'lo all. I'm pulling a story from each of my collections offered on my website (www.macmillanbooks.com). These as my Xmas gift to those of you who like my writing. Tovarisch is from It's Still a British World, Mate. Others you may want to read are Enki, Dedicated to Ky in historical, Schwüle Weekend and Curiosity Gets The Cat in college, Kid Willie in incest, and The Foreign Exchange Student And The Funeral Home in high school. Enjoy. And browse my site, guys.

Dave

The lad caught my attention immediately he jumped onto the bar at the 'Peake. Blond, wholesome looks with a body that made Michelangelo's David flesh and would catch my attention and hold it no matter where I might see it. Here at the 'Peake, though, I was going to see everything he had.

Music reverberated through the Chesapeake House in Washington, D. C. The lad who'd caught my attention strolled down the bar, smiling whimsically at one man after another. One stopped him and handed him a bill and the lad's smile spread across his face.

He pulled off his tank top with no attempt at coyness and let it drop. Gypsy Rose could have done it better in her sleep. But he had the abs, the lats, and the smooth lad-ish body America's premier stripper could never hope to possess. His beauty caught in a still moment of time. His body caught the beat again and he was making his way back along the bar in his running shorts and tubesocks.

He turned to face the racks of bottles behind the bar and his BVD-clad buns were playing hide and seek behind his shorts as he titillated his audience with the roundest, cutest arse I'd seen in too many days. No posing cup, no jock strap - just plain white American BVDs in total contrast to his bronzed body. No artifice, no pretence - this lad was simply quite a young man, one with a body and face Caligula would have conquered China to own for a night.

He shimmied and his shorts were at his ankles; smiling over his shoulder at us, he kicked them off and smiled that little whimsical smile again as he watched them sail halfway down the bar and land on a bottle near the phone. He turned back to his audience and smiled.

I gasped. The body was fine, what every chickenhawk dreamed of. The buns were perfection, the proverbial 10 every topman searches for and so rarely finds. But the crotch that was twisting and gyrating before me now was just as magnificent - even viewed through the filter of his white BVDs. He was hard as bloody hell.

From its base in the pouch, it spread along his hard abdomen to his hip and beyond, tenting his underwear. For a moment I could imagine him wanking - having to use both hands to do so. God! I was in heat for the laddy and he wasn't even out of his briefs.

I argued with myself. I didn't do strippers, and I didn't do rentboys. Not any more. No way. Not with AIDS around, not with STDs around ...

My denial lasted less than a minute. I'd decided to ask him how much he was selling it for when he turned back to show us his arse and began to push his BVDs down over those beautiful mounds of firm flesh. My heart pounded as I watched them become exposed, my memories going back too many years to that first time I'd watched another man undress in preparation for sexual pleasures. My mouth was dry as I realised it wasn't going to matter how much he was selling it

for because I was buying.

He turned back then and I was staring at the straightest, hardest, widest, longest cock I'd ever seen in almost twenty years of active gayness.

This lad had lace any real man would appreciate. Even at full mast and as thick as a medieval battering ram, his cockhead was fully covered by that long, thick sock.

He strutted along the top of the bar, smiling proudly out at us in his completeness. The men sitting closest to him reached in their pockets for money clips with their neatly folded bills to pay homage to him and his natural beauty. I was equally attracted. It was as if I couldn't help myself.

I stood up and found a five in my jeans pocket before I made my way down to the bar to stand in adoration to him.

He made his way along the bar's surface slowly, swirling about and smiling down at his worshipers as he made his way past them to me. He was a god sculpted in flesh by a Greek artisan elevated to Olympus.

His smile was glued to his face and his eyes were blank as they moved over his audience, searching for the next dollar. His body humped and ground to the music - but it was his alone in those moments of public nudity. We were permitted to be spectators to his private fantasy, to pay for our voyeurism; but we did not exist any deeper in that moment that was his alone.

Later, I had watched ninety minutes of non-stop sex on the VCR before I thought Gregor might be hungry after a sweaty night of swinging his bare arse and weapon about for anybody to see. I found a bottle of inexpensive Bordeaux and, pulling out a packet of prepared noodles, hoped it was close enough to what the lad was used to that he wouldn't choke.

And I wondered if he'd really come.

I was 38 and a reporter for BBC, permanently situated in the American capital. I was tall, still slim but muscular, and had all of my hair, most of which was still its original brown. Between daily jogging and my home exercise machine, I'd kept what natural attributes I could. I presented an attractive but intelligent appearance to my daily audience back home, even hosting the occasional American-based show. I'd yet to be accused of being a troll and those advances I made were still accepted with a smile and, often, a gusto in bed when we'd got there.

I was having second thoughts. There'd been no discussion of price; I'd simply given Apollo my address almost immediately he'd established himself as a Russian exchange student. With his thick accent, it wasn't difficult to cede Gregor his alien status. I willingly conceded he was a student and baring his arse at the Peake because his stipend was in rubles and the exchange rate was worse than poor.

What was bothering me was his insistence that money wasn't everything to him and that friendship was. Russian or no, the lad was a stripper. He associated with other strippers and he probably had picked up some of their bad habits. And strippers, in my experience, had notoriously sticky fingers.

Equally troublesome was the thought he might not even come.

An escort, arranged over the telephone, would have thought nothing of the arrangements I'd made with the Russian from Georgetown University. But I'd invited over a stripper who most probably prostituted himself - not an escort. We hadn't even discussed who liked doing what. And, with the weapon he sported, Gregor certainly would not have been wanting for assignation offers after I'd left.

At a quarter of two, the building intercom rang and I dived for it, as wired as I'd been the first time I found myself in a sexual situation with another man. The years of my jadedness washed away in the moment it took me to fly across the room and grab the phone from its cradle.

"Viktor?"

"Gregor?" I panted.

He chuckled. "I am here as promised. May I come to you now?" My doubts were already forgotten. I told him which flat and buzzed him in. And waited an eternity until I heard him tap timidly at my door.

He smiled broadly when I admitted him, his blue eyes twinkling with good-humour. I returned his smile and pushed the door to behind us. He engulfed me as I was turning back to him in a bear hug and kissed me on both cheeks as Russians are apt to do.

"Thank you, Vikki, for inviting me," he said as he pushed me to arms' length and stared into my eyes. "Because I work at 'Peake nobody thinks about the real Gregor." He still gazed into my eyes, searching them and digging through layer after layer of my soul. "All they want is what stands between my legs." He shook his head in disgust. "Even when I am interested in one of those men, that is all he wants."

"I'm pretty interested in that too, old lad," I observed, gently extricating myself.

"I too, Vikki. You send me into heat just seeing you - but I want more too."

"Come on," I suggested and began to move out of the foyer. "You need a stiff one."

"You will give that to me - yes?"

I turned back to him, colouring at the unintentional double entendre. "If you want, yes," I told him. "But I meant a drink - I have Stoli."

"Yes, Stoli, please." He followed me into the living room. "You live here alone?"

"Unfortunately." I shrugged, old suspicions bubbling just below the surface of my thoughts. "The wholesomely cute lads of Washington all seem to work for the Congress," I told him, "and they think they're much too good for a foreigner reporter. I have to go into Virginia or Maryland for a companion."

"Why?" His eyes widened. "You are good-looking man - tall, slim, distinguished. You have maturity to make relationship work. Why are they too good for you?"

I chuckled bitterly and splashed Stoli into a glass of ice. "Perhaps, because I'm not bloody rich enough to be old and a chickenhawk at the same time."

He stared blankly at me when I turned back to hand him his vodka and ice. "I do not understand," he mumbled.

I realised I'd been laying it on rather thick, giving forth my misgivings about rentboys who weren't advertised as such and cute, young Americans who wanted more than a reasonably well preserved BBC reporter. I resolved to stop poor-mouthing, to use an American phrase. "Yanks are very youth-oriented and their educated youth are very money-conscious."

"This I understand," he offered. "The old ones dream."

"The young ones too." I grinned quickly, my doubts receding. "Haven't you noticed how young the crowd gets at the 'Peake?" Gregor's eyes widened in sudden understanding. "And too many of the young ones who do go with older men want to be taken care of," I continued. "They hire themselves out by the hour or by the relationship."

"Eto!" He took a step toward me then. "Vikki, I find myself in - in heat when I see you tonight. I want to make love with you to feed my heat. And, later, I want us to be comrades - friends - wherever that may take us. Only, tovarisch, I want nothing from you - tonight or tomorrow."

"Are you sure of that, Gregor?"

"Comrades are comrades because of the ties between them - not because one gains from the other. They give freely of each other, tovarisch.'"

His hand reached out and grasped my shoulder as he drew even nearer. "You kiss me now, tovarisch?" he asked, his voice soft and beseeching as he came into my arms. His lips brushed mine. "I want you," he breathed against my ear as he pulled me even closer. Our lips met again and I felt his erection grinding against me as his tongue found its way into my throat.

I forced myself to push him away. "Are you always this impetuous?' I snorted.

"You don't like?" He looked at me hesitantly. "I am hot." He looked away. "And everyone always is in big hurry to get to bed. I thought-"

"Do you want to go to bed now, Gregor?"

"I am ready - and it is strain not to relieve it. But I do not want to rush you, Viktor."

What had I expected? An hour of talk, dinner from a box, and a cheap wine to get us to this very point? Yet, I would have liked a bit of conversation, to know something of him.

I smiled. "I guess we might see about relieving your need, old lad - and, then, find out more about each other."

"Eto! Yes, I like that, tovarisch."

"Come on then, I'll show you the bed." I started toward my bedroom and knew he was following me. "By the way, Gregor, what's your pleasure?"

"My-?"

"What do you like to do in bed?"

"I-" The silence that followed made me turn back to him. "I like to fuck, Vikki - and your arse is most nice." He smiled back at me, his hand reaching out and cupping my nearest arsecheek.

Thank god for British schools that teach stoicism. I reminded myself I'd invited him over. I'd even asked his pleasure. It shouldn't have surprised me he wanted to occupy Britain. I made up my mind. "Come on, Gregor. I think I feel an itch a bit far up my lovechute - I hope you may can scratch it for me."

He was as guileless in the bedroom as he had been on the bar at the 'Peake. The moment he entered the room, he began to strip off his clothes. Before I could reach the bed and turn back to face him, he was already down to his briefs.

I started to doff my clothes. My bum was going to see more action than it'd seen in a while and I, for one, was beginning to look forward to that. A good fuck would make me feel good all over - and I already knew Gregor had the equipment to do a bang up job for me.

He slipped his BVD's down to his knees and let gravity pull them down to his ankles before stepping out of them. He was grinning as he approached me, watching my body appear as each piece of clothing was thrown in a pile at my feet. "Tovarisch, I hope you like to get down and dirty as Americansky say."

I looked at him and, then, at the bed behind me. "I'd like this to be a very long night," I told him.

He chuckled as he held out his arms and I came into them. His lips touched mine. His tongue quickly assumed the dominion I ceded to him. His hands grasped the globes of my arsecheeks, pulling my body against his. His cock was hard and thick and hot against my abdomen as it proceeded to best my own.

I broke the kiss and smiled into those blue eyes. "Let's get on the bed, luv," I suggested and reached for the night table, my fingers blindly searching its opened drawer for a foil-covered packet as I fell deeper and deeper into those blue orbs. My other hand searched hungrily for the source of all that heat against my stomach. "I want you now," I mumbled as I found his cock and, grasping it, led him to the bed.

I tore open the packet as he sat down beside me. Grinning imbecilically, I took his cock in hand, pulling back the cowl that still nearly covered the now completely enlarged knob that in moments would be pushing its way into me. The fingers of my other hand spread the condom over that knob, spreading the soft, lubricated plastic down along its shaft. When I had it secure, I looked up at him, drinking in the finely chiselled youth of his body as my eyes travelled back to his face.

"Now, I'm ready, luv," I told him hoarsely, wondering if I should mention the possibility of foreplay.

"You are sure?" he asked. When I nodded, he grinned as he pushed me back on the bed and spread my legs with his knee.

I started to sit back up and protest but only managed to press my jewels into his thigh. The bed gave and my legs spread more as he had both legs between mine. I surrendered the last of my inhibitions and lay back. And moaned in anticipation of the monster between his legs as it closed the space between us, jutting hard and proud out before him, the Russian bear coming to the aid of John Bull in his hour of need in the heart of the American capital.

Gregor took my legs by the ankles and hoisted them onto his chest. He grinned down at me as he leaned into me, pushing my knees back onto my own chest and opening me up for his entry. His hand directed his cock to the lotus petals that were my arselips.

"I want this since I see you at the bar," he mumbled, leaning closer and raising my backside to meet his dick. His hands grasped mine as his eyes stared into mine and his sheaved and straining helmet began to push its way between the pucker attempting to welcome him.

My eyes grew glassy as my arsemuscle spread to greet him and then had to spread even wider to accommodate his entry. Inch after inch slipped ever deeper into me. His knob banged my lovegland in greeting and my own cock jerked in response. And still more inches marched triumphantly into me.

It seemed there would be no end to this victory march. I was seeing stars. I didn't remember Gregor being this bloody big. But I finally felt the tight coils of his bush scrapping against my inner thighs, his jewels resting against my spread arsecheeks. "You feel good, my Vikki," he whispered.

"You're a lot more than I ever expected," I grunted as I tried to adjust to my lovechute being stretched further than it had ever been.

"You are not pleased?" he asked in surprise.

"Just plough that hole deep and long, luv - and I'll be very pleased," I managed.

"You tell me if I hurt you?"

"Just fuck me good, Gregor." I grunted as he began to pull back, my hands going to his arseglobes to hold him and direct him. I gasped even louder as he fell back into me.

We slipped into a steady rhythm. He fell into me, pushing me back against the bed and bashing my lovegland. I tightened every muscle I had as he began to retreat, lifting up to hold at least some of him inside me. My fingers flexing their grip on his arsecheeks, kneading them as he pulled away.

There was no sense of time. There were only the two of us. Together. Giving each other pleasure. My cock grew hard and my balls clung tightly to its shaft. I sprayed his chest and my face in an eruption. He continued to hold my hands against the sheets and move in and out of my arse, massaging my prostate, his balls pouncing against my cheeks. I erupted again with as much force as the first time. And he still ploughed in and out, stretching the muscles of my lovetunnel.

"You're a bloody fucking machine," I grunted and he smiled serenely down at me. And ploughed my arse. Forever. A slow, steady fuck going on and on. Carrying me to the threshold and beyond again and again. His face was a big, friendly smile every time I opened my eyes and looked up at him.

The muscles in his hips and cheeks bunched and relaxed like pistons. And I rode the cyclops that impaled me ecstatically.

The ride sped up. My numbed senses finally began to accept his prick was growing even larger and harder inside me. That his thrusts were no longer slow and deep. I opened my eyes to find his closed and sweat beading on his forehead. I heard him grunting as his lunges grew shorter and harder.

He growled and threw his head back - a bear greeting victory in the hunt. The muscles in my lovechute were stretched to the tearing point as his thighs pressed hard against my arsecheeks.

His body jerked convulsively as wad after wad of molten Russian jizz blasted against American plastic deep inside a well-satisfied British arse.

Moments later, he pulled out of my tamed lovecanal. He sat on the side of the bed and sought to catch his breath. "Are you always that good?" I asked and brushed his thigh with my fingertips.

"Only with the man I like very much." He glanced away from me then, a frown on his face. "Perhaps, I leave now?"

"Why?" I asked, struggling back from the lethargy of good sex.

"I give you - us - what we want, Viktor. Most men don't want me to stay after this."

I stared at his broad back. Slowly, I sat up and my arms encircled his chest. "I want you to stay, Gregor."

He turned back to me then, his eyes searching mine. "You mean this, tovarisch?" I nodded and watched his face break into a broad, happy grin. "I had hoped, my Vikki. It is too hard to know someone when I do what I do. You will talk to me, yes?" I nodded. "And tell me of yourself?"

"I thought we might chat and eat a snack - what the box labelled 'Noodles Romanov' and have a glass of wine before we-" I smiled as endearingly as I could. "Take up where we've left off."

"I like that, tovarisch." His face became serious suddenly and I wondered what was wrong. "I think we change positions when we return. You like being top too, Vikki?"

I stared at him in complete surprise but my face was slowly taking on a pleased smile. "Let's just say I'm versatile."

He laughed. "I would have myself be that also - but only for dearest comrade."

Grinning, I forced myself off the bed. "Let's see about feeding the Russian bear and drinking a toast or two to dear tovarischi, Gregor."

"Da!" he chuckled. "I can eat the American horse I never see but hear about all the time."