Friday-night stand

Originally published on July 26, 2008

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I met a boy at the station Friday night. Nothin’ unusual about that. What was unusual was that he wasn’t for sale, at least not then or to me.

That day, the members of the Hlavní Nádraží Boys Club—our motto is “We do chicken right” — me, Camp Chris, Win, and Joey had just walked up the steps to the Kavarna. Chris and I had both spotted a young dude, possibly cute, in a ball cap leaning against a pillar. The cap was pulled down over his forehead, and since by this time of the day the Kavarna was in its twilight mode, we couldn’t make a firm judgment as to his desirability. But he was definitely checkin’ us out pretty seriously from under that dirty white brim. I wasn’t sure at the time, but it looked like he was staring mostly at me.

Chris took a little stroll over next to him, pretending to look for someone coming up the stairs.

(Why we still bother to be coy anymore, I don’t know.)

As he got up, he said he’d invite him over if he was appealing. Coming back in a few seconds, Chris announced that he probably would have taken him 4 or 5 years ago but not now, which is usually a good indicator that I might like him. I usually take mid- to late-twenties boys who are too old for the near-pedo Prague scene. I won’t lie though: the older boys often go for cheaper if they’ve been around the scene longer than is considered “fresh.”

He eventually took his own little evaluative stroll near our table, smiling. He looked at me and took his cap off on the way, revealing a characteristically bad Czech haircut but also confirming that he had a cute, if full, face. He quickly went out one of the doors onto the train platform but came back in within a few minutes and sat down at a table full of boys a couple of tables away.

Station-clown Anton, in the meantime, had sat down next to me, showing off the 20-crown buzz cut he got from the station hair salon in the basement. He also wanted to show me a novy kluk, a new boy, who was sitting at that all-boy table. I turned around, and a handsome guy, probably half-Roma, leaned over, nodded at me, and said “Ciao.” But my eyes met the ball-capped boy’s, and he smiled again, devilishly. I couldn’t help but smile back. He took that as an invitation to sit down at our table.

By this time, there were two boys at the HN Boys Club table and another couple hanging around. This made Win nervous and Chris annoyed. Unlike me, they don’t fraternize with the station boys other than to make the pickup. Of course, their exit might have had something to do with the fact that David was tweaking pretty seriously, his jaw twitching, and his eyelids flittering.

The men left to prowl around, and I stayed behind, facing the ball-capped boy, whose name was Petr, and tried to make conversation. After a couple minutes of getting interrupted by whichever boy thought he could muscle in on Petr — who, admittedly, was no raging beauty — I told him I was going downstairs to have a beer with my friends. We hadn’t created any real rapport, and I didn’t have a hard-on from looking at him — my cock is the final decider — so I considered our introduction a misfire.

Back downstairs, the HNBC had planted itself at a prime table in the little cafe on the balcony. We spent several minutes surveying the station ingress and egress, commenting, not always kindly, on the sights.

Chris: “He walks like he still has last night’s dick up his ass.”

As I looked out over the crowd, I noticed Petr making his way toward the cafe. He spotted me, smiled the smile that was starting to win me over and came up onto the balcony. I knew that another boy at the table would annoy the others, so I suggested to Petr we take our own table.

The conversation went better without the distractions of the Kavarna. After I bought us both pivos, he told me he was from Pils, underlining with his finger the town’s name on our beer labels, and that he’d come in on the train to party in Prague. I asked him if he was doing biznis and, to my surprise, he said no.

“No sex for money.”

“Then what are you doing in the station?” I asked.

He explained that he wanted to go to Gejzeer later, but that it didn’t open until 8. He was just hanging out until then. It was obvious, however, that he was looking for someone to party with him and probably pick up the tab. There were plenty of places for boys to hang out in Prague and maybe latch onto a couple buddies for the night.

But not that many other places to buy drugs.

“So, what are you looking for then?” While we talked, he’d been rubbing my knee; when he answered he ran his hand up to my crotch.

Laska, laska,” (“Love, love,”) he said and chuckled. “And sex and dancing.”

Petr had had a few pivos and he was also queening it up a bit, but in a boyish manner that
I found very cute. The longer we sat together talking, the closer we got, until we were touching thighs, holding hands. Then he leaned over with a small groan and stuck his tongue down my throat. I’d never made out with anyone at the station before (just a couple pecks with Daniel), so I was hesitant.

As his mouth and tongue pleaded with mine, over his nose, I looked around the Kavarna to see if there was any reaction. No one was paying the slightest bit of attention. He was kissing me just the way I liked it: deep, sloppy, and wet, with the entire mouth, jaw, tongue, and teeth involved. Okay, I gave in and kissed him back. I had my hard on now.

We talked some more, made out some more. Eventually our mashing got the attention of two old homeless women — wearing matching pink headscarves — on a bench nearby. They were raising their voices in a derisive manner, speaking Czech, and waving at us. I didn’t know what they were saying, and Petr didn’t even react. Joey passed by us as this was happening, and Petr grabbed him and tried to kiss him too. At that point, I thought maybe he was using ecstasy; but I didn’t really care what drug he was on as long as it wasn’t piko.

Within a couple minutes, we waved ciao to the Boys Club and headed off to Gejzeer because Petr wanted to dance and because we both needed the dark room.

As we walked arm-in-arm on the way to the tram, Petr flirted, blew kisses, and moaned fake orgasms to just about everyone, leaning in lecherously towards the cutest boys as they passed by, but also smackin’ his lips at the women.

We reached the tram stop, and I pulled him behind a pillar to mash some more. We mashed faces; we mashed crotches; I mashed him up against the 120-year-old architecture. By this time, the skin around our mouths was red from abrasion — we both had some serious facial scruff, but I didn’t mind that.

He wanted to mash on the tram, but that’s pushing me past my exhibitionist limits. Petr didn’t seem to have any limits because, almost as soon as we sat down at the club, he was trying to get my pants off. Even though there were some secluded spots off in the back (the dark room wasn’t supposed to open until midnight), he wasn’t interested in being discreet.

Back in our seats, he eventually pulled out his hard dick and showed it to not only me, but also to an English-speaking male couple. (We found out later they had recently been married in NYC.) Petr focused primarily on foreigners; the Czechs didn’t seem to interest him much. The studly boy from Switzerland who sat down next to us interested him quite a bit, though, and despite the fact that Petr made him laugh, he wouldn’t take the bait.

After a couple hours of chatting with newly-met Czech buddies and attempting to dance, we decided that Gejzeer wasn’t really happening that night. We ended up at Stella’s, where Petr promptly fell asleep in my lap.

I had explained to Petr earlier that I didn’t have an apartment to take him back to, and this visibly disappointed him. Obviously, he’d been looking for a more financially solvent Friday-night date. Consequently, without a place to crash, he told me he needed to leave so he could catch the 4:20 train back to Pilsen. I’d had enough of dead Stella, and I hadn’t really had enough of very much alive Petr, so I told him I’d walk him to the station. He seemed surprised but immediately took me by the arm, and we had a brisk march down Vinohradska Street to hlavní nádraží.

We sat and had coffee and tea in the balcony cafe, this time without smooching, until the announcement came that his train was ready for boarding. I got the feeling, since he kept avoiding my eyes, that he wasn’t entirely happy with the way the night had ended. Me neither, boyo.

We walked down the corridor and up the track steps, again arm-in-arm. I had my head down walking slowly toward the train. When I looked up as we neared the first open compartment I saw a short, bundled-up boy in a grey coat walking quickly towards us on the platform.

“How are you, Reek?”

It was Daniel.

In my first weeks in Prague I’d been reading a book by Kim Stanley Robinson called The Years of Rice and Salt — basically a alternate history of the world if Western Culture, that is, Europe, had been wiped out by the plague and instead the world had been dominated by Asian and Arabic cultures; and also, interestingly, Native American.

(Bear with me; this branching tangent will bear fruit.)

The book is divided into several time periods; central to the book’s structure are interludes where the souls of the preceding stories/time periods gather in limbo to discuss the previous lifetime’s successes (few) and failures (many) and talk through ways of going forward. The group of souls that traveled together through time and history, reincarnated together, and eventually found one another and reunified, even across distance and culture, is called the Jati. One travels through time and space with one’s jati.

This seems as good an explanation of any as to why Daniel and I latched onto one another so quickly and remain in each other’s lives so persistently even when one or the other tries to separate. I mean, really: 4:20 in the morning and we happen to be at the exact time and place to meet each other, once again, in the train station.

Come on.

Anyway, it’s not surprising that the prince of hlavní nádraží knew Petr. After giving me a kiss, Daniel and Petr greeted each other like long lost friends, and we all retired to the train, where you can hang out and do just about anything (and we did) until the train departs.

Daniel and Petr — the latter’s head in my lap, kissing me every once in a while — chatted genially and joked and bantered. I’d actually never seen Daniel so relaxed and natural. There was very little of his characteristic bluster or arrogance in his manner. It seemed they were truly old friends.

Daniel would occasionally look at me, shake his head, and sputter disbelief through his teeth.

“Shock!” he said, describing his reaction at seeing Petr and me together. Petr waved that away and stuck his tongue down my throat.

Eventually the short train whistle blew and we had to leave. Petr quickly gave me his number, even though earlier he’d said he had no mobile. (Maybe my knowing Daniel or maybe something Daniel had said about me changed his mind?) We kissed, hugged, and said goodbye.

I asked Daniel where he was sleeping and he said “Mah-sheen.” I told him he could come with me to the ubytovna and crash if he was willing to wait until my roommate left. He said okay.

“Good. Reek and Daniel sleeping. Veddy good.”

It never happened; the jati had separated again.

Two kamaradky of his appeared on the opposite Metro platform and he waved them over. After a brief chat, he said, “Please, Reek, ten minutes.”

I knew what this meant, so I sprinted past the closing doors of the train that had subsequently arrived.

“No time, Daniel!”

We’d already waited 45 mintues for the Metro to start its daily routine. It was around 5 in the morning.

Daniel pounded on the window and gestured, “I call you.”

Yes.

Sure.

Good night.

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