Places

Places, Ustka
Places: Ustka
By John Yager

This is still another in the series of short stories collectively titled Places.

I want to extend continued and sincere thanks to Andrew for much needed help with proofing and editing.

This work is copyright © by the author, 2004, and may not be reproduced in any form without specific written permission from the author. It is assigned to the Nifty Archives under the terms of their submission agreement but it may not be copied or archived on any other site without the written permission of the author.

jvoyager@hotmail.com

"Do you . . . want . . . wish . . . to . . . fuck me?"

"Yes," I said, watching him across the length of the bed.

I was naked and under a corner of the sheet that only covered my crotch. My cock was rising, causing the cool white cotton to lift and pulse.

He slipped off his light shirt slowly, revealing his smooth chest, muscular, angular, more developed then than most teenage boys.

We'd met just four hours earlier.  He'd been walking along Marynarki Polskiej Ulica with three of his friends, boys about his age -- not walking really, just hanging out.  I couldn't help noticing what good looking kids they were.  All four of them were clearly young, teenagers, but unusually well built for their age.  It was Monday afternoon and as I was getting out of my rental car they watched, the boys crossed the road and offered to carry my bags into the Antonieff, where I had a room booked for four nights.

How had I ended up in Ustka on a warm early summer afternoon?  It's too completed to explain -- an assignment which began in Berlin and had gotten a little out of hand.

"You Angielski?" he had asked.

"American."

His friends had gone back to the far side of the road and stood tossing pebbles into the slow, lapping tide as they called to one another and laughed.

"My friends speak only Polski," he said. He, like the other boys, was dressed in cheap jeans, the kind usually made in China and sold all over Europe as the genuine American original. Apart from the jeans he wore worn canvas tennis shoes, no socks, and a loose red T-shirt emblazoned in Polish with what appeared to be the name of some sports club.  As he spoke he put his hand up under the shirt, scratching his chest, and revealing a good bit of his firm, muscular torso.

"But you study English?"

"Tak. Yes."

"My name's John," I said, extending my hand.

"Pavel."  He looked across at his friends, who'd walked further along the shore, paying no attention to our conversation.  "Why you in Ustka?"

"Business."

"For many days?"

"'Till Friday."

"So," he smiled, "will . . . you speak Angielski with me?"

"If you like."

"May I come to you tonight?"

"If you like," I said again, smiling at his forwardness.

He stood by as the heavy woman behind the reception desk examined my passport, filled out a card and handed me a key.

"Room six," he said, translating her instructions, proud of his command of my language. "I carry . . . waliza."

Without waiting for my consent, he took my suitcase and began to mount the stairs.  I retrieved my passport, picked up my briefcase and followed.  In the passageway above, he waited for me as I caught up with him and opened the door.  Without hesitation he stepped into the small, neat room and put my bag on the little luggage stand.

"You have lazienka," he said, pointing to the open bathroom door.

"Yes."

"I . . . come tonight?"

"If you like."

"I come at nine.  Is . . . okay?" He did that thing with his shirt again, extending his hand up under the red jersey, revealing his beautifully developed abdomen and a good bit of his beautifully developed chest.  He was smooth, hairless, lightly tanned.

"Yes, nine is fine."

"We speak Angielski."

In a flash he was gone, leaving me with the distinct impression that there was more on Pavel's agenda than language lessons.  I unpacked and made a couple of phone calls, confirming meetings for the next day.

At seven I descended to the little lobby and was directed into a small dining room where I was served a surprisingly good meal; a cold beet salad followed by a hardy beef stew and dense, dark bread, rich red wine and, finally, a plate of fruit and cheese, strong black coffee and a small glass of clear, fruit flavored brandy.

By eight o'clock I was back in my room. I stripped down to my skivvies and did my usual hotel room workout, fifty pushups, as many crunches and a few reverse tension arm exercises.  It wasn't as rewarding as free weights but it would do.  Then I pulled off my boxers and enjoyed the sting of hot water on the tight muscles of my back.  I showered leisurely, dried off and stretched out naked on the bed.  If I'd misread Pavel's signals I could pretend modesty and pull on a robe, but I felt fairly sure I'd not misunderstood his intentions.  Lying on the bed, I read through a long, uninteresting report, and exactly at nine heard a soft knock at my door.

"It's open," I said, just loud enough for my visitor to hear, "come in."

Pavel opened the door slowly, looked at me, smiled and locked the door behind him.

"You nagi," he whispered, approaching the bed.

"Yes, naked," I said, "I just took a shower."

"Me, also, kapiel, bathing."

He sat tentatively on the edge of the bed, his hands folded nervously in his lap.  Then very slowly, he leaned down and pressed his soft lips to mine.  I'd not misread his interest.

"Pocalunek," he whispered, "kiss."

"Yes," I confirmed, "kiss."  He did it again, pressing his lips more firmly against mine, moving his warm, wet tongue over them.

He drew back and smiled. "You like me," he whispered, "Homoseksualny."

"Homosexual?"

"Yes."

"Perhaps," I agreed.

"I . . . kocha . . .

"Love?"

"Yes, I . . . love men."

I pulled him down, rolling him over onto his side as he kicked off his shoes and snuggled against me.  He'd changed clothes, exchanging the worn jeans and an old T-shirt for neatly pressed khaki slacks and a soft cotton plaid shirt.  The shirt's soft yellows and greens complemented his lightly tanned skin and bond hair.  His eyes, I realized as I gazed into them, were pools of pale blue.  He smelled of strong soap, clean but harsh.

"No one objected to you coming here?" I asked.

"No, I am . . . alone."

"Your parents aren't home?"

"My ojciec . . . "

"Father."

"Yes, my father is . . . martwy."

"Dead."

"Yes, dead."

"I'm sorry, Pavel," I whispered, kissing his ear softly.

"Is long time, many years.  I not remember."

"And your mother?"

"My matka . . .  "

"Mother."

"My mother . . . works in . . . at . . . urzad . . . "

"Office."

"Yes, office of ships."

"Shipping company, shipyard?" I suggest.

"Shipyard.  She works now."

"She works nights."

"Yes," he smiled.  "So I am alone."

"No sisters or brothers?"

"No siostra or brat," he smiled, "no sister or brother, just mother and me."

He got up and looked around the little room, then standing at the foot of the bed, he said, his voice soft, almost a whisper, "Do you . . . want . . . wish . . . to . . . fuck me?"

"Yes."

His pastel shirt fluttered to the floor as he loosened his belt and slipped off his slacks.  Then, wearing only loose white underpants and socks, he came around to sit again on the side of the bed.  I ran my hand over his tanned, muscular back as he pulled off the socks and then the shorts, and swung around to lie against me.

I lifted the sheet, exposing myself to his view and then spread it over us as he pressed against me.

"You uporzadkowywany."

"Circumcised."

"Like Zydowski."

"Yes."

"You are . . . Zydowski?"

"No, I'm not Jewish. In America most men are circumcised."

"Ah," he said softly, reaching out to touch my rampant cock. "Also big, bigger than me."

"Not so big, just average."

"Bigger than me."

I took his shaft in my hand and gently stroked him as he stroked me.  He wasn't large, but his cock was beautiful, straight and very pale, standing proudly from a small thicket which was only slightly darker than the blond hair on his head.  If he was not circumcised he must have been born with very little foreskin.  Pulled back now, he appeared to have been as trimmed as me.

He moved against me so we could again kiss as we continued to fondle each other.

His free arm came around me and I in turn embraced him, drawing him to me, pressing his chest against mine.

"You're quite muscular, Pavel," I said as we broke away from each other for a moment."

"I gymnast," he said.  "Kola."

"Rings."

"Yes, and zwalniaja styl

"Freestyle."

"You have a beautiful body," I whispered as I stroked his smooth chest. "Are your friends gymnasts too?"

"Yes, we are on same team."

"You're beautiful, Pavel," I whispered, stroking his chest.

"You also are beautiful."

We kissed again, slowly this time, our tongues dancing, moving together, exploring, thrusting.

When we pulled apart I asked the remaining questions I needed answers to.

"How old are you, Pavel?"

"Twenty."

"Really?"

"Eighteen."

"Are you sure?"

"Seventeen, near eighteen," he said shyly.

"Too young."

"I tell you twenty so you not think so young."

"Isn't seventeen too young?  Couldn't I be in trouble for molesting an adolescent?"

"Is all right.  I have done before."

"You've had sex with other men."

"Yes."

"Men, not just with boys your own age."

"With men," he insisted.

"And with boys?  With your friends."

"Yes," he said, smiling shyly.

"The friends I was you with?"

"Yes, and others."

With that he kissed me again, as if to end the conversation.

Slowly, as we continued to kiss, he rolled me over onto my back and hovered over me.  He lowered himself so his chest pressed against mine and his hard cock pulsed next to mine.

We moaned as our passions grew.   He rose up a little, moving his hands over me, pinching my nipples and slowly licking my chest.  He moved down further, reaching back to spread my legs so he could kneel between them.  He hovered over my leaking cock.  His lips opened and he engulfed its head.  I moaned as my shaft slowly disappeared into the depths of his mouth.  When the bulbous head of my cock pressed against the back of his mouth he hesitated briefly, swallowed a couple of times, and continued, taking the entire length of my shaft deep into his throat.  It was clear the boy was experienced, regardless of his age.

"Who taught you that?" I gasped.

He looked up at me, my cock still embedded in his throat, then let it slide slowly from his mouth.  "My gymnastic . . . nauczyciela," he said, searching for the proper English word.

"Your coach?"

"Yes, my gymnastic coach."

Things began to fall into place.

Pavel moved forward, positioning his knees either side of my hips and lowered himself until the wet head of my cock pressed against the twitching rosebud of his ass.

"Hold on, champ," I said, reaching out for the condoms I'd put under my pillow in anticipation.  Sure, I'd been a boy scout and my motto where sex is concerned is Be Prepared.  He waited as I ripped one open and rolled it down my shaft.

"Tak," he moaned as he slowly impaled himself.

The kid had clearly been fucked before.  His ass opened like a warm flower, easily accommodating itself to the presence of my cock.  Despite his obvious experience, he was still very tight.  When he'd slid all the way down he stopped, held very still, tilted his head back as if staring at the ceiling, although his eyes were tightly closed, and sort of crooned.

After a minute or more he began to move, slowly at first, but building speed until he was rising and falling on my shaft as if his life depended on it.

Needless to say, neither of us lasted long.

I felt my own climax building and could see by the way the boy's balls drew up and his body tensed that he was at the point of no return.  We both hit the wall at the same moment.  He froze, holding completely still with my cock fully embedded in his ass as his body shuddered and his balls erupted, sending jolt after scalding jolt out over my stomach and chest.

Pavel's climax prompted my own.  I felt my seed bolt into the deep, dark recesses of his bowels.

He whimpered and I almost cried out with the intensity of it.

Slowly he slumped forward, his body coming to rest on mine, his seed pressed between us.  It took a while for our breathing to return to something like normal and by then we were cemented together by his drying cum.

I rolled us onto our sides, my softening cock slowly sliding out of him with an obscene slurp.

He pressed against me and dozed.

Half an hour later I roused him.  My stomach and chest itched with his dried cum and my left arm had gone all pins and needles under him.

"Come on, tiger, shower time."

"Tiger? Ah, Tygrys," he grinned.

I rumpled his golden hair and shoved him toward the bathroom.   Within a minute or so I had the water adjusted and dragged him under the shower with me.  The space was tight but it didn't matter.  I lathered his body and then my own, worked a generous dab of shampoo into our sweat drenched hair and then rinsed us both.  He stood passively as I dried him off, but took the towel when I was done and dried me just as I'd dried him.

Back in the bedroom we straightened the sheets, him standing one side of the bed, I the other.  We lay side by side, me on my back, Pavel hovering over me as his hands explored my body.

"Noga," he said softly, stroking my thigh.

"Leg, legs."

"Pilki," he said, gently grasping my balls.

"Testicles, balls."

"Cock," he said, slowly stroking me.  He smiled, proud to know the English word.

"Yes, cock, but also penis and dick."

"Oh, yes . . . dick."

He ran his hand down under my balls and pressed the point of one finger into my hole.  "Anus."

"Ass."

"Piers."

"Nipple. Nipples, tits."

I guess he did want an English lesson after all.

When I rolled over onto my side he snuggled against me, stroking my shoulders and chest, then, turning over, facing away from me so his still dilated ass pressed against my crotch.

"We do again?" he asked.

"In a while."

I reached around him, stroking his beautiful torso as I moved slowly against him. It wasn't long before I felt my cock respond to him.

This time I ruled the roost, rolling him onto his back and spreading his legs so I could fuck him the way I preferred.  I love to see a guy's eyes and be able to move above him, matching my thrusts to his growing passion.

Pavel was yielding, not objecting at all when I bent over him and took his lovely shaft into my mouth.  He moaned and wiggled as I taught him a few new tricks involving sucking cock.  Bringing him nearly to climax, but not letting him slip over, I raised his passion to breaking point two or three times before backing off and lifting his legs to my shoulders.

His pulsing ass was still gaping from our previous adventure and, with a new condom in place, I slid slowly but easily into him.

He groaned as I bottomed out and I held very still, as he'd done before, letting his young body adjust to the invasion of my rampant cock.

"Tak," he whispered after a minute or so and I began to plunge, slowly at first, but with growing speed and force until I was driving into him full force, making his beautiful body recoil with each new thrust.

When we both began to clench up in anticipation of another powerful climax, I slowed down, only barely moving until we recovered and regained control.

Then I began to drive into him, starting slow again, but building force until I could feel both my own body and his tighten.  That second time I let it happen, pounding into him until we both erupted, he onto his own chest this time, I filling the rubber implanted deep in his bowel.

"Bóg pomocy my!" he moaned, which roughly translates, "Oh my God!"

We again collapsed, exhausted, while our bodies recovered.

I guess at some point we dozed and at a later point we were awake again.

"Can I come again tomorrow?" he asked.

"Yes, certainly," I said, kissing his sweet lips.

"Nine?"

"I have a dinner planned with business associates," I said, realizing I was using English beyond his comprehension.  "I may not be back by then."

"I wait," he smiled.

When I woke later he was gone.

It was after ten when I got back to the Antonieff on Tuesday night.  Pavel was crouching with his back against an old tree and the hotel was dark.

"Come in," I said, beckoning to him.

There was no one in the lobby and passageways as we made our way to my room.

"I need shower," he said as we locked the door behind us.

"Mind if I join you?"

"Oh, please."

We stripped quickly and within minutes were crowded together in the small shower as hot water poured over our bodies.  I drew him into a loving embrace and kissed him passionately.  He resisted my advances, saying, "I just came from gym.  I czuc zapach."

"I don't mind," I assured him.  He smelled of sweat, the healthy odor of an athletic boy.  But when he continued to protest, I gave him the little extra room we had in such tight quarters and began to lather his chest and arms.

"Lift your arms," I told him, and washed his pits.  That seemed to embarrass him, that I'd do it for him, and he tried to take the soap from me.

Laughing at his modesty, after what we'd done the night before.   I pushed him back against the wall of the shower and restrained him with my greater weight.  Then while he wiggled and laughed, I washed his crotch, stroking him to a full erection and continued, washing our hard cocks together, stroking them with the rich lather.

When he began to thrust against me, I stopped, not wanting to bring him to climax until we were dry and in bed

Once in the bedroom he stretched out on the bed, on his back, bolder now, showing off his body, flaunting his sex.  I jerked his legs apart, rather too roughly, perhaps, but he didn't seem to mind.  Kneeling between them, I leaned forward and took the full length of his cock into my mouth.  He was already leaking and the slick stuff quickly coated my throat.

I sucked him hard, wanting to get him off, and it didn't take long at all.  Very soon he was bucking and thrusting and I had to hold him down to keep his pulsing cock from slipping out from between my lips.  I formed a tight seal around his shaft and held on as he came, flooding my mouth with his spunk.

"Bóg," he moaned as I slowly released him.  He lay there trembling, his legs jerking for a minute or two, then placed his hands behind his legs and rolled himself up with his knees against his chest so his ass was exposed, inviting me to fuck him.

I reached for the condoms and lube and, without a word, began to open him.  I greased and inserted one finger into him, rotating it, spreading the lube.  He opened quickly and I inserted a second finger.  He looked at me and smiled.  I wasn't sure if it was a smile of pleasure or of pride at his ability to open his young ass so quickly.  I worked in a third finger and began to spread the muscles of his sphincter.  When I knew he was relaxed enough to take my cock with no difficulty, I withdrew my fingers, rolled on a condom, and moved forward, pressing the head of my dick against his pulsing bud.

"Tak," he whispered as I slid into him.

He clamped his legs around my rump and began to draw me in more and more forcefully as I began to thrust.

It was clear he wanted to be fucked with as much force as I could manage and it wasn't long until I was pounding into him with more gusto than I'd managed in years.  His young, subtle body responded in kind, taking everything I could give him and begging for more.

For some reason the energy I was expending seemed to delay my own climax.  I pounded into him for what seemed like an eternity.  We were both wet with sweat and I was reaching the point of near exhaustion before I felt the climax building in my balls.  I slowed then, shuddering, held very still as my cock erupted and I filled the condom planted deep in his ass.

Later, much later, in the dark hours of the night, I felt Pavel move, roll to the side of the bed and sit up.  "Are you leaving?" I asked.

"Tak," he whispered.  "I must be home when my mother comes."

"Will I see you tomorrow?"

"Is okay if I come?"

"Yes, certainly."  I thought for a moment as he dressed and when he leaned over to kiss me, I said, "could you come in time for dinner?"

"Yes, but it would not be wise for me to eat here with you.  I am known and something would be said to my mother."

"Meet me down the road by the bridge at six."

"You will have your car?"

"Yes, we'll go someplace for dinner, someplace where no one will know you."

"Oh?" he said with a broad smile. "Yes."

On Wednesday I finished my meetings by one o'clock and headed back to the Antonieff for a long map.  I had no idea what the evening would bring but, given the sparkle in Pavel's eyes when I suggested going out, I suspected he had plans for a long night.

By a quarter to six I'd showered, shaved, dressed in a clean pair of khaki slacks and a new Polo T-shirt, tight and pale blue, and was on my way.  Even though I was a bit early, Pavel was already there waiting for me.  He was dressed in tight jeans, which looked like authentic Levis, a skin-tight lime green T-shirt, white socks and rather funky high top canvas shoes.

He jumped into my rental car and we headed south and east  toward Slupsk.  We were unnaturally quiet and it was only as we were entering Lebork that he asked me where we were going.

"The Maly Dom in Gdansk."

"Gdansk?" he said, a note of astonishment in his voice. "This is far, over sixty kilometers from Ustka."

"Yes, about forty-five miles. We'll be there in another twenty minutes."

"A restaurant called the Maly Dom?"

"Yes."

"This means Small House."

"The guidebook translated it Little House, but it's the same."

"Little House?"

"Yes."

"Why is it you go so far and why are you choosing this Little House?"

"It's small, informal, said to have good food, and it's gay friendly."

"What is this gay friendly?"

"They are welcome gay clients."

"Ah, homoseksualny," he said, turning toward me with a broad smile.  "We eat well."

"I hope so," I agreed, wondering if he was attempting to joke in English, not an easy thing in a language he knew so slightly.

"Have you been to Gdansk?" I asked.

"Yes, many times, with school groups, for the spotykaja."

"The gymnastic meets."

"Yes, and a few times with friends."

"Oh? Where did you and your friends go?"

He was silent for a moment and I got the distinct impression he was considering just how much he should say.  Finally after a rather long pause, he asked, "did your guidebook say the name of Club Oscar?"

"Yes, it did."

"This is a gay guidebook?"

"Yes."

We drove past rusty factories and railroad yards, then by grim apartment buildings, survivors from the Soviet days, and finally into the more lively center of Gdansk, the more prosperous government and commercial section near the port.

Our meal at the Maly Dom was good but unremarkable.  We shared a small bottle of wine.  The waiter, a rather effeminate boy not much older than Pavel, made no comment about legal age and I assumed it was legal for a kid of seventeen, if that was in fact Pavel's age, to be served wine.

When we were finished and walked out into the late summer twilight, I said, "So tell me about the Club Oscar."

Pavel looked at me and smiled.  "It is very pomylony, and very . . . " His English failed him.

"Very crazy and very gay?"

"Yes."

"Shall we give it a try?"

"Yes!" he said quickly with another winning smile.

"When do you need to be home."

"Is okay.  I tell my mother I spend night with friend."

"Okay then, let's do it."

"Do it?"

"Yes," I laughed, putting my arm around his shoulders and pulling him toward me as we headed off.

The Oscar was definitely not for the faint-hearted.  It was by no means  the sort of "safe" gay club straight people might go to for a brief walk on the wild side.   At the inconspicuous entry there was a small placard above a brass button.  I pressed it and heard a bell ring inside the heavy door, which was opened a second later by a large, very muscular man about my age.

"Powitanie," he said, looking us over.  I noticed his eyes lingered over Pavel's body with definite interest and probable lust.  "Piecdziesiat zloty kazdy," he added, and said something more I missed as I dug in my pocket for change.  Fifty Polish zloty; between ten and twelve dollars for each of us, not too bad.  When I handed him the bills he handed me two cheaply printed cards.

"They are good for two drinks each," Pavel explained." Better still, I thought as we entered a dark passageway leading toward flashing light, ear splitting music and the strong odor of spilled beer, stale smoke and assorted body fluids.

On our right was a sex shop which seemed to have anything and everything a gay man might want.  There was an assortment of leather and a bigger assortment of toys.  Another pretty boy called to us but we went on by.

The passageway opened into a big space, more like a warehouse than a conventional bar, but then this wasn't a conventional bar.

Above us on two elevated platforms two totally cut and totally smooth guys gyrated to the heavy metal onslaught.  Between them, at floor level, a hundred or more guys crowded up to a bar which stretched more than forty feet in length and was manned by four more gorgeous men who were bare chested and maybe more.  From waist down they were hidden behind the furniture.  To our right bodies pressed together on the dance floor, looking as if they were being consumed in the flames of hell as several dozen strobes and colored spots flashed and zoomed.

While the noise level did permanent damage to our eardrums, I leaned close and shouted to Pavel, "drink or dance?"

"Dance," he smiled broadly, taking my hand and leading me out into the mob.

It wasn't dancing, really, more a matter of sexual frenzy being enacted en masse.  We gave way to the pulse as our bodies quickly dampened in the heat.

Pavel was the first to pull off his shirt, tucking it in to his belt without missing a beat.  I followed his example, realizing there were very few fully dressed men on the dance floor.

At times we moved together, our bodies pressed as tightly as if we were in bed.  At other times I lost track of him completely as he moved off into the throes of the collective assault of hot flesh and rhythm and sound.  The odor of a hundred male bodies captured by a common desire surrounded us.  I felt my own body responding to the primordial beat, suddenly realizing that what I wanted most was to find Pavel and fuck.

No sooner than the thought had entered my feverish brain than a curtain of bodies in front of me parted and he materialized, moving toward me with a rhythm which could only be called wanton and an expression on his face which could only mean sex.

"I want drink," he shouted into my left ear and then moved off toward the bar, leaving me to follow.

I caught up with him as he pressed into the crowd.  I dug the two drink cards out of my pocket, noticing that they were now very damp.  My waistband and pockets were wet with sweat.

Pavel took the cards, thrust them toward one of the scantly clad bartenders and shouted "Piwo."  Within seconds the cards were returned, each with one corner torn off, and followed by two plastic cups of a brew which I was later told was grodziskie.  It had a smoky taste which at first seemed unpleasant, but as it slid easily down my parched throat I took a second sip and found it was quite good.  I remembered college days when beer and Scotch was considered adventurous.

As we downed the beer Pavel moved back from the bar and motioned for me to follow.  At the left end of the bar, the end furthest from the dance floor, he led me down another dark passageway I'd not seen before.  We moved deeper into the bowels of the old building and then left again into a warren of dark rooms.  The only illumination came for red exit lamps marked "Wyjscie," and as my eyes became accustomed to the meager light I realized naked and nearly naked bodies moved against the walls.

Pavel led me on into the shadows till he found a vacant corner where he pressed me back against the rough plaster and began to ravage my mouth with his.  Our bodies were wet with sweat and our chests slid together as we kissed.  He moved back breathless and whispered, "fuck me."

"Here?" I questioned, realizing everyone around us was already engaged in sex.

"Do you like sauna?"

"Yes."

He took my hand and led me back to the main passageway and then deeper into the building.  There was a dimly lit alcove to our right and a counter where freshly laundered towels were stacked.  Pavel grabbed two and continued on another twenty feet, where the passage widened into a locker room.  He found an empty cubicle and began to pull off his shoes and socks.

"Hurry," he said when he looked up at me and saw I'd not moved.  We undressed quickly and piled our clothes in the plywood locker.  I extracted a strip of three condoms from my rear trouser pocket as Pavel locked the cubicle, removed the key and slipped it on its elastic band around my wrist.  I wrapped the towel around my waist and followed him as he marched off naked into a wall of steam, his own towel hung casually over his left shoulder.

We went through one door and then another.  We were in a dimly lit space, ten or twelve feet wide and maybe sixteen or eighteen feet deep.  Banks of wooden shelf like benches rose on either side and along the rear wall and on them the vague shapes of men were visible through the billowing clouds of steam.

Pavel moved to the rear of the room and then up onto the topmost level.  No one else was on the rear benches but I could make out at least two couples to our left and one to our right.   No one spoke but the occasional slurping sounds of sex penetrated the fog.

He spread his towel over the bench as I sat down beside him but he quickly stretched out on the towel, lying on his back, and pulled me down onto him.  His mouth again found mine and we kissed deeply, passionately, moaning as our slickened bodies moved together.

I was quickly becoming overheated, both thermally and sexually.  There was no way I was going to fuck him here.  The idea of other men watching us was, admittedly, a bit of a turn on, but I knew I'd die of heat exhaustion long before I came.

I moved back and down to the lower level, dragging Pavel with me.  He rearranged his towel and again grappled, finding my mouth, one hand stroking my cock.

"It's too hot," I groaned.  "I've got to have some air."

I couldn't see his face clearly but I knew he was exasperated with me.

"Okay," he whispered, "come."

Again I followed as he led me, both of us still naked and erect, back toward the lockers and then off to our right.  We were in a room which could only be called an orgy chamber.  The space was twenty feet square and the floor was entirely covered with one huge padded mat.  There was very little light, but enough to see we were not alone.  Two guys were fucking in the very center of the space and another guy was blowing the bottom.  In the back right corner a tangle of three or four men writhed and moaned doing something inexplicable together.

Pavel led me toward an empty space in the rear left corner and again arranged his towel and then mine before lying down on his back and pulling me onto him.  His legs were spread and I was between them.  My mouth found his and we kissed again, deeply, moaning all the time as our tongues thrust.  He was moving as if I were already in him, my cock sliding next to his, well lubricated with our collective sweat.

The music, some distance off, still pulsed through the building.  I could feel the bass rhythm in the floor below us.  I could feel it in Pavel's body as I pressed against him.

The harsh, rank odor of male sex hit me suddenly.  Was it us? Not just us.  We were surrounded by an orgy of lust.

"Fuck me," he whispered.

"I don't have any lube," I said, rolling on a condom.

"Is okay," he said.

I barely entered him, only the head of my cock penetrating his ass.

His legs closed around my buttocks, his heals digging into my flesh.

I slid fully in.  He moaned.

I pulled back and thrust in again.

"Tak, dobry," he moaned.  "Tak, tak, tak."

A strange man was moving behind me, probably a refugee from one of the other entanglements of bodies a short distance away.  He ran his rough hands over my thighs and then spread my buttocks, exposing my ass to his inspection.  One finger prodded me and then withdrew, returned wet and prodded more, sliding in to the first or second knuckle and twisting, opening me.  The finger was withdrawn.

I felt him moving again and then his mouth was on my ass, his tongue licking, prodding.  I moaned as I slowed to accommodate him, still fucking Pavel but more slowly now so my new companion could find the pace. I felt him move behind me and position himself to fuck.

"Nie jeszcze," I said, reaching back to stop him.  I rose up a little, kneeling, my cock still deep in Pavel's ass, as I tore open another condom.

"Tak," the stranger said, understanding.  He moved around beside me, waddling on his knees, so I could roll the rubber down his shaft.  For the first time I saw him.  Even in the dim light it was clear he was a very good looking man, older than me, I guessed by eight or ten years, but very fit, a laborer or longshoreman, I guessed.  He probably outweighed me by fifty pounds, heavily muscled, his chest covered by a thick mat of light brown hair.  His cock was huge, uncut but the foreskin pulled fully back.  The bulbous head of it was massive and blunt and the shaft arched up until it nearly touched his hard stomach, bobbing and drooling with each beat of his heart.

I looked back at Pavel.  His mouth hung open in amazement and his eyes were wide, staring at the man at my side.

The man smiled, reached down and tweaked Pavel's left nipple.  "Dobry wieczór, sportywny," he said, "good evening, sport." Then, stroking his huge cock, he added,  "JA jestem zawolane mlotek," "I'm called Hammer."  I certainly seemed an appropriate nickname for such a commanding man.

Once clad, he moved back, spread my buttocks, and pressed the head of his monster against my pulsing ass.

For a very long moment I didn't think I could take him but I pressed back, sweat dripping off my forehead and chin onto Pavel's chest, and suddenly I felt the ring of my sphincter give way to Hammer's advances and he was in me, not far in, but in.  I held very still and he also waited.  I felt my own cock soften a bit in the boy's ass.  After a minute or two I regained some sense of control and said "tak."

Hammer slid slowly into me.  When the huge head of his cock hit my prostate my body jolted and I was again, suddenly, fully hard.  When he was all the way in I felt as if my bowels were being split but he waited again and then began to move.  It took a while, but we were able to establish a rhythm and then it was amazing; three male bodies, deeply linked, and moved in harmony toward one goal.  The others in the room moved closer to watch.  One of them slid his hand between my drenched stomach and Pavel's and began to stroke the boy's pulsing shaft as I moved slowly in and out of his ass and Hammer moved with equal ease in and out of mine.

We didn't come together, the way so many erotic stories describe, but in a kind of chain reaction, Pavel first, then me, and finally Hammer.  I felt the condom swell with his load, expanding deep in my bowels as he shot off a huge load.

We rolled to the side, no longer lying on the towels Pavel had spread under us, but on the rank gray mat.

After a while I felt Hammer's cock wilt and slip out of my ass as my own cock slipped from Pavel's rear.  A little later the boy led me away to a gang shower where we cleaned up in the presence of half a dozen other post orgasmic men, returned to our locker to dress in silence and leave.

We were silent on much of the drive back to Ustka.  I'd stopped for coffee on the outskirts of Gdansk and Pavel slept a good bit of the trip.  Back at my hotel all was silent and dark.  The boy spent the rest of the night with me and joined me for coffee and bread the next morning before I left for another meeting.

The next evening, Thursday, and my last night in Ustka, Pavel was again at my door at nine o'clock.

We lay in bed for a long time, naked and cuddling, but not feeling rushed to engage in real sex.  I could tell he was waiting to say something and eventually he began to ask me questions about the night before.

"I was surprise . . ."

"Surprised," I corrected him.

"Yes, I was surprised you let man fucks . . ."

"Fuck."

"Yes, I was surprised that you let man fuck you."

"Oh, why?"

"Is this not a losing of manhood to let other fuck you?"

"You let me fuck you," I said, stroking his beautiful chest.

"Yes, but I boy, you man."

"Is that what your friends say?"

"Yes . . . no . . . I don't know, but I have thought it so."

"No, Pavel," I said, giving him a little kiss.  "Men can enjoy fucking or being fucked.  You must enjoy it."

"Yes, much."

"Have you ever fucked another person?" I asked, keeping the gender neutral, wondering if, perhaps, he'd been with a girl.

"No, only have I been fucked."

"Would you like to try?"

"You would let me fuck you?"

"Yes, certainly, if you want."

Pavel was clearly amazed by my willingness to bottom for him, but after half an hour of play, I rolled a condom onto his cock, got on my back, and took him.

There was a look of absolute amazement on his handsome face as his cock penetrated my sphincter and he slowly slid in full length.  It was clear that with a little coaching the kid would be an amazing top.

It was our last night and a fitting end to our time together.  The next morning after breakfast we said our rather tearful good-byes and I headed southwest, across the Polish border at Kostrzyn, into Germany and on to Berlin.  I'd not soon forget my visit to Ustka or the beautiful boy I found there.