Longing for Change

1.

John woke up, his mind flooded with mad desires and lust—still influenced by the wet dream that had spoiled his boxers. He took a long, cold shower while coffee brewed. However, the plentiful stream of hot water failed to wash away the strong, bizarre sensations that had tortured his mind for months.

He poured himself a steaming cup of coffee and lit a cigarette, still only with a towel wrapped around his waist, water dripping down on his shoulder from his damp long hair.

He opened his laptop; however, no matter how hard he tried, there was no way in hell he could concentrate on the news. Nothing seemed interesting—he didn't care about the articles explaining why Greece would not recover from the recession any time soon, he didn't care about the articles about the increasing crime rate in downtown Athens.

The only articles he did click on were those containing racy photos of celebrities and models—and his sole thought, while he quite listlessly scrolled through the photographs, was how easier life would be, and how much more enjoyable,

if

he was (like) them.

He moved his gaze to the window and to the clear, hot Athenian summer morning—jobless like so many people in their mid-20s, he had nowhere to be, nothing to do. Just sit around, drink coffee, send resumes and hope he can compete with the other one thousand hopeful applicants...

He dragged from his badly rolled-up cigarette and once more scanned the headlines—the only good news came from the international section: country X has lower crime rate, country Y's economy is booming, etc. For Greece, it was all gloom and ruin: the recession will last at least twenty more years, the brain drain continues, pensions are reduced, unemployment rates have been lowered temporarily due to the summer season, more and more homes are being foreclosed, etc.

With a heavy sigh, he closed the tab; he leaned back on the small metal chair and ran his fingers through his moist hair. Absolutely nothing to do, no one to talk to; most of his friends were either living abroad, or, were too occupied with their girlfriends and families.

He topped his coffee and rolled another cigarette; then, he re-opened the browser and looked up his usual compilation porn videos.

He crossed his legs and leaned back, gently rubbing his nipples—after just a few minutes of watching the mash-up of hardcore clips, he succumbed yet again to his innermost desires and logged in the gay chatroom he often used.

He chatted with random strangers, while drawing inspiration from the porn videos, and instantly became more serene. Essentially, he transformed into someone else—someone with no cares in the world but where to find the next cock.

Lying about his experiences and pretending to be a young manslut, while older guys called him names and asked him explicit questions, allowed him temporarily to

be

someone else; for as long as he chatted and rubbed his nipples he had no troubles, nor cares in the world.

It was therefore it had become an addiction—regardless of how hard he tried to concentrate on other things, harsh reality would always strike him down and lead him by the hand back to the small fantasy world wherein he found solace.

However, the past couple of days he'd chatted with a young man (presumably, at any rate) about his experiences from one of Athens' biggest parks—

Pedion tou Areos

.

While the park at nights was the city's biggest drug hangout, with plenty of users sleeping (and shooting or smoking 8balls) in the bushes, during sunshine hours it also was a popular hangout for sexual escapades (especially homosexual ones)—predominantly due to its size (any many isolated corners) and bad reputation.

The more he chatted about it—and about the man's experiences (whether real or fictional did not matter one single bit)—the bigger the desire grew in his head (and loins) to take the leap of faith and just

do it

.

The porn videos encouraged him even further—granted, he knew it was all pretend, the women on the videos only acted as if they had no other care in the damn world than getting fucked,

but

, what if he could also act this way and, even for a brief while, made it come true?

Temporarily manage to escape the cruel reality slowly but steadily suffocating him? Besides, he'd considered the necessity of drastic changes before—it was what was needed the most to bring his life back to some semblance of a functioning track.

Hence, a change of "lifestyle preferences" was the utmost drastic change that

could

potentially have a positive impact on his life. Of course, a problem that always arose, especially whenever he came too close actually to arrange a sex-date via the chatroom, was that he was not attracted to men, at all.

He was only attracted to the idea of becoming the "woman", of succumbing to a man and feel utterly helpless and used. He changed the porn video—went for a gangbang one.

He rubbed his erect nipples, while his throbbing organ tented the towel. No interesting chat came up; he crushed his cigarette in the ashtray and got up.

Hastily, he put on a black shirt with a very deep V and a pair of yoga pants his former girlfriend had left behind, when she was gone forever. The shirt, due to being quite torn, kept falling off his shoulder, but, it didn't matter. Au contraire, it felt good—offered the slutty look he aimed for.

He rolled a dozen of cigarettes and stuffed them in an empty pack of Prince, alongside a lighter. He hid the house key under the mat and went to his old, rusty car; he'd have taken the bus—gas had gotten way too fucking expensive, especially for an unemployed man struggling to get by—but, he just couldn't be around people in this outfit.

His clean-shaven face—result of a recent high-end interview with a prestigious company—and very lean and thin physique combined with the outfit gave him the semi-feminine look he wanted.

During summer, particularly in August, Athens is quite the ghost-town—inasmuch as possible for a city housing five million souls. With most Athenians away on vacation, the drive to the park took merely ten minutes.

He parked near the side entrance and lit a cigarette, turning the radio off; he looked about, noticing the groups of men standing around the entrances; men of all ethnicities and of all skin tones.

With his heart in his throat, he dragged a long puff and got out of the car, stuffing the key in his shoe; he walked timidly toward the park's entrance and his face turned crimson under the several inquiring glares thrown at him.

He tried, to the best of his abilities, to hide his newness; he

had

to look seasoned. If they realized he's a rookie, they'd rip him to shreds; unfortunately, repeatedly reminding himself that did

not

help one single bit.

He clenched his fist around the pack of cigarettes and entered the park—quite crowded and most sat scattered in small groups. He immediately identified those, who were there for the same reason as he; dressed and acting as feminine as they could and some, admittedly, highly successfully.

He lit another cigarette and strolled through the small pathways, trying to muster up the necessary courage; eventually, he sat on an unoccupied bench. He crossed his legs high—as high, at any rate, as his dangling balls would allow—and puffed long.

He glanced at the three men sitting two benches away, sharing a blunt. His lips curled softly, when they glared back at him, and then immediately stared at his shoes. His heart banged hard against his chest and he felt dead certain it'd soon break his ribcage and just shoot itself to the tall tree opposite him.

At first, the men simply chuckled with each other, seemingly not paying any attention to him whatsoever; he just smoked and looked about as indifferently as he could. Envying the men that went behind the bushes.

Then, quite abruptly, one of the three guys stood up and headed for the bushes, while eyeballing

him

intensely.

At first, he remained petrified and hopelessly dichotomized; though, his innermost desire was to follow the stranger and finally fulfill his fantasy. However, an invisible force deriving from the depths of his soul kept him glued to the bench. It was the knowledge that, if he did follow the man, his life would

never

be the same again—even if it was just this one time, something in him would change

forever

.

All mental resistance, however, broke down, when the other two guys also headed for the bushes—their stares seemingly piercing through his flushed skin. He threw his cigarette to the ground and followed them.

At first, and with his heart in his mouth, he didn't see them anywhere; he wandered about, hopefully peeking behind trees and dense bushes. Perhaps, it wasn't for him they'd gotten up—maybe, his heart dropped to the ground, they left because he made them uncomfortable.

About to give up and return to the bench for one last cigarette, he caught sight of them standing just a couple of meters away, their pants already dropped.

"Why don't you come on over?" One of them gestured.

John swallowed down hard, nearly choking on the lump in his throat, and sternly reminded himself it was a 'now or never' situation; his lips twitched and walked towards them.

"Hey, fellas, I..." He mumbled, his voice trembling.

"Why don't you shut the fuck up and get to work, faggot?" The man that had called him over said sharply and lifted his soft member.

The three guys—quite tall and muscular and dark skinned—surrounded him and his knees buckled; mechanically, he opened his mouth wide.

He tasted salt—the strong scent hit his nostrils and his gag reflex kicked in. He wrapped his lips around one cock and stroked some blood into the other two.

His eyes goggled, when they got hard—the one in his mouth stuffed his throat and he writhed, tears rolling down his eyes.

"Stop whining and get back to sucking, little bitch," the man said and slapped him on the back of his head.

Still heaving, John took the three turgid pricks in his mouth in rotation, unable to taste any differences, but, nonetheless enjoying the length and girth differences.

"You better learn to suck cock, you fucking cocksucker," the man said and, grabbing two handfuls of his hair, slammed his meat down John's throat.

His fists clenched tight around the dongs—their harsh laughter ringing loudly in his head—as drool dripped down his chin and his throat expanded widely to accommodate the thick dong.

An unprecedented feeling of helplessness and submission overwhelmed him, when the two men rubbed their erect pricks all over his face; suddenly, his lips were stretched painfully, as all three men fought for his mouth.

He choked and his dick throbbed against the tight-fitting pants, when two mushroom heads slipped into his wide open mouth.

"I'm tired of waiting for my turn in this faggot's mouth," one of the guys said.

John gasped, when the man gripped him tight by the waist—he grunted and more tears streamed down his eyes. He fought hard to relax his muscles, the man pushing against his clenched asshole forcefully, and quite unsuccessfully.

He squirmed, when the man spat on his ass and spread the saliva with his finger, then once again thrust his prick in.

The man brutally pushed against his sphincters and his eyes popped wide open; the two cocks still took turns ramming his throat and muffled all oncoming screams that tried to escape his mouth.

His heart skipped a beat, when he raised his glance and met the almost hateful glares of the two men.

"Shit," the ass-fucker groaned and increased his pace, "the fag's

real tight

! So...fucking...sweet..."

"It's your first time, ain't it, cocksucker?" The biggest of the three asked, while holding his head buried in his crotch.

He nodded—his heart pounded insanely fast in his chest, as the initial pain in his ass had given way to an intense, unprecedented joy deriving from the intense pounding his prostrate sustained.

He hardly had the opportunity to understand what was going on—the man banging his ass pulled out hurriedly, with a prolonged moan, and stuffed his prick, after pulling the condom out, in John's mouth, hurriedly shoving the other two away.

Suddenly, a stream of hot, thick spunk flooded John's throat—hungrily, he swallowed it down and desperately resisted the urge to reach down to his throbbing prick.

Before the realization he had just swallowed his first cumload—something he had fantasized about for a long while—registered in his head, another cock glided down his throat.

His ass was on fire—he bobbed his head and rubbed the ball sac hard—and clenching; the man plowed him with long, hard thrusts and his balls slapped noisily against John's clean-shaven, blue balls.

He squirmed at the tension building up in his groin and his prick throbbed and pulsed; electric jolts shot up his spine and he sprayed the ground with his cum.

The two men spit-roasting him guffawed; they high-fived each other over his body and pounded him hard on both ends.

Almost in perfect sync, the two men thrust hard and deep; intense spasms overwhelmed him, when both dicks throbbed. Despite his organ still being half-flaccid, he came again, the pulsating dong in his ass intensely stimulating his prostrate.

Both men pulled out and John collapsed to the ground, exhausted and gloriously satisfied.

"Good job, faggot," the guys chuckled dryly.

For a brief while, John remained curled up on the ground, the yoga pants still hanging below his ass—slowly, he grabbed a nearby tree and pulled himself up, his knees still weak.

He didn't pull his pants up immediately, though—hoping for round two.

He picked his pack of cigarettes up and lit one—puffed on it slow and long, the strong smoke intermingling quite beautifully with the salty taste still filling his mouth.

No one appeared, while he smoked—thus, with disappointment in his heart, he crashed the stub under his foot, pulled his pants back up, and headed to his car, enthralled from the sensation of cum still dripping from his gaped asshole.

He took a long shower, to wash the dirt off his knees

and

to clear up his sexually hazed mind, and counted all the experiences he'd missed by not having dared to pursue his desires sooner.

He brewed coffee and opened his laptop—his usual porn videos had a vastly different effect this time. He

knew

how it felt (bar some biological differences in the nether region) and was more than eager once more to surrender to some strong, rude strangers.

2.

With his heart in his throat—and a lifeguard swimsuit underneath his jeans and shirt crushing his balls—he stood outside the gloryhole club down at the Gkazi area—a tiny box-esque building, dark and quite threatening, yet, the online reviews were more than promising.

He dragged a last puff from his cigarette before crashing it under his shoe and, making his shoulders rigid and looking straight ahead, walked in.

He blushed, when he greeted the bouncer in an unexpectedly high-pitched voice; he paid the entrance fee and descended the spiral metal stairs leading to a long, narrow hall.

He found an empty booth and locked the door—he picked a gangbang porn movie and stayed in the swimsuit. He crossed his legs and glared impatiently at the gloryholes on both sides of the wall.

He leaned back on the small, cold metal chair and focused on the video, as no movement came from either booth—his hardening shaft struggled inside the all too tight swimsuit and he rubbed his nipples, the suit's hard metallic fabric sending shivers up his spine.

The girl in the video was blowing four black dicks and all he wished for was to be her—not just in her shoes, but,

her

.

Seconds passed like centuries, while he slowly rubbed himself over the swimsuit, edging as he watched the actress being spit-roasted by two monster black cocks, while stroking the other two.

He jumped up and glanced anticipatory to his right—he breathed slowly and deeply, desperate to calm his palpitatnig heart down. A flaccid dick appeared through the hole—nothing to look at, slightly wrinkly and quite small. He reminded himself that pornstars are selected for being overly gifted, not for representing the norm.

It wasn't, however, the appearance, or the size that mattered—he dropped to his knees and stroked it with two fingers, pulling the foreskin back and licking the smelly head.

It was an anonymous prick—whoever was behind that wall would forever remain a perfect stranger. He took the faceless dong in his mouth and slowly, at first, swirled his tongue around the purple head.

The moans of the woman from the video overshadowed his own slurping and he eagerly bobbed his head fast, his chin hitting the thin wall. Quickly, his gag reflex kicked in—momentarily, he had to pause and draw a few deep breaths.

The rock hard prick throbbed and he smiled at the way it was eagerly staring at him; he relaxed his throat and assaulted the dong with even more hunger.

He sucked and stroked, his mouth filled with a strong salty, slightly acidic, taste—his own prick struggled inside the tight swimsuit and his knees grew sore.

It felt even better than it had at the park, as the looks of the man on the other side of the wall were insignificant—he could be a top model, making Ryan Gosling look atrocious,

or

, a fat middle-aged slob that the last time he got head was when nuclear holocaust was a very real possibility.

With the corner of his eye he followed the porn video—the woman was pounded airtight by the monster cocks—and pressed his thighs together. He stroked and rubbed the nameless cock and stiff balls squeezed through the hole.

Alas, his prick throbbed against the hard fabric of the metallic swimsuit—he chocked, as he swallowed the stranger's cock down his throat, and tears welled down his eyes. He squirmed and electricity shot up his spine, when his cum pooled inside the swimsuit's crotch.

A cloud descended upon his mind, as well as a sudden urge to get dressed and get the fuck out of there as fast as possible. He sucked harder, despairingly trying to maintain the lust.

He glued his eyes to the screen—the woman was on her knees sporting a wide grin and all four guys stroked their throbbing pricks. He stroked the faceless prick harder—all the while feeling his own spunk drying up on his scrotum, the swimsuit bearing a visible wet spot—and the head suddenly expanded in his throat.

Hurriedly, he pulled back and watched in fascination the relatively small cannon shooting several streams of hot and sticky spunk all over his face. He licked his lips, savoring the strong salty taste, and milked the final few drops out of the still-pulsating dick.

The stranger retracted hastily and he remained on his knees, panting heavily—he glared back at the screen and smirked, when he noticed the grinning pornstar also on her knees drenched in cum.

The screen faded to black and he returned to the chair, the stranger's cum dripping down his chin and onto the swimsuit.

A new video commenced—he instantly recognized Savannah Fox entering an adult bookstore in skin-tight yoga pants and heading for the watching booth. He looked down at his recently shaved legs and wholeheartedly wished he could walk in any place dressed like her and attract nothing but lustful (and perhaps envious) glares.

He stole glimpses of both empty gloryholes—a black cock emerged from the gloryhole in the video and he shared the excitement showcased by Savannah.

He grabbed the box of tissues standing in the corner and wiped the drying cum off his face and chest—his heart sank to his stomach, when he picked his clothes up and for a moment idly stared at his pants.