It had been a hot day. The sort of day that's possible in late May in Paris, the leaves on the trees in the squares and the boulevards already starting to crisp and turn brown at the edges. The sort of day that you might possibly see in London in August in a decade, but that in Paris comes all too regularly. I'm not a man for the heat - certain saunas aside - and the day had been too much for me. Business had forced me out of my flat in the early morning before the pavements were hot enough to burn my feet through my shoes, and when the trees still afforded some shade. But I had scurried back as soon as I could and I spent the rest of the day behind closed shutters with a book, a fan and a margarita that was almost more ice than alcohol. This Englishman lets the dogs go out alone in the midday sun.
A summer's day in Paris is longer than in London: it was only just beginning to get dark at nine-thirty when I woke and found I had slept most of the day. The book had fallen unchecked from my hand, all the ice had melted, and the drink that I finished off was luke-warm. The fan was still doing its job, and I felt almost chilly - until I stood up, stretched, and moved out of the stream of cold air. I felt annoyed that I had slept so long, knowing that I would be unable to sleep that night. I had also not eaten all day, and even had the start of a hangover from my afternoon tipple - things were not looking up. I started to make amends, with a new frosted glass, measures of tequila and cointreau, squeezing the other half of the lime, and emptying my ice draw. The fridge proved almost bare, but there were the remains of a sauce I had made a day or two before, and what man worth having doesn't have pasta at his disposal? I am worth having, as more than my pasta will testify.
By eleven-thirty it was velvet dark, and the night promised to be as beautiful as the day. The sky was still cloudless, and the air still warm and close. I showered off the day's sweat and planned my evening. I didn't feel like dancing and I wasn't sure if, having spent such a day indoors, I wanted to spend any of the rest of it under cover. In any case, after so much inactivity, I needed to stretch my legs and get some exercise. I decided on a walk along the river - which could provide both exercise and possibly someone to spend the night with. I dressed, shorts and a tight t-shirt to show my honed but pale legs and torso. Carrying the minimum, but armed with a condom, I was ready. I stepped out into the moonlight.
A full moon does something strange to men, I have found. Statistics show that violent crime waves in phase with the moon, and certainly the steamier bars are steamier than usual when the skies are clear and the moon casts her pale blue light around. Tonight was no exception. The quay was near to crowded, and with men I found deeply attractive, and who were also eyeing my body appreciatively - tonight would be special, it seemed. I was, however, in no hurry, and I walked the full length of the key, eyeing all comers and noting possibilities before turning and walking back along the cobbles to the stairs to the roadside. The clarity of everything was dazzling, the moon was reflected in the silky black river and even the stars seemed to provide more light for once than the street lamps. I looked up into the skies as well as in the faces of my fellow men, and for the first time since moving to the city, was able to pick out the constellations. The plough, the bears, Orion - was that his belt? Or does Orion dress to the right? As I was moon-gazing and lusting, the weather changed. The close air became muggy, and drops of rain fell. Clouds rushed in from nowhere, and far away, I heard thunder. The rain threatened to get nasty, and no-one had thought of the sort of rubberwear that protects against water. The men who had been happy to wander with no particular plan now became a little more focused, and the singles couples and threes of men walking the quayside now had a discernible direction. As one, we turned, and headed for the steps that lead to the road, and to the passage under it. Wide enough for five men shoulder to shoulder, this subway has the smell that tells you the men are more likely to stand face to face. Tonight, the subway felt fuller than I had known it in the past. The only lights there had long before been vandalised, and sight perforce gave way to baser senses. I could hear around me the breathing of men not regulated and calm, but excited, punctuated by grunts and exclamations. Those men were breathing the same smells as me - civilised smells of deodorant and aftershaves mingled with the most basic of human smells - sweat, piss and cum. And touch! On all sides I could feel men jostling against my body, could feel hands and arms and legs pressed against mine. By the time one hand made contact with my dick through my shorts, I was already excited, hard and throbbing for more specific contact.
There was lightening, and for an instant I could see the face, grin and goatee of the man facing me and feeling me. Then we were in the dark once more as the thunder growled and men responded, and I was left with a searing imprint of dark smudgy eyebrows and eyes aglow. I let him undo my fly, and free my cock which pointed instantly skywards. He undid the button and forced my shorts over and down. I let my hands grab his hips and slide around to his arse, pulling his body closer to mine. I caressed his stomach, approving his firm abs and working my hands under his shirt over his torso up to his hard nipples. As I tweaked, he stroked precisely - then he was gone. He had dropped to his knees to lick my cockhead, then suck it, then swallow it, leaving me to stroke his short hair and thrust into him. His mouth was warm, and his tongue exact and I was beside myself. As his mouth worked my dick, his hands stroked my thighs, making the hair on my legs stand as erect as my cock. Then his hands moved up under my balls and behind, and I could feel a probing finger pushing my buttocks apart, and reaching my hole. He worked his finger in deeper and deeper without stopping for a moment the delicious coming and going on my cock. Everything in me that was sex was throbbing to him, and I was on the verge of an orgasm when he took his head away, my dick growing cold as his saliva evaporated. His hands moved to my hips and he turned me round, his warm hands found my buttocks again and spread them tenderly to ease his tongue in where his finger had been. He could rim like he could suck cock and the pleasure of his tongue on and around my ring was heightened and made exquisite by the rough scratch of his beard on the inside of my buttocks. His hands reached up, and it was his turn to tweak my nipples as I bent forward to give him easier access to all he wanted to take.
Then he stood up, and I could feel his dick between my legs. He was as hard as I was, his member heavy and meaty under my arse and between my balls, and he started a to and fro movement that caused my own massive erection to bob and sway. His mouth and beard were now kissing the back of my neck and ears, his tongue licking around my earring and into my ear, then he whispered in French, "Can I fuck you?" I could only nod, and he broke away from me just long enough for me to hear a rubber snap into place, and for both of us to tear off our sweat-drenched t-shirts. Then he put a hand on either shoulder, and with one precision movement guided his missile between my buttocks. I felt my ring part to allow his cockhead in and clenched to grip his shaft behind it. He glided deep into me, his dick provoking the sensations that his expert fingers and tongue had only begun to trigger. The bone in his crotch ground against the base of my spine, and he glued his naked torso to my back. Then his hands moved down from my shoulders in a continuation of the same, slow, fluid motion, cupping my nipples and tracing a path through my hair down to my crotch. He held on to my hips, and only then did he start to fuck me, slowly and with infinite care. At each thrust I felt his dick withdraw until it was close to the outside of me, then force its way back home; at each thrust the warm feeling of contentment and passion and raw excitement growing and spreading throughout me, and causing an arousal and an intensity of feeling that brought my entire body into oneness with his. His face was once more kissing my neck, my ears, his beard rubbing against my hairline, and with exquisite tenderness he bit my shoulder. I reached behind me to raid my fingers through his hair and to pull his mouth round to mine, my head turning owl-like to meet his beard and his tongue in a breathtaking kiss.
His thrusts began to pick up speed and for the first time since we had started I felt an urgency in his actions. I could feel how close he was to coming in me - could almost feel the cum mounting in his balls and up his shaft and ready to explode in hot drops against the rubber barrier. I could also feel how the same reaction was taking place in me, how I could almost shoot without being touched, how having no rubber to limit the force of my ejaculation I would cum like a fire hose. I also knew that, like me, he was using everything in his power to prevent his orgasm. Our bodies were working as one to keep this ultimate pleasure going as long as possible.
He broke our kiss for long enough to spit on his hand, and clenching his fist in front of me, made a lubed hole for me to fuck, like he was fucking my lubed hole. Then we were thrusting together in opposite time, his hand held tight around my cock, my arse bunched up around his. We felt between us the white explosion growing force from deep within the animal we had become and we could delay it no longer. The heat was released and forced up and up in a massive combined ejaculation that spurted between us in waves and waves and finally gave way. Outside the tunnel, in the sky overhead, a white bolt of lightening split the sky, and the thunder echoed all through us, growling our satisfaction.