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If you are underage, or in any way forbidden by your government or religious laws from viewing X-rated subject matter, please do not read this salty tale. If, however, you are not restricted by any laws in your geographical location, by all means read on.
© 2015 by Ezekiel J. Krahlin
(a true tale from the castro; eat your heart out armistead)
© 2015 by Ezekiel J. Krahlin
Date: Thu, 28 May 2015 10:50:31
Subject: Maximus Man Date
From: Zeke Krahlin
To: Eleanor Cooney
My Dear Muse Eleanor:
Did you see my FB post yesterday, of the Youtube video, "The Ten-Year Lunch: Wits & Legends of the Algonquin Round Table?" What a golden gathering! I feel like one in spirit with that elegant and wild group of authors and celebrities. And I only wish Ms. Parker had a much happier personal life. I would trust her as my dearest friend. Some of those men were very hot, and I'm sure (had I lived in that period) I would have been the tabloid gossip of many homosexual scandals. Oh if only I had a time machine, I'd rush to the Algonquin Round Table first off!
Meanwhile, I'm still high on Larkin's latest mischief as memorialized in "Belated Beatitude." During this same time, Maximus (not his real name, but I thought it would be fun to call him that...and whom I've mentioned in an earlier post) and I have grown closer. He's a darling man, 6-foot-3 and sweetly handsome. Really likes the ladies, but is also somewhat bisexual and--through my good fortune--has decided to hook up with yours truly. (What I mean is: he's been lookin' for a dude's companionship whose delight he could share without the usual expectations that arise from bonding with females; and I got very lucky, for I am that dude.) He has no qualms over embracing me and showering me with kisses. Though he did declare three weeks ago:
"I /am/ bisexual, though I doubt I could reciprocate. Are you okay with that?"
"I can deal with it and very well I might add," I breathlessly replied, then dived into his crotch. Which basket, I should brag, grew plump like a blowfish in seconds flat as I opened his button fly and partook of the bounty therein.
Later I explained to him that I am blessed to have various boyfriends, each of whom prefers intimacy on a different plane from the other: from voraciously full-monty frottage, fukking and sukking, to fond embraces with our clothes on and nothing more. Some just love my BJ's while others service me...so one-way intimacy is no stranger to /this/ queer vagabond! IOW:
"Maximus, you need not feel guilty or obligated to return the favor. I'll blow you to kingdom kum, give you back rubs, foot rubs et cetera without ever expecting reciprocation. Just lie down there and be your pretty self, and I'll show you the sweetest time of your life."
So one evening when he dropped over, he offered to strip totally nude while stretched out on the bedding, with the qualification: "Play with me all night if you want. Just don't expect me to do you back."
Well, Eleanor, I was like a Labrador retriever just tossed a mastodon leg bone! I went down on that endearing boy (he's only 34 BTW), licked him all over while he moaned and laughed in ecstasy...then fell into a deep slumber as I continued to sample his wares. Though not wanting to come off as a pig, I ended my lustful romp after an hour or so, and lay beside him, and slept, for the rest of that glorious night. He wrapped his arms and legs around me, with a smile so kind I was transported into a world of bliss. Next morn I thanked him for such a splendid /entr'acte/, to which he remarked:
"I'm surprised you weren't up all night messing with me!"
"Curse the fates!" I thought. "If I only knew he'd /truly/ welcome such prolonged rowdiness! Well, next time I suppose."
I first met him on the streets (of course), but you wouldn't know he is homeless seeing as he's quite tidy and self assured. But it definitely was love at first sight...and second, and third, and fourth. Until somehow he wound up in my SRO where we smoked some pot together, imbibed in cheap vodka w/Diet Pepsi, and discovered brotherly joy in each other's company as the night wore on.
But the icebreaker was Maximus's own doing as we sat across from each other in dialogue: "Maybe we can watch some gay porn together!"
Which of course blew my mind, as no cute fellow has ever made such a suggestion. Until that moment, request for porn was always /straight/ porn (so he could find some excuse to whip out his hardon w/o coming off as explicitly "gay"). Now, I'm not one for 2-D sex (it usually bores me, plus there's no way I could compete with men on film far more lovely than This Homely Ragamuffin; and I'd really prefer the guy be into /me/ than someone on the pixel screen).
Yet due to his specifically "gay" proposition I was highly motivated (and charmed) to track down some homosexual video via torrent. Though more erotic than pornographic, to suit my own preference. And I found it in a piece titled "Drill My Hole - Prison Shower 4." Several days after I downloaded that video, Maximus showed up once more, and we found sweet kisses among the bulrushes of our discontent.
Maximus is tall, skinny, and beautifully built. Several days ago when he dropped over around 6:30 PM, he asked if he could lie down for awhile. I said of course, to which he kindly replied: "Rest here beside me if you'd like."
I told him I'll do just that in a few minutes, once I get off the computer. Before I did so, I admired his gangly figure and commented:
"What? Aren't you gonna peel off your two polo shirts so I can gaze upon that sexy torso?" To which he retorted with a pressed-face grin on my pillow:
"Nope." So I admonished:
"Wow, that is cruel and unusual punishment. My attorney will call /your/ attorney first thing in the morning!"
His smile grew wide and, like iron filings to a magnet, I quickly found myself beside This Dishwater-Blond Seraphim with leg draped over his crotch, and my left arm circled about the ribs. As we lay there, I taunted:
"You know, I've met so many men who haven't the faintest idea of what good sex is all about. One guy who recently blew me complained about his jaw growing tired. So I admonished: 'You're kidding me! Just take a break by pulling my kok out and licking the sides, front, back and so on. Tickle my balls, finger fuk me, tongue my ass, or do a hand job!'"
"Look, Maximus, isn't it just horse sense?" I questioned while hugging him with dear embraces. "I haven't had that much sex, but being a dude I sure know what pleases a dude! Humph, seems obvious to me. So what the fuk's going on with these guys?"
Maximus groaned: "Okay, Zeke, stop talking about it!"
So I did, snuggled up closer and savored our proximity: this dulcet boy pressed happily against my yearning bosom. And after a few moments of silence, he chortled in reflection of my bawdy bedside humor. Life is good.
After a few more minutes I told him I must get up to pee. To which Maximus decided he'll arise, too; he's had enough rest. Though I told him he doesn't have to, I'll be right beside him again in a flash. Well, my ploy to cuddle further did not succeed, and we found ourselves wandering down Castro Street to purchase some candy at Walgreens and a bottle of Rush at Auto Erotica on 18th Street. (Poppers were something I recently discovered, 35 years after every other queer trooper did. An expensive indulgence I couldn't really afford, but figured I'd tire of it soon enough).
As we marched down Castro, my heart aflame with amity, a bantam-weight dude around 5-foot-4 (though handsome and clearly "that way") came forging down the sidewalk, booming: "Outta my way, assholes!"
He then thrust his petite form between us, like Moses parting the Red Sea. And shoved me aside in the process. "What's /his/ problem?" queried Maximus.
"Oh, gays here in The Castro are /usually/ rude, and harass me often."
The moment I spoke those words, Maximus ran up to the drunken apostate (who nonetheless I found to be cute, and wished to boink with fervor somewhere over the rainbow) and slammed him solid onto the concrete.
The obnoxious squirt continued to holler while remaining flat on the ground, arms thrashing helter-skelter: "Get outta my way, that's all I ask! Get outta my way, fukkers!"
As we entered Walgreens, I told Maximus: "You didn't need to do that."
"No one fuks with you, Zeke, not on /my/ watch!"
Certainly I had no argument with that, as I've often fantasized--a la Walter Mitty--about some bodacious dude fighting for my honor (which Larkin /has/ done more than once, back in the days of Hole in the Wall Saloon). In fact, coupla days later I told my street pal, Jonathan a.k.a. "Hollywood:"
"Now /that's/ my kinda boyfriend. I want them fighting over me like Bluto and Popeye do for Olive Oyl!"
We arrived at Walgreens' aisle of sweets, where Maximus selected a package of Haribo cherry gummies. So, with the bravado of one flush with moolah (which I was not, being the end of the month and all), I declared: "Go ahead, get two!"
I think he then chose a bag of fruity worms, though I didn't pay any attention as we approached the clerk's register. After that we moseyed on down to Auto Erotica to purchase a bottle of "room deodorizer" for $18. Alas, the shop was closed (as it was Sunday), so we had to go six doors down to purchase the same item for three dollars more. Which expense did not bother me one whit, as I had this /Muy Guapo Renegado/ at my side.
Upon departing from the shop, he pointed out a poster of a glamorous twink on the side wall near the exit. "Oh, you're /much/ better looking than that!" I asserted with a flip of the wrist.
And so we proceeded hovel, where love, friendship and joy prevail. Thus completes my true tale about Maximus, who deserves my utmost respect and celebration, that he play hero in my latest blog entry.
Just hours after his last and most welcome visit, I discovered a thin strip of paper near my door, that was obviously a discard from a Chinese fortune cookie. Though without my dollar-store reading glasses I could not make out the message. Till later when I finally got 'round to reading the diminutive print:
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