“No, but I’m not ashamed to admit I’m curious about them. I really ought to check out a couple of them. Could be ‘educational,’ as you say.” Urban gave his buddy a searching look. “You know, something’s been bothering me.”
“Yeah? What?”
“You, dude.”
“What about me?” Bob responded, uneasily.
“Your sex life. It seems just about nonexistent. You never go out on dates. Not with girls, anyway. You’re always either pumping iron, at the sports center, or hanging out with me and the other guys.”
“Bros before hos,” Bob said, in an attempt to evade the issue.
“Yeah, but a bro needs a ho to take care of his sexual needs, every now and then. You belong in Pannonhalma, dude.” [Translator’s note: a reference to a famous Benedictine monastery, a tourist attraction, located about fifty miles or eighty kilometers west of Budapest, near the university town of Györ.]
“Maybe,” Bob muttered.
“Want me to set you up with a sure thing?” Urban offered, helpfully.
“No, thanks.”
“Why not?”
“I don’t want to do it with a slut.”
“Shit, they’re the only ones worth doing it with!” Urban guffawed. “You want a bitch with experience. Especially if you’re not all that experienced, youself.” He looked at Bob, with pursed lips and narrowed eyes. “Just how experienced—or inexperienced—are you, man? Come on. Inquiring minds want to know.”
“Uh—the truth is—!” Bob faltered.
“Christ crucified and come back from the dead,” Urban blasphemed. “You’re not telling me you’re some kind of a virgin, are you?”
“I’m all kinds,” Bob confessed, barely audibly.
“You mean—never?”
“Never.”
“You have got to be bullshitting me, man!” Urban insisted.
Bob blushed, as he had a tendency to do, whenever he was embarrassed. “No,” he mumbled, shamefaced. “I’m being perfectly serious.”
“You poor bastard.”
The two young men were having this intimate conversation in one of Budapest’s coffee shops, where they’d gone to get a quick caffeine fix after their workout.
With his blond hair, blue eyes, and overall wholesome appearance, Urban looked like a sweet, innocent choirboy. But Bob knew better. He knew that his buddy Urban was kind of wild.
Urban wasn’t just Bob’s gym buddy, and workout partner. He was Bob’s teammate—they were both on the university’s soccer team. Urban was also Bob’s best friend, and confidant.
“Run this by me once again,” Urban insisted. “Just so I can be sure I haven’t misunderstood you. Are you telling me you’ve never had sex, in any shape or form, with anybody?”
“Keep your voice down, will you? Yeah. That’s about the size of it,” Bob said.
“I still can’t believe it.”
“Well, it’s true.”
“No guy our age is still a virgin, unless he’s as ugly as sin, or he has something else wrong with him. You’re damn good-looking, dude. You’ve got a nice body. I’ve seen you naked in the locker room and the showers, lots of times. As recently as an hour ago, in fact! Your dick looks okay, to me. Okay, I’ve only seen it soft, but it looks big, which is what the bitches like, even though they don’t always want to admit it.”
“Urban, you’re embarrassing me.”
“Get over it. There must be some reason why you haven’t been laid, yet. You don’t have ED, do you?”
“ED? What’s that?”
“You know, that condition they talk about on all of those commercials on cable TV,” Urban elucidated. “Erectile Dysfunction. The inability to get it hard and keep it hard, in other words,” he specified. “The commercials always have some foxy older dude in them, who looks like your dad. He pops a pill, and the next thing you know, he’s making out like a bandit. Better fucking through chemistry, so to speak.”
Bob could feel his face once again getting warm and red from embarrassment. “I never have any trouble getting a hard-on,” he muttered.
“No, you just have trouble doing something with it, huh? Do you at least jerk off?”
“Of course I do. Just about every night.”
“And do you come?”
“Yeah. Every time.”
“Well, so far, so good, then,” the irrepressible Urban declared. “But I’m really worried about you, man. It’s a scientific fact that jerking off isn’t enough to keep a guy’s pipes flushed out properly. He has to have real sex, on a regular basis, to stay healthy.”
“Says who?”
Urban shrugged. “Like I said—it’s a scientific fact.”
“This, coming from a guy who flunked Basic Biology.”
“I may have flunked the course, but I’m doing okay when it comes to doing the field work,” Urban bragged. “But getting back to you and your problem. You say your tool’s in working order. So … what’s the big deal? Find yourself somebody to fuck. Take my word for it. Once you’ve tried that, you won’t be able to get enough. Your days of flying solo will be numbered.”
“It’s not that easy.”
“Of course it is. You have to find yourself some bitch who’s easy—that’s all. And you shouldn’t have to look very far, or very hard. For example, I know a girl who’s fucked every guy on the soccer team, except you. She needs you to bang her, now, to bring her score up to one hundred per cent.”
“Who are we talking about?”
“Emma Marton. She’s in your History class, isn’t she?”
“Emma Marton? She’s a fat, ugly pig!” Bob protested.
Urban shrugged. “So what? She puts out. She sucks dick, and she spreads her legs. Okay, I admit it—I kept my eyes closed, most of the time, while I was screwing her. Otherwise, I was afraid I might barf. But I’ll let you in on a secret, buddy. Once you’ve got your dick inside a pussy, they all feel the same. An ugly broad’s snatch is just as good as a fashion model’s or a movie star’s. A hole’s a hole, when it comes right down to it. Plus, some of these homely broads are grateful to get it, so they try harder. Emma—she’ll do anything I want. Including anilingus. Just in case you don’t know what that means, Mr. Muscle Virgin—she licks my ass.”
“You’re disgusting.”
“Hell, yes, I’m disgusting. I admit it. I’m also not a virgin. Maybe you’d be better off if you climbed down from that high horse of yours and lowered your standards a little.” Urban chuckled. “Or if you lowered them a lot! Do you want me to set you up with Emma?”
Bob grimaced. “No, thanks.”
“Suit yourself. You’re the one who’s got all that excess jism backed up in his pipes, not me. Don’t blame me if you develop some sort of a blockage, which could be fatal in the long run. Jesus! If you insist on being so goddamn picky,” Urban said, “then there are always guys.”
“Huh? Guys? What do you mean?”
“What do you think I’m talking about? Come on, Bob! Even you—you can’t be that fucking clueless! You, who just interviewed Adolar Mezey about his sex life? Half the dudes on campus claim to be gay, or bi. It’s the fashionable thing. I know guys who pretend to be gay, even though they aren’t, because they think it’s cool. So at least you can get your cock sucked, if you want to.”
“I don’t want to. Not by another dude. I’m not into that.”
“Aw, who do you think you’re bullshitting? This is me you’re talking to, Bob. Getting a blow job … hell, that isn’t even real sex. It’s just a good way to get your rocks off.”
“Have you … are you telling me that you’ve—?”
“That I’ve what? Let a guy go down on me, and suck me off? Sure. Lots of times. It was no big deal. It felt pretty good, as a matter of fact. You find yourself one of these cocksuckers who’s really into it, who’s so hot for cock he goes around drooling at the sight of a tight pair of pants, and he can really do a number on you. He can take care of you, real nice. And afterward … you don
’t have to take any crap from him. You can just tell him to fuck off. No harm, no foul.”
Bob shook his head. “You really are incredible.”
“I’m realistic. Hey, I know I’m no male model. But even so, I have to beat off the cocksuckers, sometimes. Imagine how they’d go for a really good-looking stud like you. They’d be like flies swarming around a piece of meat left out in the open.”
“Oh, that’s a charming mental image,” Bob said.
“And you wouldn’t have to do it with a guy our age,” Urban suggested. “Or just for fun. You could get something extra out of it, you know. Some of these older guys—they’re hot. And they’re grateful, too. They’ll pay for it. Or they’ll do a little quid pro quo. That’s Latin,” Urban said, helpfully. “I did pay attention in that class. It translates as, ‘you suck my dick, and I’ll suck yours.’ Right here on campus, for example. There’re professors who are queer. They’ll give you a passing grade, plus extra credit, if you put out for them.”
“Are you speaking from personal experience?”
“You bet I am. How do you think I’ve managed to keep my grade point average so high? Not from hitting the books, I promise you!”
“God, Urban. A minute ago, I thought you were disgusting. Now, you’ve managed to lower my opinion of you, by another notch! I wouldn’t have thought it was possible.”
Unrepentant, Urban shrugged. “When you do decide to climb down from that lonely pedestal of yours and join the rest of us mere imperfect mortals,” he predicted, cynically, “you’ll see that I’m right. Meanwhile,” he added, with withering sarcasm, “I hope you and that precious cherry of yours will be very happy together. Maybe you’d better can that cherry of yours, so you can keep it on a shelf for safekeeping.”
“Fuck you!”
“Maybe I ought to do just that. Fuck you, I mean. I’d probably be doing you a favor, dude. Then at least you wouldn’t be so tight-assed!”
“Don’t even joke about such things. Please! Urban, you won’t tell anybody, will you?” Bob pleaded. “I mean, you won’t repeat what I told you to anybody?”
Urban was indignant. “What you think I am—some sort of a dirty snitch? Of course I won’t tell anybody, buddy. Cross my crotch and hope to become impotent!” he joked. “Your secret is safe with me.”
Bob fervently hoped it was. And he was fairly certain he could trust Urban. Urban had his faults, but he was a loyal friend.
On Friday night, Bob showered and changed his clothes. Then he got behind the wheel of his car.
Urban, of course, had a date, so Bob couldn’t hang out with him. He was on his own.
Ordinarily, on a Friday or Saturday night, he’d go to one of a couple of bars or pizza parlors near the university’s campus, which were patronized by the college crowd. Tonight, though, he felt restless. Some instinct told him that he needed a break in his usual routine, a change of pace.
He started the car and drove through several neighborhoods, until he finally crossed the Liberty Bridge, into Pest. [Translator’s note: Budapest is in fact two cities, Buda and Pest, separated by the Danube River. The Liberty Bridge is one of several bridges which span the river and connect the two cities.]
He wasn’t sure where the hell he was going. Still, the mere fact of doing something different was refreshing.
Before he knew it, he found himself in District IX, or Nine, of the city, called the Ferencváros neighborhood. Bob drove along the area’s commercial streets, still without specific destination in mind.
The blinking neon sign of an establishment called A Csillagfény Szoba [The Starlight Room] flashed ahead of him on one side of the street. It seemed to be beckoning to him. Bob steered his battered old sedan into the bar’s parking lot and pulled into one of the spaces next to the building.
A drink was just what he needed, he told himself. He’d only have one, though, and then he’d head home. He could always treat himself to another one of his nightly jerkoff sessions, before he fell asleep.
He entered the bar. The place was a typical unpretentious suburban drinking hole—typical of a previous generation, that is. Neither the décor nor the fixtures looked as though they’d been changed in decades. The walls were covered with cheap, flimsy imitative wood grain paneling. Dusty venetian blinds, half closed, didn’t succeed in hiding the dirty windows. Advertisements for beer, in generic metal frames, hung on the walls. The lights were kept low, no doubt to try to conceal the shabby ambience.
“What’ll it be, sport?” the brawny bartender asked, above the tinny sound of the jukebox. He looked as though he could double as the bouncer, should the need to evict a troublesome customer arise.
“Beer,” Bob told him. “Give me a Dreher Köbanyai Világos.” [Translator’s note: a pilsener-style lager.]
“I’ll have to see some ID.”
“I’m over eighteen,” Bob protested. [Translator’s note: i.e., over the legal drinking age in Hungary.]
“Prove it.”
Bob handed over not only his driver’s license but his university ID, which the bartender scrutinized, determining that they weren’t fake before he gave them back to Bob.
“You’re a big guy,” the bartender explained. “Could be big for your age, for all I knew.”
“No problem.”
Bob seated himself on one of the worn leather stools at the bar and sipped his beer straight from the bottle. He forced himself to assume a nonchalant expression, despite his awareness of curious eyes staring at him. He was definitely the youngest customer in the place, and although it wasn’t exactly a dressy crowd, his casual attire made him stand out even more.
This wasn’t his idea of a hangout at all. The place was dingy and depressing, and he felt uncomfortable. Calling this dump The Starlight Room was a stretch. A Teljes Napogatkozas [The Total Eclipse], or A Fekete Lyuk [The Black Hole], would be more like it! Bob was tempted to suck down his beer quickly, and leave.
He had almost finished his beer when he saw a woman walk in. Bob caught sight of her in the mirror behind the bar.
There wasn’t anything subtle about her appearance or her manner. She strutted across the barroom as though she owned the place. Bob was familiar with the word floozy, which he’d heard in old movies, and had even seen in print. The term had always struck him as old-fashioned, indeed archaic. But this dame was a floozy, if there ever was one.
She wasn’t young. Her heavy makeup conspired with the dim lighting inside The Starlight Room to conceal her true age; but Bob was sure she was old enough to be his mother—if not his grandmother! Her hair, an unnatural shade of golden blonde, was worn in a pageboy style. She was full-figured. Her well-cushioned hips and behind, and her voluptuous breasts, were encased in a tight-fitting black sheath dress. She walked expertly on high heeled black shoes.
She was carrying a discreet little clutch purse in black alligator leather. She wore a lot of flashy jewelry—earrings, a choker necklace, bracelets, and rings. That “little black dress” she was poured into had a plunging open neckline, revealing her deep cleavage. A sparkling diamond clip, strategically positioned at the bottom point of the V-shape of the neckline, seemed to be holding the dress together in front—barely. Bob couldn’t help speculating about what might happen if that clip were to give way. He suspected that her full breasts would pop that dress wide open.
But, reminding himself that it was impolite to stare, he turned his attention back to his beer.
“What’ll you have, Dorottya?” the bartender asked the woman. “The usual?”
“Hell, yes. Make it a double. And keep them coming.”
She had slid her rounded bottom onto a stool, a few spaces down from Bob’s. Bob couldn’t help taking advantage of the mirror to check her out. It was impossible to ignore those big breasts which kept threatening to pop out of the top of her dress, straining the seams of the tight, glossy fabric with every breath the woman took. She was making short work of the drink the bartender had given her. As she raised the glass t
o her heavily rouged lips and drained it, her eyes met Bob’s the mirror, and she smiled invitingly.
Flustered, he looked away, reminding himself to mind his own business.
She was talking to the bartender, in a low voice this time, so he couldn’t catch the words. She had a soft, pleasant voice, Bob decided. He’d expected her to sound coarse, which would have suited these surroundings.
The bartender startled Bob by placing a second, opened bottle of beer in front of him.
“I didn’t order this,” Bob protested.
“You didn’t have to, stud.” The bartender leaned toward Bob and lowered his voice to a knowing, conspiratorial whisper. “It’s been paid for.”
“By whom?”
“Dorottya.” The bartender made a discreet gesture toward the end of the bar, where the lady in black sat. “She’s a regular. And you’re just her type. She likes them young and macho.”
Flustered, Bob said, “I’m used to buying my own drinks. I really can’t accept this.”
The bartender arched one eyebrow. “You’re putting me on, aren’t you, kid?”
“No. I mean … I don’t know. I don’t know what I should do.”
“Accept the drink, go thank the lady, and let her take it from there,” the bartender advised. “Jesus! Do I have to draw you a picture, son?”
Feeling the warmth of an incipient blush heating his cheeks, Bob picked up the beer bottle, got off his stool, and moved down the bar toward where the woman in the black dress sat.
“Hello,” he told her, awkwardly.
She was all smiles. “Why, hi there, yourself, handsome. Aren’t you a bright spot, in this dingy old dump!”
“Thank you for the beer.”
“You’re welcome. I haven’t seen you in here before.”
“It’s my first time.”
“I thought so. You see, I’m sort of the welcome wagon, around here. It’s my job to make you newcomers feel right at home.”
“That’s very nice of you.”
“You have nice manners, yourself. I like that in a man. And it’s unusual to find, in a young guy your age.”
Bisexual Bodybuilders Vol 1 Page 4
