Moscow, December 5, 2005 --I took the bull by the horns. “
Anton, I have some important news for you.” He stopped what he was doing and looked at me.
“Zhorik and I have become boyfriends. We want to live together – by ourselves – in this room.”
He took it calmly and in stride.
“I have some plans of my own,” he confided. “You mustn’t tell anyone – not
Igor, not Zhorik, nobody.”
“Of course.”
So he told me his plans. Rather bold ones that actually involve leaving Russia and becoming a citizen of another country. In light of their sensitivity, I can hardly detail them here.
“I hope I won’t have to move before New Year’s,” he continued. “It’s going to cost about 15,000 pounds to do this. I already have about 7,000 That’s why I’m going to Vladikafkaz. My mother has sold my grandmother’s apartment – you remember she died a few years ago – and she’s going to give me the 7,000 pounds.”
“What country are you going to become a citizen of?”
He told me.
“Can I come to visit you?”
“Of course.”
Fantastic! It’s high on my list of priorities. He will be a wonderful host.
Just as Zhorik and I were settling into our first stages of couple-dom, I got blindsided from an unexpected source.
When I got home from my class at the Inst. of Diplomacy Wed. night, Zhorik had dropped off to sleep from exhaustion. I lay down beside him and passed out too. When we woke up a little while later, he announced that he was pissed at me and Sergei.
“Why?”
“I don’t want to talk about it now.”
He reached into the wallet I had bought him a couple of days before and handed me $ 100. “I got paid today.”
“Thanks, honey, that’s wonderful.”
The C-notes (that’s what they used to call them in old James Cagney movies, remember?) had been slowly piling up since I had spent most of my cash last Sunday on a new winter coat and a black shirt and white tie for Zhorik to wear when we go to Stavropol. There had been $ 300 from Olga on Monday morning, $ 100 from Masha’s law firm, $ 100 from Alexei and Darya, $ 100 from Anton, $ 100 from Lena’s private lessons at McK, and $ 100 from Valera. And now another $ 100 from Zhorik. Time to think about a bank run.
Although it was 11 p.m. by then, neither of us was sleepy. “Do you want to go shopping?”
“Okay.”
As we walked, we chatted. “Why are you pissed?”
“When I got home this evening, the apartment was locked and I had to wait an hour and a half.”
“Where was Sergei?”
“Either not home or asleep.”
“Honey, when I left at 5:30, both Sergei and Yuri were home and awake. Don’t be mad at me. Be mad at Sergei if you want to, but it’s not my fault.”
“We need another key.”
“I can make another key to our apartment, but I can’t get another key to the building.”
“Okay.” There was a pause, broken by: “I talked to Andrei today. Pop is broke. He doesn’t have any money.”
“We can send him $ 50 or $ 100.”
“And Andrei wants to borrow another $ 5,000.”
I sputtered and stopped in the street! “No! No! No! First of all, I don’t have it. And if I had it, I wouldn’t give it to him. I think the $ 15,000 I’ve loaned him is enough. If he could make it as a businessman, he could have made it on $ 15,000. Maybe he ought to sell his truck and think about something else.”
When we got home about midnight, I drank the Street cocktail Zhorik had bought me that afternoon and then went to bed again.
“Honey, don’t stay up all night playing computer games. You’ve got to work tomorrow.”
I woke up when he came to bed about 3:30.
I massaged his back and we chatted, hugged, and kissed.
He rolled onto his back for his stomach massage. I sensed he was waiting for something. I let my hand slide south. “Can I touch it?”
“Um-Hmm.” I touched, massaged, gently stroked. He started getting hard. I reached in and unbuttoned the buttons on his shorts, and stroked some more. I massaged the head of his stiff cock. “Where does it feel best for you – here?”
“uhmm-hm.”
I was in heaven. “Someday, honey, when we have our own room, I want to put on some porn, and I want to suck you off.”
“We’ll see.”
“It’s my dream.”
“I’ll try.”
I stroked some more.
“That’s enough.”
“Honey,” I said, taking my own dick in my left hand, “I’d like to jerk off holding your cock; can I?
“Okay.”
Then a second later, he sat up on the bed and motioned me to follow him into the kitchen for a smoke.
He hugged me tight. “I’m sorry, Dane. I didn’t want Sergei knowing we’re doing this.”
We hugged and kissed some more.
Then the bombshell: “Andrei and Sergei think you’ll soon get tired of me.
“What?”
I couldn’t believe my ears. Both have encouraged me to pursue Zhorik. Both are asking for money. And now both of them are trying to sabotage our fledgling relationship. It was my turn to be angry.
“I think they’re jealous. Honey, why would I get tired of you when I haven’t gotten tired of them. I made the same promise not to have sex with anybody else but them, and do you know who ended it? They did. After they had sex with girls, they said, you don’t have to keep your promise any more. They ended it; I didn’t.
“Besides,” I continued, “holding his hand, “I see something in you I don’t see in them. I see your beautiful soul. Do you remember when we sat out on our bench last spring and talked about values, and how the important things were kindness and compassion and helping people and what Christ said about loving your neighbor and helping others?
“Yes, I remember.”
“That’s one of the reasons I love you. You have those values. They don’t.”
A few nights before, when Kreutz had made his 3 a.m. visit, he had told me that he had had a bad dream in which he was accompanying my body back to America. A few nights before that, as I was dropping off to sleep I saw a face that first looked like me when I was young, and then transformed into the face of an old man in agony; then it blurred into the face of Dave Wagner, who died of a heart attack more than two years ago.
And finally the passage I quoted recently about Isherwood dying at age 81 had compelled me to rather starkly face facts:
“Honey,” I said, kissing him again, “I’m probably entering the last decade of my life. I want to live it with you; I want us to be kind and happy and loving together. Why would I get tired of you?
“I will never get tired of love and kindness.”
We went back to bed. I woke up a little while later and resumed playing with his stiff cock while I prevented some more prostate cancer.
Reality has also struck Sergei. He’s exhausted his supply of friends to whom he can make one-time sales of Ori-Flame perfumes. His font of infinite riches has dried up.
“Dane,” he said one night last week. “I’ve decided I want to go to the university next September. I will work between now and then and try to earn the money for tuition, but if I don’t have enough will you help me?
“I want to become a psychologist!”
O Bozhe! – Russian for O God -- ! He never even finished high school. He can barely write his name. How can he write research papers, dissertations, essay tests?
“Psychologists make good money. It will also help me understand other people.”
“And yourself,” I interjected.
“Yes, and myself.”
“How much do you think it will cost?”
“Not more than $ 1,000 a semester.”
“Okay, honey, I think I can help you.”
In the Russian education system, ability and hard work don’t mean much. You can buy any degree you want. If he can’t earn a psychologist’s qualifications, maybe he can buy them. I won’t stand in the way.
Still stinging from his warning to Zhorik, I asked him Friday night after he’d been out “gulyating” – walking and drinking: “Do you think I will get tired of Zhorik?
No, no,” he said. “In fact, I’m very, very happy. He’s my brother and you’re my grandfather. I tell everyone that you’re my natural grandfather; my mother’s dead, and you had met my grandmother, and conceived my mother, and now we’ve found each other.
“No, I don’t think you’ll get bored with Zhorik,” he continued. “In fact, I think you’re bored with me.”
Well, bored isn’t maybe the right word. Disgusted, frustrated, exasperated, at my wit’s end, maybe. But not bored.
“Honey, just because I love Zhorik doesn’t mean I’m bored with you.” I hugged him tight and kissed him. “I love you, honey.” And I do.
“Why do you want to get rid of Anton?” he asked suddenly.
“Because Zhorik and I want to live together in his room.”
“And me?”
“Well, honey, you can live in the other room.”
“What if I lived with Anton?”
“That would be great!”
“If we lived together in the same room, could he stay?”
“Of course.”
“Do you mind if I talk to him?”
“No, of course not. I wish you would.”
He disappeared into Anton’s room. Several minutes later he reappeared.
“We’re going to live together,” he effused. “And he will continue to live here. From now on, I will go straight into his room. I won’t sleep with you.”
“What about Yegor?” I asked.
“What about my Igor?” echoed Zhorik.
“We’ll figure it out.”
After they left, I went into Anton’s room, took his head in my hands and kissed him.
“Are you happy?”
He nodded his head and smiled.
“Me, too.”
But what’s going on here? A year ago Sergei hated Anton’s guts, went into a maniacal rampage after I refused to throw him and Yegor out (Chapt. 102). Now he can’t stand the thought of Anton’s leaving.
Sergei is suddenly gentle, kind, considerate, and loving to other people.
He wants to become a psychologist.
Dave Wagner used to argue that people never change. They are who they are and you just see different facets of them. But Zhorik and I both are observing what seems to be a real change in Sergei’s personality – a softening, a gentling. Where’d it come from. What’s it attributable to? Or is it just an illusion? A lull between volcanic eruptions?
I discussed it with him last night.
“I never realized before that I could really make something of myself. But I see Zhorik planning to go to school. And I want to go to school and learn and become a psychologist and help people and make something of myself.”
Some Moscow Times headlines over the last week:
• 100 Russians become infected with the AIDS virus every day – 92 of them drug addicts. On World AIDS Day Putin announced that Russia is finally going to take the epidemic seriously and put $ 175 million into the AIDS prevention and treatment program next year.
• Security Council Chief Igor Ivanov accused the U.S. and NATO of “heightening tensions” in Central Asian countries by encouraging mass protests that could lead to further revolutions in the Russian sphere of influence.
• Putin admitted that his sudden largesse in earmarking $ 4.8 billion for long-overdue boosts in spending for education, medicine, and pensions is aimed at currying favor among the voters prior to the 2006 and 2008 elections.
• Russia is “headed for a catastrophe” in electric power supply and this winter could find electricity being cut to businesses in Moscow, electric power magnate Anatoly Chubais has warned. If temperatures drop below 20 degrees F. for three days in a row the system is going to be in real trouble, he warned. Moscow Mayor Yuri Luzhkov has promised that people here will not go without heat.
• Russia will continue to be one of the DVD piracy capitals of the world until manufacturers start pricing their licensed products sensibly. The co-chairman of the public advisory board for the “Russia Against Counterfeiting” movement said he himself often buys pirate CVDs for about $ 3 that would cost many times that from a licensed dealer. Russian citizens, whose average monthly income is $ 300 a month, want the benefit of the world’s music, too, he noted, and until manufacturers start pricing labels realistically, they can expect flagrant piracy to continue. I myself just bought a great new translation program, X-Translator Diamond Gigant, for about $ 18 that would have sold for around $ 100 in the licensed market.
• A car thief who stole a Nissan Primera from a southern Moscow auto repair shop got no further than the first traffic light when he discovered why the owner had left the car to be repaired: Brakeless, he slammed into the rear-end of an SUV and was arrested later that day after an unsuccessful attempt to escape. He was going to try to sell the car for enough money to pay the fine for stealing another car a month ago.
• St. Basil’s Cathedral, the onion-domed fantasy that has symbolized Moscow for centuries, is being threatened -- by rock and roll, according to alarmed preservationists. The group is calling for restrictions on concerts, skate-boarding, and other activities that could cause vibration and damage to the 450-year-old treasure. “We’re talking about damage, or even destruction of the famous church,” warned one leader.
It didn’t seem like that propitious of an evening! Sergei and Zhorik had gone “gulyating” earlier to meet and talk with a couple of girls; then the three of us had had a minor disagreement and I didn’t feel that the vibes were all that good.
So at about 11:30 I told them both goodnight and went to bed.
The night before had been the first night that we had slept under the new arrangements -- Zhorik and I alone in our bed and Sergei on the couch in Anton’s room.
It hadn’t been a smashing success: Zhorik hadn’t felt well, had fallen asleep on the bed in his clothes, and had slept till after noon.
And last night Sergei wanted to play on the computer. When Zhorik had lain down beside me to wait for him to finish, I reminded him: “Don’t forget to undress.”
He awoke me when he came to bed about 3 a.m. As usual, I lovingly massaged his stomach before he rolled over to have me do his back. We chatted our “pillow talk” about this and that; then he again rolled onto his back with his shorts-clad crotch exposed. I massaged his nipples and navel, then again let my hand slide.
”Can I, a little bit?”
“A little bit,” he replied.
As soon as I touched it, he started getting a hard on.
“Can I jerk off while I’m playing with your cock?” I asked after a couple of minutes of fondling.
“Okay.”
I unbuttoned his shorts and held his dick in my right hand while I feverishly pulled mine out with my left. He started erecting, and each time he did, my explosion grew nearer.
“Keep doing that,” I said.
About the third time his muscle stiffened between my fingers, I came.
I lay gasping as I hugged and kissed him.
“You came really fast,” he said.
“You really turn me on,” I replied.
I again took hold of his dick.
“Wouldn’t you like to come?”
“I don’t know,” he laughed nervously.
A dead giveaway.
“Let’s try.”
So again I had his stiff cock in my hand. I jerked it gently up and down several times.
As I started pulling down his shorts, I told him, “Now honey, don’t worry, I’m going to do something.”
I let my mouth and an effuse flow of saliva wash over the head of his cock.
“Do you like that?”
“Um-hmm.”
I crawled down in the bed and took his entire dick in my mouth and bobbed up and down several times.
Then I switched positions and came down from above toward his left, where his stiff dick was pointing.
I again bobbed several times.
“How does that feel?”
“Okay. Is this what Sergei and Andrei do?” he asked.
“Yes, honey.”
“Okay.”
I took his dick in my right hand and pumped it up and down against my lips, periodically bathing it against my throat in the full “69” position. I could feel him getting very hard.
I continued.
“Now,” he said suddenly.
I pumped another time or two and suddenly my face was bathed in his sweet cum. I quickly jammed his dick into my mouth and continued to stroke and swallow, his dick erecting and spurting anew each time I did.
“Did you like that, honey?” I asked when I had finished.
“Yes, of course.”
Ah, sweet music to my ears. I continued to massage his still-stiff cock.
I hugged him tightly and kissed him.
“I’m very happy, honey,” I said.
We lay still for a few minutes.
“Dane,” he interrupted the silence. “Does this mean I’m gay?”
“No, honey, I laughed. “Nothing has changed about you. A lot of people say you aren’t gay unless you’re the one doing the sucking.” Whether it’s true or not is another matter; but at least a lot of people say it.
And I told him about Marat in Turkey, who the entire time I was sucking him in the Mediterranean Sea repeatedly insisted, “I’m not gay; I like gays, but I’m not gay.” About that time he came in my mouth.
“No, nothing has changed about you. You can go ahead fucking women or whatever you like, just like Sergei and Andrei do.”
He seemed satisfied with that.
“Dane,” he said again.
“Yes, honey?”
“There’s no need for anybody to know.”
“No, of course not. This is our secret. I won’t tell Andrei or Sergei or anybody. This is just between us.”
“When you’ve played with my dick, I usually dream I’m fucking a girl,” he said. “Do I come sometimes when you’re playing with my dick?”
“Honey, you’ve only come once,” and I described that Sunday morning when he shot his wad in the air as I was playing with it (Chapt. 120-122) – for the last time, I had thought then. I forgot about the other time when he came while I was massaging his dick through his shorts.
“Did you know you had come?” I asked.
“Yes, but I dreamed I was fucking a girl.”
He also told me that he had had a bad dream about our New Year’s flight to Stavropol. He’s a little frightened, but I promised him that he and Sergei (Sergei is going to see us off) and I will all get adequately prepared.
So, at last! My dream has really come true: This sweet, loving, kind, thoughtful, adorable child has given himself to me at last, without reservation, to have and to hold, through sickness and in health, from this day forward, until death do us part….
Well, okay, maybe I’m getting a little carried away. But how I love him! And we are sort of married, in a way. We are deeply committed to each other. I am at last truly happy. I don’t expect him to give up girls, but I hope he will at least maintain our exclusive and very sacred relationship for the foreseeable future.
I think he will. Though he’s still exploring the meaning of it, I think he likes it as much as I do.
There is one potential problem to all this: “Now that you’ve got your new translation program,” he said, “maybe I can read your memoirs.”
I laughed. “Yes, honey, maybe you can.”
But I thought also of Red Queen at night! What if he should stumble across this virtual diary of his every move and should find out that hundreds, maybe thousands, all over the world now know that he’s in a gay sexual relationship with an aging old queer four times his age and is being kept in return for having his dick sucked!
Up to now it didn’t matter. I never thought we’d reach this stage. But we have. So what do we do now? Change his name hundreds of times in the columns in which it’s appeared over the last year?
Basil would kill me.
Besides, would it make him any less identifiable?
Have I reached this nirvana only to have it smashed to pieces by my smug little private conceit? Hey, man, this is no soap opera! This is my life!
Chapt. 177 - 3514 words
Columns :: The unbelievable happens: He lets me suck his cock!
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