Richard's Initiation

“I imagine that there'll be a complaint from the bar owner”, said Richard gloomily  as they sped away from Redmond O'Hanlon's Bar.  

“Nope”, chuckled Kincaid. “The Irish mafia will deal with it. Tomorrow I shall call on him and apologise, with a couple of Royal Engineers. They'll deal with any major repairs on the spot. Any broken beer steins etc. will be paid for out of Kincaid's slush fund. Everyone will be happy; there'll be no complaints. Don't worry; it has all happened before.” 

“Oh. Which slush fund?” 

Kincaid placed his finger on his lips. “Mine! Need to know!” he said emphatically. With that, Richard had to be content. 

Kincaid spoke again: “Next stop, Fugler!” This was a clothes shop near the university that was open late. McSpunk, draped in a large bathing towel that someone had found, was ushered into the shop to try on some new clothes. Eventually, after a lot of discussion, he emerged looking much like everyone else, in jeans and a polo-shirt. 

“Yer look respectable! For once I'm not embarrassed to be seen in public with youse!” said Kincaid. 

McSpunk was not amused: “Too fucking middle-aged and middle-class- conservative for me!” 

“It's just as well; Babylon is superficially conservative.” He added, sotto voce, "McSpunk's  choice in underwear compensates for  the conventional exterior!"

McSpunk gave Kincaid a dirty look.  

“Yes, what exactly is Babylon?” asked Richard, changing the subject. 

“You'll see soon enough. It's an institution for... men like us. Part-Club, part restaurant, part massage parlour, part brothel, part lonely hearts club.” 

As Richard soon found out, Babylon was all that and more. It occupied a huge, Gothic house in Bad Godesberg, built by a profiteer in the Kaiser's time. At night it looked like a Transylvanian fortress, with orange light streaming from its pointed, stained-glass windows; its OTT gargoyles and pinnacles silhouetted against the sky.  Inside, it was very different. Its present owners were a rich German businessman and his Thai boyfriend; the interiors were now oriental and exotic. Richard was reminded of Jim Thompson's Emporium in Bangkok. Chinese scroll paintings adorned the walls. Inscrutably smiling Buddhas; squatting in the Full Lotus position; standing, reclining or lying flat... were to be seen in every corner. Chinese vases stood softly illuminated in niches. Lush tropical plants flourished everywhere. Goldfish swam around in large porcelain bowls. Soothing canned music played. Gusts of incense wafted around. The gardens at the back, visible through French windows, were of mixed Japanese and Chinese inspiration, with Koi ponds, contemplation stones and more statues. 

It was quite possible to treat Babylon as a club and to pass a blameless evening there, if you really wanted to. There was a good bar and a Thai/Chinese restaurant. There were also two cinemas in the basement: one showed mainly horror films; the other one, non-stop gay blue movies, to get you in the mood.  There was a swimming pool, where nakedness was obligatory. There were sauna and massage facilities, and other facilities, including private bedrooms.

Dress code was relaxed and mixed. In the bar Richard was amused to see ostensibly respectable businessmen in dark suits, who had come straight from work, chatting with others in informal clothes and with yet others in white terry-cloth bathrobes. A few crew-cut and very obvious US Marines wore only bath-towels draped round their waists. The Marines were talking earnestly in a group, probably military “shop”, and ignoring their Thai boyfriends, while the Thais looked bored. Finally one of the Thais mischievously snatched away his brawny friend's bath-towel. That got the Marine's attention, all right; to the accompaniment of cheers from 4 Coy, 5 Para, and hotly pursued by the huge, furious and naked American, the Thai darted upstairs. Soon afterwards distant yells suggested that the American had caught up on the Thai and was now brutally rogering him, or just beating him up as a punishment.   

“Eh! I really fancied yon Yank!” chuckled McSpunk, who had now recovered his sense of humour.  “Even if we hadn't been here, I could have told you he was gay!”

“Oh, how?”  The Yank was not sporting any tattoos or gay jewellery. In fact, he looked like the clean-living hero of an action film. 

“By his tan-line! Proper straight American men wear long, baggy shorts for swimming and sunbathing. They think trunks are indecent, the wallies. But this one obviously sports just the bare-bikini-minimum!”  

“What are you drinking?” asked Kincaid. “Tonight's on me, or rather on Kincaid's slush fund!” 

A few requested beer or champagne; Richard asked for a fruit juice. So did some of the other Paras. They were saving themselves for later.  

The US Marine reappeared without his Thai boyfriend, still looking pretty annoyed. He told his friends that he was going to relax in the sauna. They nodded and continued their conversation. 

“Excuse me!” said McSpunk excitedly; he then headed for the changing rooms. Seconds later he reappeared, clad only in a towel. He gave them a big wink and disappeared into the sauna.  

“They should be like a couple of hot tomatoes!” chuckled Kincaid. “We'll go look in on them in a few minutes' time!”  

When they did look through the window of the sauna door, the big Marine was on his back, shiny with sweat, his eyes closed in ecstasy, legs in the air.  McSpunk was fucking him with dedicated concentration, holding the Marine's ankles. He grinned and nodded at Kincaid and Richard, without varying the rhythm of his thrusts. 

“They're having fun! That's McSpunk sorted. Now, let's get your birthday treat under way!” said Kincaid.  

The birthday present was one of the masseurs; a good-looking young Thai called Adun. Introducing them, Kincaid said: 

“He's the best masseur in the place! I've booked him for you - for the whole evening if you like!” 

Adun smiled modestly. Richard grinned. “Let's go!” he said. 

Adun took him to the top of the Babylon building. He opened a well-appointed bedroom decorated, as seemed to be the rule at Babylon, with Chinese and other oriental works of art. Petals floated on the surface of a huge celadon bowl of water. There was a strong perfume of tuberoses and oriental lilies. It was all very tasteful, if a bit decadent. This was not really Richard's taste, but it was fun to indulge in, once in a while.  

“You strip”, said Adun. 

Richard stripped. He caught sight of himself in one of the full-length mirrors that adorned the walls. He looked good. 

“Very nice”, said Adun, with a silken smile. He indicated that Richard should lie face-down on a raised couch. He locked the door and draped a towel over the handle, so that the view from the keyhole was blocked. Adun pulled off his shirt but seemed inclined to leave it at that for the moment. 

“You strip too,” said Richard. 

Adun smiled and stripped, exposing a golden nudity. This brought back to Richard happy memories of Bangkok and other oriental places visited while on leave.

Adun massaged Richard with scented oil; gently to begin with, reducing him to a state of complete relaxation, even drowsiness, with brief moments of intense arousal, when he paid special attention to Richard's man-hole. Adun was clearly a skilled ass-artist. His fingers, tongue and a slender glass dildo would be inserted - now superficially, now deeply - and withdrawn. Each time, Richard was brought close to orgasm and then gently led away. As a coup de grace, Adun opened Richard's ass-hole and suddenly poured on it some very warm scented oil that he had been heating over a candle-flame.  Moments later the crystal dildo went in again, past both sphincters, deeper than ever before. 

“FUCK!” Richard yelled, then lay still. 

“You relax now!” said Adun and began massaging Richard again. 

Richard relaxed and was soon very drowsy. Almost asleep, he was sponged down, gently dried and moved by Adun and an assistant, then laid in a bed between clean silken sheets. A few more touches by Adun and he was asleep.  Presently Richard was enjoying an erotic dream, in which he was being given the best oral sex of his life by an invisible person. He woke; and it was not a dream. He really was getting the best oral sex that he had ever dreamed of. Presumably Adun had returned for another helping of Richard... Richard reached down beneath the sheets to find the head of whomever was giving him head. His hands did not find Adun's floppy, silky hair. Instead, the hair was very short and bristly. At that moment a strong, stubby finger was stabbed firmly up Richard's man-hole, causing him to yelp and almost to cum. Richard grabbed the ears and drew his man up upwards. No difficulty about that; he came up for air readily enough. 

“Hi, lover boy! D'yer like that?” 

It was McSpunk, who now planted a lascivious kiss on Richard's mouth. Without waiting for a reply, McSpunk, who had got Richard very hard indeed, impaled himself on Richard's cock and began to ride it with the skill of a practised cock-jockey. Richard had never been so deep inside such a hot ass: McSpunk had never had such a massive cock inside him. He started to shout:  

“Oh oh oh oh oh FUCK!” and more to that effect. 

So did Richard, whom he brought close to orgasm again and again, to deny it at the last possible minute. Finally, a furious Richard flipped McSpunk onto his side, wrapped him in a python-like embrace, entered and fucked him as hard as he could. Richard was able to watch the whole process in the mirror-glass that covered that wall of the room. He reached over from behind with his free hand and grabbed McSpunk's cock, which he masturbated expertly. No longer in control, McSpunk's screams and swear-words rose to a crescendo, Finally, the explosion came; he was shooting white-hot globs of sperm at tremendous velocity. They trickled down the mirrored wall opposite. Richard enjoyed McSpunk's pain and ecstasy; he drew out the process for as long as he could. McSpunk was now trembling, swearing and sweating profusely. 

“Time for a breather? Shall I stop? How d'you feel?” 

McSpunk groaned: “Aye, ye can stop. How's I feel? Fucked, Pal, fucked! I've never known anything like it. It was maaagic, but Jings! I'm fucking sore!” 

McSpunk closed his eyes and breathed out. Richard kissed him gently.  McSpunk smiled without opening his eyes and spoke again.

 “Ye're no human! Wud ye mind telling me who or what you really are?”   

Richard chuckled: “I guess I'm your original horny little devil!” 

McSpunk felt Richard's cock, which was still hard. “Man, ye havenae even cum yet!”

Richard laughed. “I come when I decide to; not you. It's a trick I learned. Would you like me to come now?”

That was exactly what McSpunk wanted. Richard knelt astride him and shot all over his face. Most of his jizz went down McSpunk's eagerly open mouth. 

“Eh! That tasted guid!” 

Richard finally sank back, exhausted. After a few minutes' rest, he heaved McSpunk up in a fireman's lift, took him into the shower, washed and dried them both. Then they went back to bed. McSpunk fell fast asleep; Richard soon followed suit.  

In the early hours of the morning Richard woke again. He was lying on his stomach. Normally he would have gone for a run at this time. He grinned to himself at the thought of the exercise that he'd just been having. A male body was lying beside him, breathing evenly. That was normal and okay, but it was not McSpunk's; it was very much bigger.  An arm was draped across Richard's back. 

Patrick Kincaid leaned on his elbow, looked down at Richard  and smiled. “How'd ye feel now?” 

Richard did a double-take: “Surprisingly well, all things considered. But Patrick, what's this mean? Am I supposed to have sex with every single member of the platoon, including you?” 

Kincaid chuckled: “Nope. You acquitted yourself heroically last night, so you did. McSpunk is going need a day's sick-leave after this, to recover. He can't even sit down. Never before has he been defeated! Every other man who's ever slept with him has ended up shagged and shattered. This time it's him that's shattered. We watched part of it through that two-way mirror. I was impressed!” Kincaid gestured at the mirror in question. 

“Fucking hell! You and who else?” 

“Me and the other umpire. You won, hands down.” 

“Umpires? Like a tactical exercise?”

“Exactly. We don't take anyone's unsupported word for something as serious as sexual prowess.” 

“Fuck! This is too much!”

“Don't worry. McSpunk & Co now have enormous respect for you! No-one's going to challenge your leadership again!” Kincaid laughed happily.  

“And now what? You didn't get naked and into bed with me just to tell me all that!”

“Nope, but I reckon we both emptied our balls last night. I had one of those US Marines... With you, I had a spot of serious male-bonding in mind, if you're willing...”

“Okay...” said Richard cautiously.  

“Sit up, legs apart!”

Richard did so. Kincaid moved closer. He entwined their legs, his right leg over Richard's left and vice-versa. They drew close and hugged tightly. Great warmth flooded their bodies, starting at the crotch and ass. Their breathing synchronised. From time to time they would stare into each other's eyes. Kincaid blinked first.

“Hey! Stop lookin' at me like that!”

“Like what?”

“You know! That dark Look you give us when you want to intimidate us and hide yer own thoughts!"

“I don't know what you mean”, said Richard untruthfully. 

Their hands continued to explore each other's bodies. Richard tweaked Kincaid's nipples. Kincaid held Richard's cock. 

“I don't believe this! You're already starting to get hard again!”

Richard grinned. “Yep! The sap seems to be rising!”

Kincaid naked was at least as handsome as Kincaid fully-dressed; Kincaid the Hollywood soldier. His long-legged, muscular body, unlike Richard's, was not shaven; crisp, dark curls covered his torso and bloomed in a black cloud at his crotch. The hair of his head was almost as dark as Richard's, and even more curly. His hands were rough but his touch was gentle and subtle. Kincaid kissed Richard's throat and let his unshaven chin rub against Richard's skin. When it became clear that Richard liked this, he did it again. 

Richard grinned: “A kiss without stubble is like potatoes without salt, innit?”  

“Too right!” murmured Kincaid. He kissed Richard again, this time on the lips.

Their big hugs became rougher and more rib-cracking. It became a competition; who could bear-hug the other into submission. 

“You're fockin' strong!” grunted Kincaid. “Like a bloody anaconda!”

“So're you,” said Richard. 

“I'd like to fight you sometime soon,” Kincaid added.

“Challenge accepted. What sort of fight?”

“I box, I wrestle and I'm not bad at Mixed Martial Arts.” 

“I'm game for wrestling. D'you know a club or gym where we can...?”

“Ye mean, fight naked? Course I do!”