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  His vision of the other guy’s huge hard physique, his thick blond mane of hair, his virile smile, his hefty cock, his large, firm ass—it all made Konrad shudder, in the throes of helpless arousal.

  Still imagining that it was not his own fist pumping away on his cock, but Jakob’s mouth, fastened in a lip lock around it, Konrad shot his cum high into the air, sending the drops of semen scattering all over his body and his bed. He milked his spurting penis dry. He was coming—he and Jakob were coming—together—!

  But this orgasm wasn’t the product of a masturbatory fantasy. It was being coaxed out of Konrad’s cock by a real, live sex partner!

  Enre’s mouth and tongue interrupted Konrad’s erotic reverie and brought him back to sensuous reality. Enre was really gobbling his prick, working on it with complete oral abandon. His hand no longer grasped Konrad’s shaft, to prevent the other bodybuilder from force-feeding him too much of his cock. Instead, Enre was willingly, recklessly taking it all, allowing Konrad’s glans to penetrate down into his throat with choking thrusts. Enre moaned and squirmed with restless erotic joy. His right hand now formed a snug fist around his own aching prick, which he was manipulating with fast, furious strokes.

  “Suck it good, buddy,” Konrad muttered. “That’s right, suck on that cock.” He could feel a storm of pleasure gathering force in his loins. Closing his eyes, he imagined he was getting ready to spurt his semen not into Enre’s mouth, but Jakob’s. No, better yet—in his fantasy, he was fucking Jakob, preparing to pour his jism into his ass. Or, maybe—it’d be the other way around, with Jakob screwing Konrad. The mere thought made Konrad shiver with exquisitely tormenting arousal.

  “I don’t want to come yet,” Konrad gasped. “Ease off, buddy,” he begged.

  Enre whimpered around the cock in his mouth, but he slackened the pressure which his lips were exerting on Konrad’s hard-on. He continued to suck the cock, but with slower strokes. His tongue began to lick Konrad’s cockhead with wanton relish, rubbing repeatedly over Konrad’s hypersensitive piss slit, which kept dribbling pre-cum.

  “Oh, yeah, that feels good,” Konrad told Enre. “Now you can start working up to it again, but do it nice and slow. Edge my goddamn dick until I can’t stand it anymore, and I just have to come.”

  Enre had the glans of Konrad’s cock and more than half of its shaft trapped inside the prison of his hot, moist mouth. He was subjecting his fellow bodybuilder’s agitated fuck tool to a prolonged, delicious torture. While he teased Konrad’s meaty erection with his lips and tongue, Enre jacked his own prick. He wanted to ejaculate when Konrad did, if possible. Konrad emitted deep, guttural grunts of animalistic pleasure as his gym buddy worked on him. What a hot cocksucker Enre was! The fact that he was so goddamn butch, so well-built, so masculine-looking and masculine-acting, added a lewd piquancy to being blown so well by him.

  Guess I shouldn’t be ungrateful, a feverishly excited Konrad chastised himself. I’ve got one hell of a hot guy going down on me! But I can’t help it. I can’t stop thinking about that sexy motherfucker, Jakob. Oh, how I want to bring that son of a bitch off! Get him so horned up, so hot for sex, that he’ll do anything I tell him to do! That beautiful, muscular ass of his, two big solid glutes—those huge shoulders, arms, and pecs—big, freaking, suckable nipples—and that cock, oh, that cock, which makes such a big bulge inside his jockstrap. And when he’s naked, in the locker room, in the shower, that thing looks like a piece of firehose dangling down from his crotch! Uh, fuck yeah, I want that dick in my mouth, down my throat—up my ass!

  Oblivious of the fact that Konrad was fantasizing about being with a different sex partner, Enre sucked away, in blissful ignorance. Consumed by lust, he redoubled his oral efforts, which had their inevitable effect on Konrad.

  “Yeah, goddamn it, this is just what I need, a hot muscle suck! Here we go, buddy!” Konrad cried. “I’m going to shoot! Suck it hard, finish me off, take my cum!”

  His fuck tool seemed to swell much larger inside the other muscular young man’s devouring mouth and swallowing throat, and his sperm rose from his balls and rushed through the core of his cock, seeking escape. Enre’s head flew up and down, as though it was mounted on a spring, and he was a cocksucking bobblehead figurine. He let out a loud, agonized moan, frustrated by even the brief delay which elapsed before Konrad began to force-feed him his sperm. Enre’s mouth and throat vibrated around the penis he was sucking. He breathed hard and loudly through his nose. His ass bucked, and his fist pumped brutally on his own prick.

  And then, mercifully for both men, Konrad burst. He cursed, luridly, while thick spurts of his high-pressure, pent-up jism leaped from his cockhead and shot into Enre’s mouth and throat. Konrad had fired off only the first two of his many jets of cum before Enre came, too, squeezing his semen out of his roughly fisted prick.

  “Coming!” Konrad yelled. “Yeah, I’m coming, you dirty cocksucker! Take it, you muscle slut! Take that hot cum in your mouth—down your throat! Choke on it, you muscle bitch! Yeah, and shoot your own fucking cum! Let me see it shoot out of you—come with me, dude—come! Oh, God! Will you fucking come? That’s right—that’s what I want to see. Aw, fucking hell!”

  Enre kept his mouth in place, his lips locked around the circumference of Konrad’s ramrod, until he was sure Konrad had stopped ejaculating, and had stopped dribbling any residue, as well. Finally satisfied that he’d ingested every drop of male seed which Konrad had to give him, Enre relaxed his oral grip on the other guy’s drained penis.

  Konrad, gasping for breath, pushed Enre away, almost roughly. Enre fell on the bed on his back, his legs spread, his still-stiff dick aimed up at the ceiling, his hand still closed around it, still jacking, hoping in vain to coax a little more sperm from the spent male organ.

  “Great sex,” Enre moaned. “As always, with you.”

  “Yeah,” Konrad agreed.

  He was once again thinking of Jakob. Sooner or later, Konrad knew, he’d have to swallow his pride. He’d just have to go up to Jakob at the gym, and proposition him. He’d beg the blond stud to have sex with him. He’d accept any terms which Jakob set, no matter how humiliating they were.

  Konrad supposed he ought to be disgusted with himself. He’d just enjoyed a hot bout of sex with Enre, resulting in both of them losing big loads. But now, already, Konrad was lusting after Jakob. Enre was a nice guy, a thoroughly satisfying sex partner. But he wasn’t Jakob, the man with whom Konrad was obsessed.

  “Do you think—if we rested for a minute—we could do it again?” Enre asked, eagerly, breaking up his question with deep, much-needed intakes of breath.

  “Yeah,” Konrad replied, nonchalantly. “Why not?”

  After all, he told himself. A bird in the hand—! Or, rather, a cock in the mouth—! Not something to be despised!

  Chapter Two: Better Sex Through Chemistry

  When he went to The Body Shop to work out, Konrad tended to focus, single-mindedly, on his weight training, to the exclusion of everything else. He was lost in his own little world, where the only things of which he was fully aware were his body, his muscles, and their responses to the often grueling ordeals he put them through

  When he was recovering and catching his breath in between sets, though, and also when, after completing his workout, he was relaxing and sweating in the steam room, or showering, or getting dressed in his street clothes, in the locker room—then, on those occasions, admittedly, Konrad was more aware of his surroundings, and he deigned to acknowledge the presence of the other members of the gym.

  A lot of cruising, in various degrees of subtlety, went on, on the premises, of course. Guys stared openly at one another, checking the other members out, sizing them up. Some of the members were real man whores, who made no secret of the fact that they were there not just to work out, but to hook up. Others were more discreet.

  As one of the biggest, best-looking, and butchest of the serious, hardcore bodybuilders, Konrad had his admirers, of course. They watched
him working out, with their tongues practically hanging out and tripping them up as the lightly clad Konrad pumped heavy iron, working up a sweat, pushing himself, forcing his muscles to surpass their limits and grow larger and harder. In the locker room, the steam room, and the showers, too, Konrad was always the center of attention, when he was stripped naked.

  He was well aware that other men lusted after him. He rather enjoyed their interest and admiration. He wasn’t above, once he was done with the serious business of working out, flaunting his nude body in front of the other guys, for them to admire and desire.

  There was one older man who seemed especially enamored with Konrad. This guy was “old” by Konrad’s highly subjective standards, although he was in fact not yet forty. He worked out religiously and hard, and although he wasn’t really a pumped-up bodybuilder, he had a nice, firm build for a man of his age. He had silvery-gray hair and a matching, neatly trimmed beard. He scored points with Konrad, because he didn’t dye his hair and beard, in an attempt to make himself look younger. Konrad thought the guy was kind of sexy and foxy—definitely, a “hot daddy” type. And Konrad could be a bad boy, a very bad boy indeed, who might benefit from a firm mock-parental hand.

  Konrad and the anonymous older man carried on a silent flirtation at The Body Shop for some time, making eye contact across the weight room, exchanging heavily laden, significant glances, and shamelessly ogling each other when they were both nude in the locker room or the showers.

  Then, one day, Konrad had completed his workout, and he was bent over the drinking fountain, which was an old but efficient appliance located in one corner of the weight room. Pressing a button sent refreshingly cold water arcing across the porcelain basin. Konrad was thirstily sucking down the water, when his admirer approached him.

  “Hello,” the older man said, looking and sounding nervous.

  “Uh,” Konrad responded, none too coherently, raising his face from the fountain and using his hand to wipe his wet mouth.

  “I don’t want to bother you—” the man said, hesitantly.

  “Oh, you’re not,” Konrad assured him.

  “My name’s Bartol.”

  “I’m Konrad.”

  “Yes, I know.” The two men shook hands. “You’re well known around here.”

  Konrad smiled. “Am I? In a good way, or a bad?”

  “Oh, a good way, of course. The other guys look up to you. They all want to look like you.”

  “That’s nice to hear, but I doubt it’s true,” Konrad said, with uncharacteristic modesty. “There are other guys with good builds here.”

  “You have a magnificent physique.”

  “Thanks. It’s just a matter of motivation—persistence—and lots of hard work. Obviously.”

  “Do you ever do any modeling?”

  “If a guy’s willing to pay to take pictures of me, then I’ll pose nude for him—sure,” Konrad said, boldly.

  “Ah—do you ever do any personal posing or modeling? I mean, private sessions?”

  Konrad saw no reason to mince words. “Are we talking about hustling?”

  “I didn’t mean to offend you.”

  “Do I look offended? I’m not. You think I’m worth paying for, for sex? That’s flattering. Yeah—I hustle, sometimes. I can always use the money. A guy has to do whatever he has to do, to make ends meet.”

  “Um, how much for all night?”

  Konrad made some quick calculations, speculating about what the other man could afford. “Sixty thousand forints,” he said, at last. [Translator’s note: sixty thousand forints is the equivalent of approximately two hundred and ten US dollars.]

  “That’s kind of steep.”

  “But I’m worth it. And I never go for less than sixteen thousand [fifty-six US dollars] for an hour session. If I charged by the hour for an all-nighter, then it would add up. So sixty thousand is a bargain, actually.”

  “All right. When I can see you? This weekend?”

  “Sure.”

  “Friday, or Saturday night?”

  “Saturday would be better for me, for an all-nighter. Your place, or mine?”

  “Mine.”

  “Okay. Give me the address. And your phone number. I’ll give you my number, too. I’ll call you on Saturday afternoon, to confirm.” Konrad could be quite businesslike, when the situation required that. “I only take cash, just in case that’s not obvious,” he said.

  Bartol looked flustered. “I know. I have done this sort of thing before. Not often—but I’ve done it,” he repeated, shamefacedly.

  Konrad gave the guy his most reassuring smile. “Just making sure we’re on the same page. We wouldn’t want there to be any misunderstandings.”

  On Saturday morning, Konrad went to The Body Shop, where he put in a good workout, as he usually did on weekends. After doing a few errands, he went home, and later on in the afternoon, he called Bartol, to confirm that they were still on for that evening.

  “I can’t wait to see you,” Bartol confessed. “It’s all I’ve been able to think about.”

  “We’ll have ourselves a good time,” Konrad promised his john. “I’ll make sure of that.”

  Bartol lived in the Palace Quarter of Budapest. The neighborhood, located near the city’s National Museum, was so named because of its many luxurious mansions, which had been built by the Hungarian aristocrats who moved from their country estates to the booming capital during the period from 1860 to 1900. Most of these impressive structures were no longer private homes. They had been divided up into upscale apartments, with high rents.

  Bartol’s apartment was large and very elegantly furnished. He had oriental rugs arranged on the polished hardwood floors, and framed paintings and prints—mostly of male nudes—hung on the walls. Although Bartol was perfectly masculine in his appearance, speech, and behavior, he had displayed through his living quarters an impressive collection of knick-knacks, with a heavy emphasis on antique chinoiseries, which was the kind of thing Konrad associated with fussy old queens.

  Shit! Konrad thought. This guy is obviously loaded! He can afford to pay a hustler, without shortchanging him. I should’ve held out for seventy or eighty thousand fucking forints—maybe even more! Oh, well. Next time, I’ll know better. Right now, tonight, I need to concentrate on earning the amount we’ve agreed on.

  After letting Konrad into the apartment, Bartol handed him an envelope. “Here’s your money.”

  “Oh, thank you,” Konrad murmured, feeling almost embarrassed because he’d just been wishing it was more.

  “What will you have to drink? Wine? I have a very good red from a small winery in the Villány region. Would you like to try that?”

  “Yes, please.”

  “You have such nice manners. Not like some of the young men I hire.”

  “Yeah, I can imagine some of them can be—well, let’s just say they probably weren’t raised right. Do you do this a lot?” Konrad inquired.

  “Pay men for sex? Often,” Bartol admitted, without hesitation, and looking and sounding perfectly nonchalant.

  Accepting the glass of wine which Bartol handed him, Konrad seated himself on an overstuffed couch, upholstered in a vibrantly colored fabric with a pattern of birds perched on the branches of a flowering tree. Bartol sat in an armchair nearby. Konrad appreciated the fact that the man didn’t start pawing him right away. They could work up to the sex gradually. After all, Bartol had paid for Konrad’s services for the whole night, so there was no need to rush things.

  “I took my pill,” Bartol remarked. “Would you like one?”

  “Huh? What pill?”

  “Viagra,” Bartol explained, matter-of-factly. “Not that I usually have any problems with erectile dysfunction. I just like the extra boost and the staying power it gives me. Better sex through chemistry, so to speak! Lots of the escorts I hire take it, too, to keep them hard and keep them going. I should start feeling the effects any minute, now.”

  “I think I’ll pass, thank you,” Kon
rad said, politely.

  His john smiled. “You can get it up and keep it up without any artificial stimulants, can you?”

  “I hope so.”

  “Well, if you change your mind, just let me know.”

  “I will have some more of this excellent wine, if I may. It’s a surefire dick stiffener, apparently, all on its own,” Konrad suggested, lewdly.

  “Certainly. Coming right up. Perhaps, while you’re enjoying it, you’d do me a favor?”

  “Sure.”

  “Undress for me, and let me see that incredible hot body of yours, nude. Just sit there naked and relax, while I admire you.”

  Konrad stood up and stripped, depositing his clothes neatly on another armchair. He reseated himself, with his bare butt on the couch cushion amidst the flowers and birds. Between the couch and the coffee table in front of it, there was a strip of the wooden floor which wasn’t covered by one of the oriental rugs. Konrad relaxed, spreading his legs to give his host a good look at the merchandise he’d already purchased, with the soles of his bare feet resting on the smooth, polished floorboards. Picking up his wineglass, he took a sip.

  “God, you’re beautiful,” Bartol breathed.

  “You’re very kind—very flattering,” Konrad responded. “Why don’t you get comfortable, too?”

  “My body’s nothing like yours,” Bartol said.

  “You forget, I’ve seen you at The Body Shop,” Konrad pointed out. “You look fine.”

  Bartol laughed. “Thanks for not adding, ‘for your age.’ I do try to stay fit, though.”

  He too stripped naked. The two men sat there, nude, drinking.

  “This is very pleasant,” Konrad remarked, sincerely. “A nice way to spend an evening.” And a profitable one, he reminded himself. He wondered when they’d get around to the sexual part of the evening’s entertainment. All in good time, he assumed.

  “Tell me something, Konrad,” Bartol said. “Something kind of personal—?”

  “Anything. Ask away.”

  “What are you? Straight, gay, bisexual? Gay for pay?”