Virtuous Pursuits
Normally if Alejandro was tied up naked in bed, he was in a state of bliss, with dicks on, at, behind, in front, above, below or inside him (and betwixt, nigh, withal, if you wish, or for the true penile originalists, πρὸς τὸν ἄνδρα, πρὸς τῷ ἀνδρὶ, πρὸς τοῦ ἀνδρὸς and of course εἰς).
When the other four men returned to the hotel room in Bellinzona to find their friend tied up, they knew something was amiss, however. After they had gangbanged Alejandro in the morning (the success the previous night required commensurate release), they had wrapped bathrobes around themselves, left Alejandro to climb down from sex bliss heaven, while they chatted with the flirty local guy in the reception about ancient paths and donkey bridges in the nearby mountains, as we all do when opportunity presents itself. But something had evidently happened to their handsome friend during their brief absence.
“He attacked me out of nowhere. I didn’t see him. He tied me up. He groped me a bit. You know that kind of anonymous crowded-subway-ass-grab, the sudden late-night-public-toilet-hand-against-ass-brush. And he stole all our underwear, washed and unwashed. All of it. There isn’t a single jockstrap, thong, brief or boxer left.”
“What did he look like?” asked Karl as he untied the upset Alejandro.
“Did not see. Faceless. Some guy, basically.”
“He stole our notes from yesterday,” exclaimed Hermann, who checked the rest of the room, which was mostly left as is, except for the items by and for their sexual organs.
“It is them,” said Martin ominously, and embraced the naked Alejandro to ensure his body received manly comfort.
“We need to recover the notes. They are precious. We must pursue the attacker,” said Hugo and threw off his bathrobe, and began putting on shorts and a shirt.
“Alright, we’re going commando,” said Karl, who fully agreed with Hugo’s conclusion. It wasn’t as much the truth about the historical events of 590 and Duke Olo’s doom. They should be made public in due course anyway. It was the method. Knowledge-making is a potent art that, when done wrong by blind and unfeeling men, can reduce entire civilizations to dust. Just ask the Hittites. You can’t, eh? They are nowhere to be found, reduced to a boring subsection of a chapter on the Bronze Age Collapse. Point made, case closed! Now get those dicks moving!
It was thus that the five men left the hotel in a sweaty hurry and ran out in the city with their penises dangling with minimal restraints inside their shorts. Their target: faceless man with an underwear fetish, the kind who would seek out firm asses to squeeze in crowded mass-transit, and who held onto ill-gotten gains with the potential to end civilizations. At first glance, far too many fit that target definition.
The prospects were dire. Had they let pleasure-seeking take precedence, and allowed the fruit of their profound and powerful acts as men in their prime to end up in the wrong hands? No wonder they were flaccid in their shorts. Thoughts of civilizational apocalypse are not something that make well-adjusted men throb (keep that in mind when you look for your life partner).
“Let us dial down the doom a bit,” said Hermann. “I can sense our underwear. The boy toy fun and abandon of Alejandro, Karl’s muscled ass provocations, the promise of athletic all-night in-and-out of Martin, Hugo’s versatile full-body joys, and even whiffs of my pile-driving power reach my senses. Follow me, I can track that glorious blend,” exclaimed Hermann, and he began running up a street.
They soon reached the southbound tracks at Bellinzona train station. Hermann concluded the payload, and presumably the thief, had recently left on a train. In ninety or so minutes, the attacker would be in Milan, and in a city of that size and connection, he would disappear fast.
The five men looked at each other. If they waited for the next train, they would be almost an hour behind. Their best option was a high-speed car drive.
“Alright, find a man with a fast car, a dick aching for some sucky-sucky, and then we trade premium highway blowjobs for a ride to Milan,” concluded Karl, who began looking around himself.
Bellinzona is not a large town. The oligarchs and their sons, with sports cars and a proclivity for quick sex of the variety forbidden in the countries they mined or stole their wealth from, were mostly found elsewhere in Switzerland, like in St Moritz, Zug or Lugano. Karl’s plan required luck.
In this story, however, the five men were blessed. They all noted a man standing next to his sporty Volvo car, or at least as sporty as such cars come. He was in that wide middle-aged bracket, somewhere between late thirties and early fifties, when a man’s typical diet and exercise routine no longer are quite enough to keep his stomach flat and ass firm. He had an intelligent gaze which lingered on the butts of local boys walking past. Events of his life had made his face tired, yet also kind and knowledgeable. In short, with a viagra in his bloodstream for added endurance, he no doubt could and would give a boy a night of ass-quivering fun on high-thread-count bed sheets with a healthy breakfast and wise words for the morning after.
“Sorry, excuse me,” said Alejandro as they approached the man. “I know this might sound strange, perhaps weirdly direct, like a barely concealed scam from a too-good-to-be-true online account, but we are in desperate need to get to Milan. High-speed, pronto. A thief stole something precious from us, you see. From all of us. So yeah…”
“We would, of course, reward you if you could drive us south, while you drive south. We mean to truly reward you,” added Hugo pointedly, as the five men let their full-spectrum sexual aura shine a bit extra.
The man gave them a thorough scan with his eyes. It was an introvert’s inspection honed over decades of undressing boys lovingly from a distance. He raised his eyebrows when he most likely inferred that under their shorts, there was nothing but pure fun boy parts. He was seriously considering the offer.
“I suppose you’ve seen through my usual game,” he said finally. “Too many boys with those delicate and good asses around this summer. Too many Tadzios, as it were, pushing me towards insanity. So I cannot blame you for presenting this request. Part of me very much wants to.”
“Please, please, please,” begged Karl in that performative way that has induced great expenditures from men over the centuries. This particular man stood his ground, however, neither wallet, keys, hands or penis moved from their secured locations.
“Entertain me a bit, intellectually speaking, what chain of events led five men of such rare qualities as you to end up in this little town, making this peculiar request of a man you never encountered before?” he asked. He seemed genuinely curious, and something about his voice was oddly compelling. So the five men spoke without constraints.
“Chain of events, I don’t know. That presumes a metaphysics with straightforward causality. Maybe the natural sciences can claim that, but then again, are we here because atoms willed it? It seems asking for a cause is already assuming too much. Top and bottom, as we all know, are not just an issue of atomic configuration or what part moved before the other,” said Hugo in the inimitable dismissive French way.
“Non-locality and wave function collapse muddle causality even at the level of the subatomic,” noted Martin, who, as a Swiss, could always claim special knowledge on these matters on account of CERN in Geneva. “Like the man of flesh or marble flexing his chest or arching his back, the remote future as much as the past gives meaning to acts. And meaning is what makes bones and boner move to do good. Grab the crotch, guys, and you know that even that which is unquestionably material about us might be here because of what is yet to become real.”
The man by the Volvo looked stunned. He most likely had expected a potted biography, a few hints of passionate male love and words about the great outdoors of the southern Alps. He took a few deep breaths and scanned the men again.
“Let us not get bogged down in metaphysics and quantum mechanics,” he replied after he regained his cool. “Keeping it more, should we say, intimate and immediate, explain to me why you five specifically have formed a unit. Since we can speak honestly, and I can tell you are the strong kind who will not take wanton offence, I know your unit is an intimate one. A cum stain or two would not make that any more obvious. Very strong… heady… able. In distant times I dreamed of a prince, being one at times, conversing with him as well, fucking him silly, and also being fucked by said prince, where in seeming contradiction, those times were all overlapping…”
The man cleared his throat uneasily and waved his hand as if apologizing for his diffuse sentences.
“What I mean to say, you are here and now the full dick-swinging, butt-wiggling package. Why?”
“Maybe I’m not the world’s smartest person, but is it not just because we fuck really well,” said Alejandro and winked.
“For example, I think about sucking dick a lot,” Alejandro continued. “There are the mechanical pleasures, naturally. Never underestimate mastery of the buccinator and dorsum, I like to say. In psychology, they make a pretty big deal of fellatio. Probably for a reason. But the deeper I take the thing, I never quite bottom out, as it were. There is something more there. Say the thought that, Karl, or someone else, right now might at some level of awareness be experiencing the possibility that I would appear between his legs and start toying with his dick in my mouth moves us closer. Dick entanglement.”
“That and then some, as far as drilling sweet ass goes,” added Hermann and made a forward push with his hips, the sensations of an ass resisting at first, but then yielding to manly penetrative force radiating outwards.
“Words do not do this justice, but words are what we got,” Hermann noted. “Together we are good, and good must happen. Now I said words are what we got. Not quite true. If we weren’t in such a hurry, we would of course show you why our unit plainly must be,” concluded Hermann as the five men looked at each other. Their dicks moved within their shorts, to an ordinary observer in an imperceptible way. The man at the Volvo was not an ordinary observer, and he took note, a drip of sweat moving down his forehead.
The man surveyed the young men again. This time, it was not stripping them with his eyes in that cursory appreciative way. It was a full-on, X-ray, rubber-glove-to-the-elbow, slow-and-steady, well-lubricated, restrained-to-the-stirrups, secluded-space, six-senses exam by the penetrative male gaze.
Or at least that was the character of the gaze that Karl could discern. Karl knew what it meant to be looked at. He had chapters upon chapters on how to interpret the micro expressions of aroused men. A good boy should know how to be looked at and how to engage as an active participant, not merely a passive object. Karl’s philosophy was to present handsomely, entice the gaze on him, then select the very best for true happiness. By happiness, Karl embraced Greek wisdom. It was the good life and the deep joys, which were so much wider, deeper and richer than the space between a boy’s butt and the tip of his penis, though, of course, that space had important roles to play too.
Karl failed, however, to decrypt this man’s aroused gaze. How deep inside what thing, tickling at what frequency, these particular thoughts were, remained obscured to the observer. Men in that middle-aged bracket, Karl knew, though, were notorious for coming up with some rather creative stuff at times. Boys beware.
At that age, most had moved on from the blushing domain of clumsy first kisses, awkward erections and the momentary vertigo before reaching out to grab hold of a strong dick or perky ass. Socratic, sublime, sophrosyne, salacious, slobbering, spanking… all possibilities. Whoever claimed men literally only want one thing and it’s fucking disgusting is at least 50 percent wrong.
For example, Karl knew first hand that out there, roamed friendly medical doctors who, if they got a young man on their examination table, would urgently prescribe thorough prostate exams, explore every entry in the penile health encyclopedia, from alpha to omega, and earnestly claim that the best tools a doctor had to learn about a young man’s bodily health were not made of metal or plastic, but nature’s own delicate devices, like fingers, lips, mouth and penis. And that is saying nothing about bankers, restaurateurs and professors. Only counting the number of educational reenactments of Renaissance Florence helmed by a man of said kind that include ritual stripping and mandatory penetration is a far higher number than most people believe.
Young men do well to be able to identify such middle-aged men. It is then up to each boy to decide what to do with said information. Trust the body, embrace command.
Yet, Karl could not tell what exactly they were up against in Bellinzona.
“Listen,” said Karl finally with certainty and confidence, “we are here, we are dick-swinging awesome, you select whatever reason for this encounter you fancy. I did not cross the Alps, all the way from the deep forests in Northern Sweden, to let some thief get away with the treasure we unconcealed in Castello di Montebello yesterday. These dicks and asses, which by now I think you have stroked, probed, slapped and lapped joyfully in your mind for the last few minutes, they need to get to Milan, fast. Our entire world depends on it. What are you going to do about it?”
A moment of silence followed. Thoughts crystallized, eyes expanded, cheeks blushed.
“Not coincidence, but providence,” mumbled the man to himself before a different kind of determination shone on his face.
“Say no more. I understand now. Let us act like honourable men. No complications. Take the keys. You drive the car where it needs to be for good to become real. Then leave it when done and let fate take it from there.”
He handed over the keys to the car and stepped aside. This was not a trick; it was real.
The five men were surprised. Not only was he giving them his car, he was also declining ninety minutes of highway blowjobs by the very best of European male power and beauty. The urgency of their task brought them back, however, and they quickly hugged the honourable man, who squeezed each man’s body close, before they stepped into the Volvo and drove off.
“Strange guy,” noted Hugo after a while. “I hope he’ll be ok. This world can be unkind to men like that.”
“Some men make things so complicated, rather than going for the direct pleasures,” said Martin. “Like, why not get your dick pleased and teased. Is he too sophisticated for the raw, manly pleasures? Sometimes, straightforward action with a climactic conclusion is exactly what the doctor ordered. Socrates was banging butt, that should settle the matter for these kind of sophistos.”
“Good guy, though, he put us back on the move,” concluded Karl as the Volvo moved with great haste over Lake Lugano towards the action they all expected in Milan.
