Gay Temples

By: David Andrew
(© 2008 by the author)

The author retains all rights. No reproductions are allowed without the author's consent. Comments are appreciated at...

Chapter 7

Soon after that visit to Man Country when I'd at last been fucked the airline took delivery of the first of its fleet of 747's. This wasn't good news for pilots like me who'd just got commands on 707's because each 747 replaced two 707's, and since each long-haul aircraft had six crews it meant that each of the new aircraft displaced a whole lot of people. I didn't have enough seniority to make it on to the new aircraft which meant I was reduced to flying 737's around Europe, a thought that just appalled me. Before the dreaded move happened relief came from an unexpected source. An African airline was undergoing a shake-up, it had been run by Alitalia for several years, ostensibly to train their own people to do the job. However, they had never trained anyone to do anything, just took an enormous amount of money for supplying crews, engineers and management. Under the new arrangement the airline was going to buy 707's to replace Alitalia's DC 8's, and our airline was to provide crews and training until they could take over the whole thing. In other words do what the Italians should have been doing for the past several years. A friend of mine got the job of Flight Operations Manager, and knowing that I really didn't want to fly 737's offered me a two year contract.

It was a good deal, tax free salary, generous per diem allowances for each day away, and free accommodation in the Intercontinental Hotel. The routes were mainly to London & Rome, but they also flew into Frankfurt, Belgrade and Bombay. I originally had high hopes of hard nights in Frankfurt, but in fact the flights arrived in the early morning and left the same evening which meant no time to play. Belgrade and Bombay held no attractions as far as I was concerned, not sexually, nor any other way, and London was too near home. That left Rome, and we did spend a lot of time in that city, ten or twelve days a month on average. I read up everything about Rome that I could get my hands on. I read the history, the travel guides, anything. Even learned a bit of Italian. I also bought a copy if Sparticus, the so-called gay-sex guide. In Sparticus I learned that homosexuality was not unlawful in Italy, that there were gay bars, movie houses, even a gay section on a nudist beach. All good to know and very encouraging.

First time I went out looking for sex I went to the movie house listed as the best place for making contact. Went up in the gallery where the cruising was supposed to be best, confident that my smattering of the language would suffice to make a start. Well the first thing that surprised me was that the movie wasn't a gay one, not even a skin flick. I began to think that there might be two screens, and I had come into the wrong one. Then as my eyes adjusted to the dark I realized that there were only men around me, and not many of them were looking at the screen. I sat in one of the back rows, just a couple of seats from an aisle, and waited. Sure enough a man came and sat beside me, but nothing happened, he didn't even take a surreptitious look sideways. After a while I got pissed off, with this guy sitting next to me nobody else would move in. I relocated. Another man joined me, hopes rose again. After a few minutes he looked sideways, I half turned my head towards him. His foot touched mine. I spread my legs, our knees touched. He seemed to be getting nervous, fidgeting. I put my hand down casually, the fingers just touched his leg. That seemed to reassure him, his hand reached out to feel my crotch. When he felt my stiff cock behind the denim his fingers frantically pulled the zip down. I was wearing no underwear, it was all there for him. As he eased my cock out he was muttering rapidly, just like he'd unearthed a treasure of inestimable value. He bent down towards my cock, I expected to feel the warmth of his mouth, but nothing happened, he was just looking at it. I flexed my hips, lifting the head of my dick towards his mouth. Still nothing. Then he suddenly broke away, literally ran up the aisle and disappeared. Needless to say I was baffled.

Later another man joined me. My first reaction was to give him a brush off, to make up for being let down by the previous two. But then I realized that he wasn't to blame so I relaxed. This time, instead of waiting for ten minutes or so for nothing to happen, I took the initiative. I touched his foot, he pushed back. I decided to skip the knee bit and reached for his crotch. Again much muttering and heavy breathing as I found his zip. His eyes were rolling in the semi-darkness, he was gasping for air, and I still hadn't got my hand inside his pants. I found his penis, not spectacular, but it was hard and very wet at the tip. I reached around it to feel his balls.

You know how little room there is inside a pair of pants when sitting in a cinema seat, well I didn't even get my fingers around his nuts, just touched one. He rose out of the seat with a gasp that made several other customers look around. With that he was gone. However, almost immediately another man moved in beside me. The way he slid into the seat gave me the impression he knew what he wanted, and sure enough his hand was inside my pants in no time. He seemed to be genuinely pleased with what he found, pulled at my belt to release the buckle, spread my flies wide to expose the goodies. As he pealed back my pants he grew steadily more excited, muttering to himself just the way the other guys had done. Soon he had my shirt unbuttoned and pushed way back out of the way. Now I was completely exposed from my neck to my knees and his hands were running all over my body. Suddenly without any warning the house lights went on! They didn't brighten gradually, in an instant I was floodlit! The man took off like a scalded cat which caused a lot of guys look in our direction where I was desperately trying to "adjust my attire." That was enough, I went too, jerked off in the hotel.

One of the nice things about the Hilton hotel where we stayed was that it had a health club in the basement. At first I was wary of the place, I didn't want to be groping in the steam when a colleague came looming out of the mist. Anyway, after a few weeks I realized that none of my colleagues ever went to the place. One of them said it was full of fucking queers and that you couldn't go in without being molested. That sounded good to me so I checked it out. It was okay, a sort of lounge area with chaise to lie around on, very good steam room, real thick, and hot and icy plunges. One of the disadvantages was that it was only open until eight in the evening. The other disadvantage was that most of the clientele were fat Italian businessmen recovering from large Italian lunches. Wrapped from head to toe in huge, white bath-sheets they reminded me of elephant seals basking on chaise. However I did manage to make a few connections, but with the early closing it wasn't easy. First there was a language problem, I was working on that. When I did manage to make contact with a guy who looked interesting I'd suggest having a meal some place nice in town in the hope that something might develop. Most nights all that happened was that I had a pleasant meal with a pleasant stranger, then we'd part. Sometimes there was more. One evening I noticed a good looking guy, early twenties, nice ass, fine cock, it even looked good as he climbed out of the cold water plunge! I practiced my few words of Italian and we were getting on very well when he explained that he operated on a professional basis, fifty dollars up front, and whatever extra gratuity the customer cared to add for good service. I suppose I was being stupid, I couldn't see my way to paying cash even though I'd bought so many women meals and drinks just in the hope that they'd drop their knickers. I said that perhaps one day, if there were no paying customers, he'd care to join me for a meal and perhaps come back to my room. His reply amused me, he said that he never had sex for pleasure, he needed to keep his balls well filled because he guaranteed his customers that he would shoot a full load! Isn't that something? I can just imagine some stingy bastard complaining that he'd not been given a full measure of jism so he wasn't going to leave a tip!

Another time I was sitting in the lounge area catching up on the news with an English newspaper. Somewhere at the far side of the room someone did something, don't know what. "OH! Ecuuuuse meee!" I heard a voice say, very camp, very gay. Now the tricky bit was that I hadn't seen who'd spoken, there were three or four possible targets. One of them got up to go to the steam room, I contrived to get in his way, then apologized. He was Italian. One down, not long to closing time. I didn't read another word but held the paper up in the hope that the English speaking guy would be interested. The next figure to walk by looked distinctly Italian, a good body, but swarthy skin, black hair. To my surprise he paused to read the headlines as he passed my chaise. I followed him. In the steam I soon discovered that I'd hit the nail on the head. His name was Bryn (pronounced Brun, his father was Welsh) he was a marine engineer on his way to the Far East where he was to rejoin his ship.

He was a stranger to Rome, first visit, just one night and the following day, and was delighted to have someone who knew the city for company. I took him to a very good restaurant set up on a hill a short walk from the Hilton, beautiful view over the city, good food too. During the course of the meal there was absolutely no sign of that camp voice, he seemed to be totally straight. I was puzzled and really thought I'd pick on the wrong guy. When we finished we went back to the hotel where he suggested a drink in the rooftop bar. That wasn't what I wanted, but I'd decided he was straight so I went along with the idea. The place was packed, I mean jammed, there wasn't a hope of getting a drink for ages. I had an inspiration, I'd suggest a drink in my room where I had a bottle of duty free.

"How would you like to come down to my room?" he asked. "I've got a full bottle of Black Label." I laughed and admitted that I had just had the same idea.

As the door closed behind us in his room he turned to me and said with a smile, "It's hot in here isn't it? If you you're too warm in those clothes feel free to shed whatever you want to get comfortable."

"Do you mean totally comfortable?" I asked.

"Oh yes, totally and utterly comfortable!" We laughed.

By the time he'd poured the drinks I was naked and hard, and soon he was too. To me it is still a magic moment when I strip and allow a stranger, man or woman, to see my naked body for the first time. It is especially exciting when all the lights are on, nothing hidden at all. But best of all is when this moment comes after an evening of doubt and wondering, suddenly it's just the two of you, you're both naked, and there's going to be sex for sure.

When he stood in front of me with the glasses in his hands his cut penis was up and hard. I'd have said that it was almost an exact match for my own, as were his balls. We drank, then kissed, real deep. As we held each other close I could feel his cock against my stomach, it was still growing. When we moved to the bed I got another look at him, his cock was now easily two inches longer than mine.

"My God!" I exclaimed. "You just keep growing. How long is it going to get?" He laughed.

"Yes," he said, "I have a sort of two stage erection. First it gets hard, then if I'm with someone I really fancy it grows some more." I thanked him for the compliment even though I knew it was flattery. He asked me what I liked to do.

"Everything!" I said with reckless over confidence. (You know they saw there are two very dangerous times when pilots are gaining experience: when they reach one hundred hours and when they reach one thousand. At each of those levels of competence they think they know it all. By the time they get to ten thousand hours they know how nearly they came to killing themselves years before.) I guess I was at the hundred hours level, I'd fucked men so I thought I knew all about fucking. I'd been fucked once, it was a monster cock so I knew that I could take any man. And had my balls worked on so I knew all there was to know about s&m and torture.

"You like to be fucked do you?"

"Yes, I've only been fucked once, but it was fantastic." We were playing with each others balls as we spoke. He was getting rougher, I was following his lead and giving as good as I got.

"And you like a bit of pain don't you?"

"Yes..." I said a bit more tentatively, what I wanted to say didn't come easy. He increased the pressure on my nuts as though testing them, and me. "What I'd really like is to be tied up." My heart was hammering, but I'd said it.

"Well," he said, "I'd like that too." My heart leaped. "But I don't have any rope in my case. Pity, back on the ship I've got all sorts of goodies, you'd love them." My hopes faded. "Still I'm sure I've got something. How about this?" He held up a roll of duct tape. "I had to make up a package to air-freight out to the ship and thought that somehow the rest of the tape might just come in handy. Just shows eh? This'll keep your hands out of the way!"

'WOW! Yes! It is going to happen. I'm going to be tied up. He's going to take my balls and I won't be able to do anything to protect them. I can't back out now.' He was still talking but I hadn't heard a word after 'keep your hands out of the way.'

Since this is not the Authoritarian Archive I'll draw a curtain over what happened for the next little while. Don't want to lose any readers who are turned off by this sort of thing! Of course if you want to know the whole truth just ask.

When he released my wrists and ankles we had another drink, lots of ice and whisky, just a dash of water. I asked him what he'd like to do.

"I like to do what we've just done, and I like to fuck," he said simply. I wondered if he meant that he liked to be secured and worked on.

"You want to be tied too?" I asked.

"No, I like to work on men, but I don't want to be worked on, I want to fuck you."

'WOW!' I thought again. But it didn't worry me, I'd been opened up, he was long, but not as long as the man from Fort Laramie, nor was he anything like as thick. I could take him. We talked some more as we sipped our drinks. Sitting on the settee his long curving cock looked so good I wanted to gulp my drink to get back to the sex. Just knowing that that thing was going to go up my ass got me hard again. But Bryn was obviously in no hurry, he was just luxuriating in his nakedness. He told me of times when he'd smuggled young Filipino boys back on to the ship for sex, kept them for several days sometimes, feeding them with the help of a cook with whom he shared them. His glass was still half full, I wondered when we'd get to the fucking. Suddenly he seemed to come to a decision, drained his glass and slapped my upright cock.

"On the bed boy!" he snapped. That was the first time any man called me boy, I was shivering in the warm room as I went back to the bed. "Just where you were, but face down!" This was an order. When he ripped off another length of tape my breathing stopped.

"You going to secure me...?" I tried to sound confident, didn't succeed.

"Yes... You've had had it your way now I'm going to do it mine." Well, it was true, he had pleased me.

In no time I was spread out again. When he positioned himself between my legs I raised my ass to show that I was ready and willing. He used a bit of hand cream on his finger which felt good, worked it up past my sphincter which was better. Next I felt the head lodge in the opening, a little bit of pressure, then he thrust forward. Yeeoow! I could have screamed! The pain was terrible! He tried again and again and again. I absolutely had to take his cock. I'd talked so confidently there was no way I could avoid it.

"It's been a while since I was fucked," I gasped. "Just keep up the pressure, don't let up!"

"Jesus Boy but you're tight," he said.

"Really I want it... Please do it." He worked hard at my sphincter, rocking, twisting, pushing and turning. The pain seemed to ease. "Oh God yes! Go all the way!" I gasped.

"David I haven't even got the head in yet!" I can still hear his voice. I couldn't believe my ears. I knew he had to break through quick or I'd go into a spasm with the pain.

"Just push! Go all the way. DO IT!" Now I was the one giving the order.

With one terrible thrust he broke my resistance. I could feel his cock head as it ripped up the length of my rectum, one long searing pain, then he lay still on my back. After a minute or so he started to fuck, just small movements.

"You all right?" he asked in my ear.

"I am now," I replied. "Yes, fuck me good."

He did. He must have kept it up for nearly an hour, long strokes, short deep ones. Heavy thumps forcing me into the mattress, gentle stroking ones as his penis slid in and out. I came again before he did, but when he finally did there was a hell of a lot of cum. I slept with him that night and there was still juice oozing out of my ass when I woke in the morning.

(I still don't know what that guy from Laramie had done that was so different, I've even wondered if he'd hypnotized me! He was somewhat longer than Bryn, and a lot thicker too, but he'd eased his way up my ass without even a twinge of pain.)

Next day we did the city, my recompense for his work on my ass. He gave me his address in England, but of course there wasn't a chance of meeting since he was away so much at sea, and I was away so much in the air.

Amongst the many delights listed in Sparticus were the gay bars. Naturally I checked them out. Unfortunately the Roman gays didn't seem to have read the Sparticus guide. None of the bars I went to were busy, most had two or three bored looking individuals, in some I was the only patron. I got talking to a barman one night, he was openly gay, asked where all the men were.

"There-a are-a not-a many-a men because eets-a too hot." It was hot in early July. I happened to be in the same place six months later, no more men in evidence. I asked the same question. "There-a are-a not-a many-a men because eets-a too cold." I didn't bother to point out that it had been the same in fall.

There was however a bathhouse. I had great hopes of the bathhouse, Roman's had had them for more than two thousand years, surely time enough to perfect them. I went one night when it wasn't too hot, nor too cold.

The place tried to give the impression that it had indeed been there for a couple of thousand years. The entrance was impressive, a massive building, lots of marble statues, all heroically endowed in the genital department. There didn't seem to be any rooms for rent, just lockers. I stripped off and went exploring. There was a huge lounge area, all marble, more statues, some with amazing erections. Unfortunately the seats were slabs of marble too. Maybe Romans had well padded butts, I didn't, no way I could lounge in any comfort, and after a while I got the distinct feeling I was being watched. Well, I could see that I was being watched to be exact. I checked my towel but I seemed to be wearing it about the same way as the rest of them so I decided it must be because I was a stranger. Maybe they were all regulars, perhaps they knew each other. They were certainly curious, but none got within arm's reach.

I found the sauna, it would have been easy to overlook. I found it because someone opened this door in a marble wall and I saw two sweating bodies. Inside there was room for just three men to sit side by side on another hard marble bench. It wasn't so much a sauna room as a sauna closet! I went in and sat down, they got up and left. A few minutes later the door opened, a man looked in, saw me, then he turned and left too. This happened several times, I decided I was definitely becoming paranoid. I left the sauna and wandered around some more. Came into an enormous room, fifty or sixty feet square maybe, entirely empty except for a section that was enclosed by a sort of glass wall. This wall wasn't plain glass, it was made of large panes of cut glass set in massive, black wrought iron frames. Behind the glass wall there were five or six beds covered with white cotton sheets. I opened the door to take a closer look. None of the beds had been touched since they were last made, the sheets were as smooth and tight as if they'd been ironed in place. The space was well lit by several bare light bulbs, the patterns cut in the glass didn't give any privacy. All in all it was like standing in an aquarium, and it seemed that the guys on the outside were looking at me again.

I moved along, found the steam room. I suppose I shouldn't have been surprised. Marble benches surrounded a small pool: condensing steam ran down every surface encouraging a profusion of green mould and lichens. Any place I sat or stood I was dripped on, it was like being in an exceptionally hot rain forest. There was one man in there. After a minute or so I tried my Italian. He walked out!

All this had taken an hour or more, enough was enough. I went back to my locker to get dressed. Right next to my locker there was a guy also getting dressed. He spoke to me in English.

"Going so soon?" I was amazed, how did he know how long I'd been there? Why did he speak to me in English?

"Yes," I mumbled. "There doesn't seem to be anything here for me." I didn't want to be unpleasant and tell him what I thought of the place, it might have been his favorite.

"But you've only just come."

"Well it seems like a long time to me. Every place I go the men just walk away, nobody will even talk to me." I wasn't happy.

"But surely you know why?"

'Why?' I thought, 'What's he going to tell me? Halitosis? BO? Surely not, I've been thorough.' "No," I said, "I don't know why." What came next just threw me!

"But you are the star here tonight. Every man in this building wants to have sex with you." I laughed out loud, it was the most ridiculous thing I'd heard in years. "But it is true," he insisted. "They cannot speak to you because they are afraid that you will reject them."

"So should I feel flattered?" I asked ironically.

"Yes, of course!"

"Well it's a pity one of them didn't take a chance, he could have screwed the star tonight," I said with heavy sarcasm. It wasn't a nice thing to say, but really I'd had enough of the crap.

"You mean that if I'd asked...?" he ventured.

"Yes! I want sex, if you want sex then for fucks sake reach out and grab something!" By this time I had my shirt on but nothing else. He stepped closer and touched my cock, now sadly wilted, but it stirred in his hand.

"Mama mia! Mama mia!" he kept saying as he felt my penis stiffen. He reached very tentatively between my legs to feel my hairless balls. More exclamations of surprise and delight. "Would you...Would you..." he tried several times before he got it out. "Would you go with me tonight?"

"Yes, definitely!" I said. Still he didn't seem to believe his ears. More imprecations.

"I have to take my wife home... but if you will wait I have a small apartment... I will take you there." He was so excited it was almost pathetic.

"So how long will it take you? Where will we meet?"

"No, not long, thirty minutes maybe. I will take you to a bar, belongs to a friend of mine, have what you like, no charge." He was rushing along now trying to get his clothes on whilst still stroking my stiff prick.

We climbed into his little open Alfa sports car. He looked at my crotch, reached out tentatively. I took the initiative, pulled down the zip and hauled out my cock. That sent him into a paroxysm. We roared off down tiny back streets barely wider than the little car. His hand alternated between shifting with the gear lever, and shifting his mind with my dick. We screeched to a halt outside a bar. Inside I was introduced to the owner, shown to a table and given the best wine in the house. I waited thirty, forty, fifty minutes. I asked the bar owner if he could call the man's home, but he said he had a "formidable" wife and maybe she was suspicious. From the way the barman spoke I think he knew about the apartment, nor did he seem surprised that the man would want to take me there. Eventually he appeared just as I was about to leave. We hurtled around a lot more corners of a lot more back streets and screeched to a stop outside an apartment building. He hustled me out of the car and through the front door as fast as possible, clearly he didn't want to be seen. His hide-away was on the second floor. We went straight to the bedroom, clean but unremarkable. Once the door was shut he seemed to relax and insisted on undressing me garment by garment, even each shoe and sock, much ooo-ing and aah-ing as more and more skin was revealed. When my jeans dropped I was naked. He wrapped his arms around my waist and drew my cock down his throat. After sucking furiously for several minutes he came up for air.

"Please," he said still kneeling on his knees, "please will you fuck me with this!" "This" was my cock, and he planted a kiss on the head. These Italians are so romantic!

"Oh yes." I said, "I'll fuck you. I'll fuck you good!" By this time I needed relief, he got a good fucking, deep and hard. He drove me back to the Hilton and we parted promising to do it all again...very soon. I never went back to the baths, wonder if he's still looking for me?

During the two years I was flying out of Africa I was to discover quite a lot about Italian men. I got to know an Alitalia skipper, not sexually, and he introduced me to a lot of well-heeled Italians. From talking to my friend and these acquaintances I learned that many Italian marriages are marriages of convenience. Often a young aspiring engineer will marry the daughter of a factory owner; a lawyer will marry the daughter of a partner in a law firm, and so on. It seemed to be accepted by all concerned that a good match socially was more important than such ephemera as love, or even lust. Within weeks the husband will resume his affair with his former girlfriend, or if the marriage raised his profile he'd take a newer, flashier model to bed. He is expected to impregnate his wife, preferably two or three times, but that's as far as his obligations extend in that direction. You might think that having a young, willing, sexy chick on his arm would satisfy his most urgent sexual needs, but not often, or at least not consistently. An amazing number of upper income Italian men need sex with men. Not all the time, but at intervals they needed to get down and dirty with a man. As these men climb the social and economic ladder they trade in, and trade up their female companions, their ornaments. And they are ornaments, they are not hidden, they're worn proudly, the equivalent of eighteenth century cod-pieces, wined and dined in all the best places. A new model seemed to relieve the need for a man for a matter of weeks, then he'd need a stiff cock and a good pair of balls.

I was with a group of eight one night in the Hilton roof-top bar, four couples and myself, I suppose that makes nine. I was followed into the men's room by one of the company. He stood beside me at the urinals and as we pissed he put his hand on my shoulder. That was surprising enough, but as he talked he put a bit of pressure on my shoulder so that my body turned to let him see my cock. He looked down at my cock quite unabashedly, obviously liked what he saw, asked if we could slip down to my room for a few minutes.

On this occasion I demurred, I couldn't have gone back to join the group, nor looked his girl in the eye if we'd been gone that long. For me it would have been very embarrassing although I'm sure he wouldn't have batted an eyelid. He phoned me next evening, from the lobby, wondered if he might come up to the room for a chat. We didn't chat much. As soon as I felt his balls he moaned in delight, that's what he wanted, I gave him a good work-out and he went away very mellow, very contented. Yet guys like this didn't consider themselves gay, nor even bisexual, they'd have been mortified at the suggestion. They saw themselves as real men, absolutely hetero, who just sometimes needed a change, relief that only a man knows how to give. I guess it's a healthy attitude, I'm turned on by cocks and balls, but I don't put on the macho act, it's all too hypocritical.

What else did I find in Rome? Well a few good men in the "health club." One was an American civil engineer, this guy designed big civic centers and sports complexes. The sort of projects that two-bit dictators in impoverished African states build to aggrandize their egos. "Never mind the food, what we need is another Olympic stadium, we haven't had a new one in eighteen months!" Anyway, this guy was an African American so he had the inside track when it came to bidding against most other entrants. Only problem he had was that he hated the Africans with a vengeance.

"David," he said, "they're filthy! They smell! They don't even wash!
They'll wear the same filthy shirt all week! And they're all liars, all looking for kick-backs, can't trust any of them."

He used Rome for his R & R for one week each month because it was within easy flying distance from places like The Gambia, Cameroon and Chad where he had contracts. He was really good company, married, his wife and three kids in the US were never brought to Rome.

"Why don't you bring them over?" I asked one day.

"Christ, isn't it enough that I have to work with those niggers (his word) for weeks on end? Do you think I want my fucking kids hassling me when I'm trying to enjoy myself?"

"Well what about your wife?"

"Didn't I just tell you I'm here to enjoy myself? You think I'd rather fuck with my wife when I can fuck with men?" He had a point. He never did fuck me, nor I him, but we had a lot of good sex together.

To be continued...

Posted: 04/03/09