when I moved back into fucking position, guiding his legs up over my shoulders, he writhed, preventing me from guiding my cock between his buttocks and against his asshole.

“Hold still,” I told him, impatiently. “Relax.”

“Maybe I’m not ready for this. Maybe I won’t be able to take it.”

“Sure you are. Sure you will.” Ignoring his protests, which only made me more eager to ravage him, I leaned forward over him, once again using my weight to hold him down. I touched my glans to his pucker, and I pressed forward, slowly, carefully, but inexorably.

I felt the hot, tight pressure of his ass all around my cockhead, like a famished mouth sucking it, as I pushed myself through his hole and inside him. I was so aroused, so close to ejaculating already, that I suspected this fuck wouldn’t be a prolonged one. I was so hot that I feared it would take no more than a few frantic strokes inside him to bring me off. Thrusting harder, I buried my dick in his ass!

He moaned with pain, his whole body tensing up, the muscles knotted and twitching. His anal muscles clamped down around me. What a feeling! It was like having a warm, slippery fist grasping my cock! And massaging it, with anal rather than manual dexterity, when those muscles convulsed around my shaft.

Lee let out another loud moan, which I couldn’t tell was indicative of delight, or agony.

“Are you all right?” I asked, praying that he wouldn’t beg me to stop, to take my prick out of him. I wasn’t sure I’d be able to stop, now. I might just go ahead and rape his ass!

“Uh, it hurts,” he groaned. “But—damn!—it kind of hurts good! I think I can take it,” he said, bravely. “Go ahead. I’m not going to back out now. Go ahead and fuck me.”

I began to move my cock back and forth inside him, slowly at first, taking it easy on him. He tossed his head from side to side on the mattress. His arms flailed about, too, sometimes flung above his head, sometimes stretched out at his sides, with his fingers clawing at the bedsheets. I began to hump him more rapidly, and to my delight, he didn’t object or resist. He rode with me, accepting everything I did to him.

“Goddamn it, you’re huge,” he gasped, although he didn’t sound as though he was complaining. “And you’re going in so deep! Uh, I haven’t been filled up and stretched out like this in a long time. Don’t hold back. I can take it. I want it!”

Then he surprised me. He drew his legs back more tightly toward his chest, so that his knees rested on his pecs. His ankles crossed themselves behind my neck. He reached for me with both arms, his hands searching for my ass. When he found it, he dug his fingertips into my buttocks and he pulled me toward him, his behind jammed into my groin. Willfully, he was impaling himself on every inch of my cock.

“Fuck me! Fuck me!” he started to chant, with a feverish urgency. “Oh, dude—fuck my ass! Keep that big hard cock in me! Keep it in me, and fuck!”

“You like it now, huh?” I panted.

“I love it!”

“And I love being inside that sweet ass of yours, buddy—fucking your hot hole!”

“Uh, pound it into me, big man, go in deep! I like the way that feels! I want that muscle cock! Deep in my ass!”

I was impressed. Lee had progressed from ass-shy to hungry-holed, in one easy lesson! Well, maybe it wasn’t so easy for me. To my surprise and relief, I was managing to pace myself, to hold back my orgasm. I was working hard to please my client, as well as myself. Hot sweat broke out all over my body and dripped down my skin. But Lee was exerting himself, too, perspiring just as heavily as he squirmed under me, often not waiting for me to thrust into his ass, but pushing his butt forward against my groin to drive my dick deep into him. We were both breathing hard. Our sex was athletic, a real workout!

“Don’t stop,” my sexy john moaned. “Fuck me for a long time. Make it last!”

I didn’t stop. Not for a long time. And not before I’d satisfied us both!

I left Lee’s place with a big wad of cash in my pocket. Lee was a good tipper. He’d worn me out, but I had a smile on my face. This was one of those times when I’d thoroughly enjoyed my work! Still, I knew that I needed to get back to my hosts’ house and go right to bed, so I could get a good night’s sleep. After all, I had another porn scene to shoot in the morning!

I’d called a cab, from Lee’s place, before I bade him goodnight and I went back down in the elevator. I almost feel asleep in the back seat of the vehicle. When we arrived at Bo and Trent’s luxurious dwelling, I paid the driver, and then I staggered inside, where I shed my clothes and climbed into bed beside Sandor, who was still awake, reading a book. That was my buddy—always the intellectual!

“What’re you reading?” I inquired.

“A gay love story. So far, boy has met boy, boy has fucked boy, boy has cheated on boy with other boys—several of them—boy and boy break up, boy feels bad about being such a whore, boy schemes to win boy back. That’s as far as I’ve gotten. I suspect there’ll be a happy ending.”

“Not unlike the typical Emeric Varady love story,” I quipped.

“Ha! Lust story, is more like it. Trent and Bo have quite a library, here,” Sandor informed me. “Although—at the rate you’re going—you won’t have too much spare time in which to borrow any of their books. Speaking of lust—how’d it go, by the way?”

“It went well. As johns go, this guy was exceptionally attractive. Nice personality. Generous, too. I’ll tell you all the details in the morning. Right now, I’m fucked out,” I admitted. “Turn out the light, will you, and let’s get some sleep.”

“Whore,” Sandor told me, affectionately. He placed a bookmark in his book, set it on the nightstand, and doused the light. “Sleep tight,” he said, after giving me a goodnight kiss.

To the accompaniment of the air conditioning’s subdued but pervasive hum, we fell asleep.

Chapter Six: The Porn Star’s Protégé

I was scheduled to do a scene with a young Hispanic guy named Israele Nieves—his real name, by the way. He was “out” to his family, who, interestingly enough, weren’t particularly upset or judgmental about the fact that he was doing porn. And Nieves, of course, was a common enough Hispanic surname, so he probably saw no need to change it, to avoid causing his family embarrassment.

Israele was a protégé of Brash, who’d taken him under his wing, jumpstarting his porn career.

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.

His credit card was in the name of some corporation, so I didn’t know what his surname was, and, exercising professional tact, I didn’t ask. The payment went through without any difficulty, so I really didn’t care whether my American john would turn out to be the prophet Ezekiel, or the archangel Gabriel. His money was good, which was what mattered to me.

So, we were all set to meet up, during my stay in the States.

I felt pretty well fucked out after shooting my scene with Israele, but a hearty lunch provided by Trent and Bo helped me to bounce back.

Zeke called to confirm our date, telling me the name and address of the motel and his room number.

“Come right to the room,” he instructed me. “Don’t let the guy in the office see you. Don’t let anybody see you.”

“Of course not,” I assured him.

I’d dealt with closeted johns often enough before, but this guy seemed to be carrying his obsession with privacy to an extreme.

“Either the guy’s so closeted he’s truly paranoid,” I told Sandor, with whom I shared the information about where I was going, “or he’s a serial killer.”

“You watch too many of those American crime shows back home,” my buddy replied. “But if the guy seems at all weird, make a point of telling him I know where you are, and I’m expecting you back.”

This time, I didn’t have to call a cab.

“Take one of our cars,” Trent told me, generously. “I’ll get you the keys.”

Sandor and I had each brought along International Driver’s Permits, in addition to our Hungarian driver’s licenses, in anticipation that such an opportunity might come up.

I felt quite glamorous, behind the wheel of a Porsche 911 convertible coupe, with its top down. Wearing my sunglasses, I was definitely Joe Cool. Too bad I was working! If I wasn’t, I could do some cruising, in hopes of picking up a passenger. I fantasized about picking up some shirtless, sun-bronzed Floridian hitchhiker, and having my way with him, and having him ravage me in turn—hot damn!

But I was a little let down when I saw that the motel, although it certainly wasn’t a dump, looked like an inexpensive place. Of course, since Zeke didn’t want me to come to where he actually lived, I supposed I couldn’t blame him for economizing on the rented room. The serial killer possibility did flash briefly through my mind, again—!

In the parking space in front of the room, there was parked a rather unusual motor vehicle. It was a four-door Bentley Flying Spur W12 S. I was impressed. And I remembered what a friend of mine had told me, once. He was a Brit, and a fellow escort. In the United Kingdom, he told me, nouveau riche men who were insecure about their social status always bought and drove Rolls Royces, to show off their wealth. Rich men, with old money, and others who were confident about their social status, owned and drove Bentleys, maintaining a slightly lower profile.

I suspected that a Bentley was a bit of a rarity here in the United States, and that a guy had to go to some trouble—never mind the expense!—to acquire one. This was promising. My john was apparently a connoisseur, accustomed to enjoying the good things in life, but he wasn’t flashy or ostentatious.

I parked my borrowed luxury vehicle next to the one which was already there. I have to admit that the possibility of vandalism or auto theft did cross my mind.

After admiring the Bentley close up, I knocked on the door of the motel room. The door opened, and I was stunned by what I saw.

I knew my john was black, of course, but that was really all I knew about him, ahead of time. His age, his degree of attractiveness—all that was up in the air, open to speculation.

But Zeke turned out to be a huge man, whose body seemed to fill the open doorframe. Not that he was overweight. He was massive, taller and broader than me, but his generously proportioned body was packed with hard muscle. His impressive physique was displayed to excellent advantage, because he wore only a tank top and a pair of gym shorts, both tight-fitting. He was barefoot, and his feet, like his hands and the rest of him, were huge.

He was handsome—a nice face, with a habitually open expression and an infectious grin. His black hair was cropped close to his scalp. He had a neatly trimmed pencil mustache on his upper lip, which I thought was very sexy. His eyes were black, too, and bright, with a gleam in them, as they swept up and down, surveying and assessing me. The way he was looking at me suggested that I hadn’t been guilty of false advertising, and that he liked what he saw. As for Zeke’s skin, he was very black—coal black, which I liked. I congratulated myself. I’d been hired by a real stud! I suspected I was in for a really good time.

“Hi!” the big man exclaimed, a little breathlessly. He glanced about the parking lot, apparently to make sure no one was observing us. “Come in, quick.” Ushering me inside, he closed the door behind us, snapped the lock, and put up the security chain.

The window’s drapes and blinds were drawn closed, blocking out the late-afternoon sunlight, which was strong even at that time of day. Evidently, Zeke was a little paranoid about keeping our tryst a secret.

The room was in fact quite dark, the only illumination provided by a shaded table lamp set on a table beside the bed. The lamp was equipped with a dimmer switch, and its bulb, probably low wattage to begin with, had been turned down by Zeke. The bed itself was turned down, ready for us to occupy.

The air in the room was very cold. As was the case in every Floridian interior I’d been in so far, the air conditioner was on full blast.

“Is that your car outside?” I asked. “The Bentley?”

“Yeah. Why?”

“I like it. That’s all.”

“I like it, too. It’s expensive. So are you,” he blurted out.

I smiled—ingratiatingly, seductively, I hoped. “The best is always the costliest,” I suggested. “But worth it, in the long run. Right? Well, here we are,” I remarked, in order to make conversation. “How nice to meet you, face to face, at last.”

“Same here. Of course, I’ve seen some of your videos. And those naked pictures of you, on your website,” Zeke said. “I must say—you’re even better looking, more impressive, in person. Been hitting the weights, haven’t you?”

“I must admit—I spend a lot of time in the gym,” I confirmed.

“It shows.”

“You’re quite well built, yourself,” I told him.

He was looking me in the face, curiously.

“You don’t recognize me, do you? You don’t know who I am?” He seemed astonished, that I didn’t know who he was.

“Ah—I’m afraid not.” It was a delicate situation. There was no point in bluffing, or in outright lying. The truth was, I had no idea who my john might be. But he seemed amused by my ignorance, rather than offended, and that was what encouraged me to be candid. “I’m sorry,” I said.

“Oh, don’t apologize. This is refreshing, actually. I’m so used to having people fawn all over me—! Just caring about what they can get from me. This is different. I like it. Listen. You’re discreet, aren’t you?”

“Very,” I assured him.

“You see, I’m on the down low. I don’t want anybody—I mean, my family, the public, the fans—to know I’m gay.”

“I understand perfectly. You can rely on me. If I may hazard a guess—you’re some sort of a professional athlete? With that build, you almost have to be.”

“Thanks for the compliment. Coming from a real muscle man like you, that’s flattering. Yeah, you’ve guessed right. I’m a football player. A rather well-known one, if I do say so myself.”

“That explains it,” I said. “I don’t really follow American football.”

He sucked in his breath, in mock shock. “To hear anybody say that—you’re killing me, dude!” he complained, facetiously. “Thank God not everybody feels the same way.”

“Back home, in Europe, in Hungary, it’s all soccer,” I said. “Now, if you were a soccer player, I’d know all about you. I could recite all your statistics from memory.”

“Huh,” he grunted. “Well, I’ll have you know, you’re here in this motel room with one of American football’s biggest stars.”

“And you’re here with one of Hungary’s hottest porn stars and escorts,” I replied, shamelessly. “So—at a guess—I’d say we’re evenly matched. In terms of fame. Or, in my case, notoriety.”

Zeke laughed. “Boy, you are a hoot. I’m so glad I hired you.”

“You may be even more glad, in a moment. Want to get started? Want to fuck?”

“Yeah!” he proclaimed, almost shouting in his eagerness. “Let’s get these clothes off. With you—I think I don’t have to be a goddamn hotshot football player. I think I can be just a man,” he said, rather plaintively.

“And what a man!” I told him, sincerely. “Come on, big guy,” I growled. “Let’s get naked and fuck!”

We stripped.

On the bed, I admit it—I wallowed like a (sex) pig in mire, luxuriating in the feel of Zeke’s hard-muscled black body against mine. I set out to show him that he hadn’t squandered his money, when he’d hired a whore like me. I explored every part of his physique, making love to it not only with my hands, but with my lips and tongue. His armpits—his pecs and nipples—his taint—his balls—his asshole—even his huge feet. I kissed and licked and sucked them all, in an oral frenzy.

Deliberately, though, I bypassed his cock, edging him, ignoring the way that dusky phallus of him jutted upward from his crinkly-haired groin. Oh, don’t get me wrong. I wanted to chow down on that manly meat! But I denied myself, and my john, that pleasure, at first.

“Suck—my freaking dick—for me—you goddamn prickteasing whore!” Zeke bellowed, breaking up the command with labored, agonized intakes of breath.

Instead, I attacked his rear end, spreading his buttocks with my hands and licking up and down along the deep cleft between them. My tongue flicked tantalizingly over his flexing anal pucker. I was delaying, postponing the actual rimming, teasing Zeke. But the big guy had finally had enough of my coyness!

“Suck my black man’s ass, you white slut!” Zeke roared. “Stick your tongue up my ass! Lick it out! You dirty Hungarian man whore, you!”

I didn’t see what my nationality had to do with it. But I was more than ready to suck his butch ass, if the alternative was pissing off this huge dude!

He sat on my face, heavily, leaving me with little choice in the matter. Whether I wanted to or not, I had to rim him. I had to suck his ass!

His buttocks were so big, two absolutely inflexible hemispheres of hard muscle covered by smooth, charcoal-hued flesh, that I honestly feared I might end up being smothered between them while I ate his ass. But, stoically, bearing the example set by the ancient Romans, I held my ground and I persevered. I drove my tongue in and out of his hotly spasming bunghole. His sphincter relaxed and seemed to sag down against my ass kissing lips, around my probing tongue, as I savored the manly taste of his black butt. God, he was a stud! His behind was every bit as virile, as exciting, as the rest of his body. As though his anus contained some intoxicating drug, which, transferred to my tongue and lips, drove me mad with lust, I devoured his manhole, betraying an insatiable hunger for his sleek, pungent ass flesh! Zeke was lucky that, in my frenzy, I didn’t bite off, chew on, and swallow chunks of his ass, as I might consume so much raw meat!

“Fuck, yeah, that’s some good rimming, some hot ass sucking, you muscle stud!” he roared. “Uh, stick that tongue right up my ass! Lick and suck, bitch! Lick and suck! Oh—eat out my black ass!”

At last, though, he climbed off me.

“I have to fuck your ass, before I go crazy thinking about it,” he swore.

I saw a plastic pump bottle of lubricant, on the table next to the bed, beside the lamp. I reached for it.

“Let’s use plenty of this,” I suggested. “You’re hung big, man! I don’t want to end up with my asshole ripped open.”

I squirted some of the gel onto my palm. I wrapped my hand around Zeke’s erection, coating it thoroughly, from base to tip, with the slippery substance.

“I’ll be gentle,” he promised.

Famous last words!

I drew him tightly against me and I kissed him, hard and hot and wet, on the mouth for several minutes.

“Put it in me,” I invited him, feverish with anticipation. I rolled onto my stomach beside him. “Is this position good for you?”

He grunted. “With you, stud, I bet any position would be good! Hold still. Yeah—I’ll take you just like this, with me on top—!”

He lay motionless for a moment, breathing hard and noisily, but then he got up onto his knees, and, climbing on top of me, he straddled me, just below my buttocks. God, he was a big man—heavy! Holding his well-lubed cock in his fist, he pressed it down into the cleft between my ass cheeks. He grunted in frustration when he didn’t find my hole at first, and he pulled away.

“Wait, let me,” I babbled. I reached my arm behind my butt and I took his slippery dick in my hand. “Lean forward a little, over me.” He raised himself up and he crouched over me, making it easier for me to maneuver the head of his cock into position between my glutes. I pressed the thick round glans right against my pucker, wondering whether I’d really be able to absorb that big thing anally without ending up being split wide open! Recklessness consumed me, obliterating my scruples. “Shove it right in me, big guy,” I told Zeke. “I can take it,” I insisted, optimistically. “I want it! Give it to me—now!”

I should’ve kept my damn fool mouth shut—and my sphincter clenched!

Zeke pushed again, forcing his prickhead right through my cringing anal aperture, and he emitted a fierce grunt of joy when he felt my ass tighten around his cock in instinctive self-defense. He lay heavily on top of me. He outweighed me by quite a few pounds, and his big body seemed to overwhelm mine as it sank down on me, holding me down on the bed, almost squeezing the breath out of my lungs. His mouth sucked on the side of my neck, and then his teeth bit into my flesh there, as he pressed his dick into me, again and again. He was already inside me—fucking me—taking my ass!

I yelped when I felt those strong teeth of his nip into the skin of my neck. Ordinarily, I wouldn’t have minded being given a love bite or two, during the course of a hot sex act. But I instantly began to worry about whether I’d have a lingering suck mark, which would show up during our next video shoot. I didn’t protest to Zeke, though. It was too late. And I told myself I could always cover up a hickey with body makeup. As a competitive bodybuilder and a nude physique model, I was used to availing myself of such artifices, to make myself look as good as possible. I’d brought my makeup kit with me, in my luggage.

Meanwhile, Zeke was certainly enjoying himself, judging by his responses to his penetration of my ass.

“Ah, Jesus, Emeric!” he told me, in an awed tone of voice. “This is one of the best fucks I’ve ever had! What an ass! I don’t often get to screw a dude with a body as good as yours. Even my teammates who are on the down low, too—those horny sons of bitches are big and muscular, sure, but they tend to put on some fat, too. They’re not all ripped and defined like you are, every goddamn muscle standing out. Aw, shit, this is good! You’re worth what you charge! Every motherfucking cent!”

His praise was music to my ears, just as his cock was sheer ecstasy inside my ass. He wasn’t the most subtle or refined lover I’d ever had, but his energy and enthusiasm more than made up for any lack of finesse. He was fucking me flat out, not sparing me. Each time he thrust down between my buttocks and through my sphincter, I felt his cock sink fully into me. His testicles slapped between my spread thighs, and the coarse black pubic hair surrounding the base of his dick scratched against my ass cheeks. His glans battered away at my prostate, like a clenched fist repeatedly and insistently knocking on a door. Groaning, sweating, breathing hard, he collapsed on top of me, planting frantic wet kisses everywhere he could reach with his lips, on the back on my neck, on my earlobes, on my cheeks, on my shoulders and on my upper back between my shoulder blades. He bit me again, more than once, making me yelp in response. He was like an animal—a savage, rutting male animal in heat, going after sex, maddened by lust, functioning by pure instinct. I was his mate!

“So good,” he kept repeating. “This is so good! Oh, I’m so glad I hired you. I’m so glad you’re here, I’m so glad I’m fucking your ass!”

I was glad, too, grateful to have such a stimulating sex partner—despite the fact that his brutal use of my ass was costing me a good deal of very real pain. Talk about biting off more than you can chew! His exceptionally large and virile cock was testing even my anal ability. The thought crossed my mind that Zeke was wasted, playing football. The big-dicked bastard ought to be working in the gay porn industry, himself! He was reaming me out in much the same way that Brash had, truly threatening to wreck my hole.

My fucker was a football player, but it felt as though he’d shoved a baseball up my ass! My sphincter was stretched around the circumference of that obscenely large object which he was driving into my guts. The distension in my anus set my nerve endings on fire, transforming my butthole into a fiery tunnel.

I felt as though I had been impaled on a sharp-pointed spike, the torture Attila the Hun liked to inflict upon his enemies. Zeke’s long, thick, inflexible cock seemed to have been driven right through me, nailing me to the bed! My guts spasmed uncontrollably around his erection for a moment, my internal muscles trying to force him out of my hole. I let out a gasp of shock.

But then my professionalism reasserted itself. I’d been paid for sex, and sex was exactly what I was going to deliver. And being penetrated by such a massively built, well-hung, masculine man excited me. The fact that my fucker was black added to my arousal. I wanted the dark stallion to rape my vulnerable white man’s hole!

Regaining control over my anal muscles, I worked them deliberately, massaging that imposing erection, milking it. The pain ebbed away, and it was replaced by a heat which seemed to originate deep in my anus, but radiated outward throughout my whole body, paradoxically soothing and exciting me at once. I was taking that big black stud cock, and I was loving it! Every inch of it! Suddenly, far from wanting to fight the phallic invasion, I couldn’t get enough of it. I couldn’t surrender too much of myself!

Oh, yeah! Big black cock! Just one of the many delights which the United States had to offer a gay man! And, in Zeke’s case, it was an abundant offering indeed!

“All right, stud,” I said. “You’re in there. All the way in there. Now fuck my ass! Don’t rush it. Make it last for a long time.”

As I spoke, I thrust my buttocks up at his groin, and for a moment his cock sank even deeper into me. When I pressed my body back down on the bed, he drew his dick partway out of my hole, but then he slammed it back into place. I repeated my motion a few times, to get our humping rhythm started and to make it clear to my fucker that I was willing and happy to be on the receiving end of some rough treatment. Then he took over, taking the hint, and he began to drive his prick in and out of me quite aggressively. I sure liked the way that felt!

“Oh, yeah! Hell, yeah!” I gloated.

Zeke paused for a moment, keeping his cock planted inside me, but not thrusting. “I’m not hurting you, am I?”

Whorishly, I squirmed my behind, grinding my ass cheeks up at him. “No, big guy, you’re not hurting me at all. You’re making me feel damn good.”

“Some guys can’t take it like this—this rough,” he said.

“Well, I sure as hell can!” And I continued to prove that to him. I contracted my anal muscles, squeezing his dick. “You may plow when ready,” I invited Zeke.

“You like having that black cock up your ass, huh?”

“Love it. Can’t get enough of it. Come on, give it to me! Fuck me hard!”

“Wow—I knew you’d be hot—but I didn’t think you’d be this wild!”

He resumed his humping, more slowly this time, pulling his cock nearly all of the way out of my ass and then pushing it back into me. I could feel every inch of him barreling through my anal tunnel each time he repeated the motion. It seemed as though we had merged into one entity, so that I could no longer tell where his body ended and mine began. He was inserted deep into my anus, which spasmed in delirious acceptance around his bulky manhood.

“Harder, stud,” I told him. “Don’t be afraid to fuck me harder, as hard as you want to, as hard as you can. Go ahead, really pound my ass! I like it—I want it!” I was being a bossy bottom, demanding that my fucker use his cock to satisfy me. But Zeke didn’t seem to mind!

He began to pump more rapidly, his movements less controlled. His big, meaty thighs slapped noisily and indeed rather uncomfortably against mine as he drove that thick black dick in and out of me. His huge arms were wrapped around my body, holding my chest tightly against his. His breath was hot and moist on the back of my neck. His sweat mingled with mine. His legs squeezed mine from the outsides, pressing them tightly together, as he jackhammered his prick harder and faster into me with each new thrust, really punishing my ass.

He began to gasp for breath, his inhalations and exhalations sounding more like sobs of desperation than indications of pleasure. He bit my neck again, more fiercely.

Oh, yeah! I was being fucked by a big, muscular man, whose huge hard cock was really stretching and filling and pummeling my ass! What bliss! But like so many good things, this erotic ecstasy couldn’t last indefinitely. At the risk of sounding immodest, I was just too good a fuck. My talented and well-trained anus was doing too efficient a job of coaxing Zeke toward orgasm, of forcing my fucker to expel his sperm.

“I’m going to come!” Zeke bellowed, like a rutting bull. “Yeah, you’re about to get it, white boy! A big load of cum in your ass!”

“Go on, come, stud,” I urged him. “Come in me! Give me everything you’ve got!”

He drove down hard into me. He began to pull back out, but then he seemed to change his mind—or the climactic lust racking his body took over, changing his mind for him—and instead he thrust forward again, extra hard this time. An instant later, he began spurting inside me, jet after jet of fresh, hot fuck fluid. I could feel every squirt, every pulsation of his prick as it unloaded, filling my anal depths with sperm. It was too much for me to take. I felt a surge of response rush through my body, and I realized that I was ejaculating, too, helplessly. I fired my own charge of seed onto the bed while he continued to pour his into me.

The football star had scored a touchdown, that was for sure! But, with my ass burning and tingling as a result of the stud’s prolonged use of my hole, I felt like a winner, too!

Chapter Eight: The Rousing Conclusion to My First American Porn Stint

Knowing that I could rely on Sandor to be discreet, I told him that my second Florida trick had been a pro athlete, and apparently a celebrity, in the States. Sandor, to my surprise, actually knew who Zeke was.

“I didn’t know you liked American football,” I said.

“Big men in tight pants—what’s not to like?” Sandor retorted.

I didn’t reveal Zeke’s identity to any of the other guys.

“It’s hard to decide which is better, black cock, or brown,” Sandor remarked, after we’d traded detailed, lurid accounts of our most recent sexual adventures.

“Close your eyes, and they feel the same,” I suggested. “This whole race and ethnicity thing—fetishizing men of color—it’s all in the mind, really.”

“Which doesn’t make it any less real,” Sandor argued. “Any less potent, so to speak. A guy should be flattered that you like his looks, that there’s something about him which really arouses a response in you and turns you on. Whether it’s blond hair, blue eyes, and a pale skin, or a dark skin, with hair and eyes—and dick flesh color!—to match.”

“Um, maybe you’ve got a point, buddy,” I conceded. “I’d like to meet a guy who fetishizes Hungarians. Poles, Czechs, Germans, Austrians, Yugoslavs, Romanians—no, none of them does it for him. It’s got to be a genuine, full-blooded Hungarian who gets his motor going.”

Sandor laughed. “We’re doing all right, here. The locals seem to find us exotic—and sexy. Must be our accents, when we speak English.”

“Must be what we say in English,” I suggested. “Such as, ‘Want to fuck?’ Or ‘While I’m here in Florida, I want to get as much American cock as I can.’ Or ‘I know I look butch, but I’m really a dirty sex pig who’ll do just about anything.’ Or—”

“Or,” Sandor said, interrupting me, “in your case—‘Back home in Hungary, I’m a porn star and a popular escort, but here in the States, when I’m not actually working as a porn performer or a male whore, I’m giving it away for free, to all comers.’ That seems to be getting results.”

“Aw, shut up,” I grumbled.

My final sequence in the video involved me and Diego, another Hispanic stud whom Brash had recruited. Diego was a fellow bodybuilder, with a really fine physique. I was excited by the prospect of working with him, and I thought that Brash had chosen well.

Gradually, though, I began to have a few misgivings.

Diego was a guy who identified himself as straight, but gay for pay. Rather tiresomely, he kept yapping about his girlfriend, whom he hadn’t bothered to marry, even though they had two small children together. Diego’s top priority seemed to be the establishment of his heterosexual credentials. He wasn’t gay. Oh, no! God forbid!

Surrounded by uninhibited gay men in the house, Diego seemed a little uneasy, as though he was afraid he might be molested at any moment. Given the high sex drives of all the residents, maybe he was right to be worried!

Sandor had a different take on the situation.

“Gay for pay?” my buddy scoffed. “Isn’t that just shorthand for, ‘I don’t want my wife or my girlfriend to know how much I enjoy having sex with men for money?’ It’s only a short step from gay for pay to gay for fun.”

“Well,” I said, flippantly, “I’ll see whether I can convert Diego to our way of thinking, during our scene.”

Sandor laughed. “The poor guy doesn’t know what he’s in for!”

Diego was yet another one in the seemingly endless series of hot Hispanic guys whom Brash had recruited to work for him, to appear in his porn videos. I had to hand it to Brash. He certainly had a good eye. He knew potential talent when he saw it. And the men he persuaded to work for him were invariably as sexy as hell!

Diego was no exception. He was a real prize! He was a handsome guy with a great body, but, before we did our scene, I became increasingly apprehensive. I’d worked in porn with gay for pay performers back home. Some were so “into it” that it was hard to believe they weren’t wholeheartedly gay in their private lives. But others tended to be a bit wooden and reserved in front of the camera, which was no fun for me—or for the audience.

Diego was so adamant, so insistent, about the fact that he was straight, and that he was willing to have sex with another man just for the money, that I feared he would turn out to be a dud, rather than a stud.

Jesus, dude, get over yourself, already, will you! I thought. In anticipation of our scene, I couldn’t help being a little skeptical, and pessimistic.

Our sequence had a sort of a token scenario. Diego woke up in bed, in one of the guest rooms in Bo and Trent’s house. Naked except for a pair of skimpy black cotton briefs, he hauled his ass out of bed, stretched, and wandered out of the house, onto the terrace beside the pool. He showed off his body to the sun—and to Jerry’s camera. There, though, I was waiting—bare-assed, hard-cocked naked, exposing myself to the bright morning sun. Diego led me back into the bedroom, where we got it on. It may not have been compelling drama, but it was a quick and efficient setup which led to some extremely hot sex.

On the bed, amidst the mussed sheets, I got down on my knees beside Diego. Maybe a bit brusquely, I pulled down his black briefs. “Get these off,” I told him. “And give it up.” I was speaking as much to Diego himself as to the fictional character he was portraying, letting him know that, while the camera was rolling, I wasn’t going to put up with any of that gay for pay nonsense. The stud had better put out! And pretend that he was enjoying it!

Somewhat reassuringly, his cock sprang up from his groin, firm and hard.

I wadded up his briefs, held them to my face, and I inhaled his musky crotch scent, which lingered on the underwear.

“Yeah, fucker. I can smell your manhood on this underwear,” I gloated, brazenly. “Smells good! Gets me hot!”

To prove just how hot I was, I slipped in between his legs, kneeling on the bed, and I reached down for Diego’s cock and I held it securely in my fist. I felt it pulsing, quite strongly. Lowering my head, I kissed both of his thighs, trailing my tongue wetly down between his legs until my nose was pressed into his ball sac and I could lick his testicles, rub my lips over them, and pull them inside my mouth.

I sucked on his balls, which made him gasp and squirm.

“Yeah, man, suck on my fucking nuts! Uh, you really know how to do it, how to turn a guy on! That feels good!” Diego exclaimed.

Well, I concluded, at least once he gets warmed up, he puts on a pretty plausible gay act! Things were going better than I’d anticipated. I felt a rush of excitement sweep through me as I mouthed those big balls. There was something perversely arousing about making love to a straight guy, breaking down his defenses, showing him what a gay man could do for him.

Diego’s hands touched my head, and he gently urged me to release his balls. He lifted me up so that my mouth hovered just above the swollen tip of his cock. “Go ahead,” he begged, pushing me down on his dick. “Go ahead and suck it. Suck it for me! Please!”

I felt his glans rub against my lips, smooth and hard, the piss slit leaking pre-cum, which I licked up with a swipe of my tongue. Opening my mouth wide, I went down on it. The thickness and hardness of his potent fuck tool filled my mouth and rammed deep into my throat, as I closed my lips around the circumference of the bloated shaft, and Diego pressed my head all the way down on him.

“Whore! Gay whore! Suck it, you dirty cocksucker!” he gasped. “Take it all the way in your mouth and down your throat, you queer man cunt, you! Suck it! Oh, suck that cock, you dirty fag!”

Now he was getting personal!

I was willing to blow him, but I’d be damned if I was willing to let him get away with thinking that I was the kind of a mindless cocksucker who’d be grateful to suck on just any arrogant man’s dick!

I derived a sadistic pleasure from sinking my teeth into his turgid cock flesh!

“Ah! Shit! Hell!” he yelled, as I bit into his penis.

I took pity on him, releasing the pressure right away, but it still gave me a good deal of satisfaction to hear him whimper, while his body quivered with aftershocks. I continued suck his vulnerable cock, and I was certain that the possibility that I might bite him again was going through his mind. He seemed a lot less sure of himself! The cocky bastard was being put in his place.

I treated Diego to a damn fine blow job, if I do say so myself. But Brash had already told Diego that he was going to have to let me fuck him. A bit reluctantly, the gay for pay stud had agreed. He didn’t get fucked that often, he said, and he hoped I’d go easy on him, at least at first. Now, I was really looking forward to having his ass! I hoped his manhole would be nice and tight, and that I’d have the pleasure of stretching and loosening it for him, turning him into my straight bitch, reminding him of just how far he was willing to go, how much he was ready to give up, in exchange for money!

Accordingly, I removed my mouth from his prick.

“You ready to get fucked, straight stud?” I taunted him.

“Yeah,” he grunted, sullenly.

“You’re going to love this,” I promised.

He looked a bit dubious, but he stretched himself out on his belly on the bed, with his legs spread wide, his buttocks just begging me to insert my dick between them. Diego looked rather like a sacrificial victim served up on an altar, and I was perfectly happy to play the role of the officiating high priest.

Grabbing the tube of lube, I squeezed out a generous amount of the gel onto my palm, and then I slathered it onto my penis. When I was fully lubed, I applied another blob of the gel onto Diego’s ass, pressing my hand flat between his butt cheeks and wiping my palm over his sphincter. With one fingertip, I worked some of the lube inside his pucker, which flexed strongly in response to even this token, preliminary penetration.

Satisfied that we were both ready for action, I positioned my knees outside Diego’s legs, and I crouched over him, gripping my slippery cock firmly in my hand and bringing it down into the tight butt cleft of his beautiful young body.

“You ready?” I asked. “Ready to be fucked?”

“Kiss me, first,” he begged.

With my other hand, I grabbed a fistful of his hair and I turned his head around toward me, kissing him quite aggressively on the mouth. While he returned the kiss, just as boldly, just as demandingly, I began to enter him. I pushed forward slowly at first, struggling to get the thick head of my cock inside him without causing him undue discomfort. Once I was all the way in him, I suspected, he’d be receptive enough, and he’d probably turn out to be one hell of a hot fuck!

And so it proved.

Diego grunted with surprise against my lips as he felt me sliding into his anus, inch by inch. I kissed him even more passionately, to placate and soothe him, while I forced my dick deeper inside him. His ass was tight—very tight, almost uncomfortably so for me, at first. The pressure and friction were unusually intense, as I pushed in farther and I felt his anal defenses yielding, his hole surrendering itself to the steadily advancing fullness of my penis. Diego had gone rigid at first, trembling a little, and he let out a plaintive faint moan in response to my first thrust into him. But now he began to relax and accept me inside him. I held firmly onto his mouth with my own mouth until all of my cock was buried deep in him. I fought my instinct to start humping.

“Okay?” I whispered in Diego’s ear.

“Fine,” he moaned. “Oh, you’re so big!”

“I’m going to start fucking you, now.”

“Yeah! Christ, yeah! Give it to me!” Diego’s buttocks squirmed up against, pressing into my groin, betraying how eager he was for me to begin thrusting into him. I began to fuck him, slowly at first, but soon accelerating my pace. “Oh, hell, yeah!” he cried. “Let me feel that dick in my ass! Fuck me, man! Fuck me hard!”

I kissed him on the back of his neck. I took him, forcefully, using his tight hole, loosening it up. But I couldn’t resist taunting him a little more.

“How do you like having my gay man’s cock up your straight ass, stud?” I asked.

“I like it—it feels good—uh, hell, this queer shit is turning me on!”

As was usually the case in such situations, our coupling was virtually a threesome. The third participant was Jerry, who was right there beside the bed, and who in fact actually knelt on the mattress at times, recording my possession of Diego’s butch anus.

I pounded away with total abandon. I was really enjoying making Diego my bitch!

And, much to my surprise, Diego seemed to like taking my cock up his ass, being the recipient of one of my roughest, most lustful, cruelest fucks! Maybe the dude wasn’t so straight, after all?

He’d yell and thrash about and squirm under me while I plowed his butt, but he’d also cling to me and beg for more. He was so hot for cock that he couldn’t get enough of mine jammed up his ass. “Fuck me, you dirty Hun, fuck me!” among other lewd demands, kept coming from his mouth, every time I drove deep into him. “Gay for pay” Diego was turning out to be a highly satisfactory gay porn partner. Passive—willing—eager—responsive! Oh, how I fucked him, and how greedily he fucked back at me, in his maddened efforts to impale himself to the fullest possible extent upon the hot phallic spike of my dick! Did I say “passive?” He was passive only to the extent that he was accepting my cock, not resisting. But, increasingly aggressive, he was now taking a quite active part in our fuck!

With my cock reaming out his sweet little manhole, Diego lost it, going wild!

“Fuck me!” he’d yell. “Oh, fuck my ass, stud! Go in there deep and hard. Oh, ream me out! Get that cock of yours all the way in there, and fuck, oh, fuck, fuck, fuck! Fuck my ass! Come in my ass! I want to be your pussy boy. I want to be your bitch!”

“You are,” I told him. “You are my boy. You are my bitch!”

“Jesus! Sweet Jesus!” Diego shrieked. “Fuck me harder! Destruir ese agujero!” [“Wreck that hole!”]

I was picking up quite a few Spanish phrases which might come in useful later, back home!

“I want that cock!” Diego insisted. “Deep in me! Fucking me! Fucking me like I was a cunt!”

If his kids could see their daddy now! I thought—maliciously, I admit.

I wanted to blast my load of cum into his quaking, constricting anal depths, baptizing his bowel with my sperm. Like a wild animal pissing to mark its territory, I longed to expel my semen into Diego, labeling him as my own. My personal property—my hot hole, mine to fuck!

But I knew that Brash would kill me if I failed to deliver a come shot, for Jerry to capture on video in all its wet, spurting abundance.

“Get ready—to take—my goddamn cum!” I gritted out.

“Oh, yeah, fucker! Give it to me! Shoot that cum deep in my ass!” Diego begged. He seemed to have forgotten the need for me to ejaculate outside his body.

“I’m going to shoot—on you,” I reminded him, feverishly. “All over you!”

“Uh, do it!” he cried.

I withdrew my prick from his ass. My frantically stimulated male organ pulsed violently, and it ached, so intense was my arousal. I was sure I was going to erupt, within a few seconds. A few strokes of my hand on my cock were all that would be needed—!

But then there was a slight glitch. I thought I was about to come. I desperately wanted to come! But, all of a sudden, for some reason, I couldn’t!

“Damn,” I muttered, as I pumped away roughly on my stubborn prick. Panicking a bit, I fought to wrench my semen out of me by brute force!

That’s when Diego, to give him credit, really stepped up to the plate. Jerry’s camera was still rolling, of course, and Diego seemed to sense that I was having difficulty crossing the finish line.

“Let me do that for you,” he urged me.

He took over, giving me a vigorous hand job, which his powerfully developed arm muscles made especially exciting. My cock pulsed hotly within his grip, and when he began to stroke it, slowly, up and down, I felt myself swell larger and harder inside his fist.

“Yeah,” he growled. “Let me beat this big piece of meat!” I looked at his face and I saw renewed lust gleaming in his eyes. He’d certainly seemed to have gotten off on having my cock in his ass, but handling my prick seemed to be getting him aroused all over again. I leaned back, resting my head against the mattress, and I closed my eyes, surrendering myself to the steady throbs of response which the pumping action of his tight fist were generating in my cock. “How does this feel?” Diego wanted to know. “Am I doing it right? Am I doing it the way you like?”

“Fuck, yeah,” I assured him. “Don’t change a damn thing!”

“I’m start sucking it in a minute,” he promised. “I’ve always wanted to try that ‘ass to mouth’ thing. I wonder if I’ll be able to taste my ass on your cock?”

My cock jumped and twitched inside his fist, as though it had ears, it had heard him, and it was impatient to be sucked. Diego’s fingers squeezed my shaft even tighter and he began to jerk me off with slow, sure strokes. His fist pumped away on my prick so skillfully that I could already feel the familiar tension of an impending orgasm start to build up in my loins, in my balls—in the core of my highly sensitive, responsive cock. I prayed that this time it wouldn’t be a false alarm!

Diego’s busy, talented hand coaxed me closer and closer toward orgasm, to the extent that I was enjoying the hand job so much that I’d have been willing to have him bring me off, just like that. But he was true to his word. I felt his body shift its position on the mattress next to mine, when he brought his face down to my cock. I opened my eyes. I wanted to see him do it, knowing that the lewd sight of the other muscle man putting my cock in his mouth and sucking it would give me almost as much satisfaction as the actual physical sensations of the act.

Slowly, teasingly, Diego touched his lips to my dick, which throbbed visibly in response to the light pressure of his warm, wet lips. He kissed my penis, pressing his mouth down firmly against it, and then he pulled back and stuck out his tongue. While he held the base of my cock steady with his left hand, he began to masturbate himself with his right fist, and his tongue licked its way in slow, deliberate, provocative wet circles around the head of my fuck tool.

I couldn’t help myself. I squirmed, and I sucked in my breath with a loud gasp. My pelvis rose involuntarily from the bed, thrusting my dick at his face.

“Go on,” I begged him. “Put it in your mouth!”

He grinned at me. Now it was payback time—his turn to taunt me, a little.

“Make me, if you’re such a tough guy. Make me suck you!” Diego suddenly insisted. “I like it when I pretend I’m being forced.” Without waiting for a response from me, he showed me just what he meant. He released both of our dicks and he placed my hands on top of his head. He held them there, tightly against his skull, my fingers brushing through his disheveled hair and rubbing his scalp. He pressed down, guiding my head down—and driving my dick deep into his mouth.

I sucked in my breath again when I felt the pressure of his warm lips, the slippery friction of his tongue, and the juicy wetness inside his mouth, all combine to stimulate my cock. He took his hands away from mine. Keeping my hands clasped on his head, I pushed it down until every inch of my prick was buried in his mouth, and his lips were snug against the wreath of pubic hair around its base. A moment later, I heard him gag, and I relaxed my grip a bit. But then he grunted in protest. He wanted me to fuck his face! To “force” him to blow me! To make him choke on my thick, rigid cock!

I once again pushed down on the back of his head, playing along with his fantasy scenario of being orally raped—but by now it was already a token gesture. He was taking over the suck, his head bobbing up and down in my lap of its own volition. He swallowed my cock willingly, greedily, taking it all the way down to my balls, indifferent to any discomfort it caused him. While he sucked and deep-throated me, he swiped away at my smoldering cock flesh with his tongue.

I released my hold on his head and I leaned back. My eyes were wide open, watching the way he bobbed his head and pumped his mouth on my prick. Every time I saw him swallow my meat, every time I watched it disappear between his distended lips, every time I felt the wet warmth of his mouth surround it, I groaned with delight and I felt myself coming that much closer to shooting off. The jabs my dickhead made down into the tight, convulsing depths of his throat further excited me, and they did nothing to postpone my orgasm.

Diego was a damn good cocksucker. His utterly masculine appearance and manner quite effectively disguised the fact that at heart he was a dirty sex pig. He was almost as bad as me! I reveled in the way being blown by him felt. But in addition to the physical pleasure, there was the obscene sight of it, the arousing visual element. His lips were stretched like a thick, fleshy rubber band around my shaft. His saliva leaked from the corners of his mouth and trickled down his chin. His nostrils were flared as he breathed desperately through his nose. His eyes had a glazed, rapt look in them, as he feverishly sucked on my frantically agitated, ready-to-erupt prick!

“Hell, yeah, man!” I yelled. “Suck it, Diego! Suck it!”

He had resumed his masturbation. His fist pumped away on his own cock like a machine thrown into high gear. I could hear the sound of his hand slapping on his penis, flesh impacting upon flesh. He was making gurgling noises deep down in his throat. His mouth was leaking saliva around my cockshaft, trickles of spit running down his chin and dripping onto my balls, wetting the bedsheets between my thighs.

With his free hand, he toyed with my balls. But, when that didn’t satisfy him, he let go of my testicles, and instead his hand probed between my buttocks. His fingertips massaged my sphincter ring, but soon they pushed their way through my pucker, and he used two fingers to finger-fuck my ass. The fingertips nudged my prostate.

Now, I was frantic to come. In the completed video, when I saw it, the desperation on my face, the tension in both of our bodies, and Diego’s abandoned efforts to make us both ejaculate, looked incredibly hot. And neither of us was acting, or faking it. We were caught up in our mutual sexual frenzy.

“Suck my dick!” I shouted. My groin pounded against his face. My cock drove brutally into his mouth, down into his throat. “Suck, goddamn you! I’m going to come!”

He grunted in acknowledgment of my warning. His lips slid back and forth on my shaft even more rapidly, sucking me more avidly than they had ever blown me before. His hand pumped violently on his own cock while he sucked mine. Abruptly, I heard him making a choking sound, deep in his throat, followed by a muffled whimper. I felt his big, muscular body spasm against mine. Raising my head, I looked down at his crotch. He was ejaculating, for a second time, his cock spraying thick wet jets of cum across the rumpled bed. The sight of him unloading like that was all it took to trigger my own orgasm.

Once again holding firmly onto Diego’s head, I lunged up from the bed.

“Coming,” I repeated, gasping. “Don’t stop! Don’t you dare stop now. Go right on sucking it. Get ready for a big mouthful of cum. Yeah, here goes! I’m about to shoot! Get ready to swallow my fucking cum—!”

But, unfortunately, I couldn’t allow myself the pleasure of coming in his mouth and letting him swallow my load, as much as I wanted to. It was now definitely come shot time. In fact, it was now or never!

I drew back and I freed my dick from between Diego’s lips just in time to fire off outside his mouth, expelling jet after jet of semen smack onto his handsome face. I came exceptionally hard, and in a larger quantity than usual. Diego received a thorough facial, drenching him from his forehead right down to his chin! Just when I thought I must be depleted, my cock spat out thick wads of sperm several more times, before the torrent slowed to a trickle.

Then it was safe for me to shove my cock back inside Diego’s mouth. Emitting lewd, appreciative grunts, he sucked hungrily on my just-emptied fuck tool. For a straight guy, he was doing a surprising good job of pretending to enjoy gay sex!

Diego clung greedily to my dick for a minute or two, his lips locked firmly around the very base of my shaft, his tongue scrubbing it, trying to coax still more fluid from me. Only when he felt my penis begin to go flaccid inside his mouth did he, reluctantly, slide his lips off it. He wiped his cum-smeared lips and chin with his hand, and he grinned at me, triumphantly.

“I guess I got it all,” he boasted. “Everything you had to give! One way or the other—either on my face or in my mouth. And believe me, fucker, the taste I did get was good to the last drop.”

He kissed me on the mouth—again, with an enthusiasm which made me wonder whether his gay for pay status was hewn in stone. It seemed to be developing some cracks and fissures, to me!

Brash yelled, “Cut!” and our anal and oral marathon was over. “What a fuck! What a hot-looking, nasty fuck!” Brash declared, almost jumping up and down, so revved up was he. “And that delayed come shot—that was pure genius!” He assumed I’d delayed coming deliberately, and I wasn’t about to disillusion him. “But you almost gave me a heart attack, Emeric,” Brash complained. “When you threatened to come in his mouth! I couldn’t believe you were going to waste that load, and not let Jerry get it. Don’t scare me like that again, please. I’m not sure I can take it.”

“Speaking of taking it,” I said. “You sure did a damn fine job, Diego. For a straight guy, you almost had me thinking you were enjoying yourself.”

He flushed. “Well, I figured as long as I had a job to do—I might as well go all the way.”

“That’s the kind of attitude I like. I appreciate all your hard work, guys,” Brash told us.

I’d fulfilled my contract. The video was in the can, ready for editing, processing, and distribution. In the morning, Sandor and I would fly back to Budapest. We hated to leave!

Chapter Nine: Wrapping it Up

That evening, Bo and Trent threw a “wrap party,” for everybody. They chased the rest of us out of their kitchen, because they intended to prepare an especially lavish dinner.

I was interested to see that Diego accepted our hosts’ invitation to stay for dinner. Diego got on his cell phone and told his girlfriend that he had to work late, unexpectedly, to shoot some retakes of his scene. This wasn’t true, of course. Lying to the significant other? In order to spend more time with a group of gay men? I couldn’t help but think that such prevarication was the first misstep on a slippery slope.

The meal began with a spinach and salmon salad, followed by a really distinctive pasta dish—linguine with melted onions and cream, topped with freshly grated parmesan cheese. All this was accompanied by a crisp white wine.

After that excellent meal, most of us wandered outside onto the terrace, beside the pool. I stripped and climbed into the hot tub. Relaxing though that was, it soon began to make me feel sleepy, so I got out, dried myself, and stretched out nude on one of the chaise longues. I enjoyed the dry night air and the starlit sky overhead. I did doze off.

When I woke up, about half an hour later, I was alone. Some kind soul had fetched a quilt and spread it over me. I got up and, without bothering to put on any clothes, I went inside the house, curious to see how the other guys were entertaining themselves.

Not to my surprise, they all seemed to be having sex! I was mildly piqued, because they’d started without me!

From the master bedroom, the one Trent and Bo shared, I heard the familiar, unmistakable sounds of men being intimate together—moans, grunts, heavy breathing, the slap of flesh against flesh. The door was wide open, so I didn’t hesitate to go and investigate.

Standing in the doorway, looking into the room, I got quite an eyeful.

“Fuck me! Goddamn you, fuck me! Fuck me!” Bo was demanding, hoarsely, as he lay on his back on the sweat-stained, rumpled sheets and he stretched his legs straight up in the air and cupped his own pectoral muscles in his hands, pinching his nipples fiercely. “Fuck me, stud!”

Israele was drunk and high, his eyes glazed over, his lips slack and drooling saliva. But his splendid young prick was in full, functional erection as he set aside a bottle of poppers, he reached under Bo with both hands, and he grabbed the older guy’s rear end, none too gently—which made Bo groan with pleasure. His legs were still sticking straight up, but now they came to rest on the novice porn actor’s broad brown shoulders. Brash’s protégé leaned forward, panting for breath, and his weight came down on Bo, so that the man’s body was almost bent in half.

In this position, Israele penetrated our host. It was a brutal, quick, hard stab which pierced Bo’s butt completely, and made him scream in mingled pain and delight. I winced, myself, in empathy. Even lubricated though it was, Israele’s massive prickshaft was a lot for any guy’s asshole to take comfortably. But the young stallion showed Bo no mercy—not that the older man seemed to want any!—as his big, hot balls bounced against the cheeks of Bo’s butt in a hard and fast rhythm. Aggressively, the Latino lad forced his way in and out of that ravaged ass, until Bo’s flesh seemed to vibrate madly around the burning cock, completely subjugated by the violent anal assault.

“God, am I going to be sore back there tomorrow,” Bo groaned, as he helped himself to the poppers. “But,” he added, gasping, after he’d taken several deep snorts of the amyl, “it’s going to be worth it! Don’t stop. Go right on fucking me. Yeah, fuck the ass right off me!”

Still doubled up, the man was helpless under Israele’s weight and hard-driving potency. And yet, I could tell that, deep inside him, Bo was managing to squeeze the bloated head and shaft of Israele’s penis with his anal muscles, in a rhythmic, pulsating movement which seemed to inspire the well-hung young stud to ever more strenuous thrusts into his body. It was a trick which I employed myself when I was fucked, and the rapt look on Israele’s face when his dick got milked like that was something I’d seen on the faces of men who’d screwed me.

“Fuck me, boy!” Bo kept moaning, his head rolling from side to side on the mattress, his fingers clawing up at Israele’s well-defined shoulders and chest.

“Wow,” Israele exclaimed, with boyish naïveté, “for an old guy, you’re sure a great fuck!”

Bo didn’t seem to be offended by this backhanded compliment.

“I’ll stack myself up against any of those younger studs, any time,” he boasted. “I’ll show you who knows how to get fucked, sonny—how to take a cock. Keep fucking my ass!”

Both men were so caught up in their mutual lust that they remained unaware of my presence in the doorway. Belatedly, I felt a little ashamed of my voyeurism. Silently, I padded away, on my bare feet, and I made my way to the guest bedroom which Sandor and I shared.

There, too, the door was wide open, and there, too, the bed was occupied. Quickly getting over my shame, I stood there in the shadows of the hallways, checking out the action in the room.

Sandor was getting another fix of hot, hard Hispanic cock. No doubt he was determined to glut himself on it up until the last minute, before our departure. And the stud who was fucking him was none other than Diego! My buddy was getting the gay for pay guy’s dick shoved up his ass for free!

The two guys weren’t alone. Trent was on the bed, too, and like me he was absorbed in observing what was one hell of an athletic fuck!

Here, too, a bottle of poppers was circulating. Trent was snorting from it at the moment, and then he made himself useful by holding it under first Diego’s nostrils, then Sandor’s. Neither man really seemed to be in need of chemical stimulation. They were both mad with lust, and the amyl only seemed to inflame them, like pouring gasoline on a fire!

“Hot-assed son of a bitch,” Diego grunted. His thighs punished Sandor’s buttocks with their pounding rise and fall. “Cock-hungry whore! Take it! Take it all! Every fucking inch of my goddamn cock!”

“Give it all to me, buddy!” Sandor demanded. “Ream me out!”

“You want it? Here!” A rending thrust from Diego wrung screams of ecstasy from Sandor’s lips.

“More! More!” My friend was in agony and ecstasy, egging on his fucker, reckless of the possible consequences of being screwed too thoroughly, too roughly, by the guy’s gargantuan prick.

“Take that!”

“More!”

“You’re almost as big a whore as your buddy Emeric,” Diego told Sandor. (An unsolicited testimonial! Hearing that, I glowed with pride.) “Now, shut up and lie there and get fucked!”

As he spoke, Diego spanked Sandor’s ass cheeks with both of his hands, and Trent laughed as he squeezed his own long, thick cock in his fist, letting go of it only to free his hands long enough so he could snort the poppers.

“Fuck me right, and maybe then I’ll shut up!” a defiant Sandor shouted.

“I’ll tear your hot asshole wide open!” Diego threatened.

“Go right ahead! I’ll wrench your dick off with my asshole, and keep it for a souvenir. My own personal dildo! Now, you just pretend my ass is a nice juicy cunt, boy. Maybe that’ll inspire you! And while you’re at it, stud—I wouldn’t mind some more of that spanking, thank you very much.”

Diego obliged, smacking Sandor’s butt cheeks repeatedly with both hands. “There! Maybe this’ll satisfy that slut ass of yours! Prostituta masculine húngara!” [“Hungarian male whore!”] he raved.

“Oh, just shut up and fuck, you two horny motherfuckers!” Trent moaned. “Watching this—it’s driving me crazy! This is better than porn!”

“Better not yet our buddy Brash hear you say that,” the irrepressible Sandor quipped.

After the poppers made the rounds again, all three men went wild. Sandor’s big, muscular body shuddered. Once again, I could empathize. I was willing to bet that my buddy’s asshole was like molten lava, stirred up by Diego’s cock. Sandor’s hips wrenched this way and that, seemingly guided by a will all their own. Trent was masturbating, furiously. As was Sandor.

Diego’s prick was surely about to burst inside Sandor. The supposedly straight guy had all the symptoms of a man who was rapidly approaching orgasm—the tensed muscles, the clenched teeth, the heavy sweat, the mews and whimpers emerging from his mouth which sounded more like expressions of agony and frustration than pleasure. Sandor’s cock, and Trent’s cock, were like two blazing sticks of dynamite clasped in their owner’s hard-squeezing and hard-pumping fists, about to go off in a twin explosion.

Then, suddenly, Trent decided that jerking off wasn’t going to be enough to satisfy him.

Adroitly, he moved on the bed to straddle Sandor’s massive chest. Seating himself on the Hungarian bodybuilder’s pecs, which cushioned his buttocks, Trent shoved his dick toward my friend’s panting lips. Wide-eyed, Sandor reached out with his free hand, clutching and caressing the older guy’s erection before guiding it to his mouth. Trent’s penis bucked within Sandor’s grip like a skittish ram as Sandor fed it between his lips and sucked it deep into his mouth, suctioning on it furiously. Trent howled with renewed lust when his prick sank into Sandor’s hot, moist throat. Sandor had blown me so many times that I knew exactly what Trent must be experiencing. He was receiving the full benefit of my buddy’s skill at deep-throating!

The three men pumped away for another minute or two, a spectacle which was absolutely mesmerizing to watch.

“I’m coming, you horny, hot-mouthed cocksucker!” Trent shouted exultantly. “Fuck him, Diego! Blast in this sexy bastard’s ass! I’m coming, guys—now! Jesus Christ, am I ever coming!”

In my imagination, I shared everything which Sandor was experiencing. I was with my buddy, all the way, suck for suck, fuck for fuck, jerk for jerk! Dimly, caught up in the rapture of his own climax, Sandor realized that Diego, too, was coming. Hot cream poured into my buddy’s mouth and ass simultaneously, again and again. Liquid fire seemed to lick at the outside of his body, and then penetrate his skin and flow hotly through him from head to foot, searing him, making his blood boil over and turn to steam. Trent’s spurting cock was stiff and throbbing as it shot off in his throat, half choking him while he fought for breath around its bulk. And all the while, Sandor’s anus convulsed and clenched in the hot rhythms of orgasm around the monster cock which Diego kept thrusting in and out of his butthole, and also all the while, that Hispanic stallion’s cock continued to discharge its thick, warm, pearly fluid.

Like three marionettes whose strings had abruptly been slackened, the three men stopped jerking their limbs and pelvises, and they collapsed in a heap of sweaty flesh.

Diego was the first to look up and notice me standing in the bedroom doorway.

“Looks like we’ve got company, guys,” he gasped, as he slumped over Sandor’s writhing body, with his cock still jammed up my buddy’s ass. “A peek freak,” he joked.

“Yeah, a peeping Tom,” Trent agreed. “More like a peeping Emeric. Did you enjoy the show?”

“I sure did,” I said. “What’re you guys doing—rehearsing for Brash’s next video shoot?”

“We’d ask you to join us, Emeric, but I’m afraid we’re all fucked out, for the moment,” Trent said, apologetically. “I can’t speak for these two young guys, but I know I’m going need a little while to recuperate.”

“That’s okay,” I replied. “I’m ‘just resting,’ myself, as they say at the bathhouse.”

Trent eased his deflating prick out of Sandor’s mouth. My buddy looked fucked out, drenched in his own jism. He smiled at me, languidly. “I wonder if I can get a refund on my plane ticket? I don’t want to leave here—ever.”

“And how will you support yourself, since you won’t escort, and you won’t do porn?” I asked.

“Oh, when Ramon changes his mind about working for Brash, and he becomes a big porn star, I can take his place, as Trent and Bo’s houseboy,” my friend suggested, facetiously.

Laughing, I excused myself.

And, speak of the devil! There in the living room, on one of the couches, was Ramon, whom we’d just been talking about. And, ironically, it almost looked as though Brash was indeed recruiting him to appear in his next porn video—or they were rehearsing for it! Both men were naked. And they were involved in a hot, sweaty, highly homoerotic sex act!

“Eat my ass!” Ramon grunted. With his legs spread wide, he was lying on his back on the couch cushions. He used his hands to hold open his buttocks for Brash, who knelt on the couch with his face buried between those tempting brown satin-skinned ass cheeks, licking and slurping noisily as he rooted around inside the houseboy’s ass with his tongue.

Brash sucked the boy’s ass until he was sure it was relaxed and well lubricated with his spit. Then he moved into fucking position, guiding Ramon’s legs up over his shoulders.

“Ah, qué pene tan grande!” [“Ah, what a big penis!”] Ramon yelled, as Brash penetrated him. “It’s too goddamn big, dude! I don’t think I can take it. You may have to take it out.”

“Oh, you’ll get used to it,” Brash predicted. “Hundreds of other guys have!” Brash happened to turn his head, and he saw me standing there, watching them. “Ask Emeric,” he said. “He didn’t have any trouble taking my dick!”

“Yeah, but Emeric’s a whore,” Ramon pointed out. That was a rather tactless statement, but it was an accurate one, so I really couldn’t pretend to take offense.

“Even I had a little trouble taking on that moneymaker of yours, Brash,” I said. “So go easy on him.”

“Aw, man up!” Brash told Ramon, dismissively. “And while you’re at it, open up. Take that cock! Take it and love it, pretty boy! It’ll make a man out of you.”

“Uh—you’re a fucking animal—such a stud!” Ramon cried.

While he pounded away at Ramon’s ass, Brash leaned over him. His gleaming white teeth found one of the young Hispanic stud’s large brown nipples, and they fastened around it, nipping at the flesh with the ferocity of a vicious dog. The two men thrashed about wildly on the couch, as Brash licked and sucked and bit Ramon’s tits, rubbing his tongue over the tortured cones with a tongue so rough that I could’ve sworn I heard its sandpaper-like surface rasping over the tender, swollen flesh.

When his jackhammering deep into Ramon’s anus had driven the hot Hispanic lad to a state of frenzied arousal, breaking down his resistance, Brash guided their interlocked bodies into a different position. Now, Brash sat on the couch, and he continued to fuck Ramon briskly, with the younger guy astride him, riding his legendary porn star dick. Ramon squealed and moaned, his body shuddering with thrills, his buttocks obscenely spread on either side of his fucker’s ruthlessly impaling prick. Ramon rose and fell, his hips gyrating, his buttocks slapping against Brash’s hard-muscled thighs.

“Take my raw cock up your hole, bitch,” Brash growled.

“Fuck me, ah, hell! Fuck me hard! Come on, man, give me that big cock! All of it! All the way up my ass! Oh, Jesus—it’s so fucking big!” Ramon gloated.

Brash let out a breathless little laugh as he plowed away. “Funny, isn’t it, Emeric?” he asked. “How these ass-shy, tight-holed little prickteasers start to sing a different tune, and they beg for it, once it’s in them?”

“Yeah,” I agreed, perhaps rather callously. “That’s always been my experience.”

We were joined by Jerry, our intrepid cameraman. He’d obviously just had a swim, or at least a soak, in the pool. Nude, he was rubbing his wet hair with a towel.

He laughed when he saw Brash, reaming out Ramon so energetically.

“Doesn’t Brash ever stop?” Jerry asked me.

“You just wind him up, and he fucks,” I suggested.

“You’ve got quite a hard-on there, Emeric, yourself,” Jerry pointed out.

“Ah—yes—I guess I do.” Observing three sex acts in rapid succession had indeed given me an insistent boner, which stubbornly refused to go down, much as I’d been trying to ignore its existence.

“Want it sucked?” Jerry volunteered.

“Sure,” I blurted out, without thinking. Everybody else in the house seemed to be indulging in orgiastic activities. Why shouldn’t I? “No, wait a minute,” I protested. “When we were first introduced, Jerry—didn’t you tell me you were straight?”

“Listen, dude,” he retorted, with a droll look on his face. “You spend as much time as I just have, looking at guys having sex with guys, through the viewfinder of a video camera, and see how straight you manage to stay! Suppose you were exposed to ‘live’ hetero sex, for hours on end. You’d turn straight, or at least bisexual, yourself.”

I couldn’t argue with his logic, although part of me doubted that anything could make me straight! As aroused as I was, I didn’t want to debate the issue! “Guess you have a point,” I said. “Go ahead and suck my dick, if you want to. I don’t mind.” Talk about an understatement!

“I do want to—!” And, without further ado, Jerry tossed aside the damp towel, and he got down on his knees in front of me. “I’m new to this, dude,” he warned me, apologetically, “so tell me if I’m not doing it right.” And then his lips closed around the swollen, fiercely agitated head of my cock.

“Micsoda száj! Szopni!” [“What a mouth! Suck!”] I shouted, in surprise and delight. I was so excited that, momentarily, I reverted to my native Hungarian. Jerry was a natural! True, he was mouthing my cock, moving it around inside his mouth, with the kind of experimental trial-and-error which I did associate with novice cocksuckers. But he was highly motivated, and he learned fast! Working just on my glans at first, he locked his lips around it, and he began to apply a strong, steady, maddening suction. Lewd grunts emerged from his throat as, emboldened, he began to inch his lips down around my shaft, taking more and more of my manhood inside his mouth. He began to use his tongue on me, too, timidly at first, but then with increasing abandon.

“Fuck me!” I heard Ramon scream.

“Suck me!” I shouted, in response.

I once again watched Ramon sitting on Brash’s cock, riding it, but now, as arousing as that sight was, I also felt Jerry’s warm, smooth, wet lips massaging my own horny prick. The inexperienced guy gagged a few times when he tried to nudge my dickhead toward the back of his throat and swallow it. But then, once again as the result of sheer trial and error, or maybe of beginner’s luck, he suddenly succeeded! Emitting a series of truly lurid gurgling and gargling sounds, he began to deep-throat me, and soon he was servicing my prick like the hottest, whoriest cocksucker in the world!

He began to masturbate while he worked on me so unselfishly, his fist flailing away on his own cock.

Meanwhile, Brash was getting ready to breed Ramon’s sweet ass.

“You ready to get a load of cum?” the porn star asked.

“Yeah! Hell, yeah!” Ramon replied, nearly hysterical with lust. “Fuck me! Fill me! Come in me! Fuck me! Jizz me! Oh, God—come in my ass! But I want to come, too! Don’t stop fucking me, whatever you do! I’m so close. Fuck the cum right out of me!”

I was too caught up in my own lust to pay much more attention to Brash and Ramon, as the pair on the couch humped their way toward their mutual goal of orgasm. After all, what the two of them were doing was an old story for me. I’d written the final chapter often, myself, so to speak. I knew what the inevitable outcome would be!

I shoved my quivering, purple-veined penis into Jerry’s mouth—rather roughly, because it was obvious he could take it that way, and he liked it.

“Suck it,” I moaned. “Oh, buddy, you’re driving me crazy with that hot wet mouth of yours! I need to come—I need to shoot down your fucking throat so bad it hurts!”

Ruthlessly, I plunged my long, thick, absolutely inflexible phallic prong down into the kneeling guy’s throat. Jerry loved it! He gobbled, licked, sucked, and swallowed, in his erotic frenzy, until saliva was foaming from between his lips. I seized two handfuls of his tangled wet hair and I jerked his head back and forth, forcing him to suck my dick in the rhythm I wanted. I crushed my pubic bush under his nose, and the musky male odor of my crotch filled Jerry’s nostrils as he breathed hard and fast, and he kept up his oral exertions with eager glee.

My muscles seemed to tighten and tremble, and I knew I wasn’t going be able to hold off my orgasm much longer. Nor did I want to! Jerry reached up with one hand, grasped my big balls, and he squeezed them, none too gently, while he continued to masturbate himself with his other hard-pumping fist. I responded to the sudden pressure on my nuts by letting out a roar, and I pumped my hips more violently, my solid length of meat swelling and vibrating inside Jerry’s mouth. Thrusting crazily at the poor guy’s face, I let go, spewing out streams of hot, foaming sperm. Jerry grunted, in a way which clearly indicated he was delighted rather than repulsed by receiving my load in his mouth, and he struggled to swallow my cum before I choked him with the seemingly endless flow.

Gasping, I stumbled backward, pulling my cock out of his mouth. He’d drained me!

“Oh—fuck!” Jerry exclaimed. “Oh, Emeric! Dude! That was the first cock I ever sucked! The first load I ever swallowed! Guess it won’t be the last! Aw, shit! From now on, to hell with women. I’m going to be gay! Thanks, stud! Oh, thank you so much!”

“You’re entirely welcome,” I managed to say, as I caught my breath. That was me, the embodiment of altruism. Always ready, unselfishly, to help out another guy.

I’d relieved Jerry of his virginity, when it came to sex with men. The experience didn’t seem to have been too traumatic for him! Rather, quite the opposite!

I’d done at least one good deed during my sensual sojourn in Florida!

Sandor and I returned to Hungary. But, already, we both were looking forward to visiting the United States again. There were just too many damn hot men living there, whom we could hook up with and enjoy!

Eventually, we both fulfilled that ambition, living and working—and lusting!—in the United States.

We visitors from a foreign country were certainly made to feel welcome, from the uninhibited and welcoming inhabitants of America!

But all that—it’s another story, which I may very well tell, in due course.

After all, I don’t want to reveal all of my secrets, not all at once!

The End

Also by Emeric Varady

Available on Amazon Kindle:

A Porn Star is Born

Big Bad Cop: A Muscle Cop’s Story

Bisexual Gym Buddies

Bodybuilder Behind Bars 1: Caged Muscle

Bodybuilder Behind Bars 2: Under Heavy Guard

Bodybuilder Behind Bars 3: Doing Hard Time

Bodybuilder in Blue

Bodybuilder in Bondage 1: Basic Training

Bodybuilder in Bondage 2: Learning the Ropes

Bodybuilder in Bondage 3: Open All Night

Bodybuilder in Bondage 4: Give Him Enough Rope

Body Shop: Where Muscle Men Hustle

Budapest by Night

Foreign Body: An American Bodybuilder in Budapest

Gay for Pay Muscle: A Straight Stud Makes His Gay Porn Debut

Give Bi a Try: Two Muscle Men and Their Women

Going Commando: A Tale of Military Muscle

Gulf Coast Muscle: A Hungarian Bodybuilder in Florida

Hard Copy: A Porn Publisher’s Punishment

Hekus: The Hungarian Word for Cop

His American Muscle Buddy

His Muscle Pup

Izom: The Hungarian Word for Muscle

Magyar Muscle 1: A Croatian Adventure

Magyar Muscle 2: Camera Shy

Magyar Muscle 3: Big Guns

Magyar Muscle 4: Roid Rage

Magyar Muscle 5: Pumped Up for Porn

Magyar Raw

Make Mine Muscle!: Confessions of a Power Bottom Bodybuilder

Massage w/ Xtras: Bathhouse Confessions

Men Hard at Work 1: The New Man on the Crew

Men Hard at Work 2: Power Tool

Men Hard at Work 3: Jackhammered

Musclebros: A Young Bodybuilder’s Adventures

Muscle Lake

Muscle Noir

Muscle Rub

Muscle Voyeur

Muscular Man for Rent

My Muscle Mentors

My Personal Guest Poser

Pecs

Police Brutality: Don’t Stop! I’m Going to Shoot!

Pumped Up and Pounded: A Tale of Muscle Submission

Stripped for Action: A Bodybuilder Breaks into the Movies

St. Stephen’s Fire

Taking the Waters

The Farmboy’s Physique: From Pig Farmer to Porn Actor

The Farmer’s Brother

Under the City’s Lights: Lust and Love in Budapest

Urban Delights: A Sensual Sojourn in America

Wanted: Hot Hungarian Men

Zsaru: Confessions of a Hungarian Cop