This is something I do well, I think, very well, because by nature I am a subtle person and not lazy, and moreover I am not a hedonist, that is, I'm not someone who seeks enjoyment only for himself, seeks to come no matter what, achieve his own orgasm and that's all. I am a good partner – I derive enjoyment from the moans, cries, and pleasure of the other man or woman. That is why I devoted myself to his member without a second thought, completely giving myself over to sensation and obeying desire. With my left hand, gathering them from below, I fondled his balls. He kept moaning, he leaned back on his hands and moaned softly, with a sob. He may have said, "Oh, my God!"
Gradually he began rocking hard and playing up to me with his hips, sending his cock deeper into my throat. He lay slightly sideways in the sand, on his right elbow, with his left hand just barely stroking my neck and hair. I slid my tongue and lips over his member, deftly tracing out intricate designs, alternating between touching his member lightly and swallowing it deep. Once I almost gagged. But I was even glad of that.
What was happening to my member? I was lying with my belly and my member in the sand, and at every move I rubbed it against the sand through my thin jeans. My cock responded to what was happening with a delightful itching, I scarcely wanted anything more at that moment. I was utterly happy. I had a relationship. Another man had condescended to me, and I had a relationship. How humiliated and unhappy I had been for two whole months. At last. I was terribly grateful to him, I wanted it to be very good for him, and I think it was. I did not merely accommodate his strong thick cock in my mouth, no, this love we were engaged in, these actions, symbolized much more – to me they symbolized life, the triumph of life, a return to life. I was receiving communion from his cock, the strong cock of a lad from Eighth Avenue and Forty-second Street, doubtless a criminal. To me it was life's tool, life itself. And when I brought off his orgasm, when that fountain hurtled into me, into my mouth, I was utterly happy. Do you know the taste of semen? It is the taste of the alive. I know nothing more alive to the taste than semen.
In ecstasy I licked all the semen off his cock and balls, I gathered up what had spilled, licked it up and swallowed it. I found the droplets of semen among his hairs, tracked down the last little drops.
Chris was astounded, I think. He hardly understood, of course he did not, could not, understand what he meant to me, and he was astounded by the enthusiasm with which I did all this. He was grateful to me, stroked my neck and hair with all the tenderness he was capable of, I buried my face in his groin and lay without moving, and he stroked me with his hands and murmured, "My baby, my baby!"
Listen here, there are morals, there are decent people in the world, there are offices and banks, there are beds; sleeping in them are men and women, also very decent. It was all happening at once, and still is. And there were Chris and I, who had accidentally met there in the dirty sand, in a vacant lot in the vast Great City, a Babylon, God help me, a Babylon. There we lay, and he stroked my hair. Homeless children of the world.
No one needed me, no one had even touched a hand to me in over two months, and there he was, stroking me and saying, "My baby, my baby!" I nearly cried. Despite my everlasting honor and ironic mockery I was a hunted creature, cornered and exhausted, and this was precisely what I needed – another man's hand stroking my head, caressing me. The tears welled up in me, welled up and started to flow. His groin gave off a characteristic musky smell; I cried, my face burrowing deeper into the warm jumble of his balls, hair, and prick. I don't think he was a sentimental creature, but he felt that I was crying and asked me why, forcibly lifted my face and began to wipe it with his hands. Chris had big strong hands.
Fucking life, it makes us into beasts. We had come together here in the dirt, and there was nothing for us to share. He hugged me and began to soothe me. He did it all the way I wanted, I had not expected that. When I'm excited, all the hairs on my body lift, as if tiny jabs, hundreds and thousands of very tiny jabs, were lifting my hairs; I get cold, and I shiver. It was the first time in a long time that I had not viewed myself with pity. I put my arms around his neck, he put his around me, and I said to him, "I… am… Eddie. I have no one. You will love me? Yes? And we always will be together? Yes?"
He said, "Yes, baby, yes… take it easy."
Then I broke away from him, my right hand dove into my boot and pulled out my knife. "If you betray me," I told him, the tears in my eyes not yet dry, "I will kill you!" My English being very poor, this all sounded like gibberish, but he understood. He said he would not betray me.
I said to him, "Darling!"
He said, "My baby!"
"You and I always will go together and never part, yes?" I said.
"Yes, baby, always together," he said seriously.
I don't think he was lying. He had things to do, but I was so fucking crazy with loneliness, I suited him. This did not mean our relationship was forever. It was simply that he needed me just now, I could meet with him, he would wait for me in bars or simply on the street; I could, and surely would, have some part in the things he did, possibly criminal things. I didn't care what he did, this was what I wanted – it was life, life needed me, that kind of life or any kind at all, but I was needed. He accepted me, I was utterly happy, he accepted me. We talked. It was then I learned his name was Chris. He said that in the morning we would go home to where he lived, but we had to sit here for the night. I didn't ask why; to me it was enough that he had invited me to live with him. I was like a dog that had found its master again; I would have bitten the throat of a policeman or anyone else for him.
We were conversing under our breath, in that same pidgin English. Sometimes I forgot and began speaking Russian. He laughed softly, and then and there I taught him a few words of Russian. They were not nice words from the standpoint of a respectable person, no, they were bad words – prick, love, and others in the same spirit.
In the middle of this conversation I wanted him. I completely let go, God only knows what I did. I pulled off my jeans, I wanted him to fuck me, I pulled off my jeans, pulled off my boots. I ordered him to tear my underpants off me, I wanted him to tear them up, and he obediently tore my red panties off me. I hurled them far away.
At that moment I was really a woman, capricious, demanding, and probably seductive, because I remember myself playfully wiggling my poopka as I leaned on my hands in the sand. My neat round poopka, whose neatness even Elena had envied – it did something unbeknownst to me, it arched sweetly, and I remember that its nakedness, whiteness, and defenselessness gave me the greatest of pleasure. These were purely feminine feelings, I think. I whispered to him, "Fuck me, fuck me, fuck me!"
Chris was breathing heavily. I think I had aroused him in the extreme. I don't know what he did, maybe he wetted his cock with his own spit, but gradually it entered me, his cock did. I shall never forget that feeling of fullness. Pain? Since childhood I had been a lover of every possible savage sensation. Even before women, as a masturbating teenager, a pale onanist, I had invented a certain homemade method: I had put all kinds of objects into my anal orifice, from a pencil to a candle, sometimes rather thick objects. This double onanism – of the cock and through the anal orifice – was very bestial, I remember, very strong and deep. So his cock in my poopka did not frighten me, and it didn't hurt much, even in the first moment; I had obviously stretched my little hole long ago. But the ravishing feeling of fullness – that was new.
He fucked me, and I began to moan. He fucked me, and with one hand caressed my member, I whimpered, moaned, arched, and moaned louder and sweeter. Finally he said to me, "Take it easy, baby, somebody will hear!" I replied that I was not afraid of anything, but nevertheless, out of consideration for him, I made my moans and cries softer.