Breech Candy

I thought of the afternoon to come, no the evening that was to follow. Diego and the rest of the boys at Rustom’s party.

Diego said he’d come dressed in a Dhoti, maybe a tricolore? Or just a plain, transparent Veshti reflecting the girth of his…thighs and the round, firm bubble butt? Texan Cowboy or Mexicano? Don’t know why the hunk couldn’t stop wearing loose, transparent clothes in the heat of Bombay, but why not? Wear it Diego, wear it. I wanna feel your runner’s legs, dig my hands deep into that Veshti of yours, feel the hairy thighs, the firm backside of the largest muscle in the body, and wiggle my hand into the flimsy thong of yours, surround your round bubbles, that I’d want to rim, and lay my hands on your generous, gorgeous virtues, oops, your genitals. Later guapo, yet sooner than later.

I entered the Parsi villa in Breach Candy with Jeff and Nadir, gay neighbors of mine from the ‘burbs. We were received graciously by Rustom, studded with numerous gold rings on his right hand and a glass of wine in the other, possibly a Los Vascos, Chilean Rothschild. Some were outside, smoking, talking, laughing… oh! Even a couple engrossed in an indulgent kiss right there, towards the corridor on the left, and a bunch of kids dancing near the music system in the big hall– the party was on.

‘A couple more drinks and we can kiss the boys randomly’, said Danish, the quaint, pixie-eyed horny Irani bastard. His boyfriend was just around the corner. ‘A couple more drinks’, I said and smiled. I knew how this was going to end. Diego had just arrived at the scene in a blue-bordered white dhoti. We hugged and kissed and moved on to the bar. Danish winked at me and my eyes followed him and his boy Gavin head towards the bedroom behind the kitchen. Diego and I could barely hold our hormones or was it the gin? He pushed me on to the wall once inside the bedroom, held my wrists with his mighty Latino hands and licked my neck off, his stubble tickling and arousing me simultaneously. Then my armpits, my nipples, my navel. ‘Click’ opened my belt and with it fell the white capri that Diego waited to rip off.

Gavin liked the black-and-white print on my semi-transparent, crotch-cup undies with a silver-blue-green strap. Gay boys like funky underwear. In fact they love sucking on it. Gavin bent down, whilst Danish blew him off. I was busy doing Diego, whose Dhoti was now on the floor. He whipped his dick on my tongue, I could feel the girth that the cock-ring gave him, I could feel the steel hard dick slither through my tongue and touch my throat, I could feel Danish’s head being pushed to take my dick in completely on the other end. And the boys were busy kissing each other; I could explode in Danish’s or Gavin’s mouth, wait – on Diego’s bubble butt.

Suddenly I could feel my nipples tweezed, couldn’t recognize whose hands it was. Wish there were croc-clips to play with Diego’s nipples too, wish there was this riveted dildo I got last time from Berlin to shove up his, while he tongue-kissed Danish, and I fucked Gavin in his mouth. Danish grabbed me by my neck, and Gavin rose up in tandem, exposing his dancer’s butt, waiting to be rimmed by me. I stroked his dick from underneath, tugged at his balls and rimmed him, not realizing that Diego was already blowing me, and Danish got ready to take Diego’s load. It was like a sequence, first came Diego, spluttering all over Danish, and I on Diego’s chest, Gavin then over Diego and Danish spraying Gavin with a hot cream facial.

Was this the eternal fountain of gay youth?

Or just a dream?

About the author


Distracted as ever - by life and its vibrant hues, Srini discovered writing recently when a bushy eye-browed Muse with luscious lips tickled his senses with her couplets. Fat man grew up to be a fitness conscious cook, a gardener by grandma's inherited green thumb and an Agnostic who used to believe in myriad rituals and gods and goddesses of the Southern landscapes, landscapes where rice paddies and Gopurams made people believe in the gifts of music, culture, art and nature's miracles. With a face that's expressive enough to throw off a couple of stubborn people off their stools, and an arse that can dance to drum and base, he's constantly trying to bridge his semi-German thoughts with his roots back in the Land of the Peppers. He writes, occasionally.