A Night in Madrid

Running my own business has few advantages. Having a final say who I work with is probably the single most important one of them. All of “my guys” are tried and tested. Instead of building up an authoritarian structure to give cheap ego boosts to the few lucky ‘yes-sayers’, I always focused on hiring the best talent money could buy.
So far, I have had a great ride.

I usually take the whole December off. The workload tends to be light, and a few people feel like taking it easy without me being around. Those are the guys who otherwise clock endless hours whenever there is a need, so they are more than entitled to getting some slack cut for them during the downtime.

José phoned Sunday lunchtime, saying that his Mom was taken to the emergency ward. Her kidneys were really giving up on her. The docs were kinda losing hope, and he would have to stay with her. Yup, I was going to take over from José in Madrid, Spain coming Friday and Saturday. Work happens.

I landed at the Barajas Thursday lunchtime, picked up a taxi cab and drove straight to Calle de Campomanes in central Madrid. I lunched very late even for Madrid standards at one of my favorite nearby parrilas, spent some time browsing through the files for Friday morning, and granted myself a full-time siesta. Madrid is not a place where you want to spend your nights sleeping.

I showed up at the doors of the next door Strong Centre at 1 am. Still quite early for Madrid’s largest fresh gay meat market and thus, possibly the best time for having some easy, relaxing fun before the Big All Out War like Hunt really starts.
Mostly two types of guys challenge the “do not show up before 3 am” standard Strong ideology: those who feel that the ensuing Big Hunt is not really their ga(y)me, and a few of those whose luck has it store for them to start calling shots before the late Madrid lunchtime the next day. Just like everywhere else, a very early start is always “a hit and miss game” to some extent. With a bottle of Corona in my hand, I was taking that risk with the usual ease. This was all about some anonymous sex with other guys. No one was going to get hurt anyway.

After the second round through the cruising landscape of the infamous backroom(s), I saw two beautiful Indio twinks who were obviously trying to hook up with me, all smiles and nods. I took over one of the big corner cabins, and the two of them wasted no time in getting in.

No one really comes to Strong to part with EUR 11.00 (USD $16.00) for two drinks in order to waste his time on the unnecessary babble. “What’s your name? Where do you come from?” Well, who cares? Unsurpsingly, your usual Strong-bound guys have other priorities on their minds. The two gorgeous twinks wasted no time. One was doing an amazing bit of work on my left nipple, while the other one went for the main prize right away.
There was really no reason for any haste here. I quickly had both guys strip each other. Great, tight little bodies created by real, hard back-breaking work; amazingly smooth olive skin tanned by the scorching sun of last summer all heightened the easy and slow joy of our encounter. Judging by the size of their rather modestly sized cocks on display now, both of them were into playing with signficantly bigger specimens than what they have been sporting between their legs.

I gently pushed them down. I knew their score, and was more than happy to oblige. They were a cocksucking team, the two of them, trying to get as many big slabs of meat as they could for that one night on the town. Their technique was superb even by the highest standards. While one of them worked the head of my dick the other one was gently sucking on my left ball, waiting to take over from his friend, who was going to need a quick slowdown soon. They were switching the roles of a rimmer with a sucker and other way round, their intensity remaining perfectly constant, with neither one of them trying to outdo the other at any time.

For a moment, I started playing with a thought of fucking one of them and having the other one suck our balls while we were at it. Yet, the night was too young for that. Besides, those two guys were not going anywhere. They were very obviously enjoying it, and would certainly not mind some repeat action an hour or two later, if this was what stars had in store for us.

Soon, one of them focused his considerable skills on eating my ass for all he was worth. His friend was matching his dilligence by sucking my dick to the best of his ability. Even if alone, each of the two guys giving me this killer service would be an awesome sucker on his own merit. Teaming up gave them an incredible advantage. They must have known that their performance was their valid ticket for that desirable bit of the meat market which did not look with any clemency at small bodied, next-door, tight even ever so cute little guys. The Strong public wants them all tall, muscular and very big everywhere.

I shot a full load into my sucker’s mouth, and he hurried to share it with his friend. Hey, they both worked on their knees for it. I gave them quick hugs, and went back to the bar for another Corona and a break before the main hunt/run/universal confusion Strong-style started.

I love taking care of my very first load of the night before the main action starts. A guy who is under no pressure to get his rocks off can take his time, focus on all the little cruising games, and enjoy his menhunt fully. Once you scored, all is good anyway.

Soon, the first contingents of gym-trimmed bears and the usual gym trimmed twinks made it to the backroom. Guys were now walking around bare-chested, trying to cash on the years of pumping the iron in one of Madrid’s gym cellars coupled with all the dough they must have dished out for the roids and the rest. Guys were hooking up massively. Most of the cabins were being taken now, and the dark rooms at the back were abuzz with activity. Few daring suckers were taking cocks more or less indiscriminately and with lighters and cell phones flickering all over the place, we all knew who the givers and who the takers were.

Finally, as if following some sort of a keenly choreographed court protocol the Madrid trophy boys make it to the Strong Centre backrooms as well. The surf is up. The big trophy hunt is on! This is the place and time for the cool cruisers to cash on their skills acquired in years of cruising for sex during those endless club nights at all four corners of the world. Perfecly styled gym jocks in their mid-20’s whose main and only play is that of universal rejection until the hormones raging out of control at 3 am cloud their otherwise usually needy judgment, leaving them defenseless and an easy prey to those who knew how to push their buttons right.

Those with seriously lacking self-esteem fall prey to the well-coordinated onslought of the sunbed fried muscle marys. Their meat for my meat. Whatever.

A small horde of perfectly unqualified suitors is circling around the remainder of the nightly crop, as hopeless as ever remaining totally ignored by the objects of their obvious sexual fantasies. The world would be still turning without them, too. But without them and their wasted time and effort, the sense of pending futility of this night would be missing. The hunt would be reduced to a simple pursuit. Leaving them to their inherent destiny, I decide to go for a tall, blond Nordic guy in his later 20’s who stands out in this crowd, and who looks simply too good to be true, holds his upper body with shameless ease, and has not been approached by anyone yet. He looks like the actual prototype of rejection, and no one seems to be daring enough as to show him the way into one of the available cabins.

Our eyes are talking in the meantime, and he is getting the message. He follows my lead into the nearby private cabin, as if the two of us were the oldest of buddies doing our daily routine of working towards maintaining our usual hormonal balances. A guy needs to gets his rocks off, as plain as that.

A few disbelieving pairs of eyes are following our progress. Sex favors the courageous. Either you have the balls, and you let the other guys know that or you don’t?

The Nordic God is playing his cool. He is leaning against the wall, hoping that I may try to lift his shirt and start worshipping his washboard abs.

I offer him my left armpit to savor. He is apparently amazed at my ‘take charge’ attitude and accepts the invitation without any enthusiasm.

I waste no time and open his low-cut designer jeans. A waft of a guy smoking bong is seeping over into our cabin. I gently pull him down by his balls, and he goes down on his knees. There is little doubt that this guy lacks both interest and skill. He does his bit by looking awesome and by spreading the right amount of an expensive gel into his very carefully coiffed hair.

I face fuck him without encountering even the least resistance on his part. My thoughts are with a journalist whose job was to review the first series of fleshjacks, and who blogged about it complaining to no end. Never as good as the real thing but much better than the Rosy Palm and her five sisters.

For all his GQ looks, my Nordic God is basically a waste of my time and possibly even my spunk. Maybe he should return to his modelling for Men’s Health and make many other men happy. He is doing nothing for me. When it comes to cruising for anonymous sex, you always win some and you always lose some, too.

Anyway, I was just about to give up on this guy, and try my luck with someone else. Preferably as good looking as he was, though. No matter what, I was not running out of my luck yet. The night was too young for that.
Just as I was about to quit and bolt out, someone started knocking on the door. Two of my beautiful Indio friends, with their eyes aglow tried to sneak in. I let them in.

More likely than not, they must have known my gorgeous blond from one of their previous encounters. One of them now zeroed in on my dick, as if he had never really left it, and the second one started giving my very passive and equally breathtaking playmate a serious and inspiring rimming. Sven, (who introduced himself to me a bit later on) woke up to life. Few guys really object to being rimmed. He was no exception.

I leaned forward and whispered into his ear, “By the looks of it, dude, I’ll probably have to fuck you here!”
He raised his blue passive eyes, looked vaguely at me, and said apparently resigned to this turn of the destiny, “I guess so?”
My sucker guy gently pinched me on the thigh, and nodded with his head lightly. He must have seen this before.

Sven stood up, bent over and grabbed his ankles. His rimmer quickly started working on his manrod, swallowing it all the way to his neatly trimmed bush.

My sucker guy squatted underneath my legs and was going to be licking our balls, as mine were going to be banging against Sven’s shortly.

Sven looked back, gently touched my sheated dick making sure that I was not going to bareback, and braced himself for impact. As I broke in, his little sucker dude stood up and offered him his tiny piece of manhood to nibble on. It looked like as if Sven simply held his small dick in his mouth. A strange arrangement at best, but the one that did not raise any eyebrows round here.

Sven slowly pushed back and I responded by imapaling himself to the hilt. Our South American ball-licker was going into overdrive, his saliva dripping genereously on the gray concrete floor of our private boot.

I do not know anyone who gets to screw jocks of Sven’s class on a daily basis. I was savoring my time here. Encouraged by the slowly increasing shafting action, Sven started to suck on his ex-sucker’s cock with a modicum of personal involvement hitherto sorely missing. My ball-licker ventured towards giving my hole a nice, wet and warm bath. An apparently well-oiled machinery was set into motion producing maximum pleasure to all of its turning and prodding parts.

Sven spat that little dick out of his mouth and his guy went down on him again. I was shafting Sven’s hole without any concern for anyone’s comfort but my own, and he was actively pushing back. Muscular guys take pain lighter than anyone else. The world must have seen its fair share of more passionate guys than Sven. Yet, his attitude was profoundly genuine. He was getting laid. That’s called sex, and that’s what guys always do.

Suddenly, a muffled sound of gurgling came from down below. I focused on its source while still enjoying the soft but determined action of Sven’s pulsating chute. He has just pissed into the mouth of his young sucker who was valiantly coping with it. No one seemed fazed out or anything.

Sven’s sphincter muscles started contracting faster and with more force. He was now face-fucking his sucker dude with all he had. The smell of urine made itself felt. I went into the final onslaught mode. Sven felt my impending orgasm and shot all over his sucker’s face. I rewarded my sucker and ball licker in kind, too.

The two guys, stood up, pulled out a few paper towels and started cleaning themselves up. I was embracing Sven, showing him how to work my left nipple. He was obliging, if predictably not too enthusiastic about it.

Once our “support crew” left, I whispered into Sven’s ear, “Dude, I’ve got to take a wicked piss. Want some?”
He neither replied nor looked back but went down on his knees and opened up his mouth wide.
He was swallowing my piss as fast as he was able to. I made sure that his shirt got soaked, too. He pulled out his dick and was pulling on it furiosly. I gently kicked his hand away from his then hard dick. If he wanted another round, I was more than happy to oblige.

He smiled back, and said, “Yeah, I do not mind. I feel like cummin’ again. You should, too.”
Our final fuck of the night felt like any of the lunchtime fucks at the old college library, when most guys went to the cafeteria for a bite, and the few of us climbed down to the deserted and barren basement for a quick fuck. Most of us used to know each other, if only very few really made it to any kind of meaningful friendship. No one fussed too much about who was doing whom. It was just sex, and it felt good. Half an hour later, you went to your books while an internal countdown timer was ticking ever faster towards your next fuck.

Sven and I parted our ways at the exit of the Strong. Only a block away, two pimps tried to show me the way into the club they were hoping to fill with clueless and rich patrons at the crack of the Madrid dawn.

You sleep fast in Madrid. No one can really afford insomnia here.

I even made it for the last 15 minutes of the scheduled hotel breakfast. Coffee helped.

The day felt like a delightful extension of an eventful but endless night. I even did not feel the weight of my daily workload. I was good. If sex does not bring you back to the mindless strength of your youth, you are only wasting your time on it.

The last item on my day’s schedule was to interview and approve the appointment of a new team-member in Madrid – the job I really wanted to leave to José to cope with.

More out of personal curiousity than anything else, I opened the team-member application file. Yup. It was Sven alright coming in any minute now.

~ by silverrrcloud on December 22, 2009.

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