Author: pgentle7

I’m in Montreal for a few days. Tonight, I’ve told my business colleagues I’m doing some shopping while they have dinner. The truth is: I’m horny. It’s been a three month dry spell at home. I flip on grindr and just walk.

At night, Sainte-Catherine Street comes alive with glowing purple lights and street performers, as they crawl out their shipping container dressing rooms and prepare to perform to beer-gulping Montreal tourists. Further on, the clothing boutiques give way to poutine diners and Starbucks cafes. Soon I reach the gay village. The boundary between straight and gay is well marked. Hundreds of pink plastic balls are suspended over the street, in a giant cavernous spectacle. They seem to glow with an inner light. Under here, they seem to say, you’re safe. Come, join us. You belong.

I can never belong. I made my choice long ago, when I met my soul mate at the end of school. She saw past my shyness, and became the first person I dated. Now, we have a house, mortgage, kids, and seemingly everything is good. But I crave a physical connection that she can do without. For years I lived the lack of it using lonely porn, until I discovered that I was not entirely straight. With discretion, and a dose of guilt, I could have the best of both worlds.

I’m walking down the middle of the street, which is blocked off to vehicles all summer. Upscale pubs and restaurants spill their patios onto the street, full of diners sipping St. Ambroise craft beers and delicately forking up fancy french fries covered with a mess of gravy and smoked meat.

I look at the patrons and try to decide if they’re gay. Men sit with men, and men sit with women. Lost in thought, I almost crash into a lanky gray haired man, wearing a tank top far below his age. His loose leathery skin hangs off his arms in a display of pride. After tasting me with his eyes, he smiles seductively and continuous his brisk walk.

The establishments have open fronts, like a life sized gay diorama. A shirtless bartender, illuminated by red lights lazily pours beers for the small crowd of bearded bears around him. I pass Sebastian the Barber. Inside the chrome filled barber shop, a punk (Sebastian?) gracefully dances around his barber chair, putting the finishing touches on a brown guy in business attire. The two men could not have been more eclectic.

On my left I see a store with its window boarded up. Paradoxically, the above sign is lit and shining brightly. Black letters cast a silhouetted shadow of red. PRIAPE. From the Greek god of the penis, and the etomological root of a medical condition, priapism – a persistent and painful erection. I look through the open door, but I can’t see anything. I relent, and enter.

“Salut! Hello!” The clerk, a red-bearded bear of a man greets me.

“Just looking!” I exclaim, and I scurry behind a display stand of faceless black rubber masks. I can buy very little here without raising questions from my wife. Maybe some underwear. I try on a couple of pairs of PUMP briefs, admiring my body in the tiny change room. Shit, I can pull these off now. The smallest size hug my balls and make my ass look shapely.

When I emerge fully dressed again, the clerk is standing outside the curtain. “I would like to invite you to my basement,” he tells me, winking. “It is where the fun is, yes?”

I start at him blankly, wondering how he could proposition me so easily. Then my cheeks grow hot when I notice the stairs down to the other half of the store.

“I’ll have a look. Thanks.” Downstairs, a giant black sex swing hangs from the ceiling, holding piles of discounted latex penises. The premium models are impossibly sized and have testes attached, each wrinkle permanently etched in silicon. I consider getting one, but then realize that would be mad. Nothing has ever been inside me. I’ll start with a finger, one of these days.

I make my purchase and head out into the chaos outside. Grindr is useless here. Everyone on the screen is less than ten feet away, but they are busy, and it changes too quickly.

On Jack’d, I see the image of a cute twink. Shirtless, he rakes his hand through his tussled hair, as if he’d just woken up. He smiles infectiously. I message him, and a couple of others, but get no response.

The night seemed full of possibilities, but all I’ve got is $70 worth of spandex. Resigned, I board the metro at Beaudry station and rejoin my colleagues for beers in old Montreal. I remember little else from that night.

In the morning, I spring awake at 5:30. It will be hours until I have to report to work. I flip on my phone and browse. A message blinks at me. The twink from Jack’d has responded just now. We efficiently negotiate the details. He doesn’t want to come over, but I’m welcome to go to him. After I decipher the metro map, I’m soon walking toward his building as the city of Montreal awakens around me.

He answers the door in only a green tank top. At only 51 kg, he has no body fat, but a great body nonetheless. He is not overly thin, and I can see tight bulges on his arms marking cute biceps. He flashes me a sleepy smile as I come in. “Leave your shoes on if you want,” he says and stumbles back into his large studio apartment. The hardwood floor is brightly lit by the morning sun.

Tired, he walks zombie like and falls onto a black leather couch. “Sorry I just got up,” he says. “What would you like to do?”

I stare at his cock, cut and still sporting his morning wood. “If you don’t mind, we can get right to it.”

“Knock yourself out.” He spreads his knees, rests his head back on the couch and closes his eyes.

His balls are beautiful like a firm round softball sitting under his small cut cock. I slide my tongue under them, lift them off the salty couch leather, and massage them. His member pokes the bridge of my nose. When I engulf him in my warm softness, he moans and runs his hand through my hair. He is waking up now.

“How about you lay down, and I’ll get on top?” He asks.

“Sure! That’s kind of my favourite position.” I take the opportunity to strip and show him my new underwear.

“Where’d you get them?” he asks.

I tell him, but he balks at the price. I get onto his bed and kneels beside me. He reaches over and stuffs some gray pillows under my head.

Then he flips a leg over and towers over me, looking down. I run my hands up his legs and over his body, enjoying the smooth feeling.

“Suck my balls,” he orders. I open up and he lowers himself in. The the skin is soft and I mouth them, squeezing his testes gently between my lips. He gasps.

I watch his face as he grabs a small brown vial from the nightstand, opens it and sniffs it. Instantly he relaxes, moans, and lets down his weight.

“You like my balls, huh? It feels so good.” He jams his nuts into my mouth so hard I can feel the tendons under them pressing against my jaw. I chew them, suck them, licking off all of the delicious flavour while he takes another hit of alkyl nitrite.

He tosses the spent vial into his blankets, then falls forward over my face. All I can see are his rippling abs curving overhead. His balls pull away, and his penis, shiny and pink, juts millimetres from my lips. I’m anxious to take it.

With a thrust of his hips, he obliges, and I feel his cock slide into my mouth. “You’re a great cocksucker,” he moans.

He fucks me, and I raise my eyes, tilt my head back to get a look at his face. Resting on his elbows, he grips the pillow in his fists, like a panther clutching a doomed rabbit.  He stares back into my eyes, enjoying the sight of his own his dick invading me. His slight size means I can breathe comfortably and I reward him by moving my tongue in the swallowing motion I’ve perfected.

He pulls out and raises his body up again, staring down at me in ecstatic wonderment. “Yeah chew on my balls.” Again he teabags me, enjoying the feeling of his balls being serviced. I moan at him to express my pleasure.

He grabs his dick and shoves it in my mouth, gives a quick thrust of his hips and jabs it in deep. “You like that, huh?” He thrusts again. “You like it when I fuck your mouth?”

“Mmmm hmmm” I answer.

“What’s that? You want it HARDer?” He stabs it so hard my lips feel bruised against his unpadded bones.

“Oh man, fuck that’s good.” Thrust. He sucks in a deep breath through his teeth and slowly let’s it out. “uuuuhh… yeah… I’m soooo close!”

He plants his hands behind my head, holds me in place, and starts to mouth fuck me quickly. “Oh fuck, oh man on fuck… I’m gonna cum I hope you want it oh fuck!”

He slams into me full on and I feel the syrupy thickness erupt into my throat. He holds me there, and I learn the secret of his firm balls as their contents fills me. He tilts his head and stares at me grinning while I struggle to gulp down his impossibly large load. At last he lifts his knee of my chest and settles back beside me on his haunches, completely drained.

“That was so good,” I tell him. “Thanks I’m glad to meet you.”

“Yeah me too. How long are you here for?”

“I’ll be here the test of the week,” I smile putting on my sandals. “Maybe we can do it again? If you want..” I add hopefully.

“I’d like that,” he says, falling into the pile of pillows. “I’m probably gonna go back to sleep now though.”

I make my own way out, glad to have met this guy, and take the metro back to my hotel for breakfast. He became my Montreal morning routine for the rest of the trip.