Longing for Change

Eventually, a mind-numbing shiver went up his spine, his legs grew numb, and an explosion of imagery took over his mind. With one last, deep thrust he buried himself in Eric's ass and unloaded, shivering as streams of cum were shot out of his trembling cannon.

"That was really good," Eric kissed him, when he collapsed facefirst on the bed. "Wasn't your first rodeo, huh?"

"It was...my first time, in a way," John mumbled.

"A passive, huh?" Eric chuckled.

"Always fancied myself one, yes," John groaned.

"Well, then—" Eric rose up to his elbows with a smirk "—guess, it's time for another switch, don't you think?"

His heart beating fast and his ass twitching, he got on all fours instantly.

"You really want it, huh?" Eric chuckled. "Give it some rest, let's just...talk, or something. I need some time to recuperate. Don't you?"

John simply lay on his stomach, staring blankly at the wall—all he wanted was to go back home, but, Eric's massive dong, and the thought of it buried deep inside him, kept him chained on the cheap motel bed with the very noisy mattress.

"Oh, shit," Eric laughed heartily, when loud female screams of pleasure broke the silence of the night.

"We're not the only ones having fun, huh?" John said, resting his chin on his crossed arms.

"That's..." Eric cleared his throat and frowned, "my sister. I'd recognize her voice everywhere."

"Shit," John flinched. "I didn't..."

"Nah, it's all right," Eric chuckled. "Not the biggest turn on, admittedly, but...what can you do? She's got every right to have fun, right?"

"You really are open-minded, huh?"

"She's an adult, she can do whatever she wants; who am I to tell her what, or who, to do?"

"Not many Greek guys would agree with you on that."

"I know," Eric rolled his eyes with a sigh. "Just last night I got scolded by a Greek guy in a bar for letting my sister fool and flirt around; apparently, he was interested enough to come ask me if she's single, when he thought we were just friends, but...

"I think he spent half an hour explaining to me how unethical it is to approve my sister's sexual escapades; he thought I should lock her up and make sure she hooks up with a decent guy that'd make her an honorable woman...I'm sure he meant himself, but...

"Eventually, he got tired of talking and me not listening and walked away; probably cursing me in Greek while at it."

"It's definitely the Greek way of thinking," John sighed. "All women are whores, except for mother, sisters, and daughters. Though, it seems that it evades everyone that all women are someone's mother, sister, and/or daughter.

"But, as long as it's not their sister, or mother, they're whores. Somewhat Paleolithic, but..."

"It's the same in most parts of the world," Eric dismissed him. "It's probably even worse in uptight religious regions; at least, here, the church doesn't seem to have that much power."

"It's still part of the state, though," John explained. "The Greek church has a lot of power and influence. They still oppose homosexuality and make sure to remind everyone that gay people are the spawns of the Devil."

"Right," Eric chuckled. "And we're also part of the Zionists' big plan of bastardizing Europe and exterminating the white race, right?"

"I don't think we've gone that far into conspiracy theories just yet; I think most are content with the church opposing homosexuality. If the state ever grows independent of the church, more creative theories are bound to emerge."

"There're definitely a lot of things online about Sweden, too; how we're a nation of degenerate cuckolds surrendering to immigrants. Sure," he sighed heavily, "the vast influx of immigrants has caused problems. But, I don't think it's part of some great scheme to destabilize Europe. It's simply...the downsides of a way too generous welfare system that doesn't discriminate."

John sat up crosslegged on the bed and glared curiously at Eric. The urge to rush back home had vanished, as he enjoyed the conversation that had turned political and sophisticated; it wasn't like any of the conversations he and Julia ever had. Whenever he tried to talk to Julia about politics, she'd shun him and change the subject to whatever hot gossip was circulating high-school that week.

"You're a weird cat, you know that?" Eric said and rubbed the bridge of his nose.

"What do you mean?" John arched his eyebrow inquiringly.

"You walked into that bar clearly looking for sex—that's the reason I approached you so fast. To deter the real predators lurking in there."

"I didn't need..."

"Yes, you did," he interjected. "Look, you might think you know what you're doing and what you want, but...you clearly don't. Your face lit up only when we started talking.

"Not when we were having sex, not...what were you thinking, when you were fucking me? No, scratch that...who were you thinking? That's the right question. An ex-girlfriend? A hot female celebrity?"

"I wasn't, I..."

"Oh, come on!" Eric chuckled and patted him gently on the shoulder. "It was crystal clear you didn't want to look at me; you only looked at me to prevent yourself from coming too soon. I sense those things, John. It wasn't my first rodeo, either."

"Does it really matter?" He shrugged and yet stared at the sheets. "I mean...sex is what we both wanted, right? A hot one-night stand?"

"Sure," Eric grinned. "But...you don't want that. You want...something else; and, to be honest, I'm not sure what it is. It's quite baffling, frankly. I know you're not attracted to me, sexually, yet, you came here with me.

"Why?"

"I wanted to; I..."

"Cut the crap, John," Eric laughed kindheartedly. "I'm not going to get offended, if you admit you don't find me sexually attractive. I liked you, we had a drink, we had sex. It's cool.

"I just...like you and want to get to know you better. That's all. All right—" Eric jumped off the bed in one swift move and John's glance moved instantaneously to his dangling shaft "—want something to drink? Don't have much, but...got this bottle of vodka.

"Sounds good?"

Eric returned to the bed with the lukewarm vodka and casually sat next to him. They both had a swig out of the bottle; John's heart sank to his stomach, as the realization hit him that he was not going to get rammed by Eric's horsecock.

"The night's still young," Eric said reassuringly, as if he'd read his thoughts. "But, I do need some time, and fuel!" He tipped the bottle and a generous portion of vodka glided down his throat. "Damn," he cleared his throat. "It tastes awful warm, don't it?"

"Yeah," John smirked, then had a good swig that burned his throat.

Mechanically, John pulled back, when Eric went for another kiss. For a moment that felt like a century, they remained silent—Eric leaning forth, John arching back—their questioning stares interlocked.

"See?" Eric suddenly burst into laughter and lifted his index finger to his temple. "Told you you're not attracted to me; if I was my sister, you'd have welcomed the kiss. You'd have focused your mind on the sex; maybe, you'd have done mental calculations to delay the orgasm, but, everyone does that.

"So..." Eric sighed heavily and took the bottle for another swig that left it half-empty. "What do you want to do now?"

"I...think I better go home," John said coldly, surprising himself more than he did Eric.

"Yeah," Eric nodded with a faint frown. "Maybe, it's for the best."

Without another word, John got hurriedly dressed and returned to the streets—he mingled with the slowly dispersing crowd and his heart was close to bursting.

The sun slowly came up and the last remaining bars closed down one by one—last call in most places and young, drunk people frantically ordered a final round of shots to last them till they hit the sack.

With vodka in his head and the taste of cock in his mouth, he entered the subway station and rubbed his forehead hard, while the escalator took him down to the platform. The first train of the day was due in about five minutes; he sat and crossed his legs, involuntarily yawning in his palm.

"Early walk of shame, huh?" He heard a chirpy voice giggling next to him.

Aghast, he turned about—finally noticing the petite redhead sitting next to him in her all too revealing dress and high heels. A little green monster awoke in his brain as he stared at the woman dumbfounded.

"Don't worry," she chuckled and put her hand on his arm, "Been there done that plenty of times myself. Kinda sucks, doesn't it?"

"I..." He stopped, swallowed down, and stared at the dark tunnel.

"Sorry," she apologized sorrowfully. "Didn't mean to pry, or anything...I'm just...well, I'm probably still a bit drunk, that's all, I...tend to talk too much, when...doing it right now, ain't I?"

"Yes," he grinned. "But, I think it's cute, in a way. How did you know that..." He stopped himself mid-sentence.

"You just have the look," she shrugged, her eyes instantly beamed. "That lost look in your eyes that signals you're thinking whether you should have left, or, what went wrong and were kicked out so early.

"Did she kick you out, or, did you just sneak out?"

"I..." Once again, he had to pause. Wheels turned fast in his head, calculating every word and how to articulate it—he saw no real point in concealing anything, yet, a little voice in his head was adamant he should lie. His glance momentarily cruised up and down her tight body, her firm legs, and her angelic, freckled face.

"You sneaked out, didn't you?" She giggled. "Not good enough for you?"

"It's not that, I..." He rubbed his forehead and entered a staring contest with his shoes. "I just..."

"Okay, sorry," she sighed. "I'm prying, again. Didn't mean to. Oh, hey, come on!" She tapped him on the leg, when the station rattled.

They climbed in on the same wagon and she sat next to him; with wonderment, he observed her via the window reflection, trying to decipher what she was after. More importantly, however, he desperately tried to figure out what he wanted.

He was sexually attracted to the strange woman—though, at the same time, he wished with all his heart he could just swap bodies with her—and wanted to talk to her in a way he hadn't desired with Eric.

"Next station, Panormou," said the mechanical voice through the speakers and John and the woman simultaneously got up.

"Who's following who?" She asked, when they stepped out of the train.

"I don't know," he shrugged, with a half-smile. "Look, I..." He drew a deep breath and glanced at her warmly, as they stood side by side on the escalator. "Would you...like to have some coffee? I mean..."

"Sure," she nodded. "You're a dog, aren't you? You leave a poor, hapless woman all alone in her apartment, after presumably screwing her brains out, then, you invite a woman, whose name you don't even know, out for coffee just a couple of hours later.

"It's Fey, by the way." She shook hands and her grin grew even broader and brighter.

"It's not...like that, exactly," he despairingly tried to apologize, but, no proper explanation would bypass the lump in his throat.

"Doesn't matter." Her hand landed tenderly on his shoulder and he felt warmth rising under his skin. They walked into the 24/7 coffee shop, Everest, and ordered two coffees to go and some junk food.

"You do this often?" He asked, as they leaned on a high table on the sidewalk. "Talking to strangers in the subway and having coffee with them?"

"Not as often as I'd like," she shrugged. "How about you? You ask strange women for early morning coffee often?"

"Nope." He stared intensely at her over the plastic cup.

"So—" she tucked her hair behind her ears, deliberately slow "—what prompted you to ask me, then?"

"I don't know," he shrugged—instantly thereafter a fire was lit under his face and his skin turned scarlet. "I guess," he hurriedly added, after clearing his throat quite emphatically, "I really admired your boldness."

"Thanks," she smiled, biting the straw of her freddo.

Momentarily, they both remained perfectly silent—and subsequently he had the opportunity better to study her. Granted, the instant sexual attraction had distorted his vision ever so slightly, yet, the more he scanned her—and enjoyed the soft blush that reddened her pink cheeks—the more he ascertained something was...off.

He ran his fingers through his hair, as he noticed the bone structure of her rather angelic face, which seemed...not precisely bizarre, but, certainly different than most women he'd ever met, or seen.

He hurriedly dismissed these thoughts as products of his still hazed from vodka mind—besides, he had thoroughly enjoyed the night, the most sexually active of his life. Within, he felt like some of his classmates from high-school, who were real players and every weekend went out with a different girl—sometimes, even ten years older than them.

Images from both the gloryhole club and Eric's hotel room sieged his mind mercilessly; yet, it was with Fey he felt that strong attraction that often makes flirting seem a daunting task, simply because of the preternatural fear of screwing it all up with just one wrong word.

Cautiously, he allowed himself to engage in the ensuing conversation about novels and philosophy and politics, all the while trying to keep his deepest, darkest beliefs to himself, fearing it might ruin the playful atmosphere.

The sun had come up and illumined the world—they both shielded their eyes, when the sun generously showered them in its bright light.

"Damn," Fey giggled, "it's eight o'clock!"

"Seriously?" John asked, dumbfounded—three hours had gone by like a single second.

"We should...probably get some sleep, I..."

"Are you tired?" He asked, his voice faintly trembling.

"No, not really..." She grinned under the smile of satisfaction into which his lips had curled.

"Maybe, we can go back to my place...for a night...well, a morning cap."

"I'd..." She paused momentarily—he stared at the slow, seductive way she licked her luscious lips. "Sounds like a good idea," she finally added, then immediately burst into laughter, when his eyes glinted.

"Great!" He exclaimed, in an almost childish enthusiasm. "Shall we, then?"

She wrapped both hands around the arm he proffered—thusly, they walked down to Kifisias avenue, crossed it on a red light, and reached his apartment, just two blocks down the Erythros Stavros hospital.

"Nice place," she said, while glaring about the tiny apartment.

"Thanks," he said, quite proudly. Suddenly, dread overwhelmed him, when he noticed the open laptop—as inconspicuously as possible, he closed the lid, hoping it wouldn't be noticed. Hoping she wouldn't ask for music, as typing anything on his browser was bound to reveal something of his sinful browsing history.

To his delight, she sat on the couch and crossed her legs high—his gaze, however, moved to her breasts, her tight dress magnificently showcasing them. He poured two glasses of white wine—hiding the fact it came from a box.

As soon as he sat next to her, her hand landed on his thigh; he jerked, when she squeezed hard and slowly moved her hand upward.

"Not wasting much time, huh?" He grinned.

"Don't tell me you actually invited me over for a glass of morning wine?"

"Well," he cleared his throat, "technically, it's not a morning wine; we haven't slept yet, so...still counts for a night cap, right?"

"I didn't accuse you of being an alcoholic," she smirked and leaned closer to him, her lips beautifully curled.

He simply brushed his lips against hers, their noses touching—for a moment, they just remained like this, staring deep into each other's eyes. And still, despite the tingling and immediate effect her rubbing his crotch had, he could not shred off the feeling that something was amiss.

They both put their glasses down on the dirty coffee table simultaneously and their lips locked in a fiery kiss—he sucked on her tongue hungrily and squirmed, when her hand had a tight grip around his turgid organ.

He gently touched her knee and felt up her smooth skin, slowly moving his hand up her thigh—she bit his lower lip, when he tried, unsuccessfully, to uncross her legs.

"Patience's a virtue, baby," she whispered.

He moaned heavily, when she swiftly dropped to her knees and unbuttoned his jeans, yanking them down to his ankles expertly. Her full, wet lips engulfed his prick and his back stiffened—she swirled her warm tongue around the sensitive head and shivers traveled up his spine.

He buried his fingers in her rich, red hair and pulled gently; then, he pushed her toward his scrotum, his prick disappearing down her throat. She looked up and their gazes met; he stared into her watery eyes, his heart pounding hard in his chest.

It was widely different than it had been with Eric—now, he enjoyed watching Fey at work, he didn't have to close his eyes and fantasize about Julia, or, some Instagram model he stumbled upon during a browsing session.

His balls stiffened, when her chin rested on them, his shaft throbbing deep down her throat; slowly, she pulled her head up and more shivers traversed his body, as her lips glided across his rod.

Suddenly, and overwhelmed with climactic sensations, he tightened his grip around her hair and pushed her back into his crotch, slamming the back of her throat.

Her gagging sounds were pure music to his ears and her teary eyes still glued to his all the encouragement he needed further to increased his pace—pounding her throat just like the way he liked his throat getting plowed.

It was always the same, whenever he had sex with a woman—always treating her like he wanted to be treated. Whether he was right or wrong didn't truly matter; yet, he couldn't help envision the roles being switched and him being on his knees—and ideally in Fey's magnificent model-esque body.

His prick throbbed and pulsed and he jerked her hair back; drool dripping down her chin and tears rolling down her eyes, she offered him the widest grin.

"Are you okay?" She asked, while stroking him softly.

"Yes, I just..." He pulled her up and thrust his tongue in her mouth.

He jerked and broke the kiss off, utterly befuddled, when he felt something hard rubbing against his cock. He looked down and stared in sheer amazement at the erect prick emerging from underneath Fey's lifted dress.

"I..." She closed her eyes and her cheeks turned scarlet. "Should have told you earlier, I...just, didn't..."

"Wow," he simply exclaimed, mesmerized by the cock still crossing swords with his. "I didn't..."

"You never noticed, huh?" She said, her eyes still shut. "Some guys have said my cheekbones give me away, but..."

"There are many women with relatively masculine face features," he shrugged, running his finger gently across her cheek.

"You don't mind?" She met his gaze hopefully.

"No, I..." He paused; reluctantly, he stroked her member, then muffled her low humming with a kiss.

He helped her out of the dress and took her firm, silicone breasts in his hands, licking and biting her nipples. She wrapped her arms around his neck and settled on his lap, their cocks rubbing against each other as she ground herself against his scrotum.

With a sudden, swift move, he rolled her over on her back and moved between her spread legs; he planted wet kisses on her flat stomach and gradually, and excitedly, moved southwards.

She pulled his hair gently and he raised his glance while licking her shaft. It was a bizarre sensation, having a cock in his mouth while staring up at a woman's face.