The Hungarian

I am British and come from one of those traditional upper-class families. Dad was forty-two when I was born and my mother thirty-eight. Against all expectations, an incorrigible bachelor and a confirmed spinster had come together and actually conceived a child. Most people believed that dad was gay and that my mother was a lesbian. Remarkably, they were all proved wrong.

My parents were much older than those of my friends, but all my pals loved visiting us. Dad’s self-deprecating humour and my mother’s playful irascibility amused the hell out of them. The perfect example of this fad would best be illustrated by the following anecdote:

Due to my father’s never-ending flatulence, he was known to fart rather loudly at times. On an occasion, while my friends were visiting us, my dad let off one of his epic ‘rippers.’

“Oh, dear Jesus, Bill, why don’t you go outside and shake yourself,” my mother exclaimed in mock horror. Needless to say, my two pals almost pissed themselves at mom’s ‘outburst,’ and my dad’s impish embarrassment.

By the time I had finished college, my dad had retired. Formally, my father had been a formidable barrister and my mother a fervid socialite. My dad’s rapier-sharp wit and my mother’s equally quick-witted retorts were a great inspiration to me when I was growing up, and stood me in good stead when I finally graduated and became a columnist for several publications.

What I particularly loved about my work was that I was not office bound. Thank fuck for the internet!

By my mid-teens, my parents were aware that I was gay. This did not really trouble them at all, but my mother from time to time would feign disappointment at the fact that she would never have grandchildren. On one such occasion, as she bemoaned this matter, my father mischievously taunted her by saying, “How the hell would you be able to cope with grandchildren when you can’t even make a decent soufflé?” Naturally, all hell broke loose after that comment.

My father proved to be a great asset to my career. He was unbelievably well-read and remarkably intelligent. At university, he had studied Greek and Latin. Resultantly, whenever I had to write a piece that was less light-hearted and profound, my dad revelled in proofreading and offering me advice. His contributions were awesome and really enhanced my submissions.

Shortly after his retirement, my father decided to ‘civilize’ me by insisting that I join him on journeys away from home. An added reason for this coercion was that he contended that he simply had to escape my mom’s tyranny and needed a companion to do so. With pops paying all our expenses, I simply couldn’t refuse.

Our first excursion to Eastern Europe was hardly very exciting, but I have to admit, rather interesting. Although my dad always retired to his room shortly after dinner to do what he loved best, reading, sadly, the gay nightlife in these areas proved to be non-existent.

Upon our return to London, I had dinner with an old friend. This meeting proved to be unbelievably interesting after I told him about the trip with my father.

“Have you ever watched a television show called; ‘Travels with My Father?’” he asked me.

“No,” I honestly replied.

After a short snigger, he replied, “William, you must see it… Just watch it and you will appreciate why I suggested it.”

After dinner, when I got home I couldn’t wait to Google the show that my buddy had recommended. I instantly realized why he had suggested it as the show commenced. Although the characters were physically different from my dad and me, I felt like I was watching my life unfolding before me on television.

I will not bore you with specific details, other than to say the initial episode I watched was totally intriguing. Let me tell you why:

On a visit to the Swiss Alps, the protagonist and his dad acquire the services of a bearish tour with a mega moustache and beard. Upon their return to the magnificent lodge that they were staying in later that day, the tour guide joins the son in an outdoor hot tub. Not long after, the two of them enter a sauna. The scene as the two of them get out of the tub and enter the nearby sauna had me practically salivating.

At this point; I have to mention that although the son in the show was obviously gay, this was a travel program and not a gay extravaganza and, therefore, one did not see all the goings-on in the sauna.

What did, however, totally blow my mind, was a statement made by the son thereafter, when he reported that their guide was; ‘a most persuasive fellow.’

That night after I return home my mind went into sensual overdrive. I must have masturbated three times imagining the hot sauna action that they had experienced.

Needless to say, when my father suggested our next visit abroad, I was totally insistent on a visit to this resort.

“Ah… so you want a Germanic excursion,” my father contemplatively muttered in his inimitable manner.

Two weeks later all the booking had been made.

Regrettably, our tour guide was a surly individual with less charm than a rabid dog and when we were finally dropped off at the lodge, he couldn’t wait to fuck off after his duties had ended for the day. I was devastated that Wouter, Willie, or whatever the tour guide in the television show’s name was, had not accompanied us.

After my father had retired to his room to read a great book that he was intrigued by, I soon sat moping in the hot tub that I had seen on television. As I sat, resigned to the bad hand that fate had dealt me I did, nonetheless, enjoy the warmth of the water and the stimulating bubbles that caressed my body.

As if by magic a vision suddenly befell my eyes, when a very large masculine form suddenly exited the building and headed in my direction. The term; tall, dark, and handsome had miraculously materialized as the virile apparition next stood looking at me, before asking if he could join me in the tub. How I didn’t piss myself, I will never know.

I, naturally, got a very good look at him as he had headed in my direction with a large pendulum flopping between his legs. Above all, his nutsack would’ve sent hysterical high-pitched chipping noises through an entire chipmunk colony, as they were preparing their stash for winter.

As we sat enjoying the hot tub and swapping histories, I thought about the television program I had watched. Although Máté, who was Hungarian, was infinitely sexier than the tour guide in that show, I still hankered after the ‘persuasive’ encounter that the character in the television show had enjoyed. It simply did not dawn on me that Máté could possibly be gay or bisexual. He was, after all, a butch water polo player who had represented his country at the highest level.

Several minutes later, however, my misgivings were somewhat negated when I felt his big toe push up against mine. I did not initially get too excited, given our close proximity, but when his big toe moved over my toe and commenced rubbing it, I had a Eureka moment and knew that my Alpine aspiration was about to come true. Máté’s horny expression also left me in no doubt about what would shortly follow.

When he finally suggested that we move to the sauna, I had to retrain myself from rushing like a starving man in the direction of a food-laden buffet.

As I sat down in the sauna, Máté moved directly in front of me and offered me his engorged dick. Although I did my very best, given the girth and length of his cock, my oral ardour was put to its greatest test. I was pleased by his contented moans, nevertheless, as I enthusiastically went about the incredibly pleasant task that had unexpectedly transpired.

In my pipedreams, after I had watched the television show, I had always imagined that the engaging Swiss tour guide had a thick stubby knob. Máté, however, now took my fantasy to a much higher level. With his huge hands controlling my head, he sensually smeared his cock and balls all over my face, before frequently returning his dick to my mouth. An added bonus for me was that Máté also did not partake in the ridiculous habit of trimming his genital bush. For me, if you are meant to have hair there… for fuck’s sake, leave it alone!

Regrettably, the heat of the sauna then defeated us, and with both of us fighting for air it was decided that we should move the action to Máté’s quarters.

Once there, my incredible facial genital massage thankfully continued. With me flat on my back and my head at the foot of his bed, an added pleasure was introduced, when I got to lick his hairy backside as well. My hairy head-smothering was the most sensual experience I could ever recall, and I was delighted by the unhurried approach by him. The trio of ecstasy; of having my head rubbed by his cock, balls, and butthole, added to the frequent infiltration of my mouth by his dick, was totally awesome.

When Máté finally creamed my mouth, I was so worked up that I shot my load several seconds later. As I lovingly licked his cock clean, he leaned his torso over and shortly I could feel his tongue lapping the jizz off my stomach.

After our session, Máté retrieved two bottles of water from the bar fridge, which we feverishly glugged down.

Next, he embraced and commenced kissing me. As he did so he clearly made his following port of call clear, as his large fingers began to caress my pucker. I was nervous about the impending incursion but equal to the challenge.

When my body was finally placed face down on the bed and Máté mounted my frame, a thrill of excitement pulsed through my body. The face mashing I had received from his crotch earlier was now re-enacted all over my backside, as his hairy hips danced above me. The added pleasure of his nibbling lips on my neck and ears made me groan like a bitch in heat. When his body movements slowed down a short while later and I felt his backside lifting, I knew that my arse was now going to be put to its ultimate test.

Although his infiltration was not very comfortable, once he got going I felt like I had arrived in heaven. Once again, his leisurely pace was mindboggling. His slow prodding, combined with his febrile mouth on my neck, ears, and mouth, was totally remarkable. The fantasy of the Swiss tour guide that had enchanted me in the preceding weeks, evaporated into nothingness as Máté stimulated me into another dimension.

When Máté ultimately raised his torso onto outstretched arms and started hammering my butt, I was so overexcited that the friction of my cock rubbing against the bedcover soon took me over the edge. As I lay there groaning like a shagged-out whore, Máté kept pounding into me. A few minutes later, he finally seeded my arse, before collapsing on me.

As we were showering afterward, I asked him if he would like to join my father and me for dinner. He gladly accepted my invitation.

When I got to the bar counter in the dining area at seven-thirty, my dad was already sipping on his whisky. I briefly told him about meeting Máté in the hot tub that afternoon and explained that I had invited him to join us for dinner. Minutes later, Máté joined us at the bar.

For the duration of our stay at the bar and throughout dinner, my father and Máté really hit it off and I never once contributed to their conversation. Naturally, Máté was very impressed by my very intelligent dad’s knowledge of his homeland. They discussed Hungarian history, economics, agriculture, the 1956 uprising, and of course, the most famous water polo encounter in history, referred to as; ‘Blood in the water’.

During the 1956 Olympic Games, the water polo final was between Hungary and the USSR. Given the recent acrimony caused by the Soviets suppression of the Hungarian uprising, a melee ensued in the swimming pool.

By nine o’clock my father retired to his room to read, as usual, and after Máté and I had finished our wine we returned to his room.

After a really great afternoon, that evening was even more spectacular.

Once we had completed a lengthy kissing session, I soon found myself lying on my back. As Máté climb on the bed and mounted my body, he rigorously began to grind his knob into my crotch. Although my balls were getting a real working over, I was amazed by how much it was turning me on.

“Are your balls very sensitive?” he asked.

“No, not really,” I replied.

“Good,” he answered.

Máté now lifted his torso and instructed me to pull up my legs in the air and hold them back for him. With his rigid cock in his right hand, he commenced lightly tapping my nuts. The momentum soon escalated and not long after, the tapping turned into solid slapping. As the divine discomfort of the torture increased, his tormenting began to make me giddy with lust.

I had never before understood how pain could be such an elixir in the pursuit of pleasure. As I commenced begging him to whip my nutsack harder, Máté’s left hand took hold of my right leg as he told me to tug on my knob. I was almost choking as I spewed spunk all over my stomach.

After scooping my jizz off my stomach, Máté liberally started coating his dick with my juice. Shortly, he placed his knob at my manhole before spearing his cock into me. Sore as it was, it was heavenly, and as he began to plow my backside with gusto I grunted as he thumped my arse like an out of control jackhammer. All of my previous sexual experiences felt like I had been Valium. When Máté finally ejaculated, we were roaring like two animals.

As we lay side by side in the afterglow, he mumbled, “This is why I like boys. Much as I love my wife, with her sex is never as exciting as this.”

Shortly after, we fell asleep.

The following morning as we showered, my head and arse received another pounding from him.

Máté had to be at the local aquatic centre by nine the following morning, for a water polo training session. Resultantly, he could not join dad and me for breakfast. Fortunately, Máté and I had agreed to meet in the hot tub again later that afternoon.

As dad and I went on our excursion for the day with the charmless tour guide, all I could think about was the afternoon and evening that lay ahead, with my Hungarian stud.