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Minutes later, the insatiable Russian stripped himself completely naked, and began sucking him off. Chris watched him play with his own hard dick as he pleasured him. He was a hot little cock sucker, moving his tongue around the engorged head of Chris’ rod with porn star finesse. “Who taught you how to suck cock like that?,” Chris groaned, pulling on Mishka’s hair. He grinned up at him. “Its my job!,” he said. Chris wanted to fuck him so bad! “Well, do your fucking job, baby, ‘cuz this cock is gonna fuck your hot Russian ass ‘til you see stars!”

Mishka seemed to like Chris’ forcefulness. Once he had his meat pole a pre-cum and saliva-soaked eight inches, he got up and walked over to the arm of the sofa. Chris watched, as he sat down and held his leg up in the air, making his ‘assets’ one tasty smorgasbord! His eyes were like a dark fire, beckoned him to come and tap his delicious boy pussy. “Come here...I want you to fuck me!...Please!...I am so hot for you!...” Chris stared at his winking cum hole and licked his lips. “You’ve got such a beautiful ass, Mishka!...”

He made no protest whatsoever, when Chris sunk to his knees, and began to eat at his ass like a greedy cannibal. “Mmmmm...You little fucker!..You’ve got such a sweet ass!,” he hissed, opening his creamy cheeks up to bury his tongue in there. Mishka loosened up in no time, and was whimpering like a baby for the main course. Chris finished his prep by discharging a thick wad of spit on his eager pucker. “You’ll get my cock when I’m good and ready!,” he teased, pushing his knees to his shoulders and slapping his ass. “Uhnnn!!!,” Mishka cried, loving it. “You LIKE that?,” Chris growled, slapping it again.

God, how Tripp loved it,...and loved to spank him in return!...As gorgeous as Mishka was, Chris suddenly longed for his eyes to be the icy blue eyes of Tyler...Now, he couldn’t turn it off anymore. The batteries in the remote that controlled his heart were dead.

“Ahhhhh!!...FUCK ME!...,” Mishka yelled, as Chris pushed his throbbing dick into his slimy hole. He quickly figured out what worked for him, and concentrated on it. Mishka loved slow thrusting with his piece halfway in, accompanied by circular movement of his hips.

They kissed and talked dirty while they fucked, but there was no connecting...No playfulness...No genuine affection...Mishka’s cock stayed hard the whole time, making Chris feel happy at least that he found ‘bottoming’ off camera enjoyable with him...

After about fifteen minutes, he could feel his poop chute start to clamp down on his pole, and knew that his orgasm was coming. “Uhhhnn!...I LOVE your cock!...I’m going to CUM!...Oh, yessssss!!!...Tvoyu mat’! (Fucking shit!),” Mishka shrieked.

He shot his load all over his chiseled abs, growling like an bear. The muscles of his ass milked Chris’ cock, and triggered him to blow his load right after. As he pulled out and tore off the condom, he thought of how amazing it felt to cum in Tripp’s ass bareback...And the feeling of Tripp’s man juice spurting into his guts like a hot geyser, melting his prostate into orgasmic frenzy...An intimacy they shared only with each other...A trust and a love beyond anything he’d ever experienced...

“I have to go!,” Chris muttered, taking the towel from Mishka’s hand and cleaning himself off. “Would you like to shower first?,” he asked, not unhappy that Chris wanted to leave, but not expecting it quite so soon. Chris nodded. “Yeah, actually...Thank you!...” Mishka smiled and pulled him in for a kiss. “No, thank YOU!...It was more wonderful than I expected...” Chris participated in the kiss half-assed, because it no longer felt good...or right...

Mishka said he’d call, but they both knew it was just to be polite. Chris never thought he would smile and say, “Yeah! Take it easy buddy! Good luck with your movie!” He was usually the sappy type after having sex, and became emotionally attached. Mishka gave his arm a friendly tap with his fist. “Go and kick some ass in the AHL!...The way you are in bed, you will be a fantastic hockey player one day!...I will look for you on the Rangers...” Chris laughed and caressed his soft cheek. “Thanks! I HOPE to get called up this year!...I’m gonna play my ASS off!”

He walked out into the scenic dusk of Miami, feeling happier than he’d felt in four years. The warm breeze tousling his hair was heaven. He envied the lazy palms, bending their shaggy heads towards the sun. They had no idea how lucky they were to live in this subtropical paradise all year long...Or maybe they did...They grew here, didn’t they? Even though they were rooted to the earth, each of them looked like this weather made their wooden hearts sing...

His own heart was set free...Did this city realize that it saved him?...If he never met Mikhail Krepka, he would still be living in denial. It was time to make a move that would put everything out on the table. He was going to find Tripp and tell him he was ready...He wanted to tell him how much he loved him, and that he was going to end it with Mary Beth once and for all!...

When Chris reached ‘The Crazy Iguana,’ everyone was there except Tripp and Justin. “I dunno, man!,” Reese slurred, already one beer away from praying to the porcelain god. “They took off with some chicks about twenty minutes ago...Not sure where they were headed...” Chris was annoyed. “He was WASTED, wasn’t he?...” Keith threw his arm around Reese’s shoulder, and they erupted in drunken giggles. “When is Janik ever SOBER, Blue?,” Keith quipped.

Chris glared at them, as he pulled out his cell phone. He walkie-talkied Tripp, “Where the fuck ARE you?,” and waited for a responce. A few seconds later, Tripp yelled something incoherent and laughed. He was a fucking mess! “TRIPP!,” Chris yelled into the phone. “Its ME!...Where ARE you?” Tripp answered back, “Whoos ME?...Loog,...I’m gonna go en play, uhkay?...Ahm gettin’ on stage wid Juzztin...Iss diss CHRIS?...” Reese, Keith and Drew were all so far gone, they thought this was hysterical.

“Yes, its CHRIS!...Stop drinking, Tyler!,” he yelled, falling right into the ‘daddy’ roll, which was old hat. “Sinz when da you fuckin’ CARE?...EAT MY ASS!...Or wait...Eat da Rushin ass,...cuz yull never touch me EGEN!...EVER!,” Tyler exclaimed, instantly going from giddy to pissed.

“We need to TALK, Tyler!...Tell me where you are! PLEASE!” There was more of a pause this time, and Chris knew his beloved was mulling it over. He beeped back. “NO!...I haf NUTTING ta say ta you!...Its OVER!...You walked oud on me for da LAST TIME taday! You made yur fuckin’ CHOICE - en id HURT me so fuckin’ MUCH!” Chris’ heart beat furiously in his chest. His whole world was caving in around him like a house of cards. “Tyler, NO!...PLEASE!...Don’t DO this!” He was beginning to cry now, and it was no longer a laughing matter to their friends. Drew reached out to comfort him, but he didn’t want it. He shoved his hand away and continued his pleading.

“Tyler, I LOVE you!...” The silence was even longer before he got a response. Tripp was crying too. “FUCK YOU, Chris! You’ve done dis to me sooooo many times - en ahm OVER it now!...Juz leave me ALONE!...I’TS OVER!...O-VVVEERRRR!!!,” he yelled. “Stop calling me!...Ged it thru yer HEAD!... I DON’T WANNA FUCKIN’ TALK TA YOU ANY MORE!”

Chris stared at the phone in his hand, as if it was contaminated with a deadly strain of disease. People within earshot were staring at him, their eyes empathetic. He began to fume. They couldn’t even FATHOM how much he just lost! “Rrrrrrrrrr!!!!!,” he exploded, hurling his cell phone into the wall. It hit with such force, that it exploded into little pieces.

He stormed towards the bar’s exit, tears streaming down his face. Nobody followed him. They were intelligent enough to take the hint when he pushed Drew.

He held it together long enough to buy a bottle of Southern Comfort from a liquor store on the strip. He forced a smile and politely said, “No thank you!,” to a latino man behind the register, who wanted to blow him. With paper bag in hand, he jogged in the direction of the vacated beach, without looking around him. Nothing and nobody mattered!

There was a small boardwalk nearby where he could seek refuge. He lost his footing on the irregular surface of the sand and collapsed, where he buried his face in his arms and cried. He hadn’t cried that hard since he was sixteen, when his friend, Ted, died of a coke overdose at a pool party.

He cried and cried and cried, getting sicker and sicker to his stomach with each passing memory of Tripp. Every swig he took from the bottle, activated his puke reflexes. He tried his best to fight off the urge to toss his cookies, because it was going to be a long night. Tripp came down here to try and get them back together, and he fucking blew it! For the last fucking time, he blew it! He prayed to get himself piss drunk! So wasted, that he’d pass out there on the damp sand and drown...It was all his fault...

TO BE CONTINUED...

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