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dudes-on-demand:

Konstantin Kamynin

Newest member of THE 1,000 CLUB

Sometimes my friends ask me…how did I know I was gay? That’s a good question. I didn’t really know myself until I was 16. My aunt ran this taco restaurant in Palm Springs, and she got me a job bussing. Paid me under the table. One spring she kept talking about something called a Circuit Party. I thought it was some nerd, tech hang-out. You can’t imagine the shock I felt when I came into work one day, and every man looked like they walked out of an underwear shoot. And some had! My jaw about hit the floor.

My aunt wouldn’t let me leave because they were so busy, so I had to go through the entire night with my boner tucked under my waistband. There was one man though, this foreign guy… he noticed me. A lot. I swear to god, he was flirting with me. He tipped me huge amounts, flashed his buttcheeks at me. I’m sure he thought it was hilarious for him to rifle up some awe-struck teenager bussing glasses in a taco restaurant. I was sure at that time he never thought of me again.

But I thought of him. I got his name from one of the patrons, and of course I Googled him the second I got home. I Googled him a lot. I bought his calendar. I was in love with him for years, until I got my first boyfriend.

No one believes me when I tell them that the Adonis that is Konstantin Kamynin made me realize I was gay. But it’s true. I swear. You know how I know it’s true? I went to his book signing in Los Angeles when I was a freshman in college, and you’d never believe this – but when I told him where I’d seen him before, he remembered. He asked me what I did with the tip money. I told him I used it to buy his calendar, and he laughed. True story. It was a pretty good book too.

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Actually it’s not really a true story, lol. The text is fictional, and Konstantin’s body is unreal. I don’t think he ever put out a book either. Here’s his website.

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My phone chimes. I pick it up. It’s Grey. Such a cool name, very classic. He’s running late. I can’t remember what he does for a living, something involving archiving at a museum. He was by far one of the best candidates that responded to my ad. Still, I’m restless. I’m torn because I need someone to pay the other half of the rent, but part of me isn’t ready to share this space yet. My heart still feels raw and burnt, the sickening pain from the discovery of adultery has left me numb and taken the color out of the world.

I honestly thought I did everything right. I was a good boyfriend to Jared. I always let him know where I was, I was tidy, I cooked sometimes. I pleased him in bed, and never complained when he didn’t want to reciprocate with his mouth. It wasn’t enough though. Jared left me for the twink that made his smoothies at the gym. Can you believe that? I mean I understand the allure of a true twink and cockslut, of having some nearly hairless, lithe queer boy writhing under you, begging for you to fuck his pussy again… but Jared and I had been dating for nearly two years when he left me. That’s a boy you take home from the club, not someone you throw away a serious committed relationship for in a week. Plus, Jared always used to call me handsome. He loved my pecs. He said he liked rugged men. I just don’t understand what happened to my life. Maybe Jared really wanted a pretty houseboy or something, I don’t know.

I pace around the apartment, mournfully gazing at where Jared put his coffee mugs, and where he put his watch when he went to bed. Until yesterday, my hand-prints were still on the patio doors from when Jared last fucked me against them. It had been dark, and people could probably see us. I found it exhilarating. Now, I was ashamed and wished I’d scrubbed them away earlier.

I opened the apartment door and glanced out into the hallway. I left the door open a crack to help air out the stuffy living room. I felt lost, a bit stuck in time. I shuffled into the bedroom and climbed onto the bed. I used to get into this submissive position – back arched, arms straight, ass out – like some obedient show puppy desperate to please his Master. I thought it was fun to greet your boyfriend like that, start the evening off with some frisky sex.

Now I just feel stupid. There is no one to show of and feel sexy for. I  might as well be a puppy dropped off at the pound-

There’s the sound of knuckles rapping at the door. “Um, excuse me?” says a melodic velvety voice.

I whip my head around. My potential new roommate is standing in the open door-frame to my apartment. From that vantage point, Grey can see straight through the living room and right into my bedroom. Right at my ass. I flush with embarrassment and scramble off the bed; I practically run to the living room to greet him.
“You must be Grey,” I mumble, wanting to melt into the floor. I offer a hand. We shake.
Grey lifts the corners of his lips and raises an eyebrow at me with lots of David-Bowie-esque charm. “Pleasure’s all mine. Sorry if I was erm, interrupting, but the door was open.”
I stammer out a response. “No, it’s quite alright, I was just – er, would you like to a tour of the apartment?”
“Yes please. Are you alright?” Grey presses, putting a hand on my arm. I realize he’s wearing slim, leather gloves. What style!
I sigh. “I’m alright. I just…I don’t want to be a downer, but my boyfriend of two years just left me. This is hard, to be renting out the guest room.”
To my astonishment, Grey hugs me. “I am so sorry honey. That is never fun, or fair.”
I can’t believe how badly I need this hug right now. I crush him back, and I am mortified to feel more tears coming on.
“Aww oh dear, I’ve upset you. Come now, show me to the kitchen, I’ll make you some tea. You poor cub, I think you need someone to talk to.”
I nod miserably and show him the way. 

After Grey makes me a cup of sencha, the dam bursts. I end up completely gushing and bitching, ranting like a lunatic, going through tissues like a madman. Grey listens, always attentive, never bored, never once glancing at his phone. He pats my arm and soothes me, never accusing, always asking the right questions.

By the time I stop blubbering the teapot is empty. I take pause and sigh. “I’m sorry. This must be insufferable for you. You probably can’t wait to leave,” I snort.
“No…actually,” Grey says slowly. “I’d like to rent the apartment.”
“…What? Really? You’ve barely seen in it.”
Grey runs his finger over the circular rim of the cup. “I saw the kitchen, and the living room. And I had a nice view into the bedroom.”
I blush at his innuendo..
“This is all exactly what I am looking for, in my price range, and in a neighborhood a like. I’m a particular man. I want particular things.”
“Things?”
“Things,” Grey says with a knowing smile. His eyes linger on my chest for a moment, before flickering up to me. I am a bit mesmerized by his charm.
“…I’ll um, I’ll get the paperwork then.” I stand up, but when I notice just how green his eyes are, I end up tripping over my own feet on the way to my desk.

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Text is fictional. Originally posted by the real person on Tumblr. This story is not meant to assume his personality or sexuality.

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torontopup:

kicksleathermen:

Instructing his lad on the play out for the up coming session where he will be shared …

Roy was trying to listen to his Master. He usually was entranced by the timbre of his voice, the low commanding tone he used to give instruction. His Master was laying out the specifics on how he was to behave later that night, how many men were coming over, on how he would be tied down and shared for their pleasure. Roy should really had been listening to that. It should have filled him with a bit of nervousness, both over pleasing his Master and pleasing the men. He hadn’t taken so many man in one session, so it was an appropriate time for self-reflection before the night began.

“And they’ll probably want you in the swing, so your hole will be open to them, and they can fuck you one by one..”

But Roy wasn’t thinking about that…he was smelling the smoke from his Master’s cigarette. He could faintly smell the acrid scent of cheap beer too and hear it slosh around in the glass bottle. It reminded Roy, very bluntly, that nine months ago he was in a pub holding those same things when they met. He used to smoke two to four a day. Roy loved the social aspect of smoking, how cool he felt, the shape of the box in his hand. He wanted just one drag, to feel the sweet caress of nicotine of it in his lungs. The cravings had died down after his Master had forced him to quit for his own health, as he couldn’t run even a block, but Roy discovered that the cravings had never really left. He wanted one, more than he wanted an orgasm at this point. And of course, nothing quite rounds out the buzz of a cigarette like the aftertaste of alcohol on the numbed tongue. Roy considered begging, asking for his Master to share them, but Roy did not dare. He knew his Master was doing this on purpose, to remind him distinctly that this casual conversation was masking a lesson about control. About denial. About ownership. And Roy was the one in this cage, awaiting use by all those men, for his owner’s pleasure.

His Master was a man amongst men. Undeniably male, in his form and presence and voice. He could have a cigarette, and a drink whenever he wanted; hell he was entitled to them! Anything in moderation, because Masters are in control of themselves. Roy knew he was not on that level. He was weak, susceptible to peer pressure and addiction. He sought chemicals to dull feelings of inadequacy and poor self-esteem. It was better that his Master had the upper hand and could make decisions for him, about his health, and body, but it didn’t mean Roy always enjoyed it. And now, he wasn’t, and there was nothing he could do about it.

“Are you listening, boy?” his Master asked, with a burp.
“Ye-yes Sir.”
“Then what did I just say?”
Roy swallowed hard, his throat feeling dry. “That…that I’ll be stretched before Ortega fucks me, because he is huge, and that I shouldn’t assume I can take him just because I took the others.”
“Or?”
“Or because I’m horny and would be excited by a big dick, Sir,” Roy mumbled, blushing.
His Master took a long drag, then exhaled. Roy nearly whimpered at the scent. “Good boy.” He stubbed the cigarette out, leaving about a quarter of it unburned.
“You please me tonight, you can smoke the rest of this. You fail me, and I’ll make you eat it.”

Roy felt a chill go through him. This was a very different kind of reward, and the challenge excited him. He strained in his cage. “Yes sir, thank you Sir. I will not disappoint you tonight.”
“I do not expect to be disappointed, or embarrassed in front of my friends. Are you a good boy?”
“Yes sir.”
“Are you horny?”
“Yes sir.”
His Master took another swig of beer. “This is going to be a fun night, don’t you think?”

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Text is fictional.

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James Harrison of the National Ballet of Canada demonstrates his lower back work out

James Harrison of the National Ballet of Canada demonstrates his lower back work out

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“So…let me get this straight.”
“There’s nothing straight about this, boy.”
“Ok, well then, let me see if I can make this clear.”
“Go on.”
“So this job of cleaning your house naked was actually an interview?”
“Yes.”
“And you want me to move out of my shitty apartment in to your awesome house and be your houseboy and poolboy?”
“Yes.”
“Naked.”
“Yes.”
“And when I finish my degree in massage therapy, you’re going to probably expect me to massage your impossibly-hot-for-48-year-old-body out by the pool?”
“Yes.”
“And you want access to my cock and want me to fuck you when you demand it? and will sometimes fuck me in return?”
“Of course. It is a long, beautiful uncut cock, I intend to enjoy it.”
“Uh ok, just…clarifying a few things.”
“Any other questions, boy?”
“….Uh, yeah, when can I start, Sir?”

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Text is fictional.