Nathan’s rules were, ‘no orgies, no meat’. So, no cock, no comfort.
His most recent relationship had been with a pre-op f-m sex change, but Yaron grew bored and ended it.
After exertions, he told me more about his life. He is, of course, involved with someone, blah blah, they’re breaking up, blah blah, or maybe not, blah blah.
It may have been my sympathetic manner, it may have been the badge that says ‘Cock’ that I wear on my lapel, maybe it’s Maybelline, who can tell, but Ido soon began to tell me scandalous stories about his busy sex life.
He was the colour of honey, a few freckles across his shoulders, his pale-pink nipples catching the sunlight.
Unusually for Israel, this Land of Blutos, he had no beard, no stubble, no hairy chest. He said, “Let’s go in,” so in we went.
Nathan imagines they’d be caught and, besides, the man may be a serial killer, so suggests the cruising park behind the Hilton instead. Much safer.
He’s too polite to say he thinks he’s more handsome than me, but he’s not too polite to think it.
She lies on a rug with Alberto, they are playful with each other, then nap, their bodies touching, like incestuous twins.
You are cute and cute and enjoy the beautiful hugs of life. And I actively love kissing hugs and blowjob pussy flowing.
It’s all quite plush, for a sex room, newly built and well maintained. It’s better finished, by far, than my flat, and spotlessly clean.
I notice a couple on a third floor balcony of the Royal Beach having sex. We watch the distant, bobbing figures for a while.
I go to the bank to check money has been transferred and to convert it into shekels. My rent won’t be paid without it. This simple job took nearly three anxious weeks last month, but has gone more smoothly this time. I’m thrilled to learn the pound has strengthened by a minuscule amount since I… Continue reading Nathan loves Alberto loves Rufina
A man, Sharon, comes over. He’s wearing a kippa, which I find quite sexy.
He shows me the top of his tattoo, which is of a large feather. It’s well drawn, actually. It starts at the small of his back and, I don’t really want to imagine, sweeps downwards.
I reached the shop, down a short alley, and knocked on the door. I knocked again.