The letter called me to the road

Chapter 1.

Many journalists in Soviet times used a certain cliché when traveling across our vast Motherland on business trips, responding to readers' letters. Typically, these letters contained complaints about the actions of local authorities and bureaucrats who, in the readers' opinion, had allowed injustice or red tape in one case or another. So here I was, sitting in a coupe compartment on a train heading to a small town in our region, trying to come up with a title for the article that was to appear in our newspaper, where I have the honor of serving as a correspondent.

The reason for the trip was banal and simple – local authorities were refusing a war veteran a new apartment.

The train arrived on time, and I immediately headed to the hotel with the pompous name "Central." I showed the receptionist my journalist's ID, and the issue of a room was resolved, especially since the editorial office had booked me a place. However, there were no single rooms available, for which the receptionist offered me his sincere apologies.

— You'll be staying with your fellow countryman, — he said, pointing to a senior lieutenant standing nearby. – The comrade is also here on business.

The room turned out to be quite decent, with a bathroom, refrigerator, and color TV. There was a small balcony overlooking the station square. The senior lieutenant's name was Boris. He was taller than average, slim and fit, as military men should be. Since the workday was coming to an end, Boris called the local military commissariat, introduced himself to the duty officer, and promised to appear at nine in the morning.

I also made a call to the local newspaper's editorial office to announce my arrival. The thing is, the veteran had contacted the local press several times, and I hoped to get some material on the case from the editorial office.

— Well, Sasha. Let's take a shower and go down to the restaurant, we should grab a bite. – Boris had already taken off his uniform and was standing before me in just his briefs. He had an athletic figure, a toned stomach, and defined muscles. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw a quite decent bulge in his briefs. He went into the shower and shouted from there: — Sasha, we're in luck, there are two showerheads here. Come on in, let's not waste time.

I'm generally not a shy guy, and nature blessed me with decent height and a good figure, so there's no shame in appearing naked. But to just go into the shower with a stranger right away? Although, why am I being coy, I do go to nudist beaches and see nothing wrong with that. True, I shave my pubic area and perineum. How would Boris react to that? Well, however he reacts, I don't care. The main thing is, I like it that way. And I headed to the shower.

It seemed to me that Boris was indifferent to the lack of hair on my private parts. At least, he didn't show it. Although, as I noticed, he also trims his pubic hair, and his scrotum was clean-shaven. Well, what do you know, two modern young men had met.

After the shower, we wrapped towels around our waists and returned to the room.

— Do you smoke? – he asked me. I nodded and took cigarettes and a lighter from my jacket pocket. We happily lit up, settling into the armchairs by the TV.

— Well, time to get ready for the restaurant. My stomach's already growling.

— Borya, I have another suggestion. Are you that eager to get acquainted with the local public catering? There'll be plenty of time – a whole week ahead. My bag is full of food and there's a bottle of cognac with it. How about having dinner in the room?

— In principle – positively. It's just awkward to eat all your food.

— I think over the week you'll have a chance to treat me. – I started unpacking the provisions from my bag, which my mom had carefully packed. She even remembered disposable plates and forks. It turned into quite a decent spread.

— Did your wife pack it? Good for her!

— No, I'm not married. My mom.

— I'm single too. So I propose the first toast to mothers.

When the cognac bottle was empty, Boris took out a bottle of Stolichnaya, and our conversation continued more cheerfully. Boris told me he serves in our regional military commissariat, and I told him about my work at the editorial office and about the veteran's letter that had brought me to this town.

— Sasha, why are we like children, walking around in these towels. Let's take them off and sit naked. Am I shocking you too much with my suggestion? I'm always naked at home.

— I also like being naked, but at home there's my mom, though I always sleep naked. I love visiting nudist beaches. Do you ever go to those? – I asked him.

— I have, just not often. You understand – the service. Let's go to the balcony, have a smoke.

We went out to the balcony and lit up. The spring breeze refreshed our naked bodies, and it felt pleasant. Suddenly, I felt Boris's hand touch my butt and give it a slight stroke. A shiver ran through me, and I moved half a meter away from him.

— Was my touch unpleasant? – asked Boris.

— It was just unexpected.

— You have a beautiful body, I just want to caress it non-stop.

— You look great too. Well, what if I'm not what you think?

— Sasha, don't deny the obvious. We both know perfectly well what we want from each other. And if fate has brought us together, it's simply a sin not to take advantage of it.

I actually agreed with him: he was a handsome guy and suitable in every way. Besides, I hadn't had sex in a long time, not since my friend and lover Kostya and I parted ways. No, we didn't quarrel, he just left for Moscow, hoping to build his career there. He invited me to come with him, but I couldn't leave my mom alone.

Boris took me by the hand and led me into the room. He sat me down next to him on the bed and began to caress my body. I timidly responded to his caresses, gradually getting aroused. Boris turned my face towards him with both hands and planted a hot kiss on my lips. His hot tongue explored the cavity of my mouth, my gums, and palate. Then he laid me on the bed and attended to my cock. He ran his tongue along the entire length of the shaft, uncovered the head, massaged the frenulum with his tongue, and finally, took it into his mouth.

In the shower, Boris washed me like a little child. He paid special attention to my anus: he soaped up his index finger and carefully inserted it into me, then asked me to bend over and spread my buttocks with my hands, and directed a stream of warm water there, which pleasantly tickled the nerve endings of my hole.

Returning to the room, we drank a shot of vodka each and had a smoke.

— Well, how was it, did you like it? – Boris looked at me slyly. – Your cock is just super.

— Of course, darling, I liked it. Your little one isn't bad either. – Although his rod was hard to call a "little one," it must have been about nineteen centimeters. – Borya, I just want to warn you – I'm versatile and I like, after a partner fucks me, to also take him. How do you feel about that?

— Normally. I also like it when my prostate is massaged. We're just a find for each other. I see you keep in shape. Where do you work out?

— The "Titan" club on Ogorodnikova Street. Though, it's a private club, everyone works out naked and most are into our thing.

— Great. Can you get me in? I won't be in your debt. I go to our army sports complex, near the district headquarters. But we're getting sidetracked. Come to me. – He put me on all fours, spread my buttocks, and began to lick my anus. It was damn pleasant when his tongue, parting the folds of my little cave, penetrated me.

Taking condoms and a bottle of lube from his suitcase, Boris began to work on the entrance to my hole, especially since I asked him to do everything carefully and as painlessly as possible, as I hadn't had sexual intercourse in a long time. He assured me everything would be top-notch. And yet, when his monster, sheathed in a condom, began to make its way into my insides, it felt like a hot iron crowbar was being driven into me.

I gritted my teeth until they creaked and only occasional quiet moans escaped me. Boris whispered tender words to me, gently stroking my buttocks and back. But then the advance of his piston stopped, and I felt his balls press against my perineum. Boris froze for a while, giving me time to get used to his rod inside me, and then began cautious thrusting movements. Gradually, the pain began to recede, and I started to feel the head of his cock massaging my prostate. My cock stiffened, and I began to masturbate it lightly. Boris's actions acquired a certain rhythm and speed. Sometimes he would pull his weapon completely out of me and then drive it back in to the hilt, but I no longer felt pain. On the contrary, I wanted him to tear me apart, for his rod to reach my throat.

I suggested changing positions, and now Boris lay on his back, and I mounted his stallion and rode him like a wild mustang. One thing worried me: would the bed withstand our frolicking? Boris held me by the hips, thus restraining my impulses. Stopping masturbating, I realized I was about to come anyway, without touching my cock anymore. Waves of desire to climax washed over me, but I struggled to hold back to prolong the pleasure. But finally, my willpower ran out, and my semen burst out with tremendous force, reaching Boris's face and also spraying his chest and stomach.

Boris, apparently, was also preparing to finish: his thrusts became sharper, his breathing frequent, and I heard his moans several times. He grabbed my hips hard with both hands and pinned me to him. I understood that at that moment his juice was bursting out and only the condom prevented it from spilling inside my body. I lay on him and kissed his lips, tasting the saltiness of my own semen on my lips.

— Well, you're quite the stallion, Sasha, no offense meant. I haven't had sex like that in a long time. Thank you. Let's go to the shower, or we'll stick together with your cum.

It was still early. We drank a little vodka, ate a sandwich each, and talked about various topics. Boris asked me to tell him about my sex life and if I had a boyfriend now. I told him about Kostya and how we parted ways. By the way, I told him that Kostya and I trusted each other and didn't use condoms during sex. I, for example, like how a partner's semen flows out of my anal opening.

— But that's not hygienic, — replied Boris.

— We gave each other enemas, and everything was neat and clean. And afterwards, we used an antiseptic, sold in pharmacies, called "Before and After."

— Well then. If we continue our relationship, we can try that. I don't have a boyfriend now either, so fate didn't bring us together for nothing. — He paused for a moment and added: — Well then, it's your turn to torment my ass. Ready?

Boris played with my cock until it was sufficiently hard, and put a condom on it. I generously lubricated his anus and my cock with fragrant lube. We lay on the bed; Boris said he liked to fuck lying on his side. I tried to insert a finger to prepare his anus for the invasion, but he rejected it – it'll go in as is. And indeed, my piston met no resistance from his sphincter. Boris lifted his leg and asked me to masturbate his cock while fucking him.

I fucked him for a long time. Even for my age, coming three times in a row is no easy task. His cock, thanks to me, had already released a small amount of juice, which I smeared over his stomach. Then I resorted to my signature move: maneuvering, I inserted my index finger into my own ass, found my prostate, and pressed on it slightly. The orgasm was staggering; I counted three shots of my semen. As it seemed to me, Boris was also satisfied.

Chapter 2.

The next day, Boris and I were busy with our respective work matters and concerns. We only met again in our room in the evening. After having a bite at the hotel restaurant and passing by the reception desk, Boris noticed an announcement that there was a sauna at the hotel. The receptionist explained to us that the sauna would be free in an hour, and she would call our room. After going to a nearby supermarket, buying beer and salted nuts, we went up to the room to wait for the call from the obliging receptionist. About forty minutes later, the phone rang – the sauna was ready, we could go down.

Handing over the key, the nice lady explained to us that their sauna was generally designed for four people, and that these two guests – here she pointed to two guys around twenty-seven to thirty years old standing nearby – were asking us to take them with us, and they would pay separately. Of course, we wanted to be alone with Boris, but the guys pleaded so much that we had to agree. This especially pleased the receptionist, who wanted to accommodate all her guests.

The hotel could be proud of its sauna. A quite decent and clean space, consisting of a changing room and a relaxation room, a small pool, the steam room itself, a shower, and a toilet. In the relaxation room, besides a table and armchairs, there were a refrigerator and a TV. Clean sheets and towels were stacked on a nightstand. Before undressing, the guys offered us a drink to get acquainted, but we declined, quickly undressed, and went into the steam room. About ten minutes later, our guests, if you could call them that, joined us. Unfortunately, the dim light in the steam room didn't allow us to see them properly, but one thing could be stated with confidence – the guys were physically developed and not lacking in external attractiveness.

After about twenty minutes, Boris and I, well warmed up, plopped into the pool, where the water was quite cool, and we didn't risk staying in it for more than three minutes. Spreading towels over the armchairs, we took beer from the refrigerator and began to enjoy the cool drink.

Soon our guys joined us. We had to introduce ourselves; one was named Artyom, the second Taras. They turned out to be pilots; their plane was being repaired at a local aircraft repair plant, and they were waiting for the repairs to be completed. Two other people were staying in their hotel room – the crew commander and the flight engineer, both old farts, as Artyom colorfully put it, so they preferred to spend their free time without them.

Now, under brighter lighting, I could see them well. Artyom was a blond with blue eyes; his abs and musculature, as well as Taras's, were well-defined. His body was hairless, with only light hair in the groin and on his legs. Taras was larger, a dark-haired brunette with green eyes. There were thick dark growths on his chest and stomach, and only his pubic area was clean-shaven, like mine. Both had decent-sized cocks and large balls, and I noticed only Taras lacked a foreskin.

The guys persistently offered us a drink to get acquainted, and we gave in to their persuasion. After a smoke break, we went through the cycle again – steam room, pool