Date: Thu, 10 Mar 2005 22:24:06 -0800 (PST)
From: Dolphin Dan
Subject: slouching towards bethlehem part 3

SLOUCHING TOWARDS BETHLEHEM
Part 3

By Dolphin Dan

*** WARNING *** This story contains descriptions of sexual acts between
consenting adults of the same gender and of opposite genders.  If it is
illegal or morally objectionable for you to view this material, please do
not continue.

*** This story is a work of fiction.  Any resemblance to actual persons or
events is completely unintentional.  ***

*** *** ***

June 21, 1990.  Midsummer's Eve.

Things are getting a little ugly here in Berzy.  The results of the
election--the second one, the one that was held on June 6, the day I first
saw Mill doing Pauli--were officially certified by the Moesian General
Assembly, and people are upset.  The Communists won.  The MCP ran a whole
slate of candidates, as they were legally permitted to do.  After all,
Moesia is supposed to be a democracy now.  They got 43% of the vote, more
than any other party, and under the rules of the new Moesian constitution,
which was evidently hastily written on a cocktail napkin last December even
before the martyrs of the revolution were buried, their candidate goes up
for a general election for president on July 15.  It's a foregone
conclusion that Manorszky, the MCP party leader, is going to win.  The MCP
is just too well organized compared to the opposition parties.  Manorszky
was some kind of minor deputy in the Gaenescu government.  He's denounced
Communism and he's made a lot of comforting noises about democracy and
freedom, but everybody suspects he's a hard-liner in disguise.  The
reaction of pro-democracy activists here in Berzy was to fling Molotov
cocktails at the MCP headquarters.  The mayor of Berzy declared a state of
emergency and sent the Secuirtorsk into the streets for the first time
since the revolution, so we're all in lockdown and can't leave the
Metropole.  My mom called--by miracle she managed to get through on the
Metropole's one working phone line--and before the line went dead I assured
her that things look much worse on CNN than they are in real life.  I said
that but I'm not sure I believe it.  Standing on the third-floor balcony of
the Metropole watching tanks rumble through the streets it's hard to
believe this country is supposedly a democracy now.  Go figure.

Being in lockdown and under quasi martial law has its advantages, though.
Because no one can go out in the streets without a Securitorsk escort,
everybody was frozen where they were.  As it just so happened, at the time
the curfew was declared Mara was at the Hotel Dansk--the dorm for the
international students, where we all started out--and Pauli was at his
parents' house here in Berzy.  Which means all of the other claimants to
Mill's dick are being carefully cordoned off behind military barricades.
I'm betting Mill can't go 24 hours without firing his spunk into somebody's
orifice, and it's 11PM as I write this and the riots don't look like
they're letting up.  But I'm not going to go see him.  I'm going to sit in
my room and watch coverage of the riots on TV.  The events of the last few
days have convinced me that Mill has been purposely toying with me for
weeks and I'm going to let him stew in it a bit.  I want him to come to me
begging for MY dick, not the other way around.  Let the big rich handsome
smart well-hung Jim Morrison look-alike, who can fuck pretty much anybody
he wants of either gender, admit he needs the help of a long-haired,
pot-bellied New Mexico ranch boy to get his rocks off.  Then we'll see who
gets the upper hand.

*** *** ***

June 23.

To say some shit went down yesterday would be an understatement.  I've got
to sort it all out in my head before I can begin to write it down.  I did
get laid, but I'll get to that in a minute.  This is going to be another
super-long entry but I can't help it.

This is not the time or the place to give a rundown on ethnic cultural
history in Moesia, so I'll skim over it briefly.  Basically in this country
there are the Moesians plus some other polyglot minorities--Magyars, Serbs,
Romanians, and even some Germans (though most of them fled to West Germany
as soon as the revolution happened and Gaenescu's troops weren't guarding
the borders).  A lot of the minorities live in these little medieval-style
villages out in the countryside where the Midsummer or summer solstice
festival is still a big deal and has been for centuries.  Gaenescu made a
big thing about all these minority groups living in harmony together in
Moesia, but it was all bullshit--he said that just to prove that he ran the
most advanced country in Eastern Europe when in reality these groups hated
each other.  To promote the "harmony" he invited representatives of all
these groups to form a big parade in Berzy on Midsummer's Day.  Well, of
course Gaenescu's running around playing Commie bandit in the jungles of
Kampuchea now, but yesterday wagon loads of Magyars, Serbs, Romanians and
gypsies (what few survived the Holocaust, because Hitler cleaned out this
country pretty good) showed up at the gates of Berzy assuming they would
march in the parade just like any other year.  Evidently no one got word to
the villages that Berzy was in a state of martial law, and when these
people were turned away and told they couldn't enter the city some assumed
the Moesian-controlled Securitorsk was trying to deny them their cultural
heritage.  Most of them understood what was going on, but a few bands of
ruffians--mostly kids who think their particular minority groups should
have the right to break Moesia up into a headache of dinky little
fiefdoms--started throwing rocks and starting shit.  You can imagine the
rest.  Tanks, rubber bullets, Secuitorsk forces running all over the place,
President Bush on TV denouncing the violence, etc., etc.  To make a long
story short, we were all still trapped in the Metropole, second day in a
row, and this time we were being serenaded by multiple choruses of random
machine-gun fire from various parts of the city.

The Metropole doesn't serve food and we can't even go to the cafe so we
have to make due with what we have here.  About lunchtime Mill banged on my
door.  "I was wondering if you were hungry," he said.  "I've got some
crackers, some lunch meat and lots of Zlotny in my room, if you're
interested."  I haven't eaten since last night so of course I was, and I
went over to his room.  I wondered if Mill was trying to turn me on because
when he came to get me he had his shirt off and the top button of his
shorts undone, showing his boxers, like it was a hot day but it hasn't
really been that hot the last few days.  I noticed his chest hair is
starting to grow back--right now it's a thin forest of little
millimeter-long black bristles.  So we sat at the little table in his room
and chowed down on crackers, salami, etc. and washed it down with warm
Zlotny.  (I'm getting pretty used to warm beer--there aren't many
refrigerators in Berzy because the electricity is so spotty, and ice cubes
are unknown here in the summer).  The Zlotny hit us hard because we'd had
so little to eat.  Then Mill got chatty.  We started talking about being
bi.  "When did you know you were?" he said, sprawled in his chair, his bare
feet up on the table, hairy ankles crossed over each other.

"I guess when I started jacking off.  I thought about boys as often as I
thought about girls."

"I can't remember when I wasn't bi," Mill shrugged.  "I never even knew
there was a word for it.  When I see a hot chick I want to lick her tits
and stick my dick into her sweet pussy.  When I see a hot guy I want to
suck his dick and put my penis in his ass.  It's that simple."  He drank
some beer.  "What have you done?  With guys, I mean."

I told him about sleeping with my cousin when I was 14, and fooling around
with Dave in high school, and Mario in the dorm at the very end of the year
last year.  Mill seemed surprised that I didn't have that much experience.
Evidently he has lots.  He's fooled around with guys since he was like 11.
He told me an interesting story about blowing the captain of his high
school football team in the shower, and some other boyfriends he had for
brief periods of time.  But he kept coming back to Mara, saying that they
were meant for each other.  "No one knows it yet, but we're engaged," he
said, scratching an itch on his foot, like he was talking about the most
casual thing in the world.  "I mean, there's no ring or anything yet, but
we decided we want to get married.  We're holding off the announcement for
a while--our families will totally freak out.  We probably won't get
married 'til after college.  But I do want to marry her."

This seemed totally incongruous to me, that two people as sexually
promiscuous as Mill and Mara didn't see some kind of inherent conflict in
marrying each other while fucking the daylights out of everyone around
them, but I didn't want to say so.  "That's great that she's cool with you
being with guys," I commented, hoping his answer would shed some light on
the subject.

It did.  "Well, she understands I need it.  And I do.  It's sort of
complicated, our arrangement.  She allows me to bang guys, but not other
girls.  She told me if she ever caught me with another woman, she'd dump
me--no second chance, nothing."

I drank.  "That seems kind of unfair.  I mean, she can bang other guys,
can't she?  She's off doing Dmitri right now."

Mill shrugged.  "She's not bisexual.  There's a difference.  Girls don't
turn her on at all.  But with me, she knows that because I have to have sex
with guys too, there's something that she's totally incapable of giving me
no matter how hard she tries.  She's OK with that, but a relationship is a
two-way street.  She'll let me do that but it has to be balanced by
something else.  So, she goes with other guys."

"That doesn't make sense.  She's totally hetero.  She IS capable of being
totally fulfilled by one person.  I can see where she'd think the guys you
fuck are no threat to her--but aren't the guys SHE'S with a threat to YOU?"

Mill looked like he didn't want to think about this.  He drank down what
was left in his Zlotny bottle, reached down to the floor and picked up
another one.  He wrenched the cap off with his teeth and spat it onto the
floor.  He drank.  "Well, it is what it is," he said.  He took his feet off
the table and sat up in the chair.  "Show me your underwear," he told me, a
smile gracing his face.

"What?"  It wasn't such an odd request but it was an abrupt change of
subject.

"Take your shorts off and let me see what you've got.  I've always wondered
if you were a briefs or boxers guy."

It was kind of a strange way to start a seduction, but I'm not dumb enough
to question when Mill tells me to start taking off my clothes--that's
Pauli's job!  I stood up, unbelted my jeans and dropped them to my ankles.
I had on my T-shirt but it didn't hang down far enough to cover my package.
So there I was in my plain white Hanes briefs, starting a hard-on that got
a little stiffer when I saw Mill inspecting it.

He looked disappointed.  "Oh, Dan, come on," he said, probably only
half-joking.  "What, did Target have a white sale or something?"

My response was quick and witty, if I say so myself.  "I didn't think I'd
get laid this summer, so what was the point in bringing any of my expensive
silk boxers that nobody would see?"  In truth I had only a few pair of
stylish boxers; they were at home in New Mexico.

He laughed.  "Touche," he said.  He drank more beer.  "Come over here," he
said.  My shorts still around my ankles, I waddled over to his chair, but I
remained in a standing position.  My crotch--now a long hard lump straining
the fabric of my white jockeys--was at the perfect comfortable blow-job
level.  My heart was pounding.  The one person I most wanted to fuck on
this entire side of the planet was now inches away from me and obviously in
an amorous mood.  I hoped I didn't do anything to screw it up.

But Mill didn't blow me.  He reached out and touched the bar in my groin,
gently running his fingers over it, feeling me through the fabric.  "Get
rid of the shoes and your shorts," he commanded softly.  I took them off.
He ran his hand down my legs, brushing the hair on them, and it felt damn
good.  With his other hand he yanked on the hem of my T-shirt.  "Lose this
too," he ordered, in the same soft tone of voice.  I took my shirt off.  I
was a little self-conscious about my paunch, but then again he saw me in
the bathroom of the other hotel that day he shaved.  I'm not fat but I
could stand to lose about 20 extra pounds, and I carry most of it in my gut
and my thighs.  Mill licked his finger and traced a delicious wet line from
the waistband of my underwear up to my navel, which he fingered gently.
With his other hand, the one he'd used to stroke me, he reached down into
his own lap and unzipped his shorts.  The boxers he had on today were
mostly black with mallard ducks on them.  One duck was poking up through
the fly of his shorts, buoyed aloft by a hard rounded knob that I knew was
the head of his beautiful penis.

"There's a game I used to play when I was younger," he said, slowly feeling
his own dick through his boxers.  "I knew touching other boys was supposed
to be bad, and seeing their dicks hard was supposed to be bad too.  So I
would play with other boys where we could get each other off but we weren't
allowed to see each other, or touch each other directly with our hands or
anything else.  It sounds incredibly lame and childish, but it still makes
me hot when I think about it."

There was a strange sense of lost-youth melancholy about Mill's words.  "It
doesn't sound lame," I said.  I wasn't even disappointed that Mill wasn't
going to get me in his mouth or that, if I elected to play, evidently I
wouldn't even be able to see the hard monster poking up from his lap.  I
had the feeling this wasn't the last time we were going to have some kind
of sexual contact, so I figured there'd be other chances.

"Do you want to play?" he said, stroking my dick through my briefs as if to
add an additional incentive.

"Yeah."

Mill stood up.  He paused for a moment to drink some more Zlotny, but then
he came up right close to me.  He cupped my penis and balls firmly through
the spongy white cotton.  My hand was almost shaking when I reached over
and felt him through his boxers.

"Be careful," he said with a grin.  "Boxers are trickier.  They've got that
big fly opening and I could slip out at any moment.  If the skin of your
hand touches me, you lose."

"What happens if I lose, then?"

"Then I get to do anything I want to you."

"In that case I'm not so sure I want to win."

He moved forward.  Our lips met.  He was such a gentle and tender kisser
that it really charmed me.  His kiss was warm and wet, and our tongues
moved past each other.  I didn't even realize until the kiss was over that
he was working on me down below, stroking my penis through my underwear.
He was very good at it.  Every few seconds he would push my dick over to
the left or the right, like a windshield wiper.  Because my dick was
pressed up against me inside the briefs, the skin of my head rubbed my
groin when he did that, and it was extra stimulation on the top of my dick
which otherwise he couldn't touch.  I wondered how many guys he'd done this
to.  Probably a lot, but I didn't care.  I wasn't as good at masturbating
him through his boxers as he was doing me, but when he began kissing me
again, more forcefully this time, and making faint little whimpering
noises, I knew he was enjoying it.

We could hear the chatter of a machine gun from somewhere not far from the
hotel.  I don't think either one of us gave it a second thought.  This was
deliciously sweet and forbidden.  It wasn't a blow job or a butt fuck or
some other kind of full-on sex, and that was the point.  For some reason
what we were doing was even hotter in a subtle kind of way.  Precum was
leaking out of my dick in a steady supply, and as Mill moved it back and
forth inside my underwear it started to make a large wet streak spanning my
crotch.  The way he was doing me, the pleasure was somehow muted, but on
another level I could feel it building up very subtlely.  I moaned while I
kissed him and my hands caressed his long hard dick, the warm balls hanging
low inside his boxers.  Our bellies were pressed against each other and I
could feel the itchy little scrape of Mill's half grown-back body hair on
the smooth skin of my stomach.  It was fantastic!

Finally Mill let go of me and dropped to his knees at my feet,
necessitating that I let go of him too.  At first I thought he was
abandoning the game and couldn't resist pulling down my underwear and
getting my stiff, precum-slicked rod between his lips.  But he didn't.  He
must have had a thing for using beer as a personal lubricant, because he
picked his bottle of Zlotny off the table and doused the front of my briefs
with it.  I giggled as it foamed, but it looked disgusting, like I'd pissed
myself.  There was a method to his madness though and I soon found out what
it was.  He started to suck the beer from the fabric, while at the same
time licking and stimulating my dick.  He licked all up and down my shaft,
all the way to my balls.  He used his tongue and his teeth to press the wet
fabric of my underwear to as close a contour of my dick as possible.  The
pleasure I hadn't been feeling fully suddenly made itself known.  Mill was
giving me a blow job through my briefs, something I hadn't thought about
before.  "Oh, man, that feels great," I gasped.  I couldn't think of what
to do with my hands.  I ended up twining my fingers together on the top of
my head, something I'd seen Mill do when Mara blew him.  I arched my back
and concentrated on the feelings vibrating through my dick.  With his hands
Mill caressed my ass, but never once slipped his fingers under or through
the fabric of my underwear.

I was so used to jacking off in the closet and trying not to be heard that
right now it felt so good and so liberating to be approaching orgasm and
not have to worry about how loud I was being.  I don't usually talk a lot
during sex but this time I couldn't shut up.  "Oh, God, that's great.  Aw,
yeah.  Keep doing that.  Ohh man that feels good.  Mill, dude, I think I'm
gonna cum.  I think I'm gonna cum...shit, man, you're gonna make me
cum...you're making me cum, I'm gonna fucking cum in my underwear man, oh
Jesus OHHH GOD..."

He used his hands and his mouth to draw the orgasm out of me.  He had his
mouth positioned right over the head of my dick, which was so painfully
hard it was pulling the waistband of my underwear away from my belly, and
with one hand he rubbed along my shaft and with his other he gently
squeezed my balls.  The pressure on my nuts was what finally detonated the
explosion.  I finally shut up.  I held my breath as I came--something I was
used to doing while trying to be quiet in the closet--my hands never
leaving the top of my head, my fingers clenching tightly together.  I must
have shot ten or twelve hard spurts of cum into my briefs, and Mill was
down there sucking it up as it oozed and soaked through the fabric.
Finally he backed away.  The front of my briefs was totally see-through
now, completely soaked with precum, warm Zlotny, Mill's spit and my own
semen.  It never even crossed my mind that you could blow somebody that
way, but I'm not that creative in matters of sex.  Mill's little
preadolescent game had turned to be pretty hard-core after all.  I had to
tell myself it was OK to breathe again.  I exhaled heavily.

"Good?" he said, hauling himself to his feet and reaching for the
Zlotny--he'd only used about half of what was left in his bottle to wet me
down.

"Fucking incredible, man."  I knew that the wet stuff on my underwear would
get pretty gross as it got cold, so I took them off, and I was now
completely naked.

He stepped up against me again, still holding his beer in that swaggering
way I had seen him behave once with Pauli.  "You have a job to finish," he
reminded me.  He was still hard.

I started on him, doing what I was doing before, but I knew there was no
way I could match what he did to me.  So I forfeited the game.  I jerked
his dick a little too far to the left, and it slipped out of the fly of his
mallard-duck boxers and slapped against the palm of my other hand.
"Whoops," I said, but I didn't let go.  I gently massaged his head,
pressing the precum out of his slit and against my palm.  It felt good,
slippery and warm.

"You lose," he said, and took a swig of beer.

"I'm sorry."

"Hey, man, shit happens."

"What's my punishment?"

I thought for sure he was going to make me take him in my ass--and I didn't
quite know how to tell him that I wasn't too keen on that--but again he
surprised me.  "Stand straight up with your legs touching.  Put your hands
on your head again like before."  I did.  He reached down and rubbed me
between my thighs, but he didn't touch my balls or my now-slack dick.  He
looked up at the top of my head.  "You're what, six-one?"

"Yeah."

"What do you weigh, about one-eighty?"

"One-ninety-five," I said, a little self-conscious.  "Not a bit of it
muscle."

He set his beer on the table and stripped off his boxers so he was naked
too.  They lay in a heap on the wooden floor next to my wet briefs.  He got
right up against me again.  "This only works if your partner is taller than
you," he said.  "And Pauli can't do it because his legs are too skinny.
But you've got nice meaty thighs."  Suddenly I knew what he had in mind,
and I was right.  A moment later I felt the thick hot arrow of his penis
pushing gently between my thighs.  Mill was about four inches shorter than
me, which was perfect.  My balls hung down so they rested right on top of
his dick.  He put his arms around me, low around my middle, and clasped his
hands together at the small of my back.  I returned his embrace, wrapping
my arms around his back.  Mill buried his face in my neck, kissing me
gently, and started rocking back and forth with his hips, pulling his dick
in and out between my thighs.  If someone had described this kind of sex to
me I would have thought you'd need lube to do this properly, but the way he
was doing it was absolutely perfect.  The light dusting of hair on my
thighs generated the perfect amount of friction with his penis.  Every time
he thrust between my legs his dick brushed the bottom of my ball sack
lightly, and it felt good.  I had just cum, but my dick grew to about
half-erection, pressed between my belly and Mill's.  I kissed his neck and
his beautiful smooth tan shoulders as he continued.  Our lips met a few
times, but not so often.  I was really starting to enjoy this, and I hugged
Mill closer to me.  He responded by tightening his embrace and pumping
faster.  It was a huge turn-on.  I guess what I like about it is that I was
doing something for him that he could not possibly do with Mara (who was
too short) or Pauli (who was too thin).  Only I could please him in this
way, and that was pretty cool.

Soon he was panting and pumping faster and faster between my thighs.  His
nails were starting to dig in to the small of my back.  He kissed my neck
with greater intensity.  "Dan," he whispered breathlessly.  "I'm going
to--oh honey--Danny, Danny, Danny, oh God yes..."  Nobody calls me Danny.
I hate being called Danny.  But somehow I liked it from him.  I tried to
hug him as hard as possible.  I wanted to fucking crush the guy in my
embrace, not only to intensify the effect for him as he approached orgasm,
but to hug him in a way that probably neither Mara nor Pauli could easily
do.  Again he responded by tightening his own hold on me.  It felt like my
ribs were going to cave in.  His hips bucked furiously and then he cried
out and I felt a warm, wet explosion between my thighs.  Some of his cum
splattered down the back of my legs but a good portion of it landed on the
floor behind me.  Slowly our grips relaxed but we were still hugging
loosely.  He smiled and we kissed again.  "That was awesome," he said.  His
dick was still clamped between my thighs, but now it was softening, and
felt slippery.  "Wish you could try it, I'm too short, unless I stand on a
box or something."

"We can try it laying down," I said hopefully.

"Naah, doesn't work as well.  You've got to be standing so your leg muscles
have some tension in them."

He pulled away from me and reached for his beer.  As he drank it we heard
machine-gun fire again, reminding us of where we were and what was going
on.  And I thought of something that instantly depressed me: this guy's
engaged.  It seemed really strange that I'd done what I just did with a guy
who was going to be married, and whose fiancee knew he did this kind of
thing.  But, to each their own I guess.

"I could use a cold shower," Mill said after he drained his beer bottle.
"You're welcome to stay here in my room tonight."  I knew that was an
invitation for further sex later on, and I quickly agreed, figuring I'd
take advantage of Mara's absence for as long as possible.  I said I should
go next door and get some things.  I pulled on my shorts,
commando-style--my underwear was totally trashed--and didn't bother with my
shirt.  I went to my room, picked up my toothbrush, toothpaste, shampoo and
soap (which are all very valuable commodities here in Moesia), and wandered
over next door.  Mill was in the shower, and he was singing Pink Floyd.
That seemed a strange thing to be singing in the shower, but go figure.  He
was singing a song from Momentary Lapse of Reason that I remembered hearing
on the radio the day before I left for Moesia.  Like his words about the
forbidden game he'd played as a kid, it touched me with a bit of
melancholy.

For the rest of the day we hung out in bed, drank Zlotnys, listened to news
reports on the radio, and fooled around.  About two hours after our little
"game" we got down to serious again.  We started touching each other and we
were both hard as bricks, and we couldn't get enough of exploring each
other's bodies with our hands, rubbing our hands over the other's belly and
his chest, poking and tweaking nipples, dipping a finger in the clefts of
our asses.  Then Mill shifted around in bed so he was facing the opposite
direction from me.  He said nothing but I knew this was an invitation to a
69, and I wasn't about to give it up.  For the first time I slipped Mill's
long hard penis between my lips.  As soon as my mouth touched him he
started making these strange noises, half-moaning, half-giggling, but I
knew he was happy.  He took my dick into his mouth.  From what I had
observed of his actions with Pauli I knew that Mill could deep-throat
pretty good, and he spared me none of the effort he's expended on Pauli.
When I felt a gentle warm pressure on the head of my dick and a sucking
sensation on my balls I realized Mill had taken me all the way, and the
pressure I was feeling was me pressing my tip against the very back of his
throat.  We sucked for as long as we both could stand it.  He came first,
my mouth suddenly filling with the bitter salty shock of semen.  I haven't
been with many guys but I was experienced enough to know that the trick
with having a guy cum in your mouth is to swallow as many times and as
quickly as you can, because the faster you can swallow his load the less
you'll taste it.  After the first initial blast I didn't even taste Mill,
his sperm went from his dick right down into my belly in half a second, and
he moaned contentedly and his body shuddered and I knew he'd liked it.  It
sounds weird, but I wasn't even sure of exactly when I came.  Maybe I had
too many Zlotnys--we drank down all the rest of Mill's stash that
night--but I remember thinking I was going to cum and then I felt a soft
warm peace spreading inside of me, and it was over, but I didn't remember
actually ejaculating though I was sure I must have.  Mill reassumed his
position in the bed, putting his arms around me and pulling me close.
"You're like a big warm teddy bear," he said, nuzzling his head against my
neck.

"I'm not hairy enough," I said.  "Aren't bears supposed to be furry?"

He chuckled.  "OK, you're a big warm SHAVED teddy bear.  Big deal."  He
patted my paunchy stomach, and his body went limp as if he was supremely
comfortable, and he probably was.  I certainly was.

We might have slept for a few minutes, but we heard gunfire and police
whistles and a clinking, rumbling sound out on the street that could only
have been a tank.  "I guess the Securitorsk is still at it," Mill said
absently, his body not even moving.

"I hope they'll lift the curfew tomorrow.  I'm getting sick of being
trapped in this hotel."

"It'd be more fun if the bar in the basement was open."  He lay still for a
while and then said, "Dan, do you want to, you know, hang out once in a
while, like we did tonight, for the rest of the summer?  I mean, if you're
interested in doing this again."

I thought he would never ask.  "Sure, I'm interested."  But I had to know:
"What about Pauli?"

"Pauli's turned out to be a pretty big disappointment.  Hell, you've seen
him through your little peep hole.  It almost took a goddamn United Nations
resolution to get him to let me in his ass."

I thought Mill should know the truth, so I chose that moment to say, "I
gotta tell you, anal isn't really my thing.  I mean, I could top if I had
to, and I guess I do think about it once in a while, but bottoming isn't
something that I really enjoy."

"It's all right," Mill replied lazily.  "I can tell you'd rather suck a
dick than do just about anything else though, wouldn't you?"

"You got that right."

"Yeah, me too.  It's all right.  We'll get along fine.  Hell, we had a
blast tonight didn't we?  And we're still supposed to be under martial
law."

I honestly don't remember what we said after that, or if we said anything.
We fell asleep in each other's arms.  Despite the gunfire and the tanks
rattling and the shouts of police and Securitorsk agents in the street in
front of the Metropole, we were too exhausted to stay awake.  It seemed
like Mill and I were in a little glass bubble injected into this strange
country, and whatever happened, somehow we would never let it touch us.  It
was an odd feeling.

Martial law must have been lifted sometime during the night, because toward
dawn the door of the hotel room opened and I was awakened by footsteps.  I
heard someone clicking the lamp on the table, but electricity is shut off
to most districts in Berzy after midnight so of course the light didn't
work.  "Shit," I heard a voice mutter--a female voice.  I knew right away
it was Mara.

She fumbled, a match flared and a moment later touched light to a candle.
Most people in Berzy have candles or lanterns at the ready in case they
need light when the electricity is off.  She held up the candle and saw
Mill (who was still asleep) all wrapped up in my arms.  If she had a
reaction I didn't perceive it.  She tripped on one of the many empty Zlotny
bottles lying along the floor.  I could tell she was tired.  I'd be too if
I had to spend the last two days under curfew with Dmitri in that fleatrap
place that served as our other dorm.

"Dan," she said.  "You guys all right?"

Mill awakened and raised his head off my bicep, which had been his pillow
for most of the last hour.  I could barely feel my arm at all.  "Oh, hi,
honey," he said sleepily.

She sat down in one of the chairs and began untying her shoes.  "Looks like
it was quite a party," she commented.  Her shoes clomped to the floor.
"Good night, Dan.  No offense, but you're lying in my spot.  We'll see you
at breakfast."

I sat up in bed.  I realized I was naked and my briefs were lying on the
floor next to the chair Mara sat in.  "My shorts are over there by the foot
of the bed," I said.  "Would you mind handing them to me?"  She threw me my
Bermuda shorts.  I put them on under the covers, commando-style again.
Then I got up.  "Good night," I said.  "Glad you made it back."

"Yeah.  Good night."  She smiled weakly.  It struck me for the first time
that Mara might be jealous.  What reason would she have to be jealous of
me?  If their arrangement was as casual and understanding as Mill made it
out to be this afternoon, then she had nothing to fear from me--did she?

I had enough energy to stumble back to my own room, close the door, and
collapse onto my bed.  I woke up this morning, a hand thrown across my
eyes, wearing my Bermuda shorts with no underwear.  My shoes, socks,
T-shirt and jockey briefs were still in Mara and Mill's room.  Evidently
I'd left my TV switched on when I left my room yesterday, and when the
electricity was powered up it came back on, showing news footage of the
tanks rolling through the streets.  The riots and martial law was over, and
the Provisional Council--the interim government that had ruled Moesia since
the revolution--claimed to be fully in charge.  I slept about another five
hours, went down to the cafe and ate some greasy bacon, and came back to
write this entry.

What now?  You got me.  I guess I'm Mill's lover now, and I'm the flavor of
the month, replacing Pauli.  I also get the strange feeling that I've
become Mara's enemy, and I don't know why.  Whatever happens, the endgame
has yet to be played.

*** *** ***

July 5, 1990.

It's been almost two weeks since I've written.  I should be keeping up
better with this journal, but honestly I really don't have the energy.

The political situation continues to deteriorate.  It's 10 days now until
the presidential elections, and Manorszky is riding high.  Today he was
parading through the streets in a limo with a loudspeaker on the top of it,
broadcasting that he's "pro-democracy" and will "make Moesia great again."
The other day there was a demonstration in the central square of Berzy, and
a bunch of Communist sympathizers, mostly young people, started some shit
with some off-duty Securitorsk officers.  There was a fracas and two kids
got killed.  But at least the city isn't under martial law, and we don't
see tanks in the streets, though Mill says there will be plenty of trouble
when the elections happen.  Evidently the U.S. State Department is
considering warning Americans to leave Moesia, which would mean the abrupt
end of our summer abroad, but no Americans have been harmed here yet, and
it doesn't look likely that any will be.

Things have been really strange in the Mara, Mill, Pauli and Dan Show.
Since the day I slept with Mill I've been watching carefully through the
peephole in the closet, but I haven't been watching sexual things.  Right
after the martial law thing she got sort of sick, and I knew she wasn't
feeling well--she was on the rag, I suspect, and two days of being trapped
at Dmitri's beck and call probably took a lot out of her.  She hasn't been
back to see Dmitri since martial law.  Nor has she done much with her
boyfriend.  After the 4th of July party that the American students had
yesterday evening she blew him, and for a little while it was like old
times, but it's obvious she's stewing about something.  Mill puts on his
cheerful face every day and acts like nothing is wrong, but it seems
obvious to me that there's a rift in their relationship.  I wonder, am I
the cause of it?

I have had sex with Mill a few times since Midsummer's Eve.  One evening
about a week after that, Mara was gone--she was attending some kind of
meeting with the female Moesian students, evidently some kind of
birth-control or women's rights type of thing--and Mill suggested we go
downstairs to Radulesci's bar.  We had a couple of beers, watched the
wrestling and I even won some money betting on the jerk-off trough.  I
can't say it's very arousing watching four smelly Moesian guys masturbate
into a metal trough for money, but it's definitely something you don't see
in the States.  When we had enough to drink we went up to my room.  I lay
on my bed, a bottle of Zlotny in my hand, and I asked Mill, "Do you want to
play that game again?  The no-looking, no-touching game."  He smiled at me,
and he began to take off his shoes.

"We can play any time you want, Dan," he said.

"Can I ask you something, dude?"

"Sure."



"Is Mara jealous of me?"

Mill laughed.  "Mara isn't capable of being jealous, man.  It's all right.
Don't worry about anything."

I really like being with Mill.  He's terrific in every way.  The sex is
great, and I feel really great with him, very peaceful and safe.  I like
having him in my arms.  When we're laying together after sucking each other
off, which we do almost every time we're together now, it's really hard to
believe he's getting married to Mara.  Sometimes when I'm not with him I'll
still watch from the peep hole in my closet.  The weather has been so warm
lately that it's rare to see Mill at home with a shirt on, and I love just
looking at him, his tanned back, his dark nipples, the black hair that's
growing back on his chest and his belly.  I notice that--he hasn't shaved
in quite some time.  Is that a sign that he's on the outs with Mara?

Pauli has been a perfect bastard to me lately.  Every time I try to talk to
him or approach him in class or when we're on a field trip or something, he
shies away from me, or he's just plain rude.  "I no like Metallica
anymore," he told me one day, as if this was supposed to hurt me.  "I like
Debbie Gibson now.  She hot!"  As if to emphasize the fact he showed me his
school binder, and the cover was plastered with pictures of Debbie Gibson
he cut out of magazines.  I don't know who he thinks he's fooling.  Pauli's
as queer as a three dollar bill, and I was an idiot not to see it before.
It's also pretty obvious, the way he slinks around throwing sideways
glances at Mill and me, that he's had his hots stomped pretty severely.  I
didn't think he had it that bad for Mill, emotionally speaking, but I guess
he did.  Poor guy.

I was really homesick yesterday, over 4th of July.  We went to a
celebration at the other hotel, the dorm for the exchange students.  They
had an American flag and tried to grill hamburgers, but there's about three
hibachis in all of Moesia and you have to use peat and cow pies because
there's no briquettes.  Imagine what a hamburger barbecued over cow patties
tastes like--not to mention what kind of bacteria will take up permanent
residence in your lower intestine once you eat one.  They showed an
American movie though, Back to the Future.  It was in English, but had
Moesian subtitles.  That was pretty wacky.  I had that old Huey Lewis song,
"Back in Time," stuck in my head til late this afternoon.  There was
nothing I wanted more than a nice warm shower, a real bona fide barbecued
steak, and my soft bed back in New Mexico.  But we have six more weeks
here.  I'll make it, somehow.

*** *** ***

July 13.

Pauli was such a shit to me today.  We were all on a tour to visit the
gallery of the National Assembly and watch the pathetic joke that Moesia
has for a legislature try to get something done.  I was waiting in the line
and Pauli pushed right in front of me, really blatantly.  I told him he
should go back and wait his turn, and he turned to me, gave me his meanest
look and said, "Shut the fook up.  You American faggot!"  He said it loud
so everyone could hear.  So I said in Moesian, equally loudly, "The howling
dog does not complain that the rooster crows too loud," which is one of
their favorite sayings, roughly equivalent to our thing about the pot and
the kettle.  Pauli turned on his heel and gave me a pretty vicious shove.
Naizhetzku broke it up, but Pauli glared at me pretty meanly.  The kid
definitely has a bug up his ass.

Over dinner at the cafe I asked Mill if Pauli knew that we were sleeping
together.  "No," he replied, "I mean, not technically."  I asked what that
meant and Mill explained that he'd just said to Pauli he didn't think it
was a great idea that they get together again, and when Pauli accused him
of sleeping with someone else, Mill didn't deny it.

"Oh, great.  Well, he obviously figured out there's something up between
us.  He's been totally mean to me lately--you saw what he did today."

"Ah, Pauli's harmless," Mill shrugged.  "He'll get over it.  He would have
had to deal with me leaving in a month anyway--better that he gets it out
of his system now."

Mill and I haven't had sex in about four days.  But he and Mara haven't
been at it in that time either.  I'm starting to get pretty randy.  When I
was back in my room after dinner I had a pretty exquisite jack-off session.
I was replaying in my mind the time I saw Mill and Mara both fuck Pauli,
except I put myself in the middle instead of him.  That got me hot enough
to start masturbating, but after a while somehow in my mind the positions
changed.  Now it was Mill standing on the bed, his legs apart, and me on my
knees beneath him, pulling on his hips to draw his penis as deep into my
throat as possible.  And at the same time my own rock-hard meat was
slamming in and out of Mara's pussy, which was so wet it was dripping down
her thighs.  It had been a long time since I've cum inside a woman, and
there's nothing quite like that feeling.  I lost it and shot a wad that
splattered all over my stomach, my chest, the bed and even a little on the
floor.  It was certainly the best jack-off I've had since the time I
actually watched the threesome.

I have half a mind to ask Mill if he'd be interested in a threesome with
Mara.  I don't have the guts to ask if I can be in the position of actually
fucking her--I get the feeling Mill reserves that privilege for
himself--but, as awesome as Mill is by himself, I'm incredibly turned on by
the idea of including Mara in our activities.  After all it seems the
natural progression of our little triangle.  But I haven't asked yet.
While I don't think Mill would have a problem with it, I wonder if Mara
would.  I wish I knew the right thing to do.

TO BE CONTINUED.

***  ***  ***

Stories By This Author:

Last Days in the Dorm
/nifty/gay/college/last-days-in-the-dorm
(A student stumbles into an encounter with an attractive Native American
college student the night before moving out of his dorm.)

Lust In Iraq
/nifty/gay/military/lust-in-iraq/
(A war-weary sergeant becomes infatuated with a young PFC recently
transferred to his unit.)

Rip the Jacker
/nifty/bisexual/masturbation/rip-the-jacker/
(An outwardly well-adjusted high school student becomes a serial
masturbator, causing a tremendous stir in the community.)

Shifter
/nifty/gay/sf-fantasy/shifter/
(A college student's sexual fantasies have the unintended effect of
transporting him backwards in time.)

Wet Lucidity
/nifty/gay/masturbation/wet-lucidity
(An exploration of the link between wet dreams and lucid dreams.)