Miki – Full version, but free

Before homelessness, before pimping, before Pavel’s endless kisses and Marek’s endless drama, there was Miki and our endless drinking.

I first met Miki at the station although I can’t remember who facilitated it. Possibly he came up to me or possibly I was in one of my bolder moods and talked to him directly.

He was dressed up, for him, wearing what I would come to know as his favorite shirt — a jaguar-spotted. black-on-white, long-sleeved collared shirt, which he sometimes let me wear when we were living together, but not always. He needed it when he had dates, after all — with men for money, with girls for fun. He taught me to always roll my sleeves all the way up.

As long as I knew him, he wore his dishwater-blond hair in a kind of mullet, not as long nor nearly as puffy as American versions, but still distinctive as one. Moravian, not ethnic Czech, his eyes were narrow and wide apart; his pale forehead slopped and streaked with scars, his chin squared off and his cheekbones high. His spirit animal was surely a snow leopard, and when he wasn’t swaggering toward a fight, he moved on tiptoe, often while wearing a pair of cop-boots I’d given him.

Despite his feline features and gait, he was easily the butchest of all the boys I fucked in Prague. He’d sometimes come back to the flat with his knuckles or his lips bleeding, laughing about getting jumped or starting a ruckus himself. But the first time I slid bare inside his legendary ass as his glutes flexed against me, I knew I’d really found something special — a masculine bottom. He was hard in seconds and stayed hard after I fucked him, while the grin never left his face.

Like most of my long-term relationships in Prague with rent boys, I only formally paid Miki the first time we did biznis. Every time after that, we did it for other reasons, which means I didn’t get inside his ass that much either. But we slept together, kissed each other, sucked each other — me more than him — and jacked each other off quite a bit.

He would occasionally decline sex, even after I got him hard, but I would never know why or when a demur was coming. I’d been told by other punters who had known him when he was underage and just on the scene that he had been abused as a kid. That tracked with some of his odder and more reticent reactions to our sexual activity and specifically my sexual requests.

At any rate, comradery was the engine of our relationship, and beer was the gas. We bonded and moshed, just the two of us, to “I’m So Bored with the USA” and “I Wanna Be Sedated” — while guzzling beer in my flat. We watched kung fu movies and ate popcorn — while guzzling beer. We grilled hamburgers and steaks — while guzzling beer. We went to the potraviny to buy more beer, and guzzled beer on the way. We guzzled beer while guzzling beer, because we’d so often open a new bottle — Miki with his teeth, of course, with a laddish flourish — without having quite finished the last one.

Miki often performed a two-part ritual of leaving at his bedside a generous mouthful of pivo in his half-liter bottle so that the first thing he did as he got up was kill it. He taught me that, and I always, always think of him and toast him when I do it now.

During our friendship, we had two major falling outs. I don’t remember the precipitating details of the first one, which took place in the apartment I got thrown out of, but it ended up with me smashing down on Miki’s head a framed black-and-white nude portrait of him, his ass a white moon in a grainy field of black.

I mourn the loss of those photos to this day.

Now, writing this with that image in my mind, I’m wondering, “What the fuck was that about?” Why had I been so angry at him? He could have easily kicked my ass three ways to Sunday, but he just stood there with blood trickling down his forehead from the tiny spikes of glass embedded in his scalp, his left arm bent at the elbow, and his big ugly fist clenched and shaking at his side.

Then he galumphed out the door.

We made up less than a week later at his request, although I’m not sure I deserved it. He invited me over to his neighborhood on the outskirts of Prague and introduced me to his straight friends. We drank beer, of course, and I shared a glass of wine with his mom in her flat. Somehow, he’d decided he liked me more after the violence. Maybe he thought he’d deserved what I’d done.

I remember sitting across from each other in a beer garden and he wouldn’t take his eyes off me, grinning shyly and looking away when our eyes met, at the center of a group of Czech teens and twenty-somethings — emanating a loud cloud of vaguely parlous masculine bluster and energy — who were ignoring us.

Co?” I asked him, wondering if his gang were going to jump me or carry me off.

“Nuting. No problem,” he said. “No problem,” he repeated with a slight lilt and a tonal shift as he rubbed the tiny scabs on his freshly cropped head.

Several months later, he ended up rescuing me from an extended period of down and out life at the station, but soon after, he betrayed me in an incident I’ve written about elsewhere on the blog. We made up after that one, too, a couple weeks before I was to ignominiously leave Prague, in a quick and intense, cramped and hilarious session of toilet sex. His cock wasn’t thick, but it was a deep seeker.

At U Rudolfa one night when it was full of biznis boys, Miki had overheard me complaining to my friend Manchester Gordon that I hadn’t been fucked in so long that I had forgotten what it felt like. Gordon looked at me mockingly over his big eyeglasses and then looked at Miki. During a lull in the festivities in which we ended up alone at our table while our friends hit the jukebox, Miki stroked his chin and said, “GB, you speak you want fuck?”

“Yeah, Miki, but I don’t have the money for it right now,” I answered.

He clucked and waggled his fingers. “I speak money? I no speak money.”

“Yeah?”

“Mm, yeah,” he said, and laughed.

That wasn’t the only time I said goodbye to a boy in that way in the toilets of U Rudolfa, but it was the most frictionless and uncomplicated.

Photo by Bohdan Stocek on Unsplash

Subscribe
Notify of
guest
0 Comments
Inline Feedbacks
View all comments
0
Would love your thoughts, please comment.x
()
x
en_USEnglish
Scroll to Top
Scroll to Top