Catfish Takes a Vacation
Part 3
By Bald Hairy Man
This is a sexual fantasy with no effort made at real life experiences. If you object to gay fiction, DO NOT READ. This story is not for you. If you have any comments send them to bldhrymn@yahoo.com or bldhrymen@aol.com.
To make a long story short, by the end of the night Ivan and I knew each other pretty well. We were spectacularly mismatched. I am small and he was huge. My cock made up for my shortcomings and his cock hit some good spots every time it penetrated my ass or throat.
Oddly, there were no sexual misssteps. I seemed to know what he wanted and liked and he understood me perfectly. It was a long, good night. Ivan had to get back to St. Petersburg that morning, so we had to cut the fun short, but we both knew we would be together again shortly. Julio was still asleep when I left for Simon's apartment and Ivan went to Heathrow.
All was well at Simon's. Ted was up, but the night had been good for him and Nigel. They didn't miss me one bit. I had walked in on their plans, but Ted told me all was well.
"To tell you the truth, I think you primed the pump," Ted said. "Nigel was turned on by your donkey dong and when you left, he fucked me to heaven and back. It was great. I think he was shocked at how good it was."
"Glad to be of help," I said. "I did pretty well myself last night." I told him about Ivan. I got to like Ted. He reminded me of my Uncle Jake and as I realized he and Jake shared the same sexual interests, the resemblance became uncanny. Ted and I traded stories as I cooked breakfast. Ted and I seemed to have the same approach to breakfast too. The smell of the coffee, bacon and eggs woke Nigel.
Ted kissed him as he entered the room. Nigel seemed a bit subdued and almost embarrassed. I guessed Nigel was proud of being in control of himself and his emotions. Ted's description of the night before made me think Nigel had let go and let his cock do the thinking for him. That can get you in trouble sometimes, but with a friend it can be really good.
It had been really good and poor Nigel was embarrassed he had enjoyed himself that much. The eggs and bacon got him back to normal. After breakfast, they went off to do some shopping and I went to bed and got some sleep.
When I woke it was six in the evening. Nigel and Ted were still out, so I went off to get some dinner. I got back to the apartment by nine and found Julio left a message on the machine. He was going to pick me up the next morning at four to go off to Amsterdam to meet another contact. I called him and confirmed the arrangements for the next day and went back to bed. The alarm went off at three and I was on my way to the Netherlands on time.
I had a vision of Amsterdam as being filled with hippies and sex maniacs. No one told me it was pretty. London is huge; Amsterdam seemed manageable. Nothing was really spectacular, but everything was nice. The canals and houses were quaint, but comfortable feeling. I met with Dr. Hans Van der Broche, an expert in Mayan antiquities.
On the way over, Julio told me, a major tomb had been found in Honduras. Between the time it was discovered by archaeologists and they had a chance to excavate the site, the place was looted. The excavation was sponsored by a consortium of European universities and Van der Broche had been in charge. None of this had been in the papers, but Van der Broche figured the looters would stay clear of European collectors. The Consortium was made up of some heavy hitters and it would be safer to sell to someone outside of Europe.
Hans was a small, bird-like man. He had some photographs of the major objects, taken while they were in place. The photographs were good, but it would be hard to identify some of the objects, as they were still half buried. They would be better than nothing. Hans had one other thing of interest. He had made a large notebook of stolen and vanished artworks.
Some of these had been lost in world War II, but most were of more recent vintage, including looted objects from Baghdad. Van der Broche was a precise man. He could give the exact status of each object and it's most probable fate. Some he thought were in the basement of the Kremlin, others might well be in the living room of a GI who had found it during the war. The Baghdad items were more correctly lost, he said, since no one knew what was where, or exactly what had happened.
All of my art history lessons paid off. I didn't recognize any of the stolen artworks, but I did know, more or less, what they were. I figured that would be enough for a small time dealer in stolen antiquities.
I flew back to Richmond after Amsterdam. I was home for about a week when Julio called me and said something was up in St. Petersburg; I needed to get over and start snooping around. Two days later, I was on a plane headed for St. Petersburg as Noland Shifflet, owner of Blue Ridge Guns & Antiques, a dealer in Civil War memorabilia.
I stayed in a grade B hotel off Nevski Prospect, the Metropole. I would guess it was the Russian equivalent of a Motel 6. It wasn't the cleanest hotel in the city, but had a certain late Stalinist charm and the water worked. I told the man at the desk I was looking for Czarist memorabilia. I told him my Confederate clients liked lost causes. He laughed and sent me off to some shops on the back streets. I called Ivan and told him I was in town. He approved of the shops and said, something might pan out. He gave me two more shops to check.
Two of these were straightforward tourist traps, but the third, Petrograd Antiques, had some potential. I bought some stuff and had it mailed back to the U.S. I talked to the owner about my interests and let him know I was interested in higher quality objects. "Posters and photo's are nice, but my clients might like things such as Bolshevik era firearms," I said. "Perhaps portraits of Royalist."
"Such things are available," Misha, the antique dealer said. He dropped his voice. "Some of the most interesting stuff has, what one might describe as "problematic" provenance." I let him know my clients weren't that picky about provenance if the object was good enough. Misha smiled. He knew exactly what I wanted. He suggested, I might come by after the shop closed and we might meet some friends of his who could help me out. He said, he knew a place where some dealers hung out, the Central Baths.
I returned to the hotel and contacted Ivan. He said the Baths were a good sign. They were a favorite meeting place, since there was no way to conceal guns or a wire there. He said, he might visit the Baths, we'd just pretend we didn't know each other.
At six I returned to Petrograd Antiques and Misha took me to the baths. The Central Baths weren't central at all. It was in a prewar building which retained some of it's Czarist era elegance, but was poorly maintained. Marble and tile finishes were falling off and the place looked terrible. It was hot in the major rooms; I guess the heat killed the germs.
We entered, paid out fee, then locked up our clothes, showered and went in. The place had been grand at one time. There was a central pool, maybe 25 feet in diameter that served as a lounge. It had a dome over it and spaces opening off of it on all sides. There were three steam rooms, apparently at different temperatures, with sauna rooms between them.
Misha was a bit shy in the locker room and I didn't get a good look at him. He wrapped himself in a sheet-sized towel as we went into the first steam room. It was warm and misty. There were three or four men in the room. No one talked, we just cooked. After about ten minutes, we moved into the second area. It was hot as hell. After ten minutes of this we got out and jumped into the central pool.
Everyone at the baths was wrapped up in towels until the plunge into the pool. Once you were nude, you stayed nude. That was a relief for me. I don't impress anyone when I am dressed; once I am naked, I seem to make friends really fast. Strangely enough, I was able to make friends without speaking a word of Russian.
Misha looked a bit like a bloated whale, about 30 pounds overweight. Not a single ounce of the weight was in muscle. He was never in the sun and shaved his body, so it was totally hairless. He took one look at me and I realized he had no interest in a hairy, horse hung, redneck at all. As if to emphasize that, an incredibly young looking boy came over to Misha and they came real close to kissing. They didn't know about me, so they held back. The kid wouldn't have been legal in the U.S. but was fully adult by Russian standards. I would have guessed 13, but he may well have been 16 or 17.
With the boy's arrival, Misha wanted me out of the way. He took me into one of the saunas and introduced me to a friend of his, Anatol. I wasn't Anatol's type either, but my cock was. Anatol was small and slim; he sat next to a big guy named Boris. Boris was a bodybuilder and I soon realized he was Anatol's bodyguard. I felt good about that. Anatol was obviously bigger fish then Misha. Boris liked my cock a lot. He had potential.
I knew, of course, he was really interested in my cock, but I'd certainly experienced that before. Anatol was taking sly glances of my meat when he thought I was looking elsewhere. Boris was just plain staring at it. Anatol spoke good English, Boris had what I guess was the Russian equivalent of high school English. It was a lot better than my Russian, that's for sure.
I explained my business, dealing with Civil War artifacts. I thought I was able to give the impression I was a small town operator with aspirations to the big time. I also made some points with my client list. I pointed out that all of buyers were armed. "They really take getting cheated kind of badly," I said.
Anatol laughed. "It must be like dealing arms with the Chechens! I've been there."
"Some of my clients have a hankering for upscale stuff." I remarked. "I'm not sure they can tell a fake from the real thing, but I'm not going to take the risk. My refund to a dissatisfied client is 200% the purchase price."
"Steep."Anatol commented.
"It's better than getting the shit beat out of you." I said. "I bought the business from a man who made a big mistake. He sold a guy a pistol once owned by General Pickett. It had a part inside marked `made in China'. A broken arm or leg is one thing, brain damage is another." Anatol liked the story.
"How much did the guy pay for the Chinese pistol?" he asked,
"$120,000.00."
"For a pistol?" Anatol asked.
"If it had been real, it would have been a good price." I said. I was also relieved Anatol knew nothing about the Civil War trade in artifacts. I just wanted him to know I worked with big bucks, not just penny ante stuff.
"What are you looking for?" he asked.
"Several of my clients are into Indian collectibles. They've been doing local tribes and Navaho stuff." I said. "It seems they are interested in Aztec and Mayan stuff."
"Good stuff is hard to get." he said. "If you like mid-eastern stuff, that's available everywhere right now. I'll contact some of my dealers and see what they have available. Where are you staying?"
"The Metropole."
"I'll contact you if I can find something," he said. The door to the sauna opened and a huge figure entered. It was Ivan. He bellowed something in Russian. It was clear he was well acquainted with Anatol and Boris. They chatted for a while and Anatol gave Ivan the rundown on me.
"My American friend, this is Ivan Ivanovitch, an old friend of mine. He's an art dealer too." Anatol said, in introduction. "He buys for several millionaires." I shook hands with Ivan. He gave me a good look over as if he hadn't seen me before. He lingered on my cock.
"That fucker doesn't look real, it's so big!" he said.
"It's real all right." I replied.
"It's pretty enough. Is it just for display, or do you use it for fun?" Ivan asked. I assumed he knew the sexual interests of the other men in the room. He sure wasn't worried anyone would be shocked.
"I sure do like to use it, but it's hard to find men who are brave enough to take it," I said.
"My American friend, this is your lucky day!" Ivan said, "Your lucky day!" With that comment, Ivan got on his knees and took a really good look at my cock. Boris said something and came over to me. Ivan stood and let Boris suck me. Anatol came over toward me.
"Don't worry Anatol, there is enough cock for all of us!" Ivan said. Anatol was primarily a looker, but he did suck me some. Boris was a size queen and I was all that he wanted in a man. We had a nice suck session in the sauna. They were good suckers and I was ripe. I'm afraid I had a gully washer orgasm. It was on Anatol's watch. He choked and spit my cum all over the place. Given the size of my cock and the amount of cum I shot off, I was well on my way to getting a reputation in certain circles in St. Petersburg.
I was tired, so I left and returned to my hotel. As I left the bath, Ivan was waiting for me outside. He had other plans. He took me in his old Volvo to a house on the edge of the city. It was small and had the slightly gingerbread look that Russian wood houses can have. Inside it was a wonder of Russian folk art.
I was admiring it when there was a knock at the door. It was Boris. Boris and Ivan kissed. They were more than friends. It was a complicated world. Anatol's bodyguard worked for Ivan. I hoped Ivan was only working for the Hermitage and not for several other parties.
"You've hooked him, my friend!" Boris said. "You are just the kind of client he wants. You know a little, but not too much, just the guy to pawn off some second rate antiques on! That and hung like the Empress Catherine's dream date. "
"I didn't think he was that impressed." I said.
"Anatol plays his cards close to his chest." Ivan said. "Deep in his heart he's a panderer. He knows men who would like you. He'd rather introduce you to a potentially valuable client, than enjoy you himself. I don't want to sound desperate, but would you mind getting naked and get that horse cock of yours up my ass? I'm going to explode, if I don't get some release."
"Boris doesn't mind?"
"I told him you'd fuck him next." Ivan said sheepishly. "I didn't think you would mind." Ivan and I thought alike. I expected a replay of the night in London, but the threesome with Ivan and Boris was completely different.
This was their first threesome and it was a new experience for them. Fortunately both were experienced enough to know the difference between love and sex. Their affection for each other didn't preclude sexual experiences with other men. Ivan had told Boris about our experience in England and Boris was excited. We got naked and down to business. I was tired and was afraid I might not get hard enough, especially after the orgasm I had at the baths.
I recharged really fast. Boris lubricated Ivan's ass and then did my cock. Russian lube had more bite than our own, but Boris also had some poppers; they were in the old glass ampules. Good shit, as I recalled. Boris loved my cock; he stoked it as if it was the holy grail. I got Ivan on his back with his legs on my shoulders. Boris straddled Ivan and they 69ed. This gave Boris a front row seat to watch my cock slip into his lover's love tunnel.
I did it slowly, peeling the foreskin back with Ivan's asshole, then easing the head into his ass. I popped the head through the sphincter a few times to loosen him up. He had tightened up since the night in London. He was a muscular man and getting broken in didn't make it that much easier. It was nice for me, since he was still tight. The slight grittiness in the lube made it harder to fuck, but it was more sexually arousing.
My cock worked deeper into Ivan's ass under the watchful eye of Boris. Boris was moaning some; I assume he was getting a good taste of Ivan's cock juice. Once I was five or six inches in Ivan's ass, Ivan was gone, deep into a sexually induced coma. Boris was almost as excited as Ivan. He stopped watching my cock pump into Ivan's ass and concentrated on sucking.
That was too much for Ivan. He bucked when he shot off, but since he was pinned by Boris' bulk and my cock in his ass, he couldn't move. All of his built up sexual energy was forced through his cock into Boris' mouth. The two men had a very good experience. I let Ivan cool off after his climax. He was winded.
I pulled out of Ivan's ass, hard as a rock. My cock was covered in lubricant and Ivan's ass juices. Boris looked at it with unease. He could tell I hadn't shot off yet. "You don't need to. If you don't want too." I said.
"I would like to take it." Boris said. "I just don't know if I can take it."
There's only one way to find out." Ivan said. "Boris is much tighter than me, I've only fucked him a few times. It was good, but took a lot of work. You can fuck me again, I'll be able to do it again in a few minutes." My cock wasn't getting any softer as we talked. All this talk about whether Boris could take my cock, had an impact on Boris.
Boris was a man's man and the questioning as to if he could take my cock in his ass got his macho juices going. The more difficult we said it as going to be, the more he wanted to take it.