Longing for Change

Suddenly, heat spread through his body like wildfire, when a thick, dark-colored dong appeared through the gloryhole to his right—without wasting a second, he dropped his pants and wrapped his lips around it.

His mouth was stuffed just by the tip and he bobbed, trying to take the cock deeper. He stroked the thick meat with both hands, unable completely to close his fists around it—the more he drooled over the head, the more slippery it got and he pushed with all his might, gagging as he swallowed it down deeper.

Mimicking the action on the screen, he took more of the cock down his throat, breathing through his nose in high-pitched whistles. His erect dick struggled against the dried up cum on the swimsuit's inside.

He exposed his ass by pulling the swimsuit aside—whether true, or just his imagination, a cool breeze swiftly hit his buttocks and sent shivers up his spine.

In sync with the video—in his head being Savannah Fox bending over the massive throbbing dong—he guided the thick mushroom head inside his trembling asshole.

He bit his lips down, when the stranger from behind the wall thrust—and he moved his body back and forth, moaning as the nameless rod glided deep in him.

His buttocks slammed hard against the booth's wall and his eyes rolled back, moaning loudly with the secret hope of attracting more attention.

He stretched, when a dark, long cock emerged from the other gloryhole—he continued to bounce on the cock violating his ass and stroked the newcomer, licking the circumcised head.

He rocked his body back and forth, stuffed and fucked on both ends. It was the knowledge that he'd never see the two men abusing his holes that caused his legs to shake uncontrollably, when he unloaded yet again in the swimsuit.

The man behind him buried himself balls deep in John's ass with one final thrust—John's eyes bulged, when the big cock pulsed against his prostrate.

A moment later, the cock vanished and John, his gaped asshole clenching, got down to his knees, stroking and licking the remaining shaft.

The strong, sweaty taste and scent assaulted his nostrils—yet, it only further increased his excitement.

He gagged, when the cock throbbed down his throat—he pulled back just in time to see the pulsing cannon shower him with a fresh load of hot, sticky cum. He licked the leaking cock hungrily, before it disappeared forever behind the wall.

He remained on his knees, cherishing the hot and sticky cum on his skin, and watched with a smile Savannah wiping the cum off her own face, while hastily, and grinning widely, getting dressed.

Still on his knees and with his heart beating fast, casually watched the new porn video—a voluptuous blonde dressed in an all too short and tight dress walked into the same adult store from the previous video—and debated with himself whether he ought to stay.

The entrance fee, after all, covered the entire night and so far things were rolling—an involuntary grin twitched his lips, as he wishfully counted the sheer number of guys that might put their dicks through the gloryholes until the early morning hours the club would close.

However, after two strong orgasms—and with strangers' cum drying up on his face—he didn't possess the strong desire he did when he arrived.

He wiped himself clean and took the swimsuit off, vigorously cleaning his scrotum with paper towels. All dressed and ready, he walked out of the booth—suddenly overwhelmed by an absurd fear that the guys he had just fucked were waiting outside the booth for an even rougher up-and-close round.

Slightly disappointed they weren't, he walked down the deserted hallway, the artificial moans and screams of pornstars the only sound breaking the otherwise deadly silent.

"Your fee covers the entire night," the clerk smiled. "We do hope to see you again tonight!"

"Thanks," John muttered back and stepped out in the street, slightly limping from the fire burning his still gaped ass.

It was too early to go home and he knew he'd feel all horny and ready for another round, as soon as he was within the dark, lonely confines of his tiny apartment. Thus, remembering the days his old friends insisted on coming to Gkazi for drinks (because it's been, for a long time, the hip place to be), he mingled with the rowdy crowd flooding the fancy nightclubs.

However, he bypassed them—had no interest in paying ten euros for a badly made whiskey sour, while watching women shaking their bodies under monotonous music hoping to attract as many male gazes as possible, with no intention of returning home with any of them.

He turned left to a smaller alley and the smoking crowd of men in fishnet shirts and women in business suits affirmed his memory still served him right. He relaxed his shoulders and did his best to ignore the sharp jolts of pain rising on his lower back; he smiled invitingly at a couple of tall men dressed in leather.

He sat on a stool and ordered a whiskey sour—inwardly wondering whether it was an appropriate drink. He gazed about at the dark, crowded, loud room, curiously observing the people dancing, laughing, and talking.

At first, he was genuinely surprised at how normal the bar was—people were flirting, drinking, having a good time. Deep down, he had half-expected to step into a no holes barred orgy.

"You seem lost." He spun on the stool, quite startled by the rather hoarse voice.

"I'm...good," he shrugged, forcing himself to smile—he quietly observed the stranger, a tall blonde man with broad shoulders and a million dollar smile.

"I'm from Sweden, so..." The man sighed and had a sip of his beer. "I don't really know anybody—you know, things here look very differently than they do in Stockholm."

"How so?" John sat straighter up.

"In Sweden, many people go alone in bars; it's easier to meet others, because they're on their own actively looking for new people. Or, even if they are with friends, they're bound to split up sooner or later. Some will get too drunk; others will want to meet someone new...

"But, here," he pointed around, "everyone's with their friends and...I don't know. It just feels different."

"It's the Greek way," John shrugged. "When you go out, you go out with friends. That's all."

"It's interesting," the man grinned. "I'm Eric, by the way."

"John. "He shook the man's hand and tried to keep his face straight under the robust handshake.

"So, John," Eric licked his lips, "what are you doing here, all by yourself?"

"I just—" he turned his eyes back to his drink. "Just wanted a drink, that's all. Did you come to Greece by yourself?" He hastily threw the ball back to Eric.

"With my sister," Eric shrugged.

"Your sister? Just the two of you?"

"Yup. She's—" he stood up, stretching his neck theatrically, and pointed at a young blond woman talking to, and drinking with, a large group of people—"right over there; making friends, as always."

"So, are you both," he cleared his throat and brushed the hair away off his scarlet face, "I mean..."

"I'm gay; she's bi. And we don't mind going out together, for a few drinks and whatever else the night might bring."

"That's...quite open-minded." John scratched the back of his neck and lit a cigarette. "I don't think many Greeks would..."

"Well, in Sweden we are quite open-minded," Eric shrugged and choked down his beer, then nodded at the bartender. "Well—" he smirked at John's perplexed gaze "—you seem a bit tense and there's nothing better than a Cosmopolitan to loosen you up."

"Thanks." He rubbed his forehead, eyeing Eric intensely through the corner of his eye. The sweet taste assaulted his buds and was caught off guard by a sudden gagging urge. He washed the cocktail down with some whiskey sour and forced his lips to curl.

"It's really great that smoking's still allowed inside." Eric leaned back on the stool and lit a cigarette.

"Technically," John corrected him, "it's not; but, here in Greece laws are seen more as...guidance, than anything else. Besides, if they did ban smoking indoors, most of these bars would go bankrupt in a few months."

"A lot of Greeks smoke, I've noticed."

"Not much else to do," John dragged a long puff. "I guess, it's somewhat similar to how Scandinavians drink."

"We do do that," Eric chuckled—perhaps, as an emphasis point, he had a long swig of his cocktail. "You don't like it?"

"It's...different than what I'm used to, that's all."

"To be honest, I ordered it, because—" he cleared his throat and grinned "—you do seem lost. You look like...I don't know, like you don't really belong in here."

"What do you mean?" He scratched his shoulder almost mechanically.

"Maybe, others don't see it, or, just choose to ignore it, but...I don't know, it seems as if you're trying...too hard to fit in, which has the exact opposite result."

"How so?" John inquired, rubbing his throbbing throat.

"Don't get me wrong, I'm not criticizing or anything, it's just...that...well, in all honesty, you look like you're trying too hard to look...a certain way. And I'm not sure if..."

"All right," John replied hastily. "I mean...I am new at all this, I guess. I've just..."

John was taken aback, when Eric leaned forth and pressed his lips on his—it was but a momentary smooch, yet more than enough to light a fire in John's heart. And, at the same time, turn plenty of alarms on in his turbulent mind.

"Do you find me attractive?" Eric tenderly caressed his cheek. "At all?"

"You're—" John mumbled his words, completely dumbfounded and desperate not to flinch "—a very handsome man, yes, I..."

"Do you find me attractive?" Eric insisted, staring dead into his eyes.

He stared into Eric's bright blue eyes and rapidly clenched and unclenched his sweaty fists, at a complete and hopeless loss for words.

He'd expected to walk into the bar and, given his effeminate look and mannerisms, be under siege by multiple guys searching for a nice, quick fling. The last thing he'd anticipated was to be engaged in a courtship attempt—and while flattering, it wasn't what he wanted, what he...

Eric's demanding for an answer glare sent chills up his spine, but, no words would come out of John's twitching lips. He stared at his drink, his whole body on fire under Eric's inquisitive glare.

"Thought so," Eric chuckled dryly.

"What do you mean?" John cleared his hoarse throat.

"I think you think you want to be someone you're not," Eric said simply. "I mean, I've seen it before; seen it many a-times, as a matter of fact. Maybe, it's porn, maybe, it's...I don't know. Whatever.

"At any rate, you're not the first one I meet trying to look all effeminate and available, cruising down gay bars—to be honest, what you're looking for is straight guys that fail miserably with women. Not actually gay guys."

"Wait a minute," John said sternly, "who asked you for an analysis? After all, I was sitting here minding my own business and you came up to me, chatting me up and even bought me a drink."

"There you go," Eric snapped his fingers with a victorious grin. "Finally showed some backbone. Up until now, you simply and submissively accepted everything I said."

John remained silent, digging up deep for answers to the questions inadvertently raised in the very core of his being. Bewildering his own self, he lunged forth and kissed Eric—he closed his eyes and pictured it was a woman of his past, just so his tongue would agree to slip in Eric's mouth.

At first, Eric remained completely impassive—thusly intensifying John's determination. He thrust his tongue down Eric's throat, his fingers tangled in Eric's soft hair.

John's body shook, when Eric pulled him up from the stool and pressed him tight against his body—mechanically, John grabbed Eric's crotch firmly. Warmth rose deep within his body at the feel of Eric's growing, and rather impressive, package.

"Not yet," Eric grinned and pulled his hand away. "Show patience, show..." He cupped John's face tight and sucked on his tongue gently.

It felt both wrong and right at the same damn time; John reciprocated the kiss, his tongue dancing a fiery tango with Eric's, but, behind his closed eyelids he envisioned Julia, his high-school sweetheart, whom he hadn't seen in several years (and, last he heard, had gotten married and already had, or expecting, a child).

Eric's big, strong hands had nearly engulfed his face and John drove his hands underneath Eric's shirt and his fingertips ran along his rockhard abs. Another sign of something going wrong, his heart sank down to his stomach and the only thought in his mind was RUN.

He battled all the flight impulses that occupied his mind; he sucked on Eric's meaty tongue harder and squirmed—then blushed at his own silly giggle—when Eric's finger caressed his tailbone area.

"Let's get out of here," Eric said, his voice suddenly heavy.

John quite timidly followed him out of the bar—after they hurriedly downed their cocktails—and into the crowded streets; they held hands and the multiple glares that came their way only furthered the exhilarating fire raging in his soul.

"What about your sister?" John asked; his hands trembled, when they entered the small hotel room.

"She's staying right next door," Eric winked. "We never share a hotel room—for obvious reasons."

"Smart," John remarked and observed the tiny room with a view on the dirty Gkazi side streets, notorious for their brothels. His glare momentarily fell on a copy of Burroughs' Queer lying open on the bed.

"Pretty fascinating," Eric winked, when John picked the copy up. "And also quite frightening, especially if you know a bit about Burroughs."

"What do you mean?"

"Never mind," Eric shook his head and pulled his shirt off.

John's jaw dropped to the floor, mesmerized by Eric's chiseled, Greek-god-esque torso. And yet, even though he fell in his arms and warmly welcomed his tongue down his throat, the desire to get the hell out still raged strong in the very core of his soul.

John lifted his arms and sighed, when Eric pulled his shirt off—he winced at Eric's soft kisses down to his chest and stomach.

He closed his eyes and tilted his head upwards, tingling shivers going up his spine, picturing someone, anyone, else in Eric's shoes. He bit his lips, when Eric yanked his pants down—his heart pounded hard against his chest and his face turned faintly crimson at the wetness and hotness of Eric's lips wrapped around his flaccid shaft.

Eric slurped and stroked, slowly causing blood to rush down to John's nether area—he anchored his feet to the wooden floor.

He groaned at the shivers deriving from his massaged balls. Wetness and warmth engulfed his shaft and John out of pure instinct pushed Eric's head closer to his crotch.

Eric's gagging noise echoed loudly in the room and his prick throbbed even harder. It was an unprecedented sensation that swarmed his body, causing his skin to crawl, and he kept his eyes shut tight, finding solace in the darkness.

In his head, Julia was on her knees, her face buried in his crotch—utterly confused, he let out a small cry and his prick exploded unprecedentedly fast and hard down Eric's throat.

"Well, that was quick," Eric giggled, slowly and meaningfully licking his lips. "You can open your eyes now."

"I'm...that was really good," John cleared his throat and only squinted, so as to keep Eric a blurry, faceless figure.

"Yeah, I could tell," Eric grinned. "So—" he jumped back up to his feet and kissed John, who barely managed to fight back his gag reflex at tasting his own cum "—how come you didn't look at me once?"

"I, just," John stumbled on his words and thrust his hand inside Eric's tight pants, "always do that, it's, just a, thing I've..."

"Right, sure," Eric chuckled and pressed his lips hard against John's. "Well, it's your turn now. Only fair, right?"

John didn't resist Eric's hard push—in fact, his knees buckled as soon as Eric's hands touched his shoulders. It was, after all, all he had wanted from the moment he walked into the gloryhole-club.

He unzipped Eric's pants while licking his lips and jerked them down; he gasped, when Eric's massive dong jumped and slapped him across the face. Almost as long as his forearm, and actually thicker, the majestic, and intimidating, cock stood fully erect in front of him, the tip seemingly staring back at him.

John pulled the foreskin down and licked the exposed mushroom head, stretching his lips wide to accommodate it inside his mouth.

He choked on Eric's pulsating monster, stroking the shaft with both hands as he drooled over it—and the more he drooled and stroked, the more slippery the prick became, consequently gliding easier down his throat.

Quickly, his knees grew sore from rubbing against the hard wooden floor, but, John paid nearly no attention to the rising pain; he pushed himself closer to Eric's crotch and tears streamed down his glazed eyes, gagging as the massive meat expanded his throat.

John self-choked on Eric's dong, in hopes of inspiring him to get rough; however, to John's great disappointment, Eric simply stood still—just like John had done earlier—his hands crossed behind his head and eyes lifted up to the ceiling.

John pulled back and heaved, seeking for Eric's gaze; his eyes were shut. Dread flooded his heart, but, he attacked the monstrous dong once more, forcing himself to swallow it even deeper.

Unable to fit it all in his throat, John continued to suck and stroke; he took Eric's swollen balls in his mouth and swirled them with his tongue, while still stroking Eric's soaked shaft.

"All right, enough." Eric abruptly pushed John away—alas, tenderly and gently. "Let's move to the bed, shall we?" He gently asked and lay down on the double bed, which squeaked.

"Great idea," John brushed the hair off his forehead.

His smile instantly turned into a frown, when Eric rolled on his stomach, resting his chin on his forearms.

"What are you waiting for?" Eric winked, then spanked his ass hard and arched his lower back.

"I'm..." John paused and sighed. He spat on his palm and stroked his cock, struggling to maintain his erection.

"Feels good, don't it?" Eric turned around with a grin and invited John for a kiss.

Hesitantly, and timidly, John leaned forward and pressed his lips on Eric's; in the meantime, he guided his cock in Eric's asshole and pushed. The tightness immediately overwhelmed him and he had to stop midway through the initial thrust, his entire body shuddering.

Eric's heavy grunts rang loudly in his ears and, after a brief moment, he pushed hard, going balls deep in. John shut his eyes—once more mentally teleporting himself to the simpler times of his teenage years, when he dated Julia and together they did everything—and pounded slow and easy, exactly the opposite of how he liked it, desperate to maintain his composure and last longer than earlier.

Eric's muscles clenched around his prick and the tight grip once more forced John to stop and momentarily catch his breath—immediately, he tried to think of anything but of what was transpiring. Yet, what ultimately worked was simply opening his eyes.

He stared deep into Eric's beaming eyes and plowed faster. John straightened up his back and put his hands around Eric's waist.

Their balls slapped against each other—yet, the more he stared at Eric, the further away from climaxing he got. At some point, he had to picture Julia once more, just to stay erect.

Juggling between mental images in the search for the best possible outcome, John felt exhausted and utterly, hopelessly lost and helpless. All he wanted—while he still pounded Eric, who'd come all over the sheets—was to lock himself up in his apartment, with a bottle of bourbon, and reevaluate everything.