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A KURT AFFAIR
(A True Tale From The Castro. Eat your heart out, Armistead!)
by Ezekiel J. Krahlin
March 8, 2014
I've recently been in the consecutive arms of four extremely bodacious dudes, three of whom I described in an earlier tale, "A Light of Ray." Allow me now, to describe Darling #4, who I met by surprise while crossing 18th & Castro five nights ago.
He was dressed in full camouflage, including military cap, as he crossed opposite me on his way to Walgreens. Soon as I noticed that incredible face I said "Hi!" to see if he'd react. He, The Divine Warrior of Gay Conquest, did:
"Hey! Haven't we met before!"
I immediately spoke back: "No, I'm sure we haven't." (For I'd never forget a face as handsome as that.) "Though I do feel like we already know each other."
[ Of course I turned 'round to accompany him to the west side of Castro Street. And if you, Bon-Vivant Reader, gazed upon his glorious mug as I have, you surely would follow him instantly as I did, and w/o question! I was in rapture, just to be graced by his smile...cared for nothing in this world but to be in his naked embrace, sliding tongues and boners all over each other for the entire night. ]
But we never got that far, for he visited but 20 minutes. Though in that span of moments he graced me with incredible soldierly love that was intensely physical in its own delightful way. At first, when we shared some vodka and pot--and we sat on opposite chairs, knees barely touching and my hand on his left thigh--I complimented him on such male beauty I couldn't end the praise!
He blushed modestly, said thank you. How can I describe that noble face? Every bit as lovely as My Sacred Serpent, yet with his own unique features. Jet-brown curly head of hair, arched eyebrows that made one grin wider than the Continental Divide, and a sweet face of perfect strong nose, jaw and passionate lips! All framed in a blunt-cut beard and moustache that radiated a natural virility.
Then there's the rest of this Moody Maverick whose hazel eyes alone (though leaning more toward wet, dark-brown than mossy-green) would transport one to dimensions overwhelmingly ecstatic. Thick, muscular neck yet not too wide to compliment his darling cranium. Broad shoulders, tight sculpted torso and waist, and hefty thighs and calves to die for. All draped in camouflage. In other words: the dude was a drool fest!
Without my asking, he peeled off his two shirts to display a glorious torso kissed by a rosy blush about his left nipple. I began to massage those delightful shoulders, and suggested he stretch out on the bedding stomach-down, so I could give him the best back rub of his life. He complied faster than the shake of a newt's tail, whereby I mounted his hefty rump and began digging my palms into that broad Marine's back.
[ Oh that rump, let me tell you Voluminous Reader! Almost bubble but not quite: ample yet firm, it supported my full weight like an over-pumped basketball. Gave me a surprise woody in spite of the cheap vodka coursing my veins.
May as well post a sign on the backside: "I'm the best goddam fuk in the universe! No one has me but very few!"
Never got that far though; in fact he stayed my feverish hand as it sought to unbuckle, open the fly and whip it out. Oh, well, a dude can dream, can't he...with a little lube and my right hand I'm good to go. Can't even imagine what a righteous wanger is nested in that glorious crotch, though I'm sure some day my tongue will ride it like a saddle on a bucking Palomino. ]
I also worked on his arms, the right one bound with a wide leather strip over the biceps, embellished with two long, equally-black cords like shoestrings that fell down to the bedding in sensuous curves. Now, you should know that I'm definitely not into leather, being the Bohemian Queer Hippie I've been since 1973, and usually am turned off (or at best, neutral) when confronted with a leather-donned hunk.
But Kurt was special. The leather band was hot in my perception, and it only served to pump up his natural masculine beauty with yet more cum-rich testosterone! After massaging those divine shoulders and blades, I moved down to that tight, firm waist and reached around the midriff to grasp his lower ribs, and pull his torso upward then let go, as a great example of my skills in body work. He moaned like an angel in the midst of God's Ejaculation shooting wads of sperm up the anus!
I was riding his buttocks (though through his denim camouflage slacks and my own Levi's), enjoying the firmness of his military butt, solid and begging for my iron rod whenever my body decides I'm truly ready. Instead, I fell upon his back, embraced that firm upper torso and kissed him on the temple and nape. He smiled as I squirmed my crotch over his round, firm cheeks, and otherwise felt up his ribs and waist with my hands. His two shirts were scrunched up to the armpits, like a Xmas package partly open, to reveal the most amazing gift ever.
I finally ordered him to get on his back, let me lick that gorgeous chest. He did turn over but sort of pushed me away in plea: "I have eczema!"
At which moment I observed a purple-rosy blotch that spread over his left nipple that only served to enhance his good looks. It was curved like a half-dish over the nipple, with a mini-curve that swooped below the nipple before rejoining the dish. I wanted to slide my eager tongue across that elegant imperfection...and in so doing bless every single taste bud I possess!
"Okay, I'll lick around it, you are very lovely!" I begged in ecstatic admiration of All That is Righteous & Beautiful in Male Bonding.
But he appeared nervous, and said no, he'll get up. So I returned to my chair as he reclaimed his, while pulling down his T-shirt and long-sleeve. To which I objected:
"What? Deny me any further gazing upon your ripped torso?" I sighed like a damsel in distress who just lost her mortgage to Snidely Whiplash and her elderly parents would be cast onto the streets by midnight. Then added: "Never mind, I enjoy so much just viewing your handsome mug."
Once the shirts were drawn over his midriff once more, he sat upon the chair to vociferate: "I'm not into one-night stands."
"Oh my god," I thought, "He's labeling me as a cheap slut, has no idea of the years of sacrifice I've been through, the loss of many dear buddies, and how monogamous I really am though fate deemed for me a different destiny. Now that I've adapted to it (with great pride I might add) I get condemned for being courageously out there amid terrible loneliness and almost constant rejection!"
Resigned to such unfair judgment, knowing now that he was but 32, I sucked it up and declared: "Well, buddy, I'm not either. But we gotta start somewhere, and I'd rather we start tonight than put things off!" This fellow was so damn gorgeous nothing could stop me now from constant praise, except his own hand.
Kurt then mock-fell from his chair to find his sweet body once more reclined upon my bedding. So I lay down beside him partway, offering him another sip from a cup of vodka-and-root-beer, and another toke from my ganja pipe:
"I'm just offering you more booze and pot, 'cause I'm tryin' to seduce ya, buddy!" I joked, but with great passion.
"Oops, no!" he replied like a trembling virgin, and sat up in his chair once more. I shortly followed.
The man was splendid to gaze upon, and I suddenly leapt from my chair to embrace that darling face: graced with sexy facial hair that somehow excited my prostate gland. He pushed me back like I was crossing a line (though knew I really wasn't).
Upon our separation, I heard a sudden "clunk" as something fell from his pocket to the floor, and I saw he still had a lit cigarette butt in his right hand. So in my excusable enthusiasm, I almost got him burnt and possibly broke his cell phone at the same moment. For when he picked up the cell and checked it out, no image would appear on the blank screen.
He looked at me with a groan of annoyance, said "I gotta go!"
So I looked up into those captivating dark irises and praised: "Well it sucks to be me, I guess. I don't think I'll even bother to step out again and find some other buddy for the night...for I surely doubt I'll meet anyone out there as gorgeous as yourself!"
Kurt then flung open the door to exit and go down the stairs. I ran out to plead: "Howz 'bout a hug before ya go?"
"Nope" was his retort as he rushed down the stairway and out of my life. Though I did call:
"Thanks for your company. God bless you, Kurt, and have a lovely evening. If you wanna come back tonight and it's before 1 AM, just press "07" on the intercom!"
Sad to say (but not surprising) he never did return. He's the second man in one short week I've held close, who's said he's an ex-Marine. His fine upper body spoke truth to that claim! We even wrestled a bit, which I've never really enjoyed before in my life:
He lay on top of me after denying his chest from the delights of my tongue, and I gripped him fully round the waist, squirmed a bit.
"Oh, ya wanna wrestle, eh?" he challenged while his smile drenched me in golden rays.
"Yeah, I'd like to wrestle with ya, buddy!" I dreamily replied, and thus we each struggled against the other, finding parts of our bodies sliding against other parts with innocent delight. He grew a partial boner against my crotch, and it felt thick and long, maybe seven inches yet not fully hard!
But that's when he suddenly stood up and departed.
While seriously deflated by his departure, I remain eternally grateful for such a delicious encounter, albeit brief. Hopefully, we shall meet again, soon, that I can express my profound appreciation for his charming camaraderie and bracing bod. Until then, I must jack off to the memory of one of the sweetest evenings I've had with a ridiculously-perfect dude of a dragon. Thanks to Kurt, I finally know the glory of a true man's affection. And it feels like him.
I'm writing this piece not just for the joy of it, but in hopes of seeing him again on the streets, to present him a copy. So I can tell him (in writing, if not in voice):
Really sorry about the cell phone, Kurt. But it only dropped less then two feet, and they do make 'em pretty cheap so you'll have to cough up more moolah for repair or replacement. Planned obsolescence and all that. Also sorry 'bout the lit ciggie I didn't see when I embraced you by surprise. But you must also know this about me:
Almost every time a bodacious, sweet stud like you (and such times are rare, I assure) comes into my pathetic life, an unexpected nuisance interferes with getting things off the ground...that causes undeserved enmity against me. It's as if there's some jealous poltergeist that doesn't ever want me to be happy. Furthermore:
Me and cell phones just don't get along. That is why I keep a land line, even though I am a hi-tech buff (in fact I founded the Berkeley Unix User Group back in 2000, still going strong). What annoys me so about cells, is that they often intrude upon the company I so enjoy right at the most intimate moment. Soon as the phone activates, I'm expected to immediately halt our conversation in mid-speech without warning, and just sit there and shut up while my cum-dreamy guest answers that call.
You have no idea how many visitors grow angered at my request to shut off their cell phone while visiting me! Before their invention, folks would either silence their phone's ringer or just not answer, whenever a valued friend would drop over. Nowadays, most folks allow the cell to intrude on heartfelt camaraderie as if it were an ego-thing: that they are so important they can't hold off even for a nanosecond, answering the call or texting back, or checking their voice mail.
[ In fact, Commemorative Reader, one of the greatest hackers this planet has ever known (Richard Stallman)--and triggered the Linux OS movement via his free-software-based GNU project--refuses to own a cell phone. Certainly if he doesn't know what he's talking about, no one does. So I feel perfectly assured in not possessing a cell phone myself, thanks to this man's concerned warning. For he regards the cell as more of a "tracking device" and "eavesdropper"...than simply as a more-convenient alternative to the old land line.
Mr. Stallman, while fat, dumpy and old by this point, is admired and even adored as a hero, for his incredible achievements. For your information, I am a proud citizen of this hacker community, which Stallman oversees! I will be more than happy to explain further, in this matter. I really need to give my typing fingers a rest for several days. Carpal tunnel is a nasty affliction, so I prefer to respect when my arms and hands need a rest. ]
Which of course grossly diminishes the potential to form new and long term friendships. And makes me feel like I'm less important in their lives than even a stupid plastic device. You seemed to have been sorely put out by my spontaneous hug, simply because it caused your device to drop out and thus make the screen turn black. Hopefully, that's temporary (maybe a button was pressed that blanked the screen). But even if the damage was permanent:
How on earth could you really blame me for wanting to clutch your delightful, darling self in my arms? Why should I be punished for spontaneous appreciation of your remarkable good looks?
Outside of that unhappy incident, I am sure we can be really good friends...hopefully with benefits. For the way you smiled, the way we wrestled, the way you so casually adored me back, absolutely gives away the sweetness of your spirit, and the joy of mutual brotherly affection. After having said all this now, I want you to know:
I would greatly enjoy your company further, yet you seem to have certain blocks to thwart this. Which I perfectly understand, especially from one still so young and figuring things out. But you seemed to really enjoy my attentions nonetheless. Do you think I just wanted to find you, fuk you and forget you? If so, you are mistaken!
Everything about you, Kurt, says we can have a fine friendship should we continue to hang out. You are a glorious lad who has brought me incredible joy, but for a brief 20 minutes or so. If all you want from me regarding the physical, is a righteous back rub: I will gladly accept that limit and still appreciate what a strong, beautiful back you have, sweet neck and face to kiss, and your righteous Marine body to embrace.
But even if you want to back off from that (much to my disappointment), and just enjoy visiting in verbal repartee...I'd be most honored to have your company once more. Just do me this one favor:
Please turn off your cell phone when visiting, and keep it in a secure pocket where it is unlikely to crash onto the floor, causing you to be upset! For future reference, here is how you can reach me:
Often, I have my answering machine on to screen my calls. So just wait till my message is done before speaking into the intercom. Which will be something like "Zeke Krahlin. Leave a message," or "I just stepped out to stroll the Castro, back in 20 minutes." Possibly, I could also be down the hall in the restroom when you buzz...story of my life. In which case, please keep trying, don't give up. Come back in another 20 minutes and I'll likely pick up the phone immediately, if I know it's you who made the previous call.
I am home every evening by eight, but you may drop by later so long as it's before midnight. I hope whenever you do come over I'll have pot to spare, and tobacco. But I am relatively poor, so that's no guarantee. I think, however, your company will be such a joy with or without these amenities.
So there you have it, you darling renegade! I surely hope to have you over again...and again, and again, and again. But if I must be condemned to the one, solitary visit, let me tell you:
Thank you so much for the incredible moments we shared in such a brief time. You are so fukkin hot and sweet natured, I can't begin to thank you enough. Wherever you are, wherever you go, I'll be your friend at least in spirit, if nothing more.
Most affectionately,
Zeke
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