Maybe it was how free the young waiter was with the boisterous crowd on Saturday afternoon in the Rothenburg, Germany,
bierstübe
—beerhall—with him touching the men and them touching him and patting his biceps, chest, and bottom as he passed, swinging up to six full beer steins in his hands without losing a drop of lager. The array of steins looked almost as big as he did in his short-legged leather lederhosen despite it being in the middle of December. He looked too young for me not to be interested in him, and I was—not least because he looked young. I guess his name was Kurt. That's what the men he was serving beer to called him, and they seemed to be quite familiar with him. He smiled at me as he passed where I sat at a long table, everyone around me being with someone else—except for me. He turned and smiled at me again. I grinned back and raised my nearly empty stein.
I wondered if Hans Weissman knew this was a predominantly gay men's beerhall. I might have guessed that from the name—Herrlichkeit Halle, Glory Hall, a play on Glory Hole, I supposed. I could see that by the way the patrons, nearly all men, were responding to each other—and to the handsome young men serving up flirting along with the beer, including the very young Kurt, who was dancing around, looking delicious, with a big smile on his face.
I had found myself in this historic German town a little over a week before Christmas because Hans Weissman kept a very low profile, as did I both in my business and in my fetish for young men—older teens—in transition to full manhood. My preference was for blond, blue-eyed, perfectly formed eighteen or nineteen-year-old youths on the cusp of developing into experienced adults. There weren't too many places I could pursue that fetish. Interestingly enough, Germany was one of those places, and I made frequent visits to Hamburg, where I had connections. I was in Rothenburg just before Christmas on business, though, and not with an intent to pursue my fetish. Not that I wouldn't want young men; I just wasn't insistent on age on this trip, which was to be a quick one wedged in during the holidays to bolster my sales figures for the year.
Weissman's business was supplying premium liquor at an under-the-counter price. The business of the company I was working for was smuggling that liquor into him in Germany. Sometimes my company had "liberated" it from the distillery, which accommodated the low prices we offered it for. I had arrived here on Friday afternoon to negotiate the next year's supply schedule and prices, knowing I wouldn't be done with that until Monday. He had invited me to dinner at his house on Sunday and had left me to my own devices today. He'd recommended a beerhall to go to, though, that was on Georgengasse Street, near both St. Jacob's church and my hotel, the Hotel Eisenhut, all of which were inside the ancient walls of the city. Rothenburg was one of the few towns in German that had retained its city walls intact and hadn't sustained much damage over the centuries to its ancient buildings, which made it a major tourist destination.
As I walked down that street, I got that this was the gay district of the town, such as the town had, which didn't appear to be much. I couldn't have been happier with the recommendation.
Apparently having taken that I wanted more beer when I had raised my stein to him, when I was actually saluting a handsome youth, Kurt passed me one of the steins of beer he was carrying when he next wafted by and leaned down and asked, with a fetching smile, "
Englisch
?"
"No.
Nein
. I'm an American. Ein Amerikaner."
"
Noch besser
—Even better," he said, with a grin, following that up by pointing to himself and saying, "Kurt."
I answered, "Aiden," whereupon he waltzed off to deliver his other steins.
I was smitten and followed him around the room with my eyes. I noted that he occasionally was looking back at me. And then I lost sight of him. It had been a brief moment of arousal, as I often had with handsome young men. The encounters rarely led anywhere, and he was at work. I decided to leave and find some place for dinner before roaming around the area a bit to see what I could pick up. I decided to go find a men's room before I left the beerhall.
Entering the corridor on the back wall of the hall, through a beaded-curtain covered doorway, I saw them further down the dimly lit hall, some distance beyond the door into the men's room. They weren't exactly hiding. Some big bruiser had Kurt backed up against the corridor wall. The youth's lederhosen and briefs were bunched on the wood floor under him and his near leg was raised and bent, hooked on the bruiser's hip. Several euro bills of undetermined domination fluttered on the leather shorts, and I wondered what a fuck like this went for in Rothenburg.
The guy who had him against the wall was palming the wall on either side of Kurt's shoulders and he had his face buried in Kurt's throat on the side away from me. He was in sort of a crouch and jerking upward. Kurt's body moved up with the jerks. It was clear the bruiser was thrusting up into the small blond with blue eyes, almost lifting the young man's anchored foot off the floor with each thrust. Kurt went up on the ball of his foot and grimaced with each upward thrust. He turned his eyes toward me. He didn't look like he was in distress, though, and I guessed that this was part of the service available in his beerhall, so I stood there and watched before going into the men's room. While I watched, Kurt gave me a slight smile and extended his arm, palm down, motioning.
I took that to mean that Kurt wanted me to stay and watch. I did more than watch, though. I unzipped myself, released my hardening cock, and stroked it. I wanted the young man too, and I didn't care if he knew that. He continued to smile at me. I heard a sound behind me, someone else entering the corridor, probably to use the men's room, and I quickly folded my cock back in my fly, turned, and went into the bathroom and up to one of the urinals.
The young man who entered the men's room must have paused to watch the fucking in the hall too, as it was a long minute before he arrived. In the meantime, I was waiting for my cock to go flaccid enough that it would pass piss. The thought of young Kurt being fucked just on the other side of the wall and down the corridor kept me hard, though.
The guy who came into the men's room was young, probably no more than twenty-one. Germanic, blond, with blue eyes, good-looking, trim. We stood side by side at the urinals. He was looking down at my hard cock, smiling. He reached out and touched it and I let him. I was in heat from seeing Kurt being fucked, and I was hard. The youth looked at me and said, "
Ja? Sie wollen es
?—Yes? You want it?
Willst du, dass ich mich um das sorge
?—Do you want me to take care of that for you?" It occurred to me that this men's room was a regular hook-up spot.
"
Ja
," I growled, and when the young man went down on his knees, I turned toward him and let him take my shaft in his mouth and take care of it. He did a good job of it and, thinking of Kurt, I didn't make him wait very long before he had.
When I came out of the men's room, the hallway was deserted. Kurt and the big bruiser had finished their business and left. The young German who had given me a blow job slipped past me, gave me a smile, and murmured, "
Hat Ihnen das gefallen? War das gut
?"
With my limited German, I took that to be a question of whether I had enjoyed him. "
Ja, das war sehr gut, danke. Du bist ein sexy Junge
—Yes, that was very good, thank you. You are a sexy youth."
He responded, "
Du bist auch sexy. Und hing wie ein Stier
." I got that he complimented me on being sexy as well as hung like a bull. He was right about that. I was. He smiled at me again, lingering in the hall. I got what he was after and pulled out a fifty euro note and handed it to him. We hadn't made a deal on the blow job, but he'd done well, and I'd needed it. So, we parted with smiles. I was in the holiday spirit. Now that I thought about it, maybe he was younger than twenty-one. I could think of him as being younger. I wanted to think of him as being nineteen.
I didn't leave the beerhall. I went back to where I had been sitting, which was still vacant. It wasn't more than ten minutes before Kurt was there, back in his lederhosen, and with two steins of beer. He put one down in front of me and sat cross-wise on the bench seat beside me and took a swig out of the other stein before setting it on the table.
"American, did you say?" he asked in pretty good English. "
Du lebst nicht hier, oder? Ein Tourist
? Excuse me. I speak English with you, I think. But my English is not too good. I said I didn't think you lived here. Are you a tourist?"
"Your English is fine," I answered. "I'm here on business. Just through Monday. Should you be sitting here with me, drinking beer?" I wasn't worried about that putting him off; it was just conversation. He'd wanted me to watch him being fucked in the hallway and he'd come to me afterward. We had a deal going here, if I was interested, and obviously he could do his business in the beerhall on work time.
"I served my last beer for the afternoon—to you. I am free now to do what I like. You knew what kind of beerhall this was when you came in?"
"It was recommended to me, but, yes, I saw what kind of place it was when I came in."
"And you stayed?"
"Yes, I stayed."
"You like to fuck men? You will pay to fuck men? Americans have money for such things, I know. I think you are a handsome man, though, so maybe you don't have to pay often. And you have a very big cock. You showed it to me. I like men who are
Pferd gehängt
—how do you say it in English? Horse hung?"
"Yes, horse hung," I said, amused by how direct he was.
Pferd gehängt
. I'd have to try to remember that phrase. It sounded exactly like what it meant.
"Maybe you don't need to pay men to take your cock?"
"How old are you?" I asked.
"Zwei und Zwanzig—twenty-two," he answered.
I snorted. "How old again? No, I don't like to fuck men. I like to fuck youths—older teens ready to become men. Twenty-two is a man, not fresh or interesting. How old again are you?"
"Neunzehn—nineteen," he answered, giving me another saucy smile.
I chose to believe him. I wanted to believe he was nineteen. "The perfect age. And, yes, I sometimes pay for it. For a youth that age, yes."
He took a drag on his beer stein and smiled at me over the rim. The discussion obviously was going well for him. It was going just fine for me too. There wasn't any "yes I do or no I don't" teasing. The basic agreement was there already. "Was there something you wanted to see in Rothenburg today? It's Christmas time in Rothenburg—a magical time to be here."
"If I wasn't going to find something better to do, I was planning to try to find the Christmas market. I heard that Rothenburg has one and that it's a particularly nice one. I don't know where It is, though. Perhaps you can tell me where to go to find it."
"You're practically standing in it," he said, with a little laugh. "It is very near, at the Grüner Markt. But it will not start up again until after dark, and the streets here are narrow and winding and can be confusing. You might not be able to find it on your own. You would have to go to it later, after your dinner, and you would do better to find a guide who know the town." He gave me a provocative look. "Are you staying at a hotel?"
"Yes, I have a room at the Hotel Eisenhut."
"Ah, not far. There is an easy pathway from there to the Grüner Markt. I could put you on the path for that and guide you through the market. Maybe you would want dinner before that. I could take you somewhere. You could buy me dinner too and then I could take you to the Christmas market. Are you looking for something special in the market?"
"I'm going to dinner tomorrow night at the house of the man I'm doing business here with," I answered, my voice amused at how he was taking charge and surging ahead. I liked where this was going, though. "I should get a gift to take to his family."
"A bottle of whiskey would be good," he said, "but they don't sell that in the Christmas market. I could take you someplace where they sell it cheap, special price but very good quality."
