Village Whore
Edwin is a new arrivé in Toronto. I did not get to really know him till about a week ago. He is bliss and never a vapid moment.
We had coffee the night before I left for Montreal at Timothy's sorting through his immigration ordeals and "his problems" does not even begin to explain what he really is in....shitty water above his forehead is more like it. We spoke again the other night at Starbuck's where I ordered something oblivious. I just told the coffee maker to concoct something with soy milk and surprise me...as long as it has whipped cream and is tall and big. It was unrepudiated and to die for. It was while sipping this formula, floating in cloud nine, that I promised to take him to the Village after being asked "What do we do next time?".
He said 8 p.m., I got ready fo 9, the poor guy had to wait. We got off at Bloor Station and walked down Yonge St to get a sniff of downtown and smell what people are thinking about. At that moment, in front of the Shoe Company, I lost him. I never saw anyone so distracted before. Like a 4 year old holding a lolypop bigger than his head, he was salivating and eyes gleaming like light reflected from puddles. He was hungry like a sex-craved vixen faced with a nine inch schlong. The height of curiousness and questions where as abundant as the gays and finger pointing and "look" and "look" and "look".
Safe to say that, I am used to the tour-guide routine...not too boring, the right details and the kind of info people keep in their snuff boxes. Going south on Yonge, we took a Left on this street, too high to read, too lttle light and most likely useless cause nothing happened there, then a right on Church...the epitomy of his delight. Another satisfied tourist, another fufilled tour guide.
At Church, we entered every Dog House asking and bickering people to tell us about the place. Its charm, finesse and clientele. I never got to know the Village this close and so candid. Then after the U turn we sat down smack on the corner of Wellesley and Church sipping humongous iced frappy's.
After midnight, things change: people wear less clothings, the freaks emerge from their shoe houses, perfumes get more intoxicating, leather becomes in fashion again, the guys get better looking, sexuality does not exist anymore and tour guides, yours tuly, turn into pimps.
The whole Villgae knew I was pawning Edwin off. I mean when he told me he was still a Virgin, immediate intervention was required. It is my obligation as member of the Skygasm club. He desperately needed to be deflowered and even more, he's in his late 20's. Never the shy type, I told him I will be calling and identifying them by shirt color and while I say "blue shirt" he tells me if he likes them or not. Yes: I call them up, No: I tell them to walk faster and SHC if posible...simple game. Great thing about the Vilage here is that there are stair cases "a la hood" to sit down and hang on. One guy after another, I introduced him and asked the two pivotal questions: top or bottom? Then after admission testing he is on his own. I told him however to ask where he will be later and if it is possible to call him and stuff the turkey aswell.
As a result, we hopped in 5 clubs, looking for all these uomos. Statistics read out as follows, 17 phone numbers, 23 kisses on the lips, 6 dry humping sessions, 2 handjobs (I am taking his word on this one-considering he took quite a long time in the washroom) and 1 deflowered queen. After the 2nd handjob, I left him there, told him to call me the next day, to use protection and lots of lube and tell me all the nooks and crannies of his night.
I look back at those two and it looked promising, they seemed comfy, very cute together...my consolation prize, an invitation to a wedding, a fashion show and a business card from a health fitness technician...not bad, but I wanted to focus on him. Job well done, another whore fulfilled, another happy pimp.
As I boarded the cab, it was my turn to make my own statistics: Mr. Lowes, I must say is the best ongoing sex, since 1997, I have ever had. This kind of sex is evolutionary: comfortable, satisfying, incomplicated, he knows what I like and so on and so on. We see each other here and there in Montreal, and is officially my platinum fuck buddy-the Caddilac of them all...One hotel room, 1 old lover, 2 bottles of white wine, 15 hours till his presentation, 6 condoms and another fabulous night.
We had coffee the night before I left for Montreal at Timothy's sorting through his immigration ordeals and "his problems" does not even begin to explain what he really is in....shitty water above his forehead is more like it. We spoke again the other night at Starbuck's where I ordered something oblivious. I just told the coffee maker to concoct something with soy milk and surprise me...as long as it has whipped cream and is tall and big. It was unrepudiated and to die for. It was while sipping this formula, floating in cloud nine, that I promised to take him to the Village after being asked "What do we do next time?".
He said 8 p.m., I got ready fo 9, the poor guy had to wait. We got off at Bloor Station and walked down Yonge St to get a sniff of downtown and smell what people are thinking about. At that moment, in front of the Shoe Company, I lost him. I never saw anyone so distracted before. Like a 4 year old holding a lolypop bigger than his head, he was salivating and eyes gleaming like light reflected from puddles. He was hungry like a sex-craved vixen faced with a nine inch schlong. The height of curiousness and questions where as abundant as the gays and finger pointing and "look" and "look" and "look".
Safe to say that, I am used to the tour-guide routine...not too boring, the right details and the kind of info people keep in their snuff boxes. Going south on Yonge, we took a Left on this street, too high to read, too lttle light and most likely useless cause nothing happened there, then a right on Church...the epitomy of his delight. Another satisfied tourist, another fufilled tour guide.
At Church, we entered every Dog House asking and bickering people to tell us about the place. Its charm, finesse and clientele. I never got to know the Village this close and so candid. Then after the U turn we sat down smack on the corner of Wellesley and Church sipping humongous iced frappy's.
After midnight, things change: people wear less clothings, the freaks emerge from their shoe houses, perfumes get more intoxicating, leather becomes in fashion again, the guys get better looking, sexuality does not exist anymore and tour guides, yours tuly, turn into pimps.
The whole Villgae knew I was pawning Edwin off. I mean when he told me he was still a Virgin, immediate intervention was required. It is my obligation as member of the Skygasm club. He desperately needed to be deflowered and even more, he's in his late 20's. Never the shy type, I told him I will be calling and identifying them by shirt color and while I say "blue shirt" he tells me if he likes them or not. Yes: I call them up, No: I tell them to walk faster and SHC if posible...simple game. Great thing about the Vilage here is that there are stair cases "a la hood" to sit down and hang on. One guy after another, I introduced him and asked the two pivotal questions: top or bottom? Then after admission testing he is on his own. I told him however to ask where he will be later and if it is possible to call him and stuff the turkey aswell.
As a result, we hopped in 5 clubs, looking for all these uomos. Statistics read out as follows, 17 phone numbers, 23 kisses on the lips, 6 dry humping sessions, 2 handjobs (I am taking his word on this one-considering he took quite a long time in the washroom) and 1 deflowered queen. After the 2nd handjob, I left him there, told him to call me the next day, to use protection and lots of lube and tell me all the nooks and crannies of his night.
I look back at those two and it looked promising, they seemed comfy, very cute together...my consolation prize, an invitation to a wedding, a fashion show and a business card from a health fitness technician...not bad, but I wanted to focus on him. Job well done, another whore fulfilled, another happy pimp.
As I boarded the cab, it was my turn to make my own statistics: Mr. Lowes, I must say is the best ongoing sex, since 1997, I have ever had. This kind of sex is evolutionary: comfortable, satisfying, incomplicated, he knows what I like and so on and so on. We see each other here and there in Montreal, and is officially my platinum fuck buddy-the Caddilac of them all...One hotel room, 1 old lover, 2 bottles of white wine, 15 hours till his presentation, 6 condoms and another fabulous night.