(Part One: Impaled)
I was so beautiful I couldn’t look away. From the strong and proud stature in my brow to the aching grimace of pleasure on my lips to the protruding hunch of my shoulders to the forced curvature of my spine down to my vivacious buttocks held highly on readily bent legs and bracing knees – the wholeness of myself a melodious earthy brown, well lit by the darkside. I stared into my own eyes for a moment, not such an easy task as I was being rocked to and fro by the precious weight of the most delectable sin, and I posed for myself as if I were my own camera. Simply enraptured, I realized once and for all after all of these years that I can be a marvel to look at. With the man behind me and the man beside me framing me so well in the mirror, in a way I had lost the shame of finding who I really am, or at least, who I can be and I fell in love with the reflection of myself.
My last two weeks in Berlin were evenly split between labor and leisure, though the specifics of both sets of tasks are not so clearly placed in the designated category one might expect. Knowing full well that time was running out I had to manage my own great (s)/expectations and make sure that becoming spent was efficient as possible.
The Nerd was a priority on the To Do list, and I regret to say that he did not make the cut due to some scheduling issues. As much as I was determined to ride the ride one last time, in hindsight I realize it was for the best that I did not once again succumb to his gracious sex – for it could have caused some unwarranted strife on behalf of my heart, for he had a certain way about him that made me think of symbiosis in and out of bed, and that was the reason I got myself into the mess that was Berlin in the first place.
After I had my last engagement with Toro (whom I didn’t tell I was soon leaving the slutty city) I realized that the chore of planning would interfere with my other duties to prepare for the end of my sojourn, so I took a blatant turn towards spontaneity and it worked out pretty well.
About a month ago, I ran into a pig that I had played with over the summer. In a delightful change in processions, he invited me over for (just) dinner – and we had a nice meal and conversation, something my American background is always craving from a lover, but a necessity I learned to shed after bedding Europeans for 5 years.
Recently we made acquaintance again through one of THOSE websites and he explained to me he was in the middle of a deep fisting session. I pardoned myself and wished him all the best, but then later when he asked me to join him and his new mate, I couldn’t refuse.
When I announced to him that I would be leaving in a few days he gave me the same look of scorn, confusion, envy and disdain that everyone had given me, proceeded with or followed by an astoundingly contradictory “…but…”.
Everything worked out better than expected – perhaps it was because I was so content with the bittersweet heightened level of attractiveness I spawned due to the fact that I was going away, as we all know people look the most beautiful when they are walking out the door. I did my best to address this circumstance with reprieve, as I did not want to cause too much of a fuss but at the same time I did state that this event was the start of my departure party. This was Wednesday and I was leaving on Sunday.
Funny enough, I had already chatted with the other “mate” as aforementioned. He was a quiet, sweet, and somewhat tender German from the east, and was also kind of a filthy pig himself.
After we all acquainted ourselves with the desires of each other we made a trek to another place where I was invited, all the way on the other side of town. It was fun taking the journey over there and we were running on adrenaline (amongst other things) so the laughter and silliness never ceased.
I was a bit taken aback when I saw what was presented before us at the next stop on the past midnight train to fuck fest. It was a rock solid, clean cut, blond haired blue eyed meaty man beast, and I will never forget the look on his face when he saw me.
We retired to the bedroom, the three of us and the two of them became quite the well matched little five-some and we all made way for each other the best we could on the mattress that was thrown onto the floor haphazardly.
The fifth party was the actual owner of the apartment, he was too young and too cute for my usual taste but altogether sexy nonetheless and rounded out the school of gents as being the youngest member.
I went straight to work on Man Beast and I found out right away that the clean cut demeanor was a facade for a rather disturbing pervert underneath. The explicative phrases coming out of his mouth did not match his sweet cherub face and it was awe inspiring to say the least. He was sweaty in the best possible kind of way that highlighted the definition of hours long stints at the gym and his seemingly purebred German essence. And then he pulled out a bottle of baby oil…
Once again I had entered a scene that I have come too familiar with – that special place in the rabbit hole where men are driven into a euphoric, child-like state of pleasure where there are no impediments to happiness. This Man Beast had been taken over by The Pig and while he was taking turns fucking him and deeply fingering and playing with his hole, he was whispering very naughty and filthy things in The Man Beast’s ears (in German) which made him spread his legs even farther past how hyper extended they already were. It was riveting to watch.
I busied myself with this show for awhile and then led my eyes over to the other two gents, The Older Pig and The Cute Twink who were also fornicating appropriately, sharing fluids and appendages as one might expect in this sort of situation.
I took note of the array of mirrors that were adjacent to the makeshift fuck mat that was erected, a wall of closets more specifically, and I was bold enough to get up and turn on the lights to take it all in. I marveled at the sight of all of us, skyclad and greasy, playing like panthers - I felt like the star of some otherworldly show, almost as if I were looking into another dimension. I thought to myself, “I don’t look as bad as I thought I would…” my body riddled with the residuals from the affect of Berlin.
I fucked all of their holes goodbye.
I had been pondering the idea of seemingly the best way to celebrate mines exit but I was not yet willing to bite down on the negligible albeit apparent expense I’d have to dole out in order to experience it. It had been one of my “treat yourself’ pastime forays that always guaranteed the most heightened level of fun, experience and pleasure in sex and socialization without the grating tumult of online dating or gay bar cruising. I had not participated my favorite recreation since my birthday last year
. When plans fell through on my final Friday and I was at my wit’s end trying not to go crazy, I made the decision to go to the sauna.
You know that feeling you get on the day of a school field trip or when you are standing in line for a roller coaster or you are waiting at the airport for your lover to arrive? That.
That is the feeling I get when I am on my way to the sauna.
I was so giddy and jittery and excited and nervous because I knew hands down that I was about to get enough European, no muss no fuss zipless fucks to satiate my lust until the long term of time would have to pass until my next one would arrive in the USA.
I paid the unacceptable but understandable fare, set up my private room, rinsed out my ass, took a soap-less shower (pheromones are a necessity for mating calls), took a brief tour around the place to check out the goods, settled into my room with my crisp white towel sprawled across my taut body and waited for the magic to happen.
The first pursuit was nothing short of a surprise and was more than I thought that I wanted. Bluntly, he was a fat dude and for the longest time I had been craving heft – but it had been lacking in my life because I was regularly fucking The Tall Guy
, latently aforementioned in the opening text.
He was a bit older too, perhaps early fifties, and had snowy gray hair, dare I say in the style of Hitler, but his mustache was a bit fuller and wider than the Austrian’s, and he was wearing gold rimmed wire glasses. Yes, his eyes were blue.
He had a sturdy body, matched by his cock, which I assumed was the product of a small blue supplement to accommodate the loose thread between psychology and physiology.
He too was surprised, when I invited him in he was completely unsure of himself but we made ease of this with my horny whim that involved a rather aggressive blowjob on my part that lasted the perfect amount of 1.5 minutes until he couldn’t take it anymore: seeing my ass up in the air like that.
He spit it in, the blunt, thick, ice hard object, and I made a noise kind of like a death rattle, which was appropriate considering that this event was the wake for the demise of my spectacular sex life.
His cheeks filled up with blood and I felt his throbbing manness inside of me. The best part was not his prick, or the bittersweet taste of him, or the look in his eyes, or the way he fucked me. It was the heft.
The weight of the man on me is what brought me the most pleasure. He was a big guy, but I hope that you will refrain from picturing grotesque rolls and unsightly amounts of unfortunate looking moles and hairs. This man was manly, and that, as they say, is that. I spare talk of measurements because there is no need to pigeonhole natural, genetic beauty. His largeness against me made me feel safe and protected and desired and worshipped and wanted and maybe even a little bit hated.
Then things got real.
It became a competition of fuck between us and my faint, whimpering turned into uproarious tiger-like grunts and growls as he dogged me in the way it’s supposed to be done: taking the bottom by the waist and putting your back into it.
No stranger to these scenes, I did not turn this man away because I knew he had the capacity to try harder rather than be one of those beautiful spoilt lazy and troubling boys who have not yet learned their place (portent) – this guy had been around the block, he knew what he was doing, and he tried harder.
I dared to open the door and I noticed it was already ajar and there was a school of white towel clad men peeking into my once private quarters. I was thrilled. I pushed the door open more and I saw this very tall bearded man who was perhaps a few years younger than the man pounding me from behind. I invited him in and in an act of defiance he closed the door behind him, leaving about 3 guys outside beyond the fourth wall and the reasonable part of myself said in my head, “It’s okay DeVo. No need to get gangbanged right away. The night is still young!”
I realized once the beard came in that there wasn’t a lot of talking. Sometimes I like to introduce myself to these Germans and then proceed with the fucking, but if I’ve learned anything about Berliner Germans is that it is not necessary at all. I gave a bob of the head and then I turned into a socket – a power and energy source for these two brutes, and as they flipped me over and around, taking turns on my pulsing hairy slippery man cunt, devouring me with their lust, I smiled in spite of myself, enveloped in delight.
And then the cock fight started.
The taller, hairier second coming guy was pretty voyeuristic – and that was nice for some reason even though I hate being watched. I did my acrobatic best to accommodate him on the bed, as I was on my hands and knees (again) facing the wall and the Hefty Old Man was standing beside the bed taking my ass – so The Beard had to sneak past me and in front of me to poke his rather long, sausage reminiscent dick through my lips.
The Beard was giving me this look, and I wouldn’t put it past him if I was the first and only black guy he hooked up with. I had seen this particular look many times. He withdrew from me and pushed The Hefty Old Man out of the way and gave his cock a taste of my hole and then they tag-teamed me in the most delectable way – the slow and steady mesmerized motion of The Beard followed by the tsunami pressure of fuck from The Hefty Old Man – and back and forth again, over and over, each one of them trying to prove their masculinity not only to me but each other.
The Hefty Old Man lifted me from behind by the thighs (again, by the thighs) and began to impale me onto his cock over and over and over and over again. I grabbed the back of his neck, not only for balance but to keep out of his way – for I wanted to allow him room to do whatever he wanted to do to take me. When he pulled out we were dripping everywhere.
I took a long break from anyone and eventually my heartbeat returned to a somewhat normal rate. There were a plethora of dudes of all shapes, sizes and varying levels of hotness running about the place and I noticed that for some reason my room was on what I deemed “Escort Avenue” – that is a lot of the rooms on the same hallway as mine were occupied by obvious callboys, most of which presumed I was one too except for an exquisite looking Turkish one who entered my room unsolicited and asked if I needed “a good fucking” and I replied with some smartass rebuttal involving the fact that this is something everyone needs and when I pantomimed the hint of money by rubbing my forefingers against my thumb and he gave a vertical head nod of acknowledgement, I humbly refused by nodding my head in the horizontal way. He was hot though.
I became a bit impatient by how nonresponsive everyone was. Truth be told there was an obvious draw towards substance abuse in many forms and people were diligently pursuing quickies in the steam room and darkroom, two areas I try to avoid at all costs because I much prefer to see what I’m fucking. I took a chance and made it over to the showers, flabbergasted by how cold the water was and made quite the comical scene running from one stall to the next trying to get a grip on an iota of warm washing liquid. I made a few fans and then they followed me into the steam room.
The steam room can be really hot – figuratively and literally, hence the problem. It is the perfect place to augment and exacerbate sexual desire as far as I am concerned.
One thing that I really despise about public sex and cruising is the abundant amount of necessity for obligatory foreplay. I think blow jobs are extremely intimate, so when an encounter starts with that and there is no kissing or much of anything else, it can feel incredibly awkward being down there or having someone down on you for so long. I really like getting to the fucking as soon as possible, but the whole mystery of top and bottom and that plastic sheath device kind of foils the attempt to make some magic happen (sometimes).
I fooled around in the steam room, sweaty and annoyed, but I felt up a man I would certainly later take heed to if I noticed him out in the open. This is a usual tactic of mine I call “Hit and Run” – that’s when I measure someone up in the steam room, duly note his structure and particulars, and if I seem him later, I accost him and invite him back to my room.
After another shower I went to one of my favorite places – the whirlpool. There were two men in there already and I kind of clumsily made my way into the tub with them with my loud, obnoxious American German, “Enshulligon!” I yelled as I almost fell on top on one of them, a large, bald Polish guy I had already talked to for a few moments prior.
The other man was a bit older than The Hefty Old man from earlier and he was very thin and wasting away, so as a courtesy I allowed him to take my foot and rub it against his soggy balls while he masturbated furiously, with a completely oblivious look on his face as though nothing was happening. Nasty bastard.
I had a lively conversation with the Polish Meatball, and he actually made me laugh a few times and that was nice. It was a great feeling that wasn’t physical though he was also fingering my hole under the water while I casually played with his dick, also under water.
Some rough looking Mediterranean guy jumped into the tub and slowly but surely took over where the Polish Meatball left off and the next thing I know I was being brutally finger fucked by the Mediterranean guy, so harsh and intense in fact that The Polish Meatball couldn’t handle it and had to get out of the tub. The Nasty Bastard followed suit (assumingly due to the fact that I could no longer tend to his old balls) and then the Mystery Man from the steam room replaced him (I could tell by the fur on his ass and the curve of his cock that he was the same man from the darkness).
I liked the Mediterranean man – though later I found out that despite his dark complexion, eyes, hair and demeanor, he was “very jerman” as he explained.
Did I ever tell you how much I love being fingered?
Almost as good as a cock or tongue, the work of a man’s hands sans fist can be one of the most delightful parts of foreplay for me. He started rather abruptly, after several slow, methodical and quite Teutonic attempts to warm me up to the idea of him. Frankly, he looked like a busted, poor man’s version of Ray Liota, and despite the forgiving lighting scheme that accompanied most of this (and virtually every) sauna, he was still a bit hard to look at. But I let his deft fingers inside of me and I started flailing in the tub very dramatically like that scene in “Showgirls”. I laughed at myself.
The Mystery Man helped with my rapture at that moment and then I apologized and explained I had to go. I had gotten to that place where I was losing control and I was scared of where that might take me. The Mediterranean Man held me in a gentle, lovingly kind of way as he took one and then two and then three fingers in and out and in and out and in and out of my hole over and over again as I used his ripe dick as a joystick of pleasure, adjusting my grip to indicate whether or not I needed him to go harder, deeper, etcetera…
Through the cloudy crowd of escorts, past the bar with the adorable bartender, onto the cyber café with the idiot cruising online when there is a buffet feast of fuck before him, into the actual sauna of the sauna and the modernized car wash like shower stalls and then back again past the bar, this time with a wink to the cute bartender and a quick glance at the visible white towel space between the legs of the open legged smokers in the smoking longue and into the special private deluxe rooms and the sling area and the glory holes and back down again to the basement floor with the cage, one of my favorite places.
It is a bit humorous I guess that with all of the historic monuments in Berlin that this dark, round, caged-in pleather covered fuck mattress would be one of the most nostalgic structures tucked away in my memory. Just the sight of it again, perhaps for the last time, made me a bit queasy with longing. Luckily I was distracted from any lingering sentimentality due to the 3 rather striking playmates that were engaged inside of it.
I did what everyone always does: I walked slowly around the cage seductively I guess and then ventured off into the darkness where I was half-ass approached by one of two guys I couldn’t see and tried to follow the sounds of the slapping and moaning and ended up bumping my head into a wall and then virtually into another maze runner, and then exiting after the frustrating circumstances of it all.
I made it back to the large cage and I took no qualms about entering. Though the risk was high that I would be rejected in such an open space (hence the former ritual as described) I took a chance because one of the guys was EXACTLY my type, I had being black on my side (I was the only one in the whole joint with any color on my skin), and it was my last fuck day in Berlin.
The guy in question was at the service of a rather beautiful and passive (yes, blond) young German who was wearing a pair of those open ended Addicted brand underwear, revealing his rotund buttocks that were faintly littered with little pink razor bumps that were not unappealing but rather made him look more real and natural looking, almost like a counteractive compliment to his stunningly beautiful visage; it made the untouchable, touchable.
The man inside of him had that high school principal look to him that I’ve come to love and loathe so much. He was remarkably tall and pale and had acquired a reasonable amount of male pattern baldness that matched his thick 80s porn mustache inappropriately enough for me to set my sights on him. The friend next to the both of them was another middle aged man with spiky gray hair (that of course used to be blond) and he was wanking his average dick along to the beat of the glaring techno music and the rhythm of The Principal’s cock into The Student’s ass.
I approached, like a cat, wondering if any one or two of them wanted to pet me and as it turns out – all parties were interested except the one I wanted.
While I had my mouth wrapped around Spikey’s dick, someone’s fingers ended up inside of me again, as if it were some type of prayer answered that I could again get one of the few of my favorite things. I will be honest per usual and explain that the guy doing it was horrid and pretty much what everyone would consider a troll. He was a two towel kind of guy, lost, human, ugly, but sweet. I let him work on my hole for a bit of time, not so much out of charity or pity for him, perhaps for myself.
I didn’t get around to screwing The Principal. I was pissed off but at the same time I was relieved because he had one of the most enormous penises I’ve ever seen and again I had to hold back that urge to push extremes, as I’ve seen and heard and been involved with on the other end so many times in Berlin. I didn’t need to be gangbanged, I didn’t need to have the biggest cock in the joint, but I wanted both of them. I really wanted them.
Cut to: The Second Perfect Fuck.
Many things happened between The Second Perfect Fuck and the final, end all, be all Perfect Fuck (the latter was my last bid adieu to the sauna and great sex altogether).
The Second Perfect Fuck came into my room just the way I wanted him to: confident, ready, willing, and hard as a fucking cinderblock. Unfortunately, the first time he came I was waiting for The Mystery Man to return to my room because after I had lost the acquaintance of The Frenchman, there wasn’t anyone who was tending to the needs of my thirst for other things beside dick and hole, so he had gone to the bar to fetch me a Coke.
“I’ll come back, this is not a problem,” The Second Perfect Fuck explained as he smiled with his eyes and gave me a kiss on the cheek while he reverted his white towel back onto his person, the thing that I really needed and wanted teasing me beneath the towering tent created between his legs. Did I mention that he too had heft?
After the finger fuck from heaven appropriated by The Mediterranean Guy in the whirlpool, I was taking long breaks with Mystery Man and though he was reasonably attractive, he was a little too clingy for me to make a move on him and he was a bit too controlling and demanding in a verbal way that I did not appreciate and he kept talking about his ex-boyfriend. And he had long fingernails. Certainly a deal-breaker for me.
All boner killer fodder aside, he had a rather effeminate friend, covered in copious amounts of hair, who flamboyantly introduced himself to me and kept trying to push us together but as it stands I ended up taking Flamboyant Guy back to my room and I invited one of the hot Turkish escorts to come into the room and I watched Flamboyant guy turn from swishy to hardcore pushy and fucked the shit out of the muscular young john, free of charge. It was one of the many highlights of my going away party.
When Flamboyant Guy and the escort departed and thanked me considering that I was instrumental in bringing the whole thing to fruition, The Second Perfect Fuck checked in on me to see if I was yet available and indeed I was.
This. Man. Fucked. Me. So. Long. And. Deep. And. Slow. And. Then. Fast. And. Hard. And…
I sucked his dick with my asshole. I turned around on that thing like a rotisserie and started to thrust myself upon him while he held me up, lifted off the bed, my ankles wrapped around his neck and I impaled myself upon him, over and over and over and over again and I was coming. I was coming so hard and as much as I didn’t want to let go – I realized that it was now or never and a glimpse of subspace came beckoning at my psyche door, but I did not answer – I pulled him out of me quickly, and then I turned around and let him do the impaling.
“Wowuh,” he spat. There was a moment when we were finished that we took each other by the arm and had that instinctual moment of wanting more than what we had to offer each other and then deftly disappeared back into avoiding such sorts of personification, we were animals and that’s what we came to do and did and it was over, no need for courtesies beyond intercourse.
“That was,” I started, panting heavily, unable to even attempt to control my breathing, “exactly what I needed. Danke!”
“Danke dir, du auch!” he didn’t need to say. The way things went, I knew that he would remember me for a long time, or at least until the next zipless fuck came along.
I ended the evening getting into a very calm fight with Mystery Man as I waited for The Perfect Guy to make it back to my room. I saw The Perfect Guy cruising me several times, most of which while I was in the company of Mystery Man who for some reason was showing signs of jealousy and possession – two huge peccadilloes for me.
The Perfect Guy was one huge muscle (with the back acne to prove it) and more one the generic side of attractiveness. He had that bodybuilder thing that I kind of hate, but conquest-wise, he was a suitable match.
I loved the cat-and-mouse of it all, being that I met him in the high end showers upstairs as I was again in another state of farce, trying to find the only stall with soap and then hurriedly running back to my original stall before the water turned off like a ingénue floozy, helpless without a cock inside of him.
His looks were very serious and very active, and I knew that despite the head-banging-against-the-wall kind of fuck I had already gotten from The Second Perfect Fuck and about a month prior when I had my final trip to one of Berlin’s most infamous fetish bars, New Action, that I was up for the threat of sexual concussion by way of this juice head gorilla with his shaved head and yes, piercing blue eyes.
He was high as a kite when he finally made it into my room and while his impressive member made it into my mouth and he was pushing and pulling and prodding at me, it was nothing short of a miracle to see him relent and lay on his back and hold his tree trunk legs in the air presenting his soft puckered hole to me and begging me with his piercing blues to stab me with my dripping dick. I did.
I started slow, as to acclimate himself with me and then just as – HE GRABBED ME BY THE BACK OF MY ASS CHEEKS AND THRUSTED ME INSIDE OF HIM.
“You pig!” I screamed for the invisible audience that may have been in the next room or outside the front door or walking past my bountiful boudoir of a room.
I fucked him hard and gentle and soft and slow and fast and deep until he was exhausted.
When he opened the door, I saw The Mystery Man looking in and on, disappointed and disgusted by me altogether. I didn’t care. “Do you need another drink?” he commanded, and I obeyed.
A few cigarettes later I explained to The Mystery Man that I was leaving and despite one last attempt for Flamboyant Man to get us together, I ended up deciding it really was finally time to go. After 12 hours of incredible, noteworthy, something to write home about sex with insatiable, unforgettable Germans, I had to get some much needed rest and prepare for my last day in Germany.
And then these two beautiful bears showed up.