GloryholeJUNKIE'S Roman Holiday By Mr. gloryholeJUNKIE ghjunkie@hotmail.com (write to him...he especially seems to like MEN oddly enough)
Preface
Unzip your slacks, get a cuppa mochachinofrappelattedoublewide and then call your travel agent. Your penis is gunna wanna travel.
I had one of the most hedonistic nights of my life in a Roman "underground" sex club near piazza Barbarini just a few years ago. I was wandering the streets at about 12:30 a.m., as is my habit in many cities I visit. I'm NOT out selling or plyingmy "wares", but rather like to have a city to myself for at least an hour. I'm not one of those fond of the Spanish Steps at noon but I love it at midnight. Often devoid of people, wet from when the city cleaners hose them down, one can meander down the steps to Bernini's fountain...I just love it!
I wandered down some street and a MAN whispered to me in Italian, he was silver-haired, middle-aged and rather good-looking. Like a less-glossy Rossano Brazzi. Now at almost 1 in the morning, few men whisper much of anything on a darkened street other than..."I got a hooker here for you, my man, real cheap, too!"...or..."This is a stick up!"
Before I could do anything, the man obviously was aware he'd startled me (and usually middle-aged men in shadowy streets don't do that to me!) so he immediately gripped his crotch in the universally understood, but distinctively Italian manner of saying, "I got something big and meaty here that needs some attention, buddy."
I wandered closer to where he stood and he had this long rod within his slacks. Fortunately, it was an erect penis and not a gun. Long thing in his slacks. He looked up and down the very deserted street and stepped back two steps into the dark alleyway. I was horny and figured, `Sure, he could be a killer but this sex routine has to be a staple of Roman homo cruising since ancient times.'
And, so I followed and in moments I had this massive trousersnake of his in my grasp. He reached to grab my ass but as he quickly realized he wasn't getting a fuck out of me, he pushed me to my knees telling me, in Italian (everyone always thinks I'm a native wherever I go), "You want what this man has, don't you...?" He unzipped his slacks as he held my shoulder and tugged out this thick, perfect dick. I could say it was not perfect and huge in order to try to make this tale sound more believable. But doing so would be the lie.
I put the head of this stranger's wet, dripping uncut penis to my lips and tasty sweet salty man nectar that oozed from it. But he was not wasting time. He rammed the full length of his "manhood" down my throat and fucked away like Caligula revved up on the idea of a disemboweling!
His powerful thrusts almost knocked me to the cobbled stones several times. The air was still and utterly silent, as it often is at one in the morning. Twice I could hear men's footsteps on the sidewalk just ten feet away. As this man had intercourse with my neck, thoughts of Jack the Ripper's victims came to mind. How they were but feet away from passers-by on the sidewalk as their vaginas were filleted from their groins.
But despite that thought... I was having a wonderful time of it. Riding his cock with my throat muscles, my momentary choking on each ripping thrust of his hips dotted the stillness in depraved whore noise.
Then as his nuts slapped my chin wildly in the final throes, he gritted his teeth and tried desperately to mute his intense orgasm inside my clamping, squeezing, swallowing throat.
And just a quickly, he pushed me off of him. I fell back on my heels and almost hit my ass on he cold stone. He roughly apologized seeing that his strength was greater than the man still gulping down his ejaculate would have expected. He reached to me but I waved him off half chuckling. I thought of all the whores in the Roman Empire who must have been thrust to the ground like that throughout history. And I rather appreciated the moment.
As I had spent the earlier part of the evening in a wonderful restaurant with a group of friends for dinner and then drinking, I was quite well dressed and wondered for the first time if I'd have stains on my suit slacks. I could feel nothing and figured that at least dirt would be better than blood.
The man looked at me as he finished zipping up. He stood there apparently noticing for the first time that I was well dressed and well groomed. And despite a strand of his pubic hair caught in my teeth, I wasn't your common cum whore.
He asked if I wanted some more fun. I smiled and said, "Si". He detected my accent and asked if I were British. I said I was American and he grinned. In mediocre English he said, "I like Americans...you make the best sex."
I looked at his bulge and feigned wiping up come of his semen from my chin and returned the compliment. One's not "lived" till one's had a Roman penis ejaculate in your mouth, after all!
He looked around again as we were now standing in the light of sidewalk. "You want more like this...", he said, gripping his trouser rod again, "You go there...". He pointed to the other side of the street to another alleyway directly across from us.
"There", he said, "You will find more." He abruptly said goodnight and took off down the sidewalk.
I was again alone, (well, one is never quite alone with a stranger's 750,000 little spermies swimming in one's system, is one?) on this seemingly isolated little street near piazza Barbarini. I wanted more. But what was over there? As I looked across the street, it was just a dark void of alleyway.
I crossed, my whorish genes prompting me to seek more...
The alley was a dead end and dead silent. One bare blue lightbulb glowed weakly fifteen yards in off the sidewalk. I approached it, half-expecting sex and half- expecting decapitation.
As I felt I might have been on the portal of some den of thieving murderers, this iron door flung open and two handsome young Italian men, well dressed in disco- sexwear came bounding out, laughing. The bass of thundering music pounded to the street. One of the young revelers gave me a fast peck on the cheek as they made their way back to the street.
Another man, a burly, well-built young daddy, stood in the doorway. He scanned me up and down and smiled but barely. "You coming in?", he asked in Italian. I just nodded as if my life were on autopilot.
The man closed the door behind me and stood next to a mirrored podium. He was the doorman. "Twenty-thousand lire", he said. His ivory Armani t-shirt clung to every bull muscle of his powerful physique.
As I paid, another man came up the stairs with someone. The other person disappeared behind a mirrored doorway concealed to look like part of the wall. I later discovered it was a bathroom.
The man who stood there looked at me and we locked eyes for but four seconds. He was older, a very tall distinguished fifty, I would say. Bluest eyes I have seen in person since working with Paul Newman on The Color of Money.
The doorman noticed the connection and grinned in that way only guys who love guys will. To my shock, the olderman walked right up to where I stood and planted a deep kiss onto my lips. It lasted second and yet years. I could taste liquor and mints on his breath.
It was only interrupted when his companion returned and tapped him on the shoulder. Playfully, but firmly, this other man said, "Basta, basta!" (enough, enough!) and our lips parted. The olderman still held me and whispered in Italian with this utterly seductive look in his eyes, "So beautiful you are..."
And they left.
I stood there and looked at the doorman who was looking at me and we both began to laugh. "You'll have a good time", he said in rough English. He must have guessed me to be American. Perhaps it was the way I counted out my money at 1:30 in the morning.
I descended the narrow, mirrored stairwell to the basement. I was startled to find a rather glitzy bar jam packed with male bodies. The handsomest men I had ever seen assembled in one room. It beat out even Malibu parties for masculine beauty.
A man grabbed me and spun me around in a quick waltz and put his tongue into my mouth. I only saw his handsome looks once he pulled away and rejoined his party. I suddenly wished I weren't alone but figured that no one was alone for long in a place like this.
I went to the bar where two matinee idols bartended. I could see these two playing Roman centurians in some sword & sandal epic of the 50s. I asked for a Manhattan (my favorite drink at the time...one can never resist a cherry I always say).
I took the cocktail and a man bumped into me immediately. Half the drink splashed to the floor and this man was so apologetic. He was about forty, good-looking in a newscaster sort of way and wore a sport jacket and good shirt. In Italian, he apologized profusely. At one point I thought he offered me his Mercedes to "make up for it".
He grabbed me and brought me back to the bar and told me to tell the bartend what I had ordered. I got a replacement drink courtesy of the man. I thanked him and as I went to reach for the glass, he grabbed me wrist and then grabbed my basket.
"That's just a drink", he whispered, "I apologize this way..." He grabbed hold of my crotch, many people noticing and grinning and being so wonderfully depraved, and pulled me to a dark space along a wall. He unzipped me and was squatting before I could stop him (had that thought even come into my mind). His mouth was like wet silk as he sucked me. I realized that we were in a space that had probably 45 people assembled, all well dressed and gathered at little bar tables. Although I knew it, it was the first time I looked around and noticed, or confirmed rather, that all were men. A man sidled up beside me and reached to hold my nuts as the cocksucker went deep to the pubes.
Just as suddenly then, the cocksucker, stood up and slapped me on the shoulders. "Sooo goood!", he said in Italian. He went to the bar and picked up my drink. He then came back, handed it to me and kissed me on the lips. I looked at him all bemused and confused as he went back to his table and rejoined three friends there. I meandered further into the space and came to realize there was a full dance floor on the other side of a wall from the bar.
And ringing the dance floor was a dark space, carpeted in two tiers. It was rather like a loggia overlooking the dance floor. One could recline and look at the dancers while remaining hidden in the darkness.
I can never resist dark spaces and wandered to one portal of this u-shaped space. Immediately I knew I had found what the silver-haired man in the alley had promised. Each dark 30-foot length of this ringing "u", was packed with male figures in orgiastic sex. Some naked but most in various stages of undress. Many just with trousers open and big dicks inserted into mouths or up spread asses. It was like any and every Roman-style orgy one would ever expect. And they were all men. Some reclined on a tier just watching others perform. But most all were in some entanglement of masculine flesh and muscle and throbbing male sex organs.
I hesitated for a moment and sat on a lower tier sipping my Manhattan. It was so unlike me to just watch. But I wanted to observe the tactics these men were employing to get into other's pants. Although it was a public orgy, it was rather unlike one I had ever quite seen before. It was this dark writhing ring of muscles and penises and in the center were 50 bodies dancing under flashing lights. I could understand the seductions of the Ancients. I was living those same seductions with their descendants.
I spotted a group of bodies I particularly liked, which is saying something in this sea of the handsomest physiques I have ever laid eyes upon.
I wanted to join that little huddle (for starters). Maybe suck that big guy's horse scrotum while fingering hole of that other hard assed Roman jock. But before I could non-chalantly walk over to them, I had two sets of hands tugging on my belt buckle. My pants were never opened and down at my ankles so fast in all my life! Someone took my dick down his throat and voraciously sucked while someone else began to unbutton my shirt. I worried about my wallet for a moment but, quite frankly, figured, "Even if I lose it, this is worth every freakin', fuckin', god- suckin' nickel." (that's what I really thought)!
Two or three bodies on me became four and five and five minutes became 30 became 60. And at some point I realized I was fully "at home" in this whore alley. My shirt was open, my trousers and boxers at my shiny dress shoes. I was sucking two cocks of guys I could not even see through the thick sea of male flesh crowding around. I had sucked my way down one length of the ringing -U and was only part way into the second "arm" of it. And already I had had sex with dozens of bodies.
Although I count only cocks sucked and cum drunk in my cum journals, and this was not the record-breaking cum drinking night, it was indeed the most men I ever had sex with at one time in one evening.
And the beauty of almost all these physiques, whether they were the young men of eighteen or the oldermen of fifty was astounding. I won't go further as some may doubt the credibility. But anyone who has whored in Roman circles knows these men are among the world's finest prime beef.
And then I got tired of all things! Maybe it was the Manhattan, although I know it was the hour. I looked and it was 4:45 a.m. I had had almost three continual hours of sex with countless men. My rough guess at the time was eighty-six.
I pulled myself together with an occasional man grippingmy shoulder with a smile saying, "Well done!"
My knees and thighs hurt. My nuts felt great though. I ascended the stairwell and went into the bathroom behind the mirrored wall. I looked like I'd been ravished!
And I had been! I combed back straight my sex-sweaty hair and it suddenly occurred to me that perhaps that was how the Mafia had started that slicked-back look! The Mafia is made up of cumpigs!
I returned to the alleyway and could smell the scent of morning. Making my way to the street, a flock of starlings snapped across the sky. It was still dark but the stone glowed in that pre-dawn hint of light.
As I walked back to my hotel, I thanked Jupiter for making men.
End.
This story is copyrighted/2002 by the author. Not to be reprinted or used in any manner without his prior written permission