---
title: 'Roman holiday'
---

### Roman holiday

Date: Thu, 02 May 2002 10:36:24 -0700
From: ghj cumsucker <ghjunkie@hotmail.com>
Subject: gloryholeJUNKIE'S Roman Holiday

GloryholeJUNKIE'S Roman Holiday
By Mr. gloryholeJUNKIE
ghjunkie@hotmail.com
(write to him...he especially seems to like MEN oddly enough)


Preface

Unzip your slacks, get a cuppa mochachinofrappelattedoublewide and then
call your travel agent. Your penis is gunna wanna travel.

__________________________________________________________________________

I had one of the most hedonistic nights of my life in a Roman "underground"
sex club near piazza Barbarini just a few years ago. I was wandering the
streets at about 12:30 a.m., as is my habit in many cities I visit. I'm NOT
out selling or plyingmy "wares", but rather like to have a city to myself
for at least an hour.  I'm not one of those fond of the Spanish Steps at
noon but I love it at midnight.  Often devoid of people, wet from when the
city cleaners hose them down, one can meander down the steps to Bernini's
fountain...I just love it!

I wandered down some street and a MAN whispered to me in Italian, he was
silver-haired, middle-aged and rather good-looking. Like a less-glossy
Rossano Brazzi. Now at almost 1 in the morning, few men whisper much of
anything on a darkened street other than..."I got a hooker here for you, my
man, real cheap, too!"...or..."This is a stick up!"

Before I could do anything, the man obviously was aware he'd startled me
(and usually middle-aged men in shadowy streets don't do that to me!) so he
immediately gripped his crotch in the universally understood, but
distinctively Italian manner of saying, "I got something big and meaty here
that needs some attention, buddy."

I wandered closer to where he stood and he had this long rod within his
slacks.  Fortunately, it was an erect penis and not a gun. Long thing in
his slacks.  He looked up and down the very deserted street and stepped
back two steps into the dark alleyway. I was horny and figured, `Sure, he
could be a killer but this sex routine has to be a staple of Roman homo
cruising since ancient times.'

And, so I followed and in moments I had this massive trousersnake of his in
my grasp. He reached to grab my ass but as he quickly realized he wasn't
getting a fuck out of me, he pushed me to my knees telling me, in Italian
(everyone always thinks I'm a native wherever I go), "You want what this
man has, don't you...?" He unzipped his slacks as he held my shoulder and
tugged out this thick, perfect dick.  I could say it was not perfect and
huge in order to try to make this tale sound more believable. But doing so
would be the lie.

I put the head of this stranger's wet, dripping uncut penis to my lips and
tasty sweet salty man nectar that oozed from it. But he was not wasting
time. He rammed the full length of his "manhood" down my throat and fucked
away like Caligula revved up on the idea of a disemboweling!

His powerful thrusts almost knocked me to the cobbled stones several times.
The air was still and utterly silent, as it often is at one in the morning.
Twice I could hear men's footsteps on the sidewalk just ten feet away. As
this man had intercourse with my neck, thoughts of Jack the Ripper's
victims came to mind.  How they were but feet away from passers-by on the
sidewalk as their vaginas were filleted from their groins.

But despite that thought... I was having a wonderful time of it. Riding his
cock with my throat muscles, my momentary choking on each ripping thrust of
his hips dotted the stillness in depraved whore noise.

Then as his nuts slapped my chin wildly in the final throes, he gritted his
teeth and tried desperately to mute his intense orgasm inside my clamping,
squeezing, swallowing throat.

And just a quickly, he pushed me off of him. I fell back on my heels and
almost hit my ass on he cold stone. He roughly apologized seeing that his
strength was greater than the man still gulping down his ejaculate would
have expected.  He reached to me but I waved him off half chuckling. I
thought of all the whores in the Roman Empire who must have been thrust to
the ground like that throughout history. And I rather appreciated the
moment.

As I had spent the earlier part of the evening in a wonderful restaurant
with a group of friends for dinner and then drinking, I was quite well
dressed and wondered for the first time if I'd have stains on my suit
slacks. I could feel nothing and figured that at least dirt would be better
than blood.

The man looked at me as he finished zipping up. He stood there apparently
noticing for the first time that I was well dressed and well groomed. And
despite a strand of his pubic hair caught in my teeth, I wasn't your common
cum whore.

He asked if I wanted some more fun. I smiled and said, "Si". He detected my
accent and asked if I were British. I said I was American and he
grinned. In mediocre English he said, "I like Americans...you make the best
sex."

I looked at his bulge and feigned wiping up come of his semen from my chin
and returned the compliment. One's not "lived" till one's had a Roman penis
ejaculate in your mouth, after all!

He looked around again as we were now standing in the light of sidewalk.
"You want more like this...", he said, gripping his trouser rod again, "You
go there...".  He pointed to the other side of the street to another
alleyway directly across from us.

"There", he said, "You will find more." He abruptly said goodnight and took
off down the sidewalk.

I was again alone, (well, one is never quite alone with a stranger's
750,000 little spermies swimming in one's system, is one?) on this
seemingly isolated little street near piazza Barbarini. I wanted more. But
what was over there? As I looked across the street, it was just a dark void
of alleyway.

I crossed, my whorish genes prompting me to seek more...

The alley was a dead end and dead silent. One bare blue lightbulb glowed
weakly fifteen yards in off the sidewalk. I approached it, half-expecting
sex and half- expecting decapitation.

As I felt I might have been on the portal of some den of thieving
murderers, this iron door flung open and two handsome young Italian men,
well dressed in disco- sexwear came bounding out, laughing. The bass of
thundering music pounded to the street. One of the young revelers gave me a
fast peck on the cheek as they made their way back to the street.

Another man, a burly, well-built young daddy, stood in the doorway. He
scanned me up and down and smiled but barely. "You coming in?", he asked in
Italian.  I just nodded as if my life were on autopilot.

The man closed the door behind me and stood next to a mirrored podium. He
was the doorman. "Twenty-thousand lire", he said. His ivory Armani t-shirt
clung to every bull muscle of his powerful physique.

As I paid, another man came up the stairs with someone. The other person
disappeared behind a mirrored doorway concealed to look like part of the
wall. I later discovered it was a bathroom.

The man who stood there looked at me and we locked eyes for but four
seconds.  He was older, a very tall distinguished fifty, I would
say. Bluest eyes I have seen in person since working with Paul Newman on
The Color of Money.

The doorman noticed the connection and grinned in that way only guys who
love guys will. To my shock, the olderman walked right up to where I stood
and planted a deep kiss onto my lips. It lasted second and yet years. I
could taste liquor and mints on his breath.

It was only interrupted when his companion returned and tapped him on the
shoulder. Playfully, but firmly, this other man said, "Basta, basta!"
(enough, enough!) and our lips parted. The olderman still held me and
whispered in Italian with this utterly seductive look in his eyes, "So
beautiful you are..."

And they left.

I stood there and looked at the doorman who was looking at me and we both
began to laugh. "You'll have a good time", he said in rough English. He
must have guessed me to be American. Perhaps it was the way I counted out
my money at 1:30 in the morning.

I descended the narrow, mirrored stairwell to the basement. I was startled
to find a rather glitzy bar jam packed with male bodies. The handsomest men
I had ever seen assembled in one room. It beat out even Malibu parties for
masculine beauty.

A man grabbed me and spun me around in a quick waltz and put his tongue
into my mouth. I only saw his handsome looks once he pulled away and
rejoined his party. I suddenly wished I weren't alone but figured that no
one was alone for long in a place like this.

I went to the bar where two matinee idols bartended. I could see these two
playing Roman centurians in some sword & sandal epic of the 50s. I asked
for a Manhattan (my favorite drink at the time...one can never resist a
cherry I always say).

I took the cocktail and a man bumped into me immediately. Half the drink
splashed to the floor and this man was so apologetic. He was about forty,
good-looking in a newscaster sort of way and wore a sport jacket and good
shirt. In Italian, he apologized profusely. At one point I thought he
offered me his Mercedes to "make up for it".

He grabbed me and brought me back to the bar and told me to tell the
bartend what I had ordered. I got a replacement drink courtesy of the
man. I thanked him and as I went to reach for the glass, he grabbed me
wrist and then grabbed my basket.

"That's just a drink", he whispered, "I apologize this way..." He grabbed
hold of my crotch, many people noticing and grinning and being so
wonderfully depraved, and pulled me to a dark space along a wall. He
unzipped me and was squatting before I could stop him (had that thought
even come into my mind). His mouth was like wet silk as he sucked me. I
realized that we were in a space that had probably 45 people assembled, all
well dressed and gathered at little bar tables.  Although I knew it, it was
the first time I looked around and noticed, or confirmed rather, that all
were men. A man sidled up beside me and reached to hold my nuts as the
cocksucker went deep to the pubes.

Just as suddenly then, the cocksucker, stood up and slapped me on the
shoulders.  "Sooo goood!", he said in Italian. He went to the bar and
picked up my drink. He then came back, handed it to me and kissed me on the
lips. I looked at him all bemused and confused as he went back to his table
and rejoined three friends there.  I meandered further into the space and
came to realize there was a full dance floor on the other side of a wall
from the bar.

And ringing the dance floor was a dark space, carpeted in two tiers. It was
rather like a loggia overlooking the dance floor. One could recline and
look at the dancers while remaining hidden in the darkness.

I can never resist dark spaces and wandered to one portal of this u-shaped
space.  Immediately I knew I had found what the silver-haired man in the
alley had promised. Each dark 30-foot​【9 m】 length of this ringing "u", was
packed with male figures in orgiastic sex. Some naked but most in various
stages of undress.  Many just with trousers open and big dicks inserted
into mouths or up spread asses.  It was like any and every Roman-style orgy
one would ever expect. And they were all men. Some reclined on a tier just
watching others perform. But most all were in some entanglement of
masculine flesh and muscle and throbbing male sex organs.

I hesitated for a moment and sat on a lower tier sipping my Manhattan. It
was so unlike me to just watch. But I wanted to observe the tactics these
men were employing to get into other's pants. Although it was a public
orgy, it was rather unlike one I had ever quite seen before. It was this
dark writhing ring of muscles and penises and in the center were 50 bodies
dancing under flashing lights.  I could understand the seductions of the
Ancients. I was living those same seductions with their descendants.

I spotted a group of bodies I particularly liked, which is saying something
in this sea of the handsomest physiques I have ever laid eyes upon.

I wanted to join that little huddle (for starters). Maybe suck that big
guy's horse scrotum while fingering hole of that other hard assed Roman
jock. But before I could non-chalantly walk over to them, I had two sets of
hands tugging on my belt buckle. My pants were never opened and down at my
ankles so fast in all my life!  Someone took my dick down his throat and
voraciously sucked while someone else began to unbutton my shirt. I worried
about my wallet for a moment but, quite frankly, figured, "Even if I lose
it, this is worth every freakin', fuckin', god- suckin' nickel." (that's
what I really thought)!

Two or three bodies on me became four and five and five minutes became 30
became 60. And at some point I realized I was fully "at home" in this whore
alley.  My shirt was open, my trousers and boxers at my shiny dress
shoes. I was sucking two cocks of guys I could not even see through the
thick sea of male flesh crowding around. I had sucked my way down one
length of the ringing -U and was only part way into the second "arm" of
it. And already I had had sex with dozens of bodies.

Although I count only cocks sucked and cum drunk in my cum journals, and
this was not the record-breaking cum drinking night, it was indeed the most
men I ever had sex with at one time in one evening.

And the beauty of almost all these physiques, whether they were the young
men of eighteen or the oldermen of fifty was astounding. I won't go further
as some may doubt the credibility. But anyone who has whored in Roman
circles knows these men are among the world's finest prime beef.

And then I got tired of all things! Maybe it was the Manhattan, although I
know it was the hour. I looked and it was 4:45 a.m. I had had almost three
continual hours of sex with countless men. My rough guess at the time was
eighty-six.

I pulled myself together with an occasional man grippingmy shoulder with a
smile saying, "Well done!"

My knees and thighs hurt. My nuts felt great though. I ascended the
stairwell and went into the bathroom behind the mirrored wall. I looked
like I'd been ravished!

And I had been!  I combed back straight my sex-sweaty hair and it suddenly
occurred to me that perhaps that was how the Mafia had started that
slicked-back look! The Mafia is made up of cumpigs!

I returned to the alleyway and could smell the scent of morning. Making my
way to the street, a flock of starlings snapped across the sky. It was
still dark but the stone glowed in that pre-dawn hint of light.

As I walked back to my hotel, I thanked Jupiter for making men.

End.

_________________________________________________________________________

This story is copyrighted/2002 by the author.
Not to be reprinted or used in any manner without his prior written
permission

