A PRINCE AMONG MEN
By Kevin Donovan
CHAPTER THREE
This story is original, gay erotic fiction. It does includegraphic descriptions of sexual acts between men, none of whom areportrayed as minors. It is intended for an audience of adults whowish to read such material. If you are a minor, offended by suchdescriptions, or it is illegal to possess them where you live, thenproceed no further.
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CHAPTER THREE
JUNE, 2018 GANYMEDE, THE PRINCIPALITY OF ARSENIKOS
Trent awoke next to Julian, who snored softly beside him in the big bed, but there was only a warm spot where Erik's body had until recently rested. The sun was beginning to shine into the room from the balcony overlooking the palace gardens. It must be after seven. Trent stretched, yawning. There would be coffee or tea available downstairs on the morning terrace, with breakfast to follow shortly. One of the perks of the royal household was a staff chef, along with a housekeeping staff and a pair of gardeners. But Trent, nevertheless, was not a kept man: he had his job to go to, just as Erik had his.
Just then, Erik emerged from the bathroom, drying with a soft cotton towel. The Principality had exactly two cotton fields now, on Hephaestion, and their product surpassed Egypt's in softness of fibers, thanks to relentless botanic research and manipulation of genes. That was one of the many improvements to life during the final years of Wilhelm's reign.
Erik smiled. "Good morning, Love. I'm glad not to have to wake you. I have early appointments today, affairs of state, you know. Photo shoot with the soccer league champs and the Surf Society, promoting their festival next month. Preliminary budget hearing, that's always a joy. Lunch with the Home Canning Hobbyists. And so on, one thrill after another."
Trent couldn't resist a chuckle. "Three years down, seven to go. Time is flying, though, isn't it? I have an exciting day, too. Same as yesterday, actually. But then, I'm off three. How about you?"
"Not off, exactly, but traveling to Patroclus. Come along. We'll work in some play time, I promise. I'll speak to Henry this morning."
Henry was Erik's chief of staff, who kept his schedule running tightly, and who could be adept, when asked, at working in some time for R & R for his boss.
Trent shook Julian, who dragged himself sleepily out of the bed to join him in the shower. With no clothing to delay them, morning routines were amazingly brief. In a quarter hour, they joined Erik, sipping his tea, on the morning terrace, where Yves and Michael arrived shortly, tousle-headed, from their own bed. They also would be headed out for work soon, Michael being on his in-country rotation, which put him at the Immigration Office.
Their breakfast included mangoes and potatoes from the palace garden, eggs and bacon from the palace animal pens, and milk from the palace goats. All these were actually located out on the edge of the city, now enveloped by suburban development. The tea and coffee grew just down the road another half a mile, on small farms along the hillside. They were used to skipping bread, since very little wheat was grown locally. Without white flour, obesity, diabetes, and the ills of gluten intolerance had almost disappeared from the Principality.
But Erik had to eat quickly and make an appearance at his reception hall, just a couple of levels further down the pyramid.
The Seventh Prince of Arsenikos, elected three years earlier, had his duties to attend to. It was the first time a member of the previous Royal "family" had been elected to succeed one of his partners, but it was an overwhelmingly popular choice. Trent had to admit that, after nothing at all, the Prince's coronet of gold, coral, and pearls was extremely becoming to his lover's dark head.
Prince Wilhelm, in partial retirement now, but presently attending a state funeral in England on Prince Erik's behalf, would return in two days. Meanwhile, he and Erik, along with Michael and Yves, would help keep Julian entertained and sexually sated. And they would look after one another, as the leading couple of the realm.
MAY 2013 NEW YORK CITY, NEW YORK, USA
Trent awoke with a naked man in his bed, for the first time ever. At first, he thought Erik had slipped back in, but as his eyes came into focus, he recognized that the nose just at the tip of his own belonged to Eddie, whose eyes opened.
"Did you notice, the doors here don't lock," Eddie said. "Hope you don't mind. But you said 'tomorrow,' and it's now tomorrow, and besides, you need to be getting up for breakfast soon, anyway."
"No fair, though, you brushed your teeth."
"You don't need to. Not for this." And Eddie leaned in to give Trent a deep and erotic kiss.
"How much time do we have?"
"Forty-five minutes, if you shower quick afterward."
"You top, or bottom?"
"Yes, definitely."
"We better get at it, then."
Foreplay lasted five minutes, tops, before Eddie lay prone atop his new partner, grinding his crotch into Trent's, and between Trent's splayed thighs.
"Erik provided lube, so don't worry about that," Trent whispered.
"Umm. Nice to slosh around in Erik's goo." Eddie pressed his cock-head into Trent's anus. "You aren't too sore, are you?"
"Not yet. Just very happy down there."
Eddie gave Trent a solid, ten-minute fuck, before topping off the lube supply in his hole with a dose of surfer-jizz. The experience was almost as wonderful this time as the first. Then, with one more deep kiss, he rolled off onto his back, raised his feet high, and spread his legs.
"I'm even more basted than you, Dude. I had Sam, twice, and then Hank came knockin', too, for two more shots. I was a busy boy last night. Hank let me fuck him, too, but Sam wasn't quite ready for the big invasion yet."
"Erik broke this colt just last night. So you're only number two ever, man."
"Honored."
"Mutual, I'm sure." Trent swiveled over between Eddie's slender, lightly haired legs and settled in. Eddie's hole was more than prepared. It practically swallowed up Trent's generous-sized dong. Trent lasted no more than five minutes before erupting.
"Damn, I gotta work on that," he apologized.
"It'll come. Let's practice some more on the plane, OK?"
"Can we fuck on the plane?"
"Dude! We can fuck anybody, anywhere, anytime!"
"I think I'm going to need a lot of practice."
"The welcome mat is out, Dude."
The two men showered together, and Trent finally got to brush his teeth. Then they met the others in the dining room for a nice, New York breakfast of Eggs Benedict with home fries.
June 2018 GANYMEDE, THE PRINCIPALITY OF ARSENIKOS
Trent exited the palace government pyramid onto Rock Hudson Street, which after a block put him outside the Government Sector near the Liberace monorail station. He preferred to walk to his office a mile away, through Sodom Sector and a corner of Oscar Wilde, and into Stonewall, but today he took the escalator up to the platform, where he stepped onto a silent, smooth-running train. He didn't even bother to check whether Lance and Giuseppe, his bodyguards, were behind him--he knew they would be, at a discrete distance. Arsenikos had almost zero crime, and had never had any kind of attack on a member of its royal family, but the world being as it is, the government opted for caution. The two escorts mainly served to help maintain certain boundaries with citizens who recognized Trent on the street and tried to engage him in too-long conversations. For the most part, Trent enjoyed, or at least did not mind, these interchanges. To his utter amazement, he had become quite the celebrity. His face and Adonis-like figure were visible everywhere, on all kinds of media. He was reputedly the most popular royal consort ever, surpassing even Erik, who had been out of the country so often. Trent was ever-gracious to his adoring public, and let the two guards do the dirty work of dragging him away, when it was called for. The contacts became problematical generally only when someone wanted to enlist Trent's influence for some cause or other, thinking that he could sway Erik and the whole government to his side. Trent never, absolutely never, made any such attempt--but there were some few who refused to believe that, and persisted in arguing the justice of their personal cause.
Though walking was good for the exercise regime, and probably good public relations, too, Trent had taken up using the monorail recently, for a while, anyway, because he was in the final throes of negotiations for a new project that, while understandably controversial in the isolated and microbe-phobic principality, promised to bring hundreds of good medical research and related support jobs, which were much needed with the completion of the new island of Andros. Housing and shopping complexes were already arising from the new land, where rocky subsoil was giving way to luxuriant growth of planned gardens and agricultural projects as well as commercial and industrial sites.
The idea was about more than jobs and the economy. It was philosophically dear to Trent's principles, and those of the rest of his coupling as well. They'd all read Poe's "Masque of the Red Death" in middle school, and they had taken its warning to heart. Viruses and bacteria can be warded off only so long, they knew. Inevitably, eventually, they break in, anywhere--and in a sexually free-wheeling society like Arsenikos, they could be instantly devastating. The solution, long-term, is to cure the diseases they cause, not to hide from them. Trent's project was dedicated to that purpose, using the latest genetic engineering techniques.
As a development officer for the Arsenikan branch of his bank, Trent handled financing, but he had somehow become identified with all aspects of the plan in the public eye. He was its chief spokesman and apologist, and the weight of responsibility for it would rest upon him. It would actually be located on a tiny man-made atoll just off the new island, isolated even from the remainder of that population. Its employees would reside there in isolation during their work week, commuting home to either Andros (the new island) or Ganymede by "trunnel," the undersea train loop that connected the islands, only for their long weekends and holidays. They would undergo extensive testing for contaminants prior to their return to the population. The reason for the tight security was that they would be handling dangerous bacteria, viruses, and other and toxins, manipulating genes to produce cures for some of the world's most dread diseases, particularly HIV and other STD's. Payoff for the research, long term, astronomical; short-to-mid-term, highly profitable: risk after a serious mishap in security procedures, catastrophic. Trent, as project spokesman, had appeared on all the television, radio, and electronic communications channels, explaining the complex levels of precautions to be implemented. In the end, by national plebiscite, the populace had voted by significant majority to proceed, and Trent had become a famous personage in his own right (creating yet another controversy over how large a public role a prince's consort ought to take).
The responsibility he was assuming sobered and matured the twenty-eight-year-old, who nevertheless, still looked almost like a teenager. That wasn't what weighed on him today, however: it was the fact that today, he would finalize plans for his own trip to the Eurozone, to complete the negotiations for the funding of the project with the European central government, with publicity stops in Rome and Zurich before the key meetings in Brussels. He was well prepared for his role, being now fluent in four European languages as well as the Arsenikan Esperanto. But he'd be away from his men and the home he had come to love devotedly, for ten days or more. He'd have to wear clothing (having one travel suit in hand, and five others to be picked up in Rome, tailored from his measurements sent ahead), and he would interact with women. Though he'd remain carefully in the background, he would be visible on European and American television, and his photographs would appear in newspapers and magazines. Would old childhood acquaintances or family members see or recognize him? Would such recognition set off unwelcome prying into his present life and circumstances, and disrupt the privacy of his new home? Could he survive more than a week without Erik and the other men? Without Erik particularly? These were unsettling questions.
Attracted by a shrill noise, Trent smiled and waved at a little throng of grade-school boys gathered outside the Institute of Human Sexuality, a block short of his office. These were primary school boys, and their class would be very small, no more than eight per grade. They received a superb education in Arsenikos. No doubt they were on a school-sponsored field trip this morning, and their excited cries broke into his reverie. He crossed the "ped-way" (the broad, paved pathway for pedestrian traffic), to spend a few minutes chatting with the boys, all of whom recognized him instantly from TV, and who gazed at him saucer-eyed, along with their hot, naked young teacher and his naked aide. The work day could wait five more minutes. He had a diplomatic mission to complete at home, first.
JULY, 2013 GANYMEDE, THE PRINCIPALITY OF ARSENIKOS
Two months into his new life in Arsenikos, Trent still felt the urge to pinch himself occasionally to wake from this dream, which was no dream, but his own new reality. He had arrived via the overnight ferry at the port in Incipio Sector, just seaward of the Government Sector, on the second day after his departure from New York. He was nude again, after having donned his shorts and tee just for the brief interlude from jet plane to jet ferry, after which a steward had come around with a trash bag, into which the "threads of his captivity" were cast away forever.
Trent's first view of his new homeland put a lump in his throat. First, the sky was dazzling blue, and the waves breaking on the shore of the island were a deeper azure foaming into white on the pearly beach, fringed by majestic palms. The harbor was not busy, really, but it offered refuge to a small number of pleasure craft, plus a couple of freighters. Sailors did not get shore leave in Arsenikos; there was a hospitality center for non-residents ashore, but they were carefully monitored for any illegal entry, though there was an immigration testing office available to any who wanted to stay behind legally.
Beyond the beach, a swath of buildings, mostly white, and gleaming in the sun, but with occasional, striking, colorful structures, stood on a set of streets designed to mimic the island landscape, rather than dictate a grid to it. These buildings were mostly in the three to five-story range, and these newcomers' arrival would be processed there, near the shore. But what dominated the skyline was not skyscrapers, per se, but large pyramidal structures, four of them in the near distance, one in the center of the island, and two more at the far end of the island, just visible as large, green lumps, like gum-drop mountains. In between were more low-rise development and some green space. Erik, who had joined the men at the rail, explained that the foreground buildings were various trade and commerce buildings, often connected to imports and exports, plus immigration. The pyramidal structures, intended to represent artificial mountains, were multi-purpose buildings designed to maximize the limited acreage of the island. The furry-looking exterior of the pyramids, Erik said, was made up of apartments, with trees and shrubs encrusting their exterior patios, and mostly open or glassed walls.
"People can have pretty surprising gardens up there," he said. "The floors are stacked to make the most of the outside spaces."
"What's in the interiors? Those floors get very large as they go down," Eddie wanted to know.
"Yes, there is loads of space for all kinds of businesses, shops, even industries, that don't need windows to the outside. Each "mountain" is like a small city, with pretty much everything its residents need within it. They are so powerfully constructed that they could withstand even a tsunami or earthquake. In fact, in case of Tsunami, they can seal up instantly to protect the inhabitants. The exterior units, obviously, would sustain damage, but the residents would be safe seeking refuge in the interiors. We've already weathered a number of powerful monsoons and typhoons that approximate that kind of danger."
"That one in the center is somewhat different, especially at the top," observed Trent.
"That is Government Center, where all government offices and departments are located, along with the Assembly, and a number of meeting rooms, museums, and such. I live there, at least for now--the Prince's official residence, called The Pinnacle, is there at the top, those top five floors."
"You say "official residence." Do you also have an unofficial one?" asked Sam.
"Outside the city, a small, quiet place with a bit of bare soil to refresh the soul. We bought it when we sold our former apartment in another pyramid after Wilhelm was elected. We go there for holidays and R and R time."
Trent hardly heard the last exchange. He was gaping at the incredible, beautiful first view of the island of Ganymede. It was a magnificent, new world to him. The effect was, in Trent's mind, absolutely spectacular. He'd seen the skyscrapers of New York, and they were amazing, but they were so last-century-looking. This city-scape was fresh, modern, and incredibly practical-looking. The enormous man-made mountains were connected by high-level monorails on tall, slender support poles, and he could see sleek trains swooping along their track. On the ground, amid pathways and lower-level monorails, he could see hundreds of small, naked figures walking about. Everywhere, verdant vegetation flourished. His dick began to get hard, which surprised and amused him--he had a hard-on for his new home!
He and Eddie had had sex twice more on the airplane, and three times on the ferry. He'd fucked Sam's mahogany ass twice, taking his cherry, and cowboy Hank had sucked his cock for an hour, all for a meager half-teaspoon of remaining semen.
"I don't mind," drawled Hank. "It's the sucking I like anyway, more than the payoff."
No further sexual contact with Erik at all, who remained very professional and diplomatic, though warm and friendly to all the men.
But he'd had plenty of sexual fulfillment. This was an erection of joy more than lust.
The group went through Immigration together. They were checked into hotel rooms at the Olympic, Ganymede's only hotel, for their first couple of nights ashore. They were given their banking sticks and taught how to use them, with their full hand and foot prints recorded for absolute certainty of identification. The sticks projected their passports and birth certificates, and it would accumulate other important documents over time, as well as being read by computers and scanners. The printed Arsenikan passports, which were of use only when traveling abroad, in other words, in all likelihood, never, had covers in rainbow hues, setting it apart from nearly all other nationalities in the world. The men were soon joined by small delegations like themselves, being brought in from several other world centers, including Johannesburg, Tokyo, Berlin, Cairo, and Sao Paulo. The hundred or so newcomers were taken to tour housing options, and were offered an array of job interviews to choose among, along with career counseling to help inform their choices. Trent chose three interviews in financial institutions, got job offers from all three, and decided after a sleepless night to go with the Swiss-owned Geneva Bank, which handled all financial dealings with the outside world. He was to begin work in the bank's development office after a two-week resettlement leave. He chose a small flat on the twelfth floor of the Financial Pyramid, where he would be working, near the "upscale Bohemian" Stonewall sector.
"Is this a safe and, I don't know, respectable neighborhood?" he asked the agent.
"Sir, we don't have any other kind," the man responded.
Trent's salary commenced immediately, and it was an impressive one. Even unaccustomed to the buying power of Arsenikan "imaginary" Sovereigns, or "Sovs," as popularly known, he was certain he'd be comfortably provided for. After all, what needs would he have?
Trent was infatuated with his new apartment, and thrilled that Eddie signed for one in the same complex, even though his job with an insurance actuary company was located a few blocks over, in Oscar Wilde Sector. The one-bedroom unit was essentially one large, open living/ dining/kitchen space, divided by an eat-in bar. Even the bedroom and bath were part of the open plan. The small refrigerator (no need for large-scale food storage here), the oven, the cook-top, the microwave oven, and several small appliances, were electric, as no fossil fuels were used here. The little washing machine fit under the counter, and there was no dryer--he'd have precious little fabric to wash, and every day was a good day for air drying, free of hydrocarbons. There was pantry space, and cabinets for cookware and dishes. He chose the option of shopping for dinnerware, cookware, and linens at the multi-story shopping venue within his own complex, so that he could have his own color and design choices, while Eddie, indifferent to such concerns, spent the day surfing, and ordered a pre-packaged set of new housekeeping needs from the same department store. Trent had to laugh at the end result: Eddie's place looked just as stylish and attractive in the end as his own did.
There were two outdoor living spaces, one for living and entertaining, and one for a kitchen garden, laundry drying, and other utilitarian pursuits--including sitting in a whirlpool spa. The outside spaces were staggered, floor to floor, so that each one got plenty of sunlight.
The sleeping space was quite large, with its king-size, insanely comfortable bedding, desk with study chair, and easy chair with ottoman for reading or video watching. The bathroom was downright huge, with a tiled shower for three men, and a butt-washing toilet (combination commode and bidet) such as he'd never seen before, plus the shower wand contraption he'd used in New York. The closet was ordinary size--for the extra-ordinarily sparse Arsenikan wardrobe-- but it had wonderful organizers for anything needing to be stored there. TV screens were inserted into the walls, in sitting area and sleeping area, plus a smaller one in the kitchen. Satellite communications came with every housing unit.
That's it! And yet, the space was furnished and laid out in such a way that it felt spacious and comfortable.
For two nights, Trent sat around in his new digs, checking out TV channels via satellite, enjoying his excellent city views, day and night versions, from his balconies, and planting a little garden in the raised beds of his service balcony, outside his bedroom. He was alone, but not yet lonely, being so interested in his new surroundings, though he did have the non-responsive Erik on his mind quite a lot.
"There never was much of realistic hope on that score," he told himself pragmatically.
On Day Three, his doorbell chimed, indicating someone in the lobby requesting to come up (an arrangement that was more for convenience than for security, in low-crime Arsenikos). Puzzled, he answered the intercom, supposing it was likely to be Eddie, but wondering why he hadn't just come on up.
"Puppy Man," said the disembodied voice.
This would bear some explanation.
"I'll come down. Hold on," said Trent.
So down he went, naked, of course, but for flip-flops, to the lobby of the residential portion of his complex, and his visitor was easy to spot. He held a magnificent pair of Doberman Pinschers on leash, one rust, one black-and-tan, and beside him rested a kennel crate on wheels which emitted bumping noises and high-pitched puppy whining.
"Erik." Trent grinned.
Indeed, Erik had sent the man, with a selection of seven pups representing two litters, nine and ten weeks of age. If he was ready to take on the challenge, Trent was invited to pick one of his choice, compliments of his friend in the Palace.
"How do you know Erik Johansen?" the Puppy Man gushed, in an amusing West Ireland accent. "He must be the handsomest man on these islands, in a close, tight competition! And you being so new! Lord, how I'd love to get me nose between those cheeks. Me and half the island."
Trent smiled, savoring his own restraint in not mentioning that his own nose had actually been between those cheeks, though not as much as he'd like. He realized that, despite his pleasure with his new home, he had also been just a bit bummed by not having heard from Erik since arrival. This surprise brought all that dark cloud crashing down.
Of course, he had to have a pup, not just because he had been wanting one, but also because Erik had remembered, and had sent one. Floppy-eared or not, they were all gorgeous.
A particular, rust-colored male especially attracted his eye. The pup was eager to be singled out for attention and went right to Trent's ears with a wet tongue.
"This one looks good with my coloring, don't you think?"
"You have an eye for the pups, sir. That one is the pick of this bunch. A male, ten weeks old. This one is his sire," he said, gesturing at the larger of the two adults, an amazing canine specimen, alert and muscular.
"How much?"
Why, not a sov, sir. Taken care of by Mr. Johanson. I believe he must have his eye on you! And why not, I should add, you looking as you do. You'll make a fine figure, on the other end of a leash with this gorgeous pup as he grows. Beauty on both ends, that'll be."
From his pack, the Puppy Man produced a packet of papers for the pup, including a small supply of puppy kibble and a booklet on puppy care and training. He gave Trent directions to a pet supply store in the retail section of his own complex, as yet little explored by the new tenant. Then he and his menagerie went on their way, minus one wriggling armful of puppy. As they went, though, Trent saw several men stop to speak to the breeder.
"Little guy, you may have brothers and sisters living right here nearby us, by the look of it." The happy pup had barely noticed the menagerie had left, being so focused on his new man's delicious ear lobes. He found out later that two other pups found homes in his neighborhood that morning.
Trent wore his cash stick in a wrist band, so he was perfectly prepared to walk the hundred yards to the pet supply store. He re-emerged with pup in harness and leash, pulling a smaller, wheeled dog crate of his own, filled with a bed, a set of bowls, a large bag of food, and several puppy toys. While he was there, he signed himself and pup up for a Monday night puppy training class and booked an introductory examination with the veterinarian next door.
"Well, that's a start toward my next project, other than training you," he informed the pup. "Social outlets, meeting people. Can't stay cooped up in my little flat forever, you know."
The pup eyed him dubiously.
Back in the apartment, Trent and new best friend set to work checking the online listing of neighborhood activities to investigate, and napping, respectively.
"OK, I've decided your name is Genghis," he informed his pup decisively. "Don't worry, you'll grow into it."
Perusing the offerings of activities, he observed, aloud (with the special license of animal owners to talk to themselves in the presence of their pets), "Fuck, Genghis, they've got everything here except Bingo. You'd think this was a nursing home. Oh, fuck, man, it IS a nursing home--I see Bingo offered every Tuesday and Thursday night! Well, I guess the old guys have to have something to do, eh, Gengh?"
Within the hour, Trent was signed up for a runners' club, meeting on the street outside the complex at 5:00 A. M. every morning, followed by a yoga group at 6:30. It would be straight off to the office after that, on work days. He joined "Massage Exchange" at 5:30 P. M. on Tuesdays and Fridays (members give and receive a one-hour massage, chosen by lots), and signed up for a soccer (futbol) league on Sunday afternoons. He applied for a Masters Degree program in finance, for online study, with a prestigious university in Europe. And in the process, he somehow delved into his new cell-phone, just acquired two days earlier in his check-in process, to discover that it had one contact in it that he had not added himself: Erik Johansen, number 4322.
Erik must have done that when the new phones were being passed around in the harbor. Poor Erik could have been sitting at home waiting for his phone to ring, and finally resorted to sending puppies to get Trent's attention! Trent laughed out loud at the ludicrousness of that notion, startling young Genghis.
He gave Erik's number a ring. There was no answer, but he got to hear the sound of the man's voice asking him to leave a message. He did, thanking him for the totally unexpected gift and inviting Erik to come over and meet Genghis as soon as his schedule permitted, "'cause I got nothin' goin' on my end, until I start work in twelve days, except dog training and exercise groups."
The phone rang half an hour later, but it was Eddie, inviting Trent to spend the next day at the beach where he had gone surfing the past two days. That prompted Trent to program in special rings for Erik and each of his immigration group, whose numbers he had collected when they all received their phones. He also invited all that group to come over and meet his new pup on Friday evening.
From there, things took off for all of them. Making friends proved to be easy on Ganymede, especially (like everywhere) for someone with a puppy on the end of a lead. Everyone assumes the dog-walker is friendly and approachable, and they have a built-in opening topic for conversation. Trent met all the neighbors on his floor, got invited to a Twelfth Level Mixer on Thursday night, made acquaintances on the street and with residents on other floors, and accepted four dinner invitations for the coming week, two with fellow Dobe owners, one of whom had a new black-and-tan, nine-week-old female named Gretel, just obtained from the Puppy Man's visit. Walking Genghis got him out on the street frequently, and often at odd hours, and he got sucked off five times by the weekend, and fucked three hot young guys on Wednesday afternoon alone. Two of them reciprocated and fucked him back.
Erik and Genghis spent a good deal of time walking together in the park adjacent to Erik's pyramid. On his second day exploring there, he came across a very interesting and pleasant piece of adult playground equipment. It was a "blow station." A 30-foot wall was built into a low incline, so that a walkway led downward a couple of feet in front of the wall, and another led upward a couple of feet, on the other side of the wall. The wall itself contained openings every three feet of its length. The purpose was easy to figure out, partly because the structure seemed to be constantly in use. A man who wanted to suck cock could take the low road and position himself at one of the openings. A man who wanted a blow job could take the high road and select a cock-sucker already in place, or just wait at one of the openings until a volunteer showed up, which never seemed to take long. The arrangement allowed both men to stand comfortably, with the upper man's cock just at mouth level to the lower man. The suckee could even lean on the wall railing for support in case he got weak in the knees.
'This is looking very good for the home team,' Trent exulted to himself. He became a regular at the Blow Station, and soon began to recognize others who frequented the place. He made use of both levels, according to his mood, and got some championship level blow jobs there, as well as putting in some valuable time practicing his own craft on some very succulent dick.
Scattered through the park were also a number of imaginative sculpts which amounted to Fuck Stations. Each was unique, but what they accomplished was to accommodate a man's body in various positions ideal for presenting the derrière for anal penetration. If a man was lying in or on one of these sculpts, Trent discovered, that meant he was offering his ass to passersby. A lube dispenser on a post nearby provided the needed preparation for both partners. Trent enjoyed several spontaneous fucks this way, and after a couple of days, he even got into one of the contraptions himself. Before he knew it, he had put out for half a dozen friendly strangers.
"I'm such a whore!" he laughed afterwards. "But then, who isn't?" He was having a fabulous time with indiscriminate sex, now as promiscuous as he had once been chaste. "I have a lot of blue-balls to make up for, though," he justified.
Erik did return his call within two hours, offering to come by Saturday afternoon to see his new place and meet Genghis, and asking him to a night on the town afterward, to show him some of Erik's favorite haunts.
"If you're not too busy," he ended.
"No, Erik, I'm not too busy. I think I can squeeze you in."
"Funny, that's exactly what I had in mind, later in the evening," Erik countered. "See you around five at your place. Then, I suggest After Five for drinks, dinner at Little Anthony's, another drink and the floor show at GBT (there's no L, since we don't have any Lesbians here), and finally, an hour or two, until we drop in the traces, at Halloween, an all-night party club."
"Sounds...like a progressive descent through several rings of hell. But if you recommend it, hell, I'm game. What's this Halloween?"
"Basically, it's a sex club. Men here can have sex any time and any place, and most do, but some need a little boost. Halloween is a masked sex club. There are others that are unmasked, but this one is for guys who appreciate a little mystery and anonymity. I do, because due to my association with Wilhelm, my face has become pretty well known, through TV and print media. It's just easier all around if random partners don't know for sure who they're getting it on with, you know? But if you're up for it, I can take you to one of the others, too, either this time or another time. Like Caligula for example. It usually draws an interesting crowd."
"Oh, I think I'll be pretty much done in after Halloween. That should do me for one night. Now I see why my football league is in the afternoon, though. I suppose no one is awake on Sunday morning."
"Only you will be. Genghis will see to that. Sorry."
Meeting the neighbors at the "mixer"was interesting, and boded well for neighbor relations, if not for close friendship possibilities. Two men on Trent's floor were eminently fuckable, and one, Charlie Hamilton, an architect originally from Brooklyn, in Arsenikos for eight years, invited him to stay for sex after the mixer. Charlie was thirtyish, with dark hair neatly trimmed and a nice, compact figure, also trim. His sunny smile and cheerful demeanor attracted Trent right away, who was generally an optimistic person, but not particularly effervescent. After the last of the other guests departed with a knowing wink at Trent, Charlie led the newcomer back to his bedroom, where the two men collapsed together on the mattress and began to make out.
"May I fuck you?" Charlie asked.
"I'm hoping you will. Enjoy. Flip?"
Charlie smiled. "You bet."
The two men enjoyed one another's bodies for an hour and a half. Charlie made love to Trent, heating him almost to a frenzy before sliding his ample phallus into Trent's slickened colon. He fucked him for twenty minutes in several positions, then basted him with creamy sperm. Trent returned the favor, except that Charlie was already more than warmed up to it. Trent managed ten minutes of steady pounding at Charlie's padded rump before unloading his cream at the back entrance. After a period of gentle nibbling at one another, Trent took seconds. They showered together in Charlie's large shower, just like Trent's except for tile color, and then it was a simple matter, without need to dress, for Trent to kiss his new friend good-night and return to his place, where Genghis anxiously awaited him in his crate. Trent blotted cum from his bum and walked his pup in the comfortable night air.
"Damn. I love this place," he told the dog.
June, 2018 GANYMEDE, THE PRINCIPALITY OF ARSENIKOS
At the office, Trent found half a day worth of electronic communications to deal with awaiting him. In addition, the telephone rang incessantly, with calls from throughout Europe and the United States. Most involved details concerning the new research project. Though he was in charge of the financial aspects, other areas kept creeping in: this new venture would bring in a sudden influx of immigrants providing experience and expertise needed for the project, nearly all male, but including some straight men, who would have to be acclimated to the all-male, freely homo-erotic atmosphere of Arsenikos. Local hiring was already beginning, and would soon intensify. The construction of the laboratories was set to begin, with ground-breaking in two weeks. Everything seemed to be accelerating at lightning speed, and sometimes, Trent felt inadequate to the task. Erik's total support and encouragement kept him going through those times, and he had a support staff he knew he could rely on. He redirected as much of the decision traffic as possible to them, and had his own internet cache cleared by mid-afternoon.
He would not make it, this time, to join his partner on Patroclus for some play time. For now, for both of them, responsibility to their homeland must come first. A large part of what made Arsenikos an island paradise was the opportunity for full employment, and that included attracting highly skilled immigrants, since the principality did not raise up children of its own to replace population losses. The "founders' generation," though not large in number, was dying off now, and losses soon would accelerate, as the population was somewhat top-heavy with middle-aged men. For this project, Trent would engage gay-friendly recruiters on all six populated continents, in search of highly qualified younger men to engage in this important research.
JULY, 2013 THE PRINCIPALITY OF ARSENIKOS
"If this is dating," said Trent, "I like it. I'm glad I didn't know about it, back in the States. I could never have held out." Erik's hard cock was still in his ass, emitting its final drool, after a breeding session of forty-five minutes and an entire Kama Sutra of sexual positions--all in front of an appreciative audience of spectators at the club Halloween. The seating section in front of their lighted unit was still almost completely full, with a three-deep circle clustered around the edge of the stage.
"I'm not so sure it would be just like this there, Babe. Are there public sex clubs in most U. S. cities? Anyway, you wouldn't have been with me." Erik lifted his lower mask slightly to give Trent a kiss, as his deflating penis slid from its holster.
"True on both counts. I'm glad I waited. And thanks for a perfect first-ever real date."
It had gone beautifully. Genghis adored Erik from the start, a good sign as far as Trent was concerned. (Never trust anyone your dog doesn't like!) They soon took the Mon (for Monorail) to Alexander Station, for drinks at After Five. The place was crowded, but Erik had a table reserved right in the center of the action (and in a place that "did not accept reservations." Go figure). Trent would discover that they would be at the center of all action everywhere. Erik was a celebrity. In the age of digital photography, they weren't bombarded with a storm of flashing lights, but they were being photographed constantly. After an hour of sipping, during which Trent was introduced to a couple of dozen naked men, each seizing whatever opportunity he could to approach Erik's table and greet him personally, Trent lamented, "I'll never remember half of those guys."
"You'll soon see the ones you need to remember again for refresher. Others, you'll gradually pick up on, more and more. If you DO remember someone on first introduction, you've got a friend--he'll be so thrilled you know him."
"I'm just not used to being with a famous person. This is so new to me."
"My dear, you ARE a famous person. And you will be more so by week's end. Rumors were already about before tonight. But after tonight, you must brace yourself. Your face and figure will be universally recognized throughout the Principality. And it will continue, no matter what happens between you and me--you'll either be the boyfriend, or the one that got away--either way, tabloid fodder. I'm sorry." Trent looked aghast. "Yes, overnight. Should I have warned you? I don't think you could have really prepared for it. You'll just have to see if you can tolerate it."
"Why me? I haven't done anything to be gossiped about, or to make me a celebrity."
"Trent, don't get me wrong, I love gay men, being one of them. But no gaggle of women loves gossip more than gay men do. You were talked about over the past week or two, because despite my best efforts--did you notice I did not stand with you as we disembarked last week?--word got out that we had been seen together, in New York and on your familiarization tour here. It was speculation, really. 'Has the Prince's heart-broken consort found love in the aftermath of his great tragedy?' Pure melodrama. But there was a story two days ago about a mysterious puppy gift. Can you imagine where that may have come from? And now, tonight, being seen in public together--that will confirm it. You are now a full-blown 'item.' And Doberman Pinscher pups have mysteriously risen in popularity.
"Further, nobody loves royalty more than gay men. Who grieved hardest over Princess Diana? We're all Cinderellas at heart. The occasional princess to adore here in Arsenikos would have made it just perfect, but the fact that the princes and their consorts have tended toward the double-digit end of the sex appeal scale has mostly made up for that lack. There's no need to speculate over how hung we are, either, since our endowments are displayed on front page and on TV for all to compare If you are really put off by this, don't read the newspaper, any tabloid, or watch TV this week--maybe forever."
It was scary and exciting at the same time. Trent was suddenly aware of being arm candy as Erik guided him out of the bar and just down the street to Little Anthony's for dinner. Erik stopped to banter with another dozen men on the way, and Trent, smiling like an imbecile, picked up more names not to remember.
"I hope I don't embarrass you," he worried.
Erik looked shocked. "Why would you? You're perfect. You really have no idea, do you, how beautiful and elegant you look? That may be the key to the whole effect. Trent, you have characteristics that can't be bought or taught, in addition to incredible physical perfection: you have poise, presence, charisma. You're a male Jackie Kennedy, only with brains, personality, and an actual figure--though people don't know about the brains yet. Every man who has met you tonight believes he has had a moment of personal connection with you. He'll never forget the night he was introduced to you."
Now Trent looked shocked. "Damn. I wish I felt that. Now I feel so fake."
"The awareness of it all will come to you, don't worry. It's just a lot to take in, at first. Soon, your private and public personas will merge, and you'll be comfortable anywhere. But perhaps I shouldn't have mentioned any of this. I don't know, remember, I haven't done this before. Walter and I were already together, and we joined Wilhelm's coupling together, before he was elected Prince. Even so, we were not really prepared for all this public attention. And there's no question, it made dealing with the grief of Walter's loss harder--I was glad to have the time in New York for that reason. It will make dating harder, too, and for that, I do apologize."
From that point, Trent was doubly aware of looks furtively cast in his direction, phones pointed his way, smiles and nods and whispered dialogues. It might be a challenge to learn to ignore all that and just enjoy being out with a man he was sincerely interested in.
It helped that Erik seemed to take it all in stride. He somehow managed to be truly with Trent, even in the midst of the crowd. Little Anthony's was a fabulous restaurant. It was nestled into the outer perimeter of the ground level of the Health and Social Services Pyramid, which included a number of entertainment venues. Every table was full, yet the maitre d' somehow found an intimate setting for Erik and his date. The menu was extensive, expensive, and enticing. Erik offered him a steak, but Trent declined and went for the local shellfish, which was a superb choice. Erik had the same. Diners let them alone while they enjoyed their meal, but afterwards, as if a start bell had sounded, there was a non-stop chain of people coming up to introduce themselves or to exchange some pleasantry with the Prince's handsome, grieving consort on his first public outing with a possible new romantic interest.
After a dessert of mango tart with almond-kiwi ice cream and outstanding, locally grown coffee, Trent was happy to move on deeper within the same pyramid, but two levels higher, to the refreshingly bawdy anonymity of Halloween, the sex club. Of course, there was a crowd of men on the broad corridor and at the front entrance. Erik led Trent around to the side, however, where there was a more private entrance, and where the doorman, a big, muscle-bound fellow, greeted Erik deferentially, and nodded politely to Trent. He opened his gate for them immediately and led them inside, where a beautiful young man in a half-mask with sweeping side-wings encrusted with sequins welcomed them. He offered a full-headed elk mask, complete with impressive antlers, to Erik, and asked Trent what his preference would be. Trent looked toward his date, stumped. Erik smiled and raised his eyebrows.
"Let's try the Bird of Paradise."
The attendant brought out a mask with just a representational bird face, in the colors of the bird, but it was a full mask, and the back of it extruded a full tail-feathering of the male of that species. In place, the feathers flowed over Trent's shoulders, and the longer ones went down to his butt-cheeks.
"Wow," Erik said.
"Hot," the attendant agreed.
Trent checked the effect in a nearby mirror and shrugged. No question, the feathering complimented his coloring. His face was completely obscured, and despite his body's nudity, he was rendered completely unrecognizable.
"Fine. Thanks," he said, and the couple moved off into a darkened corridor, with Erik gently guiding his date with a hand laid on Trent's lower spine.
A large, darkened room formed a series of auditoria, with banks of stadium-style seats sweeping upward in rows and groupings with banquettes among them, and at stage-level, there was a circle of small, spot-lit rooms, most occupied by couples or groups in some stage or other of copulation.
Erik took Trent's hand, and they strolled around the circle, among a throng of other spectators, passing below the sight-line of those in the seats ranging above them.
"Let me know if you see something you'd like to watch for a while, as eye-candy. After a bit, we can take a stage ourselves, or we can join someone, with their permission--which I promise you, would be granted." He meant, Trent realized, that anyone present would be happy to engage in sex acts with the two of them.
All kinds of men were engaged, in flagrante delicto, on the little stages. A few spaces were larger, to accommodate group sex, and they contained anywhere from four to a dozen men going at it. The men themselves were all sizes, skin shades, and ages, but certainly mostly in excellent shape. The audience strolled about casually, until they encountered a scene they wanted to watch. Then, they either stood at the edge of the stage and gawked, or they took seats in the section rising in front of that scene, where they were offered refreshment by nude, but black-masked waiters. This was organized, permissive exhibitionism and voyeurism, par excellence, with the cover of anonymity on all parts, through masks.
"See anything you like?"
"Hard to narrow it down. I like all of it. What are you mostly into?"
"I'm afraid I share your non-discriminating sexual taste. I like sex, period. But hot as the group scene is, I'm also a romantic at heart. I enjoy watching two men make love to one another, when it is more than just sex. That satisfies id and ego, maybe even superego, all at once."
"You are one hell of a sexy man."
"Inside my mask, I'm grinning. Thanks."
"Look just ahead. Black man with, looks like, maybe Asian guy. I think they may qualify. Let's check them out."
"Good God. Is that a dick or a mahogany chair leg? I don't know if they are in love, but they sure as hell are rutting in lust."
The section was full, but a couple in an aisle banquette glanced up at Erik and Trent, and the near fellow elbowed his partner. The two rose, bowed slightly toward Erik, and retreated hand in hand, down to the floor level, leaving the seats open for them.
"What the fuck was that?" asked Trent.
"Means I have to change masks again. A selection only lasts about a couple of months before my cover gets blown in the tabloids, and then I have to make a switch. It also means our anonymity will not be what I'd hoped for tonight. Rumors will abound. You OK?"
Trent shrugged. "I've already fucked in the park and on a street corner. In the lobby of my building...in line at the bank...what the fuck."
"Yeah, but this may be on TV. You'll just have to see how well you tolerate it, I guess."
They sat and held hands as they watched the dark-skinned man fuck the lights out of the smaller, smooth, lighter-skinned one, with a patch of very-black pubes and no other body hair. The bottom easily accommodated a thick, foot-long cock with a gradual upward curve.
"Would you like to take one that size?"
"Humph. You're not so far from it, yourself."
"Oh, I'm more like nine American inches. And you're close to that yourself."
"Eight and a half. I measured."
"Well, anyway, as much as I like to top, don't forget, I like to take a nice dick occasionally, too. And you have a very, very nice dick."
"I'll keep that in mind. OK, we know we are being watched, even here. Does your public know you bottom? Do you mind if they know? Or is your image of a manly, stud top? I mean, should we stick to you fucking me here, and keep the flip-flopping for my place afterward?"
"Damn, you're a natural at this. I didn't come around to such calculated thinking for months. Truth is, the horse is out of the barn on that one. The beach always made Walter horny, and we used to fuck like hamsters out there, back and forth, with each other and others. I've been on TV before. So later, if you're up for it, we can go both ways under the lights. It'll be good to be back in the saddle. Especially with you riding."
"Now, I'm grinning inside this mask. I think I'm ready." His dick soared, reddened, to emphasize the point. Erik shifted in his seat, and his own nine inches waved stiffly, too.
"Let's go find a place before we shoot spontaneously and waste a load."
They rose and went down to the passage around the "stages" again. A couple of sets around, they came to one where three men were just getting up from a three-way, covered with cum, as a smattering of applause swept through a sparse audience. A waiter was offering the men warm, moist towels. The one in the lead glanced up at Erik and Trent, and paused. His hand went back to squeeze the wrist of the man behind him, who carried most of the spunk on his chest and face, and who was beginning to mop up with his towel. He looked up, froze for ten seconds, and then the two of them, third guy following obliviously, moved up into the seating area.
"So, do you come here often?" Trent asked satirically.
"I didn't think so, but maybe too much," Erik confessed. "Not lately, though."
Erik took Trent's hand and led him onto the stage, which was one of the smaller ones, only about ten feet wide, in a pie-wedge shape. A padded bench similar to a massage table stood front and center. Trent sat in the middle.
"Do me first. You're the pro here, and the host. It'll help settle this colt."
"Good idea. This is exhibitionism, remember, so there will be lots of positions."
"Great. I love 'em all, especially with your dick in them."
A large lube dispenser rested beside the front bench leg, and Erik bent to pump a palmful. Though the masks on both men left their mouth and chin revealed, it wasn't easy to kiss effectively in the head-coverings, but Erik gave it a sporting, side-ways attempt. While his tongue explored Trent's mouth, his fingers delved into Trent's anal cavity, slicking it up for something thicker and more flexible to come. When he moved his face aside to nibble at Trent's neck for a moment, Trent's eyes fell on the audience area. It was now full to capacity, with more men packing the area in front of the stage.
"Baby, our cover is definitely blown to fuck," he murmured into Erik's ear.
"You're a quick study. A studly quick study."
"We gotta get new masks."
"Yeah, we will. But this time, it's important to be recognized, without making it obvious or definitely verifiable. It will still be conjecture, even though everyone knows. My life, and now your life, is public. Having the public know I'm moving on, and that my period of mourning is ending, is a good thing for me, and for Wilhelm. My pledge to you is that I will do everything in my power to make it be a good thing for you, too. I don't want you hurt in this. We can talk openly, any time, about what we need to do to keep you safe, OK?"
Trent nodded. "At the moment, I don't know what I feel about that. But don't worry for now. I've got a big dose of unfulfilled exhibitionist in me, and nothing to be ashamed of in the endowment department. So let's just enjoy one another, and let prying eyes get their fill. Fuck me."
Erik did. As he slid his cock into Trent's ass, sitting there on the bench with his legs surrounding Erik's waist, the Prince consort said, "You're sensational. I'm a very lucky man to get to fuck you, now or anytime."
Trent felt like a seasoned old 'ho by now, but that session was a memorable one by any measure. Erik took him standing in front of the bench, then laid him on his back and fucked him missionary, then flipped him and took him from behind, then doggie. He slid Trent over so that his shoulders rested on the floor and drove down into him from above. There were groans and aahhh's from the audience. He sucked Trent's toes. He lay on the bench himself, and had Trent fuck himself on the up-raised cock, in both cowgirl positions. Finally, after twenty-five minutes, they went back to Trent lying on his back, butt at the end of the bench, while Erik pounded him while standing at the foot of the bench. Trent's feet waved behind Erik's back or planted themselves at his shoulders. In a spasm of thrusting and groaning, Erik pulled out to show off the money shot, ejaculating a series of huge, strong ropes of cum across Trent's chest and chin. Then Erik bent to lick it up, as an enthusiastic burst of applause rose from the onlookers.
"Are you grinning again?" Trent asked him.
"Oh, yeah. You?"
"You bet. But I'm not through."
Trent pushed Erik up, sat up beside him, and pressed his lips onto Erik's, stealing some of his cum. The clapping swelled. Trent reached down to the lube dispenser and pressed out a big squirt, which he began applying to Erik's crack, feeling for the friendly hole that was to be his target. He glanced out at the viewers. The applause was dying down, but no one was leaving. More men were attempting to pack themselves into the area, as excited twittering of hushed voices fanned across the area.
Trent lay back and held the base of his cock upward. Erik straddled him and drew up on his knees at chest level, then leaned back and impaled himself easily on the big, stiff pole. Another swell of applause. Trent bucked slightly, and Erik rose and fell slightly, as if trotting on a saddle horse, and both men groaned together. Many in the audience groaned with them.
"Damn, that's good."
"Damn right, that's good."
They went through much of the Kama Sutra again, keeping their juncture as visible as possible to the viewers, like experienced porn actors. Trent went rigid as he drained his nuts into Erik's colon for the first time. He'd gotten so intent, he had neglected to pull out and show the crowd the money shot.
"Oh, shit, I came inside."
"I'm glad. I like that. Don't worry, I'll show some off to the viewers."
As Trent rose from his body and swiveled to sit beside him, Erik shamelessly aimed his crotch at the audience, pulled up his sagging testicles, and pushed out a big glob of Trent-cum. The crowd cheered even louder than they had the first time, and several stood in recognition of the breeding. It seemed to mean something to them.
"Uh, oh. What does that mean?" asked Trent quietly.
"I think we're going steady. That's all. Probably."
"I'm OK with that." The men looked into one another's eyes.
"Are you grinning?" Erik wanted to know.
"I'm grinning. You?"
"Big, wide grin."
"I think we're done here."
"I think we are."
Holding hands, they descended from the lighted dais and accepted the warm, wet towels offered by nude, masked attendants.
"They were grinning, too, Erik. I could tell."
"A lot of guys are."
Sure enough, as the two walked slowly through the crowd, many men patted their shoulders or butts and gave complimentary comments like, "Cool, guys," and "So happy for you both," and "Way to go," mostly in Esperanto, of course, plus more in several languages Trent did not comprehend. The men parted like the Red Sea for them, allowing them to pass like parade floats through the gathering. Back at the more private entry area, they doffed their elaborate masks and emerged sweaty-headed.
"Hot in there!" Trent complained.
"Odd, I didn't really notice 'til just now. Let's get some fresh air."
"If I may," the attendant interrupted hesitantly. "Perhaps, sirs, you would prefer another exit. I'll show you." he cleared his throat. "There are, er, media people just outside both other exits. This one is very discreet, takes you out on another level. Just come with me."
Erik shrugged. He'd been prepared to brazen out the exit, cameras blazing. But this was better, especially for Trent. He took his date's arm, and they set out after the very tempting rear view of the young doorman. He led them up a narrow flight, and then out into a service corridor, and onto the pedestrian path outside another set of bars and restaurants altogether. As they came down the escalator toward the street exit, they saw the media corps just breaking up their vigil.
"Come on," Erik laughed. He broke into a trot, with Trent close behind, and they scurried out onto the street. Just then, a rickshaw pulled up, its naked human power-house sweating profusely. He was a lean, wiry fellow with olive complexion, thinning black hair, and a long, floppy dick. His expression said he recognized the Consort.
"Hop in. Where to? In a hurry?" he panted.
Erik gave Trent's address quickly. "Hurry, yes, but don't have a heart attack, man. We're OK."
The bearer trotted off, the big rickshaw wheels spinning easily. A dingling bell on the harness warned pedestrians of their approach, and the way cleared for them. In no time, they were at the entrance of Trent's pyramid, with no reporters in sight.
"Come on up," Trent said. "Can you stay? All night, I mean?"
"I was hoping you'd ask."
"Well, after all, we're going steady. I've never gone steady before, I want to make the most of it."
They went up to Trent's apartment, where Genghis greeted them happily. They showered together, or rather, made out while the water sluiced over them in the shower. They made sweet love to one another again, intimately and privately. And they talked.
Erik was deeply concerned that the whole publicity and celebrity circus might be too much for small-town Trent. To Trent's own surprise, it was not.
"Back home, sure, I'd be mortified over such a thing. But here, I have nothing to hide. There's no judgment about it, at least none I've encountered. It's just all fun. What we did tonight would destroy any political ambitions for you and everyone associated with you in any other country but this one. Here, it's just normal. It's being open and honest about who you are. How could I care who knows I'm with you? I'm proud of it."
"Well, me, too, on a lot of levels. Since we are going steady, though, let me ask you a daring question. Are you ready to come home with me, and meet the family? I'd love to introduce you to the rest of my coupling. In a week, Michael will be home for his rotation. That would be a good time, and it will give me some leeway to get onto Wilhelm's schedule--he's not home for dinner every night, but he often is."
Trent was shocked. He tried to speak, but only stammered.
"It's OK if you aren't ready, Trent. I'm rushing you, I'm so sorry. It's just--I got carried away. I'm not used to dating, not really dating you know. I mean, I fuck easily enough, it's just--anything more personal, more serious than that, it comes harder. Forgive me...."
Trent placed two fingers over Erik's luscious lips. "Hush. Not that at all. I just...I just got overwhelmed, that's all. Yes, this is sudden. Yes, I was not expecting it. Erik, when I see you, or hear from you, I get butterflies inside. I'm so surprised, as if it was not to be expected at all. In fact I never expect it. I'm shocked all over again that you would even think of me at all. If you want me to meet the men who are most important to you--well, that is awesome. I couldn't be more excited and thrilled. And, not the most important part, but still cool--I don't have to give a second thought about what to wear!"
Both men laughed, and Erik leaned in to kiss Trent gently.
"No, you don't. You are always flawlessly dressed, whenever I see you. The others will think so, too."
On the evening of the family introduction, Erik sent a rickshaw over to pick Trent up. Rather, he came in a rickshaw himself. The sweating, athletic young man powering it was already mightily impressed with himself at having the Prince's consort in his conveyance. When he saw Trent, his eyes and grin widened. Erik smiled knowingly as he handed up his perfectly fit young date into the carriage. "Yes, it's come to this," his eyes seemed to say, "you ARE that famous."
"Did you have to bring the guards?" Trent asked quietly, as they began to roll briskly down the street. There were four tall, beefy, naked men in dark glasses and gold caps trotting along with them, at the four quadrants around their vehicle. People were staring.
"Wili insisted. I think he wants you to feel that you are important to him. You are, already."
"We'll see, once he meets me."
"Oh, he knows a lot about you, lover. We may be a small government, but we do have our intelligence services. He's seen plenty of you."
"Erik, I've been on gossip shows a couple of times. That's it."
"Ah. You don't check out the minor channels after midnight, do you? Just as well. According to private polls, if there were a Prince elected tomorrow, you'd come in fourth."
"What!? There are polls for this shit? Fourth? How do people even...what the fuck?"
Erik laughed. "We have nothing really big or awful to fixate on, Trent. But these islanders are total pushovers for beauty, glamour, sex appeal, and charm. You have all of those wrapped up. Plus, you have that special, indescribable something, my love. A slight hesitancy, a shyness. Unlike so many, you don't push yourself forward. Your smile is breaking hearts night by night, all over these shores. Guys are crushing on you right and left."
"You don't just want me for my boyish charm, do you?"
Erik leaned over to kiss his paramour. "Not just. But I love the charm."
The lead body-guards were directing the panting rickshawman toward a ramp leading underneath the government pyramid, where they passed a guarded entrance. Inside, in the dim coolness of the lower level of the structure, they pulled up at a decorative entry, flanked by two more naked guards, and Erik wirelessly transferred sovs from his wrist-band to the driver's. The man nodded respectfully and trotted away.
Erik spoke to the body-guard nearest. "I'm so sorry you had to run all that way for me, Dude."
The man shrugged. He wore nothing but sunglasses, the universal body-guard uniform, indispensible even with no other garment. "Part of our daily training regime." He wasn't even breathing hard.
"It could have been worse." Erik murmured as the two entered the private lift. "Willie wanted to send his palanquin."
"Yes, that would be worse." Trent had seen this conveyance on the street a couple of times, and on TV many more. It was how the Prince was escorted to his official appearances: a rectangular, decorated barge-like "float," with handles for carrying by eight stout men, in place of wheels. In a way, it looked like a huge feather-bed, with large, colorful feather plumes topping the four corner posts. It was not subtle.
JUNE, 2018 ROME, ITALY-THE EUROPEAN UNION
Trent's first trip to Europe, and all he wanted was to get back home again, to Arsenkos and to Erik. He found Rome oppressively hot, dusty, and decrepit, and way too crowded with sweating, ill-tempered people. Why in blazes would anyone want to wear clothing in such a summer climate? He picked up his tailored suits, but dreaded wearing them--though, shit, they sure made him look fashionable, urbane, and...sexy. And young. Very young, amid a middle-aged and older crowd of bankers and bureaucrats.
With so much planning already completed, negotiations went perfectly on the financing deal. Optimism ran high on actually coming through with a breakthrough discovery to conquer HIV, and the best and most experienced minds in the field would be guiding the research. Trent wore two hats, representing the bank and the Arsenikan government at the same time. For economy sake, Trent grinned. As a banker, he stepped to the back of the clump and let the Swiss managers take the lead, but as the principality representative, he had to come forward and sign some documents, and in that he was photographed, and "the tiny, island nation of Arsenikos, a very isolated and secluded enclave in the South Pacific" was mentioned in newscasts. "Mr. Lockridge is signing the agreement as representative of the Principality," a CNN commentator intoned solemnly. Trent saw the taped report mirrored by BBC on his hotel television, and wondered how far afield the broadcast would go. No one in his family, so far as he knew, was even aware of what had become of him, whether he lived or died. And none, so far as he knew, had ever attempted to find out. Would this publicity change that? he wondered. What difference would it make, either way?
Trent could hardly wait, each time he had to leave his hotel suite, to get back and strip off the hated Westerner's textiles. Ties, suit-coats, belts, shoes--they all strangled him, but leather shoes might be the worst--he almost had to learn to walk all over in them. He had to chuckle at Erik's method of looking out for him--the Prince had sent along a young intern, posing as Trent's "personal secretary," but in fact a living bed-warmer, to sustain the Prince's consort on the trip. Nick was nineteen and had grown up since age eight on the Island. Seeing men fuck on the street had never caused him a moment's consternation, but seeing clothed men and women holding hands, or clothed women doing nearly anything, made him gawk.
"Are you sure you don't want to have sex with one of them?" Trent asked, concerned.
"No, I want to have sex with you. It's just that, you look between their legs, in slacks, and there's nothing there, completely flat. Weird. And breasts--what can you do with those things?"
"I'm not the one to ask about that, sorry. Though there is that thing about feeding babies...."
"Gross."
Trent and Nick did have sex, lots of it, on the trip. Nick was a lusty, well-hung, six-shooting, young hunk, six-feet-two of movie-star good looks, with constant, head-turning smile (Arsenikos offers superb dental care, including orthodontics), and Trent knew he caused curious murmuring among the international press corps, especially after the rumor got out that the young man actually shared Trent's one-bedroom suite. 'More economy,' Trent laughed.
Applications to immigrate went up by 54% during the quarter following Trent's visit, in Italy, France, Germany, Switzerland, the U. K., the U. S., and Canada. Due to the completion of the new island, the government was actually able to accept many of the ones who passed the health screening, along with the several hundred men--and women-- they recruited to work in the research facility.
Yes, work visas were issued to some 75 women scientists, who had to be thoroughly oriented to the unusual environment in which they would be living. Of course, they remained on their laboratory atoll nearly all the time, and only ventured over to nearby Andros or one of the original islands on the occasional weekend outing. Still, the laws allowing free and open sex were in effect everywhere, even the atoll, and these women, like everyone else, had had to pass the stowaway bug tests. Perhaps to everyone's surprise, three-quarters of the women took to the permissive lifestyle eagerly. Even the men of Ganymede were treated to the spectacle of raunchy, open, straight fucking in public venues--with both partners usually newly-arrived lab workers, but occasionally including citizens sampling the exotic--including the parks and sex clubs. Watching the few resident straight men, or bisexual ones, fuck women, and occasionally watching lesbians go at it (though in that instance, there was not much to watch), became a fashionable gay pastime for a season. Trent would get the credit, or the blame, depending on one's point of view, for that development. In the end, all would hinge on whether a vaccine or lastingly effective anti-viral for HIV would be developed, as far as the young man's public image was concerned. He'd be hero, bogey-man, or ineffectual bureaucrat, one or the other.
But, without really intending to, he had altered the life of his new country virtually single-handedly, and he held no public office at all.
JULY, 2013 GANYMEDE, THE PRINCIPALITY OF ARSENIKOS
The visit for dinner with the first family went well, even Trent thought, mostly because of how charming and welcoming Erik's partners were. Willie was totally unassuming, as natural and unaffected as could be. His primary, Jules, was a much campier queen, with a great sense of humor and a somewhat wicked wit, but just as handsome and sexy as the rest. Michael and his primary, Yves, were just plain hot, and they were virtually joined at the hip all evening, but in a very sociable way--Michael was freshly returned from a three-month stint in New York, and Yves could hardly get enough of him.
The dinner was prepared and served by palace staff, but so discretely as to be hardly noticeable, even to very middle-class Trent. This was no Downton Abbey, though the royal family. The meal was superb, as Trent had come to expect everywhere in epicurean Arsenikos. After the small, light dessert, Erik took him aside.
"Let me show you my digs."
The Consort's sleeping area was one of four off a corridor on the same level as the family dining space, all of these separated from one another mainly by structural columns and soft draperies rather than by walls. The toilet and bathing facilities nearby were for multi-person use, yet not at all utilitarian like a public restroom elsewhere, rather intimate and opulent in wall surfaces and appointments, truly "spa-like" in the most positive sense. The "bedroom," if it could be called that, was similar: elegant and enticing. Trent felt drawn to the wide bed, but deliberately avoided it.
Erik slid up behind him and wrapped his strong arms around his young lover's waist.
"No pressure," he said, smiling.
Erik gave a skeptical look. "No, no pressure at all...."
"BUT..." Erik continued. "Well, first off, Yves has put out a very nice little basket of our perfectly dried weed in the sitting area...."
Trent smiled. "AND...." It sounded as if there might be more.
"And Jules has opened three bottles of our best wines. One is sparkling...."
"Nice, but neither of those sounds like much pressure. AND?..."
"No, not of themselves. But what if...what if they led to some sex play after a while? Would that send you running for the hills, or even running for my room, now that you know where it is? If so, I understand completely...."
" Even though you'd RATHER sex it up with your partners--and me--because that's what you are used to doing, right?"
"Only if you are OK with it. If not..."
"Fuck, Erik. I could watch you fuck the Prince of Arsenikos live before my very eyes, why would I pass on that?"
"Actually, Love, he generally fucks me. And a couple of the others. Tonight maybe you, if you're up to it."
Trent laughed. "What can I say, Baby, I'm a slut. If I said 'no,' I'd hate myself within the hour. I'm kind of embarrassed about it, and hell if I know what to do, how to behave..."
"Remember, you'll be pretty drunk and high."
"So, bring it on, then. I'm in. I do want to remember it, though. Take photos."
"So they could be all over the tabloids within 24 hours? No thanks. Make memories, like I do, and we can describe it to one another later."
Hand in hand, they strolled back into the sitting area, where Jules was just pouring six tall glasses of bubbly--exotic crystal art stemware is one of Arsenkos' leading exports--and the family toasted their guest with smiles. Trent saw Erik wink subtly at the Prince. Yves had rolled a plate of blunts, from which Michael chose one to light and pass, and the party moved seamlessly into a new level of friendly, affectionate intimacy in which Trent felt completely included.
Half an hour later, Erik penetrated him first, as the others watched discretely, while making out with their own primary partners. In moments, while Trent enjoyed a firm ass-grinding fuck, he was turned on to see Wilhelm fucking Jules, and Michael fucking Yves.
An hour more saw Trent graciously offering his ass to his new lover Willie, while Yves took sloppy seconds on Jules, and Erik plowed Michael. For Round Three, the Prince pulled Erik's ass over to him, while Trent took the handsome, Gallic Yves from behind, and Michael pounded perennial bottom Jules.
The rest was a blur, and Erik was likewise unable to remember any more, either, or so he claimed. The two woke together in Erik's bed, but Michael was between them, reversed head-to-foot. Wilhelm, Jules, and Yves were likewise piled into the Prince's bed on the next higher level. The living area was restored to immaculate order, and breakfast was instantly available on the breakfast lanai.
Meeting "the folks" had gone extraordinarily well. "As I knew it would," stated Erik smugly.