In June of 89 I was pretty bearish. 33, about 240 lbs. 6'3". Very full beard, long hair, and (after two months on the beach and on the road in Europe) I was brown, brown, brown. My clothes were pretty road-weary, full of holes and badly stained. Didn't care. Liked 'em that way.
I had very little money (about 50 bucks American - and that would have to get me through the next three to four weeks - it did), but I was anxious to see Spain (particularly Barcelona, Sevilla, Madrid and the Costa Del Sol). I had four months of Eurail passes left. I had been, during the trip so far, pretty lucky at stumbling into free lodging and food. But, even if I hadn't been so lucky, I always had my bedroll and tube tent on my back (along with a couple of tee-shirts and pairs of shorts, a Camping Gaz single burner, a mess kit, an often re-used bottled water bottle, a Spanish/English dictionary, a Webster's collegiate, my notebook and a queer travel guide) could always stop at the roadside markets for food - cheap food, and the vendors (seeing I was both American and POOR) would usually throw in an extra orange or potato or carrot, something like that. And Mediterranean men seemed to find me sufficiently interesting to get me laid... um... pretty much all of the time. Bears are an oddity in Spain - a sought-after oddity. Americans in any case are practically exotic. Life was good.
After the amazing trip through Andalucia (oh god, the fields of sunflowers - horizon to horizon, just sunflowers), the train shot south and through the dry canyons/mountains to the north of Malaga. Then another train, a commuter, to Fuengirolla. It was very late. I was hungry. Nothing except the English restaurants were open and I wouldn't eat in those fuckholes if you paid me money to do it.
Big, ugly old signs read "English Breakfasts here!" The English presence was so strong even the Spanish there called the town Finger-rolla. Ugh. (The whole south coast is a rutting, squelching oilslick of fucking time-share condos and bad discos. Belch. Very nasty.)
I hitchhiked out of Fuengirolla to Marbella (a sort of richer, more private resort town. Sean Connery lives there.) The biggest of several queer nude beaches was there - which is where I was headed.
I got to the beach at one in the morning, which was deserted. I was pretty tired, And past hungry. It was really warm. I unrolled my bedroll, shucked out of my rags and stretched out naked. Sleep.
In the morning, there was a nice, older German couple stretched out next to me. Their soft, droning conversation woke me up. They wanted me to play. I didn't want to play. I wanted my toothbrush and something to eat. And I needed to piss. I got up and walked a couple of feet into the brush at the back of the beach and relieved myself - not noticing until after I was done that there was another German couple (one can always spot the Germans, somehow) fucking and oblivious to me not two feet away from the puddle I'd made.
I slipped into a "fresh" pair of shorts and made my way to the beach cafe/bar a couple hundred feet to the south of my campsite. The main beach (predominantly straight and naked) was already crowded at 8 AM. I had a cheap couple of eggs and some juice.
By the time I got back, the German couple had been joined by a nervous Brit about my age. Stephen was a pretty good looking guy, actually. Slender, athletic, tan. Very boyish. I managed to get over my aversion to British tourists and we got to talking. Actually, I did very little talking. Stephen was... er... RELIEVED to have someone queer and English-speaking to share with. I was glad to listen (and only occasionally fell asleep while he talked).
He was a top. Not a leather top (although he had wild <tepid> fantasies which he was more than willing to share with me).
By lunchtime, he'd decided we should take my things to his timeshare and that I should stay with him for the week-plus he would be in Marbella. As I said, I was pretty lucky at stumbling into free lodging. He never let me pay for my own food or drink, either. And he lent me his car on several occasions. And paid for other incidentals. In every case, I'd make a show of getting out my wallet - ah, but to no avail. He was insistent.
I was pretty good company, though. And I made it my business to get him laid. To TRY to get him laid. He shared with me that first night that I was the first non-family member he'd ever slept with. And that he'd only had sex a handful of times - and then only jacking off or letting himself get sucked off. He'd tried fucking but had only gotten as far as getting his really large dick NEXT to the waiting hungry asshole of his partner and then gone soft. Every time. He'd only cum in the presence of another man (and he was gay - his mother is the only non-medical woman who'd ever SEEN his dick) perhaps a dozen times. He still lived with his parents. It was inconvenient at times, but there was always food on the table at suppertime and he never had to do his own laundry.
This guy was nervous. Really, really nervous.
When I took my clothes off that night he shivered like a naked man in a snowstorm. And he broke into sweat. I'd never met anyone so repressed or sexually hamstrung.
We started that night. I jacked off for him (he found this very, very stimulating, he said). Then I touched him. Touched his body. My hands seemed to spook him. Did spook him. After awhile, I began to let my hands roam around his body, massaging him, stroking him. He had a really hard time relaxing. It took him, I think, the full week of being touched by another human to really learn to fully accept it. Very weird. By the third day, he was able to stay hard when I touched him (particularly if I jerked off for him first). He came for the first time that night. And then he cried.
That was almost more than I thought I could handle, actually. Almost, but not quite.
We developed a little routine. We'd hang out at the beach during the day. I'd hunt down and gobble up boys all day - most of the time he'd be able to watch. Sometimes the boy would be pretty squicked by Stephen's voyeurism and ask for a little privacy - which we'd get by crawling off into the bushes. At night, we were going to the bars (particularly the "leather bar" in Torremolinos - a little ways from Marbella) and I'd hunt down boys for him. They were never good enough or they were too good or their English wasn't good enough or was too good. Whatever. We'd always end by going back home (boyless) and he'd watch me jerk off for him while he jerked off. It seemed to make him happy enough until he came. Then he'd be ashamed of his queerness and of his inability to get one of these boys to sleep with him. Then he'd be up at dawn, cooking my breakfast.
Dumb.
On our sixth day, Saturday, we decided not to got to the bars, but to leave the beach a little early and go to the bathhouse in Torremolinos, instead. I decided. I figured that a bathhouse environment (not just naked guys, but naked guys having sex with all the other naked guys... like a big porno movie) would push him right over the edge. His horniness would peak out and he'd just have to GRAB somebody. He asked me to jack off for him before we left. I did. Orgasm one.
The bathhouse in Torremolinos was a pretty nice one, actually. Very busy. Very hot. Strangely, almost no Germans or English anywhere. Fun. Lighthearted. Horny. There were two shower rooms. Two saunas. A Jacuzzi. A porno room.
Two large, dark orgy rooms (one off the porno room, the other in the center of the complex - with a completely blacked-out maze... pretty much standard-issue stuff). Many private cubicles, but, unlike bathhouses in the US, they didn't lock - weren't reserved for the evening. You just grabbed an empty one when you needed it.
Everything smelled like cum, piss and sweat. Everything and everyone. Some dark corners smelled of shit (anal fuck isn't always shitless fuck no matter HOW clean it is in the movies). This is the way bathhouses smell. The only smell missing was Amyl Nitrite. I didn't miss it.
There were free condoms everywhere, in every room, but, as is the case in so much of Spain, they were seldom used. I used them, but my partners thought I was over-cautious.
I remember the sequence of only orgasm numbers one, six, seven and eight. The sequence of partners and situations for two through five are a little bleary.
I think number two was the little dark wiry pup. He was probably 35 and smooth and horny and always telling me he loved me. A very wiry pup. He asked if I didn't want him when I rolled the rubber over my cock. He also thought it was very strange that I asked him his name and what he did for a living. I fucked him very hard, slapping his face and chest with hard, sweeping strokes as I pumped him. He tweaked his own nipples almost the whole time. We fucked all over the little dark cubicle and he screamed when he came. I shot shortly afterward. I took a walk after that one. Stephen was in the porno room. Limp and mopey and alone.
I walked up to the entrance, where they sold pop and snacks and got one of those great orange sodas they have in Spain. Checking in, and grinning at me, evil, nasty, fucking perfect was this guy about my age, I'd guess (although I'd have believed it if he'd been older or younger). Black-eyed bastard, dark, hairy, a day's growth on his chin and a handlebar moustache. 6'4", I'd bet, and a tightly-packed 190 lbs. My guess. I followed him to his locker, cruising hard and focused. I had no idea what I'd do with him once I caught him, but I was going to catch him.
He stripped slowly and slyly. He wanted me to watch. When he stripped to his jock, his cock pushed it out and away from his body. His cock was hard and angry. MY cock was hard and angry. He pinched his nipples and rubbed his crotch and, grinning, he walked away, his jock still in precariously in place. I tried to follow him, but he vanished.
The THIRD one (ready Betty?) was kind of a disappointment. He was a bleached, body-shaved jock that I thought Stephen would appreciate. I chatted with him a bit. My Spanish is NOT good, actually... but better than the English of the Portuguese who speak what they call "beach English" - which is just good enough to pick American girls up at the beach ("hey, baybee..."). American girls ALWAYS - because, I've been told many times, American girls like to give head and take it up the ass. But I digress.
I don't like blondes. This boy (19? 20?) was a fake blond, but close enough. I found him pretty typical of that type and did NOT want his body.
But I had to do a lot of "fuckin' hot stud" and "beautiful fuckin' ass" and that kind of thing to make him follow me to the porno room where I promised him he'd have Stephen. I introduced them. Stephen immediately went into this kind of spastic routine, playing with himself, rather desperately, trying to make his (really respectably huge) cock do something other than look miserable and shriveled. No dice. So I took Stephen and boy in hand and led them to a cubicle, where I told Stephen I'd get the boy started for him and he could finish it off.
I fucked the boy pretty desultorily. The boy was pretty wild - all claws and cries and heavy breathing. Stephen was a study in effort. Futile effort. By the time I'd cum, he was not quite hard enough to slip a rubber over his dick. The boy was pretty frustrated and angry. Stephen retired once more to the porno room. He assured me he was fine (quivering lip? Watery eyes? my imagination, perhaps).
I was the last to leave our cubicle. Waiting for me there was the grinning handlebar moustache. Pumping his fucking heavy piece of work. He laughed in a way that made me think I'd lost him as an opportunity and he walked away. I followed, but he disappeared around another corner and I didn't see him again for some time.
I went for a sauna and a Jacuzzi. They were good. I went to the front desk and bought another orange soda. I walked around for a bit, allowing myself to enjoy the place, the bodies, the smells so strong they became flavors on my tongue.
I went back to the porno room. The room was set up with tiered, carpeted landings/benches where folks curled up to watch (mainly straight) porn videos and to cruise and fuck. And the room was crowded. Except for the bubble of nothing that surrounded Stephen who sat, utterly isolated, in the front row, playing with a half-hard dick and looking dejected. He brightened some when I joined him and he started to chatter a bit, until I shushed him, asking if he wanted to leave, to go to the clubs. He said that he'd rather stay. Here at least he could watch dirty movies and play with himself (as opposed to watching ME and playing with himself, I suppose).
Number four was an older man who wouldn't take no for an answer. He grabbed my cock as I tried to leave the porno room.I fucked him right there on the last and highest tier in back. Stephen never looked back. I don't know how I got it up. The man was fairly ugly.
Number five was in the orgy room maze. I don't know what he looked like. He must have thought I was nuts when I put the rubber on. He FELT good. He was hard and tight and his skin felt young and smooth. We fucked standing up, me behind him, pinching his nipples, lightly slapping his balls. He shot (unprotected, I'm afraid) into the mouth of the man kneeling before us. I came against the twitching of his asshole as he came and came.
Long soak. And a cold shower. I got another orange soda. Long chat with a man in the Jacuzzi. Not sexual. Political. Sharp-tongued old Spanish communist with very good English. Lots of fun. Stephen found me and joined us but was utterly lost in our conversation. I felt worse about that than about the missed sexual opportunities. I think Stephen didn't much care at this point. But he didn't want to leave.
Another walk. Now getting late in the evening. Finally, I saw my mustachioed friend - in a cubicle, by himself. The cubicle he'd chosen was on a corner situated so that I could watch him without being seen. Or without seeing others watching him. He was on his belly, arching his long back and humping the bed, thrusting his fine, lightly, evenly furry ass up and toward the door. He glanced back at me. Grinning. And another man, from around the corner, moved more quickly than I and joined him, shutting the door.
I gave a little pained bark of laughter and walked away.
Number six was retribution. Or compensation. Or something. If I couldn't have the one I wanted, at least I had the youngest, sweetest ass in the building. He was nineteen. His name was Paulo. For a moment, his flirtation with me (grinding his ass into my leg, stroking his slim boybelly with his long, thin cock) seemed so "porno" I assumed he was a hustler. But he wasn't a hustler. I kept thinking he was way too young, but I kept looking at his brown eyes and his fine, scarey ass and figured that nothing mattered but the warmth I would find there and I turned out to be just about right.
At about eleven thirty that night I took what I had told myself and Stephen would be one last stroll through the building. Nothing much interested me. Not many left, it seemed. Until I came to the main orgy room. And he was there. I knew it was him from the shine of his teeth in the fucking dim, near-non-existent light.
There was little about him that was typical of what I enjoyed in a man. He had a fine, tight, hard body. But it was furry. He was densely whiskered (as I said, a day's growth). His handlebar moustache was like some kind of Drummer parody - laughable and silly but actually all his own. He might have been a kind of a bottom, or a switch, but there was something feral and dangerous about the way he bottomed - not remotely submissive. He was larger (taller) than me. I didn't ever play with men taller than me. He had massive hands, like mine.
We scared the crap out of the rest of the orgy-room goers that night. He stood there with his hard, heavy dick in his hands. I approached him and pushed him. Hard, into the wall behind him. I think people thought there was going to be some kind of fight. I think maybe he and I thought there was going to be some kind of fight. If there had been a fight, we'd neither of us have won. We were pretty evenly matched. He had a slight height advantage, but my stocky build gave me the advantage of a strong, anchoring foothold, which he did not have.
He reached toward me and pulled my right nipple between his fingers at pretty much the same time I took a fistful of his balls. His eyes sparkled as we each pulled the other closer.
Mouth on mouth, then, and sucking the air from the other, both in turn. He used his whiskers against my skin, to abrade and to chafe. Very fine stuff.
I chewed on him - his nipples and his flat belly and the cheeks of his ass. He never screamed. He yelled and howled.
Like me. He pulled my balls, inviting me to pull his, which I did, and harder and harder. He chewed on me. And always his beard, scraping, almost clawing occasionally finding sunburned skin. REALLY fine stuff. You gotta try that.
He never stopped grinning, except occasionally to howl.
He never said anything. I never said anything.
There were times when I was aware that the ones watching us were gasping, jerking off, discussing us. And they became, in this way, part of us.
I was very high. I don't remember everything. I don't think I do. I did fuck him. Face to face on the floor, his feet around my neck. Our hands committing acts of random violence between us. My cock hurt.
When I came, I wasn't fucking him anymore, but standing above him. He was pulling my balls hard. Just as I came, he rose up slightly, balled his fist and punched me just hard enough in the belly to double me over, my face into his, my mouth meeting his - his was waiting. It was very, very hot. He jerked off, one hand on his cock, the other stretching out his balls for me to slap the shit out of them. When I sensed he was about to cum, I took his balls and squeezed very hard and slapped him, very hard, across the face.
When we recovered a little, we hugged and he grinned some more at me... sort of slapping my butt. And he walked away, weaving a bit as he went. We never did say anything to each other.
I found Stephen and we left. Went home to his timeshare.
And he curled up against me. This was amazing, really. Affectionate beyond his ability to be affectionate. But I knew what he wanted. So I jerked off. I came. I had a jolting number eight. Even though I didn't get my cock more than half hard.
Then I passed out.
Sorry it was all so vanilla.
It's just that that's the way it happened.
original online post - copyright 1996 by DC McGlothlen
revision - copyright 1999 by DC McGlothlen