Gay for Pay $treet Culture, Downtown Lima Peru
Daniel, Plaza San Martín
He already had his shirt off when I came out of the bathroom. . There was a strong smell coming off of him. It was the musky familiar smell of every man I’d ever been with that reminded me of worlds impossible to know. Usually this smell peaks out from underneath layres of soap, deodorant, and maybe even cologne.
None of these barriers existed between Daniel and the world. His smell was as strong as his confidence and the nan chalant disposition he had about what was about to happen between us.
His jeans hung low on his hips and allowed his two smooth butt cheeks to grab my attention. The crack of his ass was beautiful. His brown body was both slim and bulky at the same time, built up by a childhood of playing sports and odd jobs that demanded strong young men to complete.
I gazed at him the same way I would gaze at young boys in the locker room, back when I was first experiencing this strong desire that nobody had taught me anything about. All I could do is look at their beautiful buttocks from the corner of my eye and be sure to hide my giant erection that always seemed to pop up when I found myself in the presence of a man undressing.
Thirty years later, and nobody had taught me much more about what was happening. Around 20 years of age I came out of the closet, but instead of anybody teaching me about my gay desire I was the one who ended up teaching others about me. I have no idea what I said to them. Probably something about the fact that I can get married and adopt children, I am no longer at risk of AIDS, and other lies. That’s what people were saying about gays back in those days.
When I look back at it I think I was hoping that these things were true, because if they were, my sexuality would not have been a problem for myself or for others. I’d be free to do this without the resistance or judgment from anybody else. I wouldn’t have to ask for anybody’s permission.
I never told people that I’d always be attracted to young guys. Or that one day I’d end up in the historical center of Lima Peru with a 25 year old street hustler named Daniel.
I took my shirt off so that we were both in our jeans. Mine were also loose, but my body was white and it popped out of its frame. My stomach hung just below my waist. We both marveled at the differences between us. As we continued to expose ourselves to one another our differences reinforced that we were indeed exactly what the other was looking for this afternoon.
I took his body and pulled it next to mine. Mine was large and white. It was covered in blondish white hairs which you could barely see until you were up so close. Suddenly this young man, who was in control of everything, magically fit into the embrace of my arms, I looked straight into this eyes but didn’t kiss him. Instead I breathed in his smell, I let my breath run down his neck and watched below as this gave him goosebumps all over his smooth chiseled torso. I breathed his smell in and out in an effort to harness it, to tame this wild beast. But I was still too inexperienced to know if the beast I was taming was him, or my desire which he provoked.
He emptied his pockets before he took off his jeans. I saw that he had several bags of weed. I asked him if we could smoke some. He told me he sold it for 10 Soles per bag. Perfect, I thought, instead of loosing 20 soles I can buy two bags of weed.
In the plaza, Plaza San Martín, in the Historical Center of Lima, he had quoted me 30 Soles for un ratazzo, a little while. The hotel charged the same. I paid the attendant with a bill of 100 Soles, and she gave me back a S50 and a S20. I was going to have to pay him with the S50 and I knew he wouldn’t have change.
With weed now in the picture, I could buy two bags of his S10 weed and not be out S20.
He let his pants fall down. His elephant trunk penis was beginning to grow out of his unkempt forest of black pubic hair.
I let my pants fall too. My penis was smaller and already rock hard. But unlike in the locker room at school, where the differences in bodies were a source of shame, Daniel and my differences matched perfectly. I was turned on my them.
Something healing was happening being there with Daniel and seeing his fat healthy friend grow bigger ever so slowly, reaching out and touching my leg.
People ask me what I like about latin America. I tell them that I feel more free here than in the USA. It’s a general answer that doesn’t mean much. I like it that way. The truth would be that I don’t know yet and when I finally find out it’ll probably be time to leave.
He touched my bulky hairy body and I ran my hands down his and began tickling his bush.
Suddenly he left me standing as he sat down on the side of the bed and began rolling the joint on the bedside table.
Suddenly, I didn't know what to do with myself, so I lay down behind him and enjoyed the smell of his back. My small white hand combed over the tiny black hairs all over his body. I reached around and tickled his taught stomach studying the toy I had just purchased.
Gasp! did I just think that?
Are we doing slavery?
But I knew the answer before I even finished asking the question. The balance of power between the two of us
was mystifyingly unclear.
innocently consensual, entre
compas.
You had to feel it. You had to leave the world and its opinions and expectations of Daniel and I at the door. I was a big score for him, and with la mota even more. He was hoping for this and this was the best possible outcome for him. He wanted me to enjoy him as much as possible and at the end he would treat me like his friend and ask me for just a little bit more money.
He rolled the joint just like his cock, fat and dirty. I watched him roll the tiny paper around the giant mountain of weed that he had broken up into tiny pieces. He lit it and offered it to me first. It was being held together by his saliva which hadn’t dried yet.
We passed the joint back and forth as it disappeared into one another’s lungs and minds; lubricating our imaginations. We waited a little longer until we began to feel the effects.
He was looking up at the ceiling. I was leaning on my elbow gazing at his body and holding his giant cock in my left hand. Just holding it and adjusting my grip as it changed shape made him go from half hard to hard as a rock, to semen dripping out the top and ready to fuck.
He got up and stood beside the bed. He grabbed the condom off of the bedside table.
Without speaking I followed his lead, grabbed the packet of lube, and began loosening up my hole. We both quietly prepared ourselves for what we were about to do.
At this point I think it was safe to assume that both of us were square pegs in round holes, we were used to not fitting into mainstream society. It was nice, even healing for us to engage in something we both understood, somewhere inside our souls.
He placed his giant head on the tip of my tiny hole and stopped. He let me take it from there.
I breathed deeply and relaxed myself and cringed as I pressed myself back over him. This was the moment when I wanted to abandon everything, jerk myself off, give him his money, and run off into the night.
But then I felt it moving further and further inside of me. He was now pushing himself inside of me and it seemed like it was going in forever. He started thrusting himself back and forth. I breathed in his smell and took in his cock and suddenly realized that this sex with hung guys was something entirely different that what I was used to. I was doing something new. I had never been fucked like this before.
I got greedy and wanted to see his face. I wanted to lay on my back and look into his eyes. I asked him and he quickly and obediently did exactly what I asked.
The vibe now was “I can do whatever you want papi.” He was proud of this and he knew it was true.
I really hadn’t even seen porn this beautiful. He now had the smell of 10 grown men but looked so smooth and babylike. I fell back on the bed and raised my legs up, he caught them and held them up like a mechanic looking under the hood of a car.
He started stroking his cock getting it to where he wanted it to be. He touched the outside of my hole and teased it with his finger. I was moaning. I knew what was coming. I actually felt better in this moment than when he was actually inside me.
The next thing I knew he was slowly working himself back inside of me. His chiseled belly stuck out and his cock stuck out further, still rock hard. He delicately placed it back where it was.
He put his calloused hands on my soft round hairy stomach and began to tickle my armpits and squeeze my nipples.
The closer he got to laying on top of my body the further further his cock slipped outside of me. From time to time he would stand back up and begin pounding himself back inside. My legs went from dangling over his shoulders, and along his back, to a hard V shape between our bodies. He’d put them together and pound me several times, then let them slowly fall down until then were as horizontal as my flexibility would allow.
He loved something about what he was doing. Maybe the way it felt and maybe how it made him feel like a god. Probably both.
I watched him cross a line from working, to fucking for his own pleasure, and I could tell he was now working toward cumming himself. He placed one knee on the bed and his hips started moving in a fluid motion. He was no longer pounding me but dancing to a rhythm of his own desire.
His cock must have grown even bigger because it was touching so far back inside of me that it began to hurt again. He noticed but he couldn’t stop.
Aguantame tantito papi, he pleaded.
I breathed through it until it began to feel good. I didn’t want it to stop. He was glistening with sweat. He quietly came, slowed down, and began to catch his breadth.
I had been about to come since he put me on my back. He grabbed my cock for the first time and I came almost instantly.
We fell back into the position where we bad begun, side by side, staring at the ceiling fan. He rolled another joint and we smoked it together.
He began bragging to me about his street credit. He told me that he sold weed to all the people at Plaza San Martín. He warned me that I should watch out for people who will steal from me if I continue to come back.
The combination of him talking about what a criminal he was along with his warning me about criminals was making me uncomfortable. Fortunately, for the situation, he was so charming that it made me feel really comfortable with him.
We left the hotel together and walked back to Plaza San Martín. I was asking him questions.
I was trying to pull as much information out of him as I could. Who knows how many questions this experience would leave me with.
Back in the room, while rolling the joint, he asked me what else I smoked.
“Nada mas mota, y tu?” I responded.
He told me that he also smoked crack, occasionally.
Who do you smoke crack with? I asked him, as we were walking away from the hotel.
He told me that, the night before, he had stayed up all night smoking crack all alone.
I wan’t getting very far with my investigation. I pondered his answers in the same fantastically sexual world we had created just moments ago but nothing he said matched the context we now found ourselves in.
Out here he was warning me about drug addicts who posed as street hustlers only to rob me, and I could not reconcile the fact that he was the exact image of exactly who he was warning me about.
I decided to take his advice and excuse myself. It was awkward and I don’t think he understood my mexican Spanish with strong English speaker accent. He uttered something equally incomprehensible and we both went or own way.
Each of us had one or two needs of ours satisfied. We were both still alive, neither of us had killed or stabbed one another, and I think we both felt as if we had gotten away with something. Maybe that’s all it was. But it feels like so much more.
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