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Things had changed since I last bummed Wlad. For a start, his brother Vitali had retired from cock, so there was no one to help Wlad out if he failed to make me cum.
But... I dunno... there was something DIFFERENT about the guy. He didn't seem as quick to get his clothes off, and didn't look as if he was mentally into it.
When I got in the bedroom, Max Kellerman was in the corner, looking at a scrapbook collection of black American boxers, and sticking one finger up his asshole as he did so. Immediately he was on my case as soon as I started to get out my taddywhacker, and it was clear he wasn't behind me.
"We've SEEN Anorak BUM many PEOPLE over from his home country of ENGLAND, but he's NEVER bummed ANYONE in the STATES. People HAVE to ASK themSELVES has he REALLY achieved ANYTHING in BUMMING at ALL? I'm LOOKING at his COCK and it REMINDS me PERSONALLY of Rocky GRAziANO verSUS Tony ZALE."
Well, he was just getting on my nerves, questioning my skill at sucking **** and having men stick their penis in my asshole... the cheeky bastard was probably going to call me a faggot next. Also on hand was Roy Jones, who was commenting on the size of my pan handle, which was doubly ironic as his own charcoal penny whistle was the size of an atom. Still, he soon became quiet when he started to get ****** off by The [censored]ed (TM), who was there with home extension photos.
Anyway, I got down to it. I wanted to play with Wlad, to make him laugh, so I made myself a little magina by pushing my junk between my legs. It was a silly thing to do, really - by putting my old fella behind my back, I was inviting Wlad to come straight down the front, face fucking me at will.
However, the odd thing was, he backed off, as if confused. I toyed with him some more, jerking around in fun, feinting.... was I going to fist him with my left, or just wank him off with my right? It was only fun and games to me, but Wlad looked unusually hesitant.
Eventually I was trying to lure him in, virtually demanding he tickle my balls with his left, having completely abandoned the idea that he'd use his right to finger my prostate while giving me a reach around. But he seemed tentative, like he'd mentally folded in on himself. Despite my amateurish, almost clumsy moves with my cock, he seemed like a man who had completely lost faith in his own ability to bum someone. I turned around, showing him my ripe, hairy arsehole, but he just stood there, transfixed. "Fuck me in the arse, Wlad", I beckoned, but he was almost afraid.
It was the most bizarre thing I'd ever seen. Vitali shook his head. "I know... uhhhhhh... my bruzzer can fuck an asshole better than zis" he said.
I felt like Wlad needed the ghost of Manny to visit us once more, but the room was empty of supernatural encounters, the only voice that of the low mumble of Johnathon Banks.
"You're behind in the bumming, understand? You've gotta get this motherfucker, stick your **** in his motherfucking asshole, you understand?" he beseeched. Wlad nodded, but in his eyes there was nothing. His bumming confidence was gone.
I squirted in his eyes, then got dressed. I shook his hand, having to listen to Jim Lampley tell me that something was obviously wrong with Wlad, that he would normally have made me cum within minutes and that HBO were going to feature him again.
Meanwhile, in the corner, the most heartbreaking sight I ever saw.... Freedom, rocking himself, his eyes full of tears, his asshole bleeding through the rough placement of a cucumber, on the end of which he'd drawn Wlad's face.
He was masturbating through desperation, but a tear fell not from his withered phallus, but from his own eyes.
"You're still the best, Wlad," he cried, desolately, "this was just an off night... it meant nothing. You could bum him again in a rematch, I know you could. You could have bummed them all, Wlad," he said, to no one in particular, "Larry Holmes... Frazier... prime Ali... Tyson... they all would have cum within minutes if you'd bummed them... ANYONE can see that... the Bumming Hall Of Fame will have you in on a first ballot, Wlad... you're still P4P cock rider in my eyes... this was an off night."
His words fell into his sobs, as he tried in vain to maintain his shrinking erection.
Ever the big-hearted soul, I cradled him in my arms, and kissed his head tenderly.
"It'll be okay, Freedom," I told him, "just give me the pills. It'll all be okay."
I took the bottle of sleeping tablets from him, and made him hand over the razor blades from his pocket, before removing his shoelaces.
"Take care of him," I shouted to the HBO team, "he may never get an erection again."
But... I dunno... there was something DIFFERENT about the guy. He didn't seem as quick to get his clothes off, and didn't look as if he was mentally into it.
When I got in the bedroom, Max Kellerman was in the corner, looking at a scrapbook collection of black American boxers, and sticking one finger up his asshole as he did so. Immediately he was on my case as soon as I started to get out my taddywhacker, and it was clear he wasn't behind me.
"We've SEEN Anorak BUM many PEOPLE over from his home country of ENGLAND, but he's NEVER bummed ANYONE in the STATES. People HAVE to ASK themSELVES has he REALLY achieved ANYTHING in BUMMING at ALL? I'm LOOKING at his COCK and it REMINDS me PERSONALLY of Rocky GRAziANO verSUS Tony ZALE."
Well, he was just getting on my nerves, questioning my skill at sucking **** and having men stick their penis in my asshole... the cheeky bastard was probably going to call me a faggot next. Also on hand was Roy Jones, who was commenting on the size of my pan handle, which was doubly ironic as his own charcoal penny whistle was the size of an atom. Still, he soon became quiet when he started to get ****** off by The [censored]ed (TM), who was there with home extension photos.
Anyway, I got down to it. I wanted to play with Wlad, to make him laugh, so I made myself a little magina by pushing my junk between my legs. It was a silly thing to do, really - by putting my old fella behind my back, I was inviting Wlad to come straight down the front, face fucking me at will.
However, the odd thing was, he backed off, as if confused. I toyed with him some more, jerking around in fun, feinting.... was I going to fist him with my left, or just wank him off with my right? It was only fun and games to me, but Wlad looked unusually hesitant.
Eventually I was trying to lure him in, virtually demanding he tickle my balls with his left, having completely abandoned the idea that he'd use his right to finger my prostate while giving me a reach around. But he seemed tentative, like he'd mentally folded in on himself. Despite my amateurish, almost clumsy moves with my cock, he seemed like a man who had completely lost faith in his own ability to bum someone. I turned around, showing him my ripe, hairy arsehole, but he just stood there, transfixed. "Fuck me in the arse, Wlad", I beckoned, but he was almost afraid.
It was the most bizarre thing I'd ever seen. Vitali shook his head. "I know... uhhhhhh... my bruzzer can fuck an asshole better than zis" he said.
I felt like Wlad needed the ghost of Manny to visit us once more, but the room was empty of supernatural encounters, the only voice that of the low mumble of Johnathon Banks.
"You're behind in the bumming, understand? You've gotta get this motherfucker, stick your **** in his motherfucking asshole, you understand?" he beseeched. Wlad nodded, but in his eyes there was nothing. His bumming confidence was gone.
I squirted in his eyes, then got dressed. I shook his hand, having to listen to Jim Lampley tell me that something was obviously wrong with Wlad, that he would normally have made me cum within minutes and that HBO were going to feature him again.
Meanwhile, in the corner, the most heartbreaking sight I ever saw.... Freedom, rocking himself, his eyes full of tears, his asshole bleeding through the rough placement of a cucumber, on the end of which he'd drawn Wlad's face.
He was masturbating through desperation, but a tear fell not from his withered phallus, but from his own eyes.
"You're still the best, Wlad," he cried, desolately, "this was just an off night... it meant nothing. You could bum him again in a rematch, I know you could. You could have bummed them all, Wlad," he said, to no one in particular, "Larry Holmes... Frazier... prime Ali... Tyson... they all would have cum within minutes if you'd bummed them... ANYONE can see that... the Bumming Hall Of Fame will have you in on a first ballot, Wlad... you're still P4P cock rider in my eyes... this was an off night."
His words fell into his sobs, as he tried in vain to maintain his shrinking erection.
Ever the big-hearted soul, I cradled him in my arms, and kissed his head tenderly.
"It'll be okay, Freedom," I told him, "just give me the pills. It'll all be okay."
I took the bottle of sleeping tablets from him, and made him hand over the razor blades from his pocket, before removing his shoelaces.
"Take care of him," I shouted to the HBO team, "he may never get an erection again."
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