| Not until one day when I finished turning a trick quickly and went down
the hall to the public john did I garner a clue as to what was going on.
I passed a closed door and heard someone groan. It was so scary I flung
open the door, following a heroic instinct to save the victim, I guess,
and there was my buddy scarfing the dick of the bearish houseman who
worked on our floor. God, he was rank, one of those smelly armpit guys who
doubtless took only sponge baths and never washed his uniform shirt.In
certain elements of society everywhere machismo decrees that it is all
right for a man to stink. He sure did, and there was my buddy drinking
his cum while the guy was in an agony of ecstasy during a massive
orgasm.
When I rushed in, the houseman took one look and whipped his dick out ot
my pal's mouth and took off, spraying cum even on me as he passed.The
stench trailing in his way was thick enough to cut with a knife.
Was my friend embarrassed? Not in the least. We went out for coffee,
after I told him he should wash his mouth out with soap, but he laughed
and said: "I like it that way. It's the best. When I first got to
Grenoble, some of the other foreign students and I went out to dinner at a little bistro
in a seedy part of town. I drank too much wine, I guess, and when we left, I got
separated from my friends and found myself staggering so I leaned
against a wall and this sort of nasty old bear-type, all grizzled and
raggedy,stopped and whipped out this beautiful piece of meat and pissed on the
wall in this long steady stream. I was drunk enough to have lost my
inhibitions and reached over and took it in my hand. The guy looked
startled, but he didn't draw away. It was dark and late at night. No
one else was around. I knelt down and took it in my mouth. I doubt he had
bathed for a month. It was disgusting at first, but I had never been
more excited in my life. His big stomach was so hairy I could not tell
where his belly hair stopped and his pubic hair began. I was almost sobered by
the terrible smell, but I didn't care. He jammed his dick down my throat
and humped my mouth like it was a cunt. When he came, he shot such a
load he had to lean forward with both hands propped against the wall to
keep steady on his feet. Then I got up and walked away, leaving him
there trying to catch his breath after the ecstasy left him limp.
I found my way to the dorm and fell into bed. I smelled him on myself
all night.No matter how hard I scrubbed the next day, it wouldn't go away. I
smelled him form three days, and when it wore off, I wanted him again so I went back. I
stood around for hours, slightly sickened by the smell of urine on the wall, but that
was a different thing, and then quite late another bearish tramp showed up to
take a piss and I did it again.This got to be a habit. Now, if a man doesn't look
raunchy and seem likely to smell, I don't want him. And he has to be a big bear.
"Here in Naples, while you're busy with your tricks, I go to this place
near the docks where the tramps hang out. It's a little odd, but they are all big
guys,porbably because as Italians they stuff themselves with spaghetti every
chance they get, and most of them are very hairy. They are my kind of men. They
like me.I have the right look because I'm a chub and could pass for Italian. I
take them all on.They practically wait their turn. They think I am crazy, I'm sure, and
maybe I am, but when they see me coming, they offer me coffee from a pot
over the fire and I have taken soup with them and crusts of bread and
pasta they find in the garbage at the restaurants near the docks. They call me
'son'and pat me on the head. And one or two of them kiss me when the others
aren't looking, and one even blows me although he says he's not gay. He
likes me to be clean, which is funny, because he is the filthiest of the
lot."
I lost track of my young friend when we went back to France because my
class was finished at the Sorbonne, and I returned to Canada. This was
quite a few years ago, but everytime I find myself in Paris and see some
guy pissing on a wall, which still happens there all the time, I think
of my southern buddy and his less than gourmet tastes. It gives me a laugh
recalling a funny saying I used to hear in the army about eating pussy:
"If you can get past the smell, you got it licked!"
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