Laura Baumbach, Ally Blue, William Maltese 1 Foreign Boys WARNING This e-Book contains sexually graphic, violent scenes, and adult language that may be offensive to some. Please store your e-Books carefully where they cannot be accessed by underage readers. 2 Laura Baumbach, Ally Blue, William Maltese Foreign Boys Laura Baumbach Ally Blue William Maltese Aspen Mountain Press 3 Foreign Boys Foreign Boys Copyright © 2007 by Laura Baumbach (Dark Side of the Moon); Ally Blue (That Voodoo); , William Maltese (Wayne in Spain) This e-Book is a work of fiction. While references may be made to actual places or events, the names, characters, incidents, and locations within are from the author’s imagination and are not a resemblance to actual living or dead persons, businesses, or events. Any similarity is coincidental. Aspen Mountain Press PO Box 473543 Aurora, CO 80047-3573 www.AspenMountainPress.com First published by Aspen Mountain Press, September 2007 This e-Book is licensed to the original purchaser only. Duplication or distribution via any means is illegal and a violation of International Copyright Law, subject to criminal prosecution and upon conviction fines and/or imprisonment. The e-Book cannot be legally loaned or given to others. No part of this e-Book can be shared or reproduced without the express permission of the publisher. ISBN: (10) 1-60168-055-4 ISBN: (13) 978-1-60168-055-6 Editor: Sandra Hicks Cover artist: Deana C. Jamroz 4 Laura Baumbach, Ally Blue, William Maltese WAYNE IN SPAIN By William Maltese My memorable, pleasurable, boner-producing and, yes, orgasmic tale begins in 1982 when I just passed into young adulthood, even if it has taken me this long to describe how it was — that day, in that oak grove, beneath the rear wall of the Castillo del Balneario. (I did, indeed, by the way, live full-time in that rather impressive pre-Moorish Spanish castle). I was slow in reaching puberty, my first erection occurring after most of my peers, I’m sure, were not only deeply into fantasizing girls but probably even fucking them. Fucking-girl fantasies or fucking girls for real wasn’t something I experienced then, or to this day. That said, my lateness in identifying my homosexuality (and it was a long time in coming, no pun intended) possibly had more to do with so little sexual stimuli afforded by the men at the castle. They were, to a one, either family, ugly, old, or a combination of all three; that included a whole line of tutors with whom I spent a good deal of my time. Quite on my own, one day in the bath, soap in hand, soapy hand on my dick, I discovered that my cock definitely enjoyed being fondled while soft and enjoyed it even more when — the miracle finally happened! —it was hard. Fine and good! 5 Foreign Boys Then, though, I was traumatized (not so fine and good!) when my (too roughly handled?) boner shot its/my very first pus-like load and proceeded, shortly thereafter, to metamorphose into a soft-and-swollen grotesque. Discussing my self-abused and assumedly damaged private parts with my family wasn’t a viable option. My mother was not only a could-she-really- understand-? woman, but she seemed always to be fighting with my father (when he was home, which was seldom), or locked in her room and crying (which was often). My father (when he was home, which was seldom), was always fighting with my mother (which was often) or locked away in his study (which was often) conducting business — something to do with international stocks and bonds. I was comfortable enough to approach him with a mathematical problem, or about the colic suffered by one of our horses, but Daddy, I seem to have permanently damaged my pecker just didn’t seem possible. As for my older brother, Jorge, I didn’t like him; I don’t like him now. He’s a manipulative fatty-blob of a ne’er-do-well who thinks he’s far more clever than he really is. Before I decided upon which out-of-castle authority figure to approach for seemingly needed medical assistance, my condition blessedly dissipated on its own. Before long, my cock was back to seeming normal, and I was vowing, miraculously cured, that I would never touch myself down there again. Later, I began thinking that maybe I might risk the damage one more time, considering the intense pleasure I’d experienced at the moment of my first and last creamy discharge. Then, having finally played myself to another orgasm, a close look at the resulting creamy residue decided me that it didn’t look anything like pus. Like a fighter partially inured to continual punching, my dick for awhile, thereafter, still got puffy when beaten to orgasm but never as puffy as that first time. 6 Laura Baumbach, Ally Blue, William Maltese By the day I came through the gate, at the base of the rear castle wall, skidded the steep defensive embankment, and sauntered sun-baked ground to the mutated oaks, I had taken to jacking off regularly (making up for lost time), only having recently discovered the additional masturbatory pleasure had by beating my meat simultaneously to viewing hunky young men on pages torn from slick magazines. My brother swore up and down, round and round, that the oak grove I entered was hexed by a witch who lived in one hollowed-out bole. He was just as insistent that the castle was haunted by the ghost of a conquistador. The way I have it figured, Jorge didn’t want me to access the oaks, because my doing so, fat boy that he was, made it too difficult for him to access me for sadistic harassment. He didn’t want me wandering certain parts of the castle, either, but that was because those were the places wherein he performed his more-private perversions; whatever those might have been, and despite what he may have thought otherwise, I never was interested enough or curious enough to find out. With the assistance of a sympathetic science tutor, I pretty much determined it wasn’t the machinations of any witch that mutates the trees. The cause, a hot mineral springs, that once only bubbled the swamp between grove and sea, having metastasized to infiltrate and taint the sole stream which currently irrigated the oaks in question. While the impressive strand survives the chemical attack on its root systems, its trunks and branches are straight out of something Brothers Grimm. I headed for the grove with all intentions of using its privacy to indulge some pleasurable penile abuse while including the potential pleasure in the same-time of ogling a popular male American movie star, extremely hunky with shirt off, brought with me on the latest page I’d ripped from one of my mother’s magazines. 7 Foreign Boys The Hieronymus Bosch landscape had just separated and cooled me from the hot summer Spanish sun when I saw him. Him and he will forever be his name, although I have often thought of assigning him a Christian name: say, Rodrigo, Ferdinand, Juan, or Carlos. I never got his real name. My father or brother might have known him, or discovered his identity, but if there was so little chance of my discussing my masturbation with them, there was certainly no chance whatsoever of my ever discussing his masturbation with them. Because he was jacking, flogging, whipping his hog. Strangling his monkey. Wrestling his snake. Pistoning his penis. Beating his meat. Shaking hands with his Johnny. Wanking his willie. Pumping his prick. Priming his squirt gun. Manhandling his hose. I hadn’t seen many naked men before him, none of whom had petted their pecker within my presence. I couldn’t even include my father’s nakedness on my list of had-seens. My father was so modest that I don’t, to this day, recall ever having seen him without his button-down-collar shirt; I never saw him in a swimming suit. My brother was more willing to flaunt himself in front of me, in one state of undress or another, but I wasn’t impressed by his cock (much smaller than mine), or by his physique (downright porky). He-who-was-naked-in-that-witchy-oak-grove, his back against the trunk of one tree, his legs in a wide stance, his pelvis thrust slightly forward, his powerfully large dick (even larger than mine) massaged by his steadily stroking fingers, his scrotum so compact as to make his two testicles seem bigger-than-even-a-soccer- ball, was literally breathtaking to behold. He was dark-complexioned, from the thatch of his thick comic-book blue- black hair to his shapely big toes. His eyebrows were sooty and well-shaped. His lashes were ebony in their mesh over his closed eyes. His pubic hair was thick darkness at the base of his dick that provided a fine thin line that ran his lower 8 Laura Baumbach, Ally Blue, William Maltese belly to parenthesize his innie navel and go shadowy within the deep cleavage that divided his twin brown-nippled pectorals. His arms and legs looked hairless, possessing a naked physical perfection made more so in comparison to the twisted tree limbs maniacally reaching for the blue cloud-dusted Spanish sky above us. As his firmly fisted right hand moved the loose outer skin of his hard dick up and back, up and back, along his cock’s hard inner core, his pulpy cockhead poked out and back, out and back, like the fat bobbing head of a turtle frequently exiting and returning into its shell. The muscles of his body rippled and shifted. One moment, his belly muscles wash-boarded more intensely and seemed to say, Look at us!; the next moment, his pectorals became grab-attention taut and apparently ready to pop their dime-size nipples as surely as any too-tight shirt popped its buttons; his biceps and thigh muscles bulged; his calve muscles went triangular… His other hand cupped his scrotum-sheathed nuts. His upturned palm squeezed, like the leaf on one of those carnivorous plants over prey. His eruption of creamy cum was more impressive than the massive discharge of the geyser within the adjoining marshland. I was so entranced by his parabolas of copious spermal discharge, at the same time confused by the attending leakage from my own stiff pecker (I momentarily mistook an exceptionally profuse gushing of my pre-cum for ejaculate), I almost didn’t see his thick lashes part to reveal his deep-dark black eyes whose surprised stare immediately pinned me to the spot as securely as any bug to corkboard. I thought for sure that shit was going to hit the fan. My leg muscles reflexively flexed to launch me into full flight, but I couldn’t manage even one step of the many required for a safe and quick getaway. “Ah, the cute young grandee from the castle!” 9 Foreign Boys I’d never seen such white-white teeth revealed behind such sensuously full and pink-pink lips. He had a deep dimple in each cheek and a slight cleft in his chin. He’d gotten it all wrong, of course. All the noble titles once held by my family had passed to my Uncle Juan to disappear for good when he, in order to finance some big-spending, just before dying of cancer, sold them to a very rich Mexican. “Like what you just saw?” Naked-Stud-in-the-Grove asked me. Jesus, yes! I liked it. Could I pretend otherwise? No. Could I put my appreciation into words? No, again. His right hand still wrapped his just-exploded cock, and it milked stale spunk from the long neck of his dick to cascade the curl of his couching forefinger. He released his cock and flicked his hand free of cum that sunburst into tiny bits and pieces that momentarily caught sunlight and went all the colors of the rainbow. “The preview was free, but you’ll have to pay for anything more,” he said. “No doubt I can teach you a thing or two about self-pleasuring a cock.” I was still too muddled by what I’d seen, and by whatever the miracle that kept him from coming over and slapping me silly for having seen what I’d seen, to be fully aware of what he so blatantly proposed. He waited patiently and leaned his muscled and naked back and ass more completely against the bark of the tree. He folded his arms, but not defensively, across his chest — which made his pectorals swell even more impressively in backdrop. “I’ll bet you baby-faced aristocrats only know how to jack-off like this,” he said. Delicately, he pinched the neck of his penis, his forefinger to his cockbelly, his thumb to his cockback. (Pseudo-aristocratically?), he provided a two-finger manipulation of his cockskin that pulled loose skin up and over the head of his circumcised dick to give the appearance of a foreskin returned. 10