Last summer I worked in Rome for a few months. At the end of the time, I took a few days off to stay in Florence, my favorite city in Italy. I had finished my job on Thursday, and then I took off for Florence on Friday, intending to return to Rome Tuesday morning to finish packing and fly back home early Wednesday. On Friday night in Florence, I was feeling horny and remembered a real hot place I had visited decades earlier, when gay bars were still illegal there. But wandering around I was unable to find it and figured it had just disappeared or gone out of business.
Then on Monday night, the night before I left, I happened upon Santa Edigio Street--more like an alley than a real street--in a somewhat confusing part of town where this bar had been. After wandering up and down the street for a few blocks I found the place again. But Monday was a very quiet night and when I went in, there was no one in there except the bartender. I ordered a scotch and asked him about the place. He said he didn't understand English, so I asked him again in German. He replied to me in broken German that Monday night was the slowest night, but that if I came back at, say midnight or one in the morning, there would probably be some more guys there. So I got something to eat at a trattoria and then went back to my hotel for a nap, although it was hard for me to sleep, remembering the hot episode I had had there years ago.
I guess I should explain that Italians have a whole different approach to gay sex then here in the USA. They think that only the bottom is gay--the other guy identifies himself as straight--the way they figure, he is just using a faggot to get his rocks off. There is no stigma attached to using a queer this way, although it is considered very shameful and unmanly for the cocksucker. But, having a basically masochistic sexuality, I eroticized the shame--the humiliation was a turn-on for me.
This particular bar was in a medieval building that originally had a wine cellar in the basement. This dark cellar became a back room for sex. The last time I was there I had been just twenty three and blew off four or five guys in the course of the night--wild stuff! But that was on a Saturday night, and I doubted whether anything like that would happen on a Monday night. Besides, I was now in my forties and questioned whether I might be passed over for some younger guy. Earlier that evening, I had bought a marijuana cigarette from the dope dealers that hang around the Piazza Sanctissima Annuziata where there are sometimes concerts and got really wasted in my hotel room after midnight just before I left to go to the bar.
When I got there, there were just a few guys there but they really looked me over when I walked through the door. I ordered a double scotch on the rocks and a bottle of poppers, then went right downstairs to the cellar. It was absolutely pitch back in the basement, and I had to feel my way around. There was no one down there, so I decided to just slosh down my drink and wait there and maybe someone would come down. I didn't have very high hopes of scoring though.
Then a few minutes later, a guy in his early fifties came downstairs. When I heard his footsteps, I got down on my knees so he would realize I was a cocksucker. He had a small cigarette lighter that he lighted to see his way around. He saw me on the floor, stepped right over, said something to me in Italian that sounded from the tone like it was an order. He then pulled out his dick and fed it to me. I eagerly started sucking, bobbing up and down on it, slurping it up, trying to get him to stay by acting real submissive. But after a minute or so, he pulled out and zipped up. I asked him in my broken Italian, whether he spoke German or English. He asked in Italian if I was an American.
I told him that I was a German (European men are sometimes reluctant to get involved with Americans because of AIDS). But he said to me that he didn't understand German either. Then he walked back upstairs.
I figured that I might as well just jerk myself off, so I took a hit of poppers and started whacking my meat. As I was getting all excited, I heard someone coming down the stairs. The guy had returned with his buddy, a good looking middle-aged guy with a beard. They came right up to me (I was still on my knees) and the guy I had formerly tasted whipped it out and told me to suck it. Then a few seconds later, he told me to get over there and suck his buddy (I don't speak Italian, but I understood his command). He kept lighting his lighter to see what was happening.
The other guy had already unzipped and I looked at the big hard dick jutting out of his pants. It was thick and hairy and had big veins bulging from it and a huge head. I looked up in his broad handsome face for a minute and he smiled at me. Then he took his hand and gently pushed the back of my head towards his dick. I sucked it good, trying hard to impress him. He must have liked it because he made a comment to his friend about it, who was still lighting his lighter, glaringly illuminating the scene. The darkness was punctuated by the glow of the lighter; the blackness of the room mirrored the furtive nature of what they clearly thought of as a shameful act. They obviously regarded me as a lesser creature that they were taking advantage of. Because I'm such a sick, masochistic, abject bastard this scornful treatment excited me.
After sucking him real good for a few minutes, he unbuckled his belt and pulled down his pants nearly to his knees. I saw by the lighter that he had a thick tuft of black hair above his dick and big hairy balls. I kissed his balls and then started sniffing out his crotch, real submissive-like. I nuzzled down under his hairy nuts and licked underneath. This got him very excited and he made another comment to his pal, who answered him back and then they both laughed. The guy I was servicing asked me a question, but I didn't understand and just answered "ci." This got a rise out of them--laughing about it, making comments to each other about it and asking me more questions to which I also answered "ci."
I looked up at the guy and said, "Du bist der Mann und ich bin die Bitch." (i.e. "You are the man and I am the bitch") His pal told me to shut up, that they didn't understand German, but I think the guy I was sucking understood, because he got real aggressive after this, pushing my head onto his dick, making me gag on it. He took his dick out of my mouth and rubbed it in my face. I looked up at him. He wasn't smiling any more. When my eyes made contact with his, he snarled at me, curling his lip back real mean. He spit at me down there and started ramming his dick down my throat, making me chock and gag on it.
The gag reflex got me salivating and drooling. When he pulled out his dick again, strings of spit were hanging from it back to my mouth and he stared hitting me with his dick, rubbing his slimy member in my face real rough, spitting at me, making comments to his buddy, who by this time had pulled out his dick and was jerking it. I could tell they were both getting really excited and the guy stuck his dick back in my mouth roughly and started thrusting. His cock swelled up and he came, making a lot of noise while doing it. Then the other guy came over to me and shot in my face. Both of them had really big loads.
By now my knees were really sore, having knelt on that cold stone floor for nearly a half hour servicing these guys. They wiped themselves off with some Kleenex that the one guy had, and then, without thanking me at all, they walked away, talking to each other. I was left on my knees in the dark and I came as they were going up the steps. Then I cleaned myself up and went back to my hotel, where I jerked myself off again twice more thinking about what had just happened to me.