Читать книгу Love in Times of Corona - BERLINABLE - Страница 6

Live Cam Dreams

By Nathaniel Feldmann

The church rings twelve bells, but it's half-past eleven. I'm alone in the kitchen. On the other side of the door, he's snoring. The dry coughs that interrupt his anti-viral induced slumber are drowned by crackling from both ends of my earbuds that are plugged into my computer. The white noise of an empty screen transitions to moans and pillow talk the moment I click on my pirated movie: a sexy pop-up.

A man with a buzzed head beckons with a finger, his ass facing the screen, his torso twisted. My eyes follow the contour of his side along his broad hairy chest towards his neck until finally settling upon his stumbled chin. Wrapped around his eyes is a mask as black as night and beneath this silken fabric, he gazes with a promise, calling me.

My cursor hovers over the red X as I get lost in this man's clenched jaw. I salivate, adjusting my chair, sitting closer to get a better view. I won't follow him down this darkened path towards a market of endless faces. I will stay put, continue the evening as intended: a movie alone, again for the eighth night in a row.

I click on him anyway. I couldn't help it. Quarantined and highly contagious, this is the closest I could ever get.

My screen engulfs my face in the light. My pupils dilate to the shifting forms of men I could only ever imagine, a market of unlimited proclivities and desires. A hundred boys gaze into cams, torsos exposed, eyes smoldering. I can't look away.

I lose myself to binding straps, muscles galore, smooth stomachs, big long cocks barely concealed by tiny Speedos, and asses propped by jockstraps. I stumble on men with tattoos; tribal patterns cover sculpted chests. They throw their hands behind their heads, showcasing their bulging biceps, their hairless pits. Some choose to position their feet closest to the camera, faces out of focus. Others sit in private boudoirs, performing a tempting gaze that leads to a bed just out of view, waiting to perform for a man who can pay the price for their attention.

Stuck indoors, my boyfriend is sick, and I'm left with desire beating in my loins, my heart thumping like a drum. The array of lounging bodies infects my heart with a fever. Without any notice, the air goes still and my eyes roll back.

Kisses beckon me to private shows as my pants open, my hand drifting into my briefs. My dick gets harder as I continue to scroll, looking for the masked man to guide me out of this minuscule apartment, even if only for a brief moment of pleasure.

I hear him stir in the bed: the comforter being tossed to the side, the mattress shifting under his weight. My heart drops and I quickly shut the tab. I lower the screen, my eyes readjusting to the dark kitchen. He steps out of the bed. I turn my head, my eyed focused on the door behind me, zeroing in on the knob. From the corner of my eye, I see the bathroom light flick on through the window. After five blinks, the toilet flushes. I'm still not breathing, waiting to return to a bazaar of infection free desire.

I'm in the clear once his snoring ensues, like nothing happened at all. Blood rushes to my cock as I reopen the screen, surrendering to lust.

I fall into the chair, my spine slithering and shoulders hunched. Digital sirens call out from tiny cams. I lose myself to the shaking hips, the stroking of monster cocks, a horde of Russian twinks fingering their tight pink holes. Fuck, it's all so hot and I free my cock from my underwear and stroke underneath the table, hoping my neighbor across the courtyard cannot see, a thought that only gets me harder.

I circulate through twenty rooms, all the boys asking for tips as they strip to pop music, all covered in defined muscle, cocks measuring over 25cm, each one in the prime of health, promising life with a single kiss. I want to ride them, to take that whole cock and be split in two, to have big strong hands spread my cheeks wide. Be rough with me! Throw me around! My hole clenches at the thought and the head of my cock is dripping, with each stroke becoming wetter.

I come so close to blowing my load as their profiles tell me their desires to be whipped and chained, to be called daddy, to fulfill my fantasies and mine alone.

I go further down the wall. I can't help it.

New profiles sign on, more men asking to be watched and me willing to tip a euro here and there to keep the party going. I am hypnotized by their hips gyrating, dicks hard in their hands, switching from one man to the next and back again, being at the center of a circle of dancers and getting lost and almost coming…

My head falls back, and my eyes find focus again. Each breath centers my thoughts and I am soon reminded of my original mission. Masked seduction, where have you led me? Will I find your green eyes amongst these faces? Your hairy chest in a sea of shaved and trimmed beasts. Take me to where you have disappeared and I will do anything you ask!

I stroke my cock as I peruse the masses until I find him. My heart skips a beat. xX_Orpheus_Night_Xx, age 27. The man of my live cam dreams, a devil in black, still beckoning as if he was waiting for me alone, begging for an intruder to his by-the-minute netherworld. I click on his stats: hairy, uncut, and 19cm. I grunt in desire as he solicits a solitary encounter: "It would just be you watching me."

I opt for the private show. I can't resist.

The picture loads and crystallizes and I am ushered into a completely new space, one that is dark around the borders as a hundred flickering candles illuminate the center of the room. The man enters; nude of course, his body flowing into each and every muscle, but his form is slender. Although covered in hair, he has a boyish charm, innocence to his demeanor that leads me to take another step, my legs shaking.

This rented boudoir, located somewhere in Prague, travels to a darkened corridor. I follow him until we enter a theatre, a grand piano at center stage. This masked musician sits at the instrument, his hands hovering over middle C, his buttock fully formed, toned with side indentations. His shoulders span beyond the width of hips. I lose myself completely to the fantasy of a musical genius, his dream of playing love songs to me alone.

A spotlight shines and his hands fall onto the piano with a dramatic chord, the music fills the entire hall, but then silence. I wait on the edge of my seat for his body to move with each and every note that comes from his fingertips. He plays another chord, softer this time as I stroke my cock with more intensity, hoping for him to give me more until he plays with abandonment, a liberated feeling that is energetic and wild, his biceps quivering, his cock engorging and the fierceness of his contorted facial expressions that the mask could not hide completely. What is under that black fabric? It doesn't matter. The mystery of this Orpheus liberated me from quarantine, far away from these walls, this tiny apartment.

I gaze on his neck, hoping to catch a minute glimpse of his scruffy cheeks. The fantasy penetrates with the clamor of his descent into my body. Oh, Orpheus, you play so fantastically with my heart. I linger for your retrieval of my body from the depths that only you can reach, your eyes focused on the keys. But don't look at me as I come! Don't take off that mask! Play harder, no softer, move your fingers with precision and purpose! Reach for the light and lead me to my climax! Fuck me from octave one to octave seven, across the keys and into my soul! I follow your notes, the movement that you inspire.

Church bells sound from every angle as he comes to a fantastic ending, hands slamming on the keys with all his might as if the ceiling were to cave!

Oh, fuck!

I clean myself and the floor and the soiled pants at my feet before getting one last look at this hero that rescued me for a moment. My nude champion sits at a piano, and from the crackling of a high ceilinged room the only notes he plays are the pitter-patter of a child's composition.

Tomorrow night, I will return to Orpheus to hear his music once again.