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Gay & City - What's in a Blow Job?

by Borissov in Nightlife & Reports , 22 juni 2006


The truth is, I was horny that weekend. I undressed every good-looking passerby on the street with my well-equipped mind’s eye. As the song goes, I was looking for fast love and I needed it fast. On Saturday morning I stopped by at Nick’s for a cup of coffee. While sipping my frothy cappuccino, I was gazing through the window, still keeping an eye on the eligible traffic. “There are many American tourists in town,” said Nick. “Well...” I scanned the street once more, “let’s go and GET some.”

Then there was this guy on Gaydar that I had been warming myself up with. But it wasn’t going anywhere. First, he had a boyfriend. Oh, by the way, don’t you just love it when people on Gaydar say: “Only looking for sex as I’ve already found the person I want to spend the rest of my life with. He’s smart, romantic, sweet, intelligent, endearing, exciting, incredible.” It always makes me wonder! And second, he started one of my least favorite discussions: who’s going to do what in bed. Clinical discussions like this tend to tire me. Besides, it was pointless to argue with me about it. I am the doer of the action. Period.


On Saturday night was the house-warming party of The Godfather that I’d been looking forward to the whole week. The Godfather’s parties were always surprising in an unconventional sort of way. I attended the event with Richard whom I’d dated a couple of times a year ago and then quite abruptly stopped seeing.

And the first person I ran into on entering the Godfather’s house was Rolf - a man whom I’d seen twice that month but had lost interest in for unaccountable reasons. So there I was with the embodiments of two discontinued dating adventures.

I spent the first twenty minutes of the night maneuvering between the two, trying to make amends, as it were, for my unfaithful dating pattern. (Or is unfaithful dating an oxymoron in itself?!) I produced the most unimaginable civil smiles. I poured them drinks. I paid compliments to their outfits.

There was a huge line in front of the toilet. Not an unlikely occurrence for the Godfather’s house. Young and happening gay men who are out there always like to go in there at a certain state of the party and do their thing. As for me, I only wanted to pee.

Behind me in line was Trevor whom I’d shagged once some time ago. When it was finally my turn to enter, he sneaked in with me. “Nothing that I haven’t seen before,” he beamed at me disarmingly. Whatever, I thought. He probably wanted to take his drugs, while I was peeing, which was perfectly fine with me. The bathroom itself looked like a mini crystal palace. There was glass everywhere – on the walls and the ceiling.

I was doing my best to pee but wasn’t succeeding as I was aware of Trevor’s presence. He was strolling around, carelessly observing the nail files and shampoos perched at the head of the bathtub. What was he doing in there anyway, I started to wonder.
“I can’t pee,” I said.

“That’s because I am here,” was Trevor’s answer and before I knew it, a divine veil of warmth surrounded my dick: his hungry accommodating mouth. Mischievous sparkles were dancing in his eyes, while his hands were pulling my Calvin Kleins further down.

I was loving it! The sheer naughtiness of the situation, the stolen moment of pleasure, the people waiting in line behind the door. It was one masterpiece of a blowjob performed with the intuitive skill of two partners in crime. The kaleidoscopic reflection in the mirrors of him kneeling down, sucking me was turning me on by the second. In fact me and my ego were getting considerably turned on.

We indulged in a few more quick activities and the mirrors on the walls flashed them back at us in a vodka-blurred slide-show.
On leaving the bathroom, the people in line looked questioningly and smirked.
“I thought you weren’t doing drugs anymore.”
“Only on special occasions,” was my well-rehearsed answer.

After this unexpected culmination the embodiments of my two discontinued dating adventures left as if by way of arrangement. The party was slowly coming to an end. Yet I was still horny! Didn’t feel like clinging to my partner in crime from the bathroom as I knew I should leave things where they were.



Don’t force it, just savor the exciting fellatial memory, I was instructing myself. Looks good on paper, but how do you stick to it, being a horny young gay man?! “Don’t force it, don’t force it,” I was repeating to myself, while... cycling to The Cockring.
I entered, saw and left, all within a time span of five minutes. Apparently, I had been granted my culmination of the evening and had to treasure it.

On leaving the Cockring, a Spanish tourist turned at me and said: “Oh, you look gorgeous!” I smiled. Then he paused, gave me a piercing look and continued: “Actually, I wasn’t honest. You look fucking gorgeous!”.
I smiled again timidly. How did I deserve this second treat?! And then I knew. To be granted a blowjob when you least expect it is magic. And this magic was still working on me.




 







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In the New Issue of Gay News, 313, September 2017







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October 27/28/29













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