An Englishman in New York
By: Semibu

So much for the promiscuity of the Big Apple! But at least he had actually made it to New York. Never mind about going solo. Without the distractions of romance Simon could concentrate on taking in the sights and sounds, and be a tourist for a few days. His years in London had taught him not to be too obvious: No vast sums of cash, no camera swinging from his neck, and no silly t-shirt with matching hat. Cut down jeans were, however, a must in the blistering heat. His last walk through Central Park five summers ago had been a hurried affair – a squeeze between breakfast and the next dreary business meeting. Today, his last before flying home, time was on his side.

And just look at the scenery! Scantily clad skater boys trundling left and right, the two queens all but holding hands, and the midday sun glinting on Mr Universe over there. Oh, and take a look at him on the right! - A Muscle Mary working out for the entire world to see and admire.

“Oh, shit!” Simon dropped to his knees and fell face down on the grass, his head narrowly missing a row of rocks bordering an array of riotously bright flowers. “Shit!”

“Hey, fella, what’s the big idea?”

“I am so sorry,” panted Simon, tuning himself onto his back and looking up at the owner of the ankles over which he had just stumbled. “I wasn’t looking where I was going,” he added, hoping that the sunbather’s temperament didn’t match his larger-than-life frame and voice. “Sorry.”

“An Englishman!”

“In New York.” Simon ran his eyes over his accidental acquaintance. Although difficult to tell from ground level, he estimated him to be at least a mile high, rugged, and hung like a Royal Ascot racehorse.

“I’m Nathan.” Nathan reached down and held out his right hand.

“I’m Simon. Pleased to meet you.” Simon held up his right hand expecting, although flat on his back, to do that most English of things: shake hands, with a flurry of ‘what, what, fwar, fwar, jolly good’ noises. Instead, there was a ‘hup!’ grunt from Nathan as he hauled the visitor to his feet. “Thank you, Nathan.”

“You’re welcome, Simon.” Nathan afforded him a broad, toothy grin. “And welcome to New York.”

The next hour would fly by. Nathan invited Simon to sit a while and talk. Chalk and cheese, each was entirely absorbed by the tales of the other. They laughed helplessly at England’s view of America, and America’s view of England. Nathan explained that he just couldn’t understand why the English never complain. Simon delighted in describing his disbelief at how Americans shout at each other all the time. Simon pointed out that, in traffic, such words would inevitable lead to fists or baseball bats back in the UK.

“And the good old British Bobby,” chuckled Nathan. “Who has ever heard of an unarmed police force?”

“Stop!” ordered Simon, pretending to be the respected officer of New Scotland Yard. “Stop or I’ll shout ‘stop’ again!” He wiped the tears from his eyes. “‘Allo, ‘allo, ‘allo. What’s going on ‘ere then, sunshine. ‘Cor blimey, guv, it’s a fair cop!’ You’re nicked, sonny!”

“Nicked?”

“Nicked means taken, had, stolen, arrested. ‘You’re nicked!’”

“And those police helmets?” Nathan fell back and chuckled.

“They take ‘em off,” said Simon.

“Yeah…”

“And their heads are the same shape!”

It was quite clear that the two had struck up an instant yet inexplicable bond. Most men under 6ft would run like hell from Nathan. He was 7ft 2inches tall, tanned and solid! A number one crop, broad at the shoulder, a perfect six-pack, the thickest thighs imaginable, calf muscles like prize-winning marrows, and a pair of feet easily twice the size of Simon’s. As their conversation unfolded, the Englishman noted many other pleasing attributes: The way Nathan’s biceps twitches when he laid back on the grass with his enormous hands behind his head, the way his narrowed eyes were topped by almost aggressive brows, only to be contrasted with soft smiling lips. There was a curious oriental tattoo on his right pectoral, and a half-inch silver bolt piercing the nipple of the left. But the most noticeable feature of all was the gigantic protrusion in a pair of sweaty white Speedos.

“I hope you don’t mind me asking,” pondered Simon.

“Do I work out?”

“How did you know I was going to ask that?” Simon was stunned.

“Everybody asks me the same question,” smiled Nathan, twitching his biceps again as he massaged the back of his skull, and showing off an armpit into which Simon fantasised about pushing his face. “Nobody ever asks how much shoes for these feet cost, or if I can find a shirt with a collar big enough to wrap up this neck of mine.” There was a moment of embarrassed silence. Nathan continued to ensure his admiring pal was not offended. “I guess I’m just lucky. I’ve got a fast metabolism, and my body doesn’t do fat.”

“Doesn’t do fat?”

“Nope.” Nathan flicked a troublesome fly from the bridge of his nose. “Say I eat a burger and fries.”

“Yeah?” Simon was intrigued.

“That stuff’s loaded with fat and grease. My guts don’t take it in – it drops right through. Well, most of it does.” Nathan closed his eyes against the brilliant cloudless sky. “Now, as for protein – man, I just soak it up! See, my gut differentiates between good and bad. All the bad stuff goes straight down the pan. Stop me if I’m getting too graphic.”

“Oh, no, no,” insisted Simon, wondering what exactly lurked behind Nathan’s belly button. “I just wish my body would do the same. With me it’s the other way around: All the good stuff seems to disappear, and I seem to hang on to all the grease.” Simon looked down at his own, rather feeble frame. “So, a guy like me could never have a body like yours?”

“Nope.” Keeping one eye closed, Nathan turned his head and looked the tourist over. “You could change your diet, work out, everything, but never really get in this shape. Guess I’m a lucky guy.” He didn’t wait for a response. “Let’s just say I ate you for breakfast, right?”

“Wow,” gasped Simon. “What a thought!”

“Not like a jungle cannibal,” assured Nathan, dropping his head back into his palms. “I mean, if I just swallowed you as you are, alive, say – and this is just an example – my guts would flush out the fat and soak up all your good stuff. Your bones are full of nourishment, but they’d take longer to break down. But it’d be worth it.”

“Look,” Despite a sudden erection at the thought of ending up on the inside of this dude, Simon was beginning to feel nervous. Perhaps there was more to the handsome hunk than met the eye. “I really ought to be going.”

“Back to your hotel?”

“Yes, it’s not far.”

“Swing by tomorrow – I’ll be here. Same place.”

“Sorry, Nathan,” mumbled Simon. “I’m flying home tomorrow. It’s been great meeting you. Typical,” he added, standing up and brushing off a few blades of clinging grass. “I’ve been here three days all on my own, and now, when I’m about to leave, I find a friend.”

“Just typical.”

“You take care.” He couldn’t believe what he was doing! He was walking away from the most incredible man he’d ever met! But maybe he had made the right decision. After all, for all his gorgeous looks and immaculate physique, Nathan had seemed a little strange. But all that talk about what Nathan’s guts would do to him stoked the flames of a sexual desire he’d held since childhood – only back then he’d never fully understood it. Back then it was pure fantasy. Had he really spent the afternoon adoring the sight of a flexing belly that could destroy him? After less than a minute’s walk, Simon stopped, spun around, and yelled. “I’m staying at the Old Oak! Just a couple of your American blocks away!”

“Yeah, I know where the Old Oak is, Simon!” called Nathan, not caring if any passer-by were sharing the conversation.

“Room 419!”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. I thought you might want to do breakfast,” Simon bellowed through cupped hands. “About half-past seven?”

“Seven thirty sounds just fine!”

“Don’t spoil your appetite!”

“I won’t!”

Simon spent a lonely evening in his hotel room, packing his flimsy sea-blue suitcase with the assortment of souvenir t-shirts he dared not wear on the streets of New York, and a 12inch Statue of Liberty he’d be giving pride of place at the office. And all the time his mind was engrossed on the conversation and visions of that day. Nathan wouldn’t, couldn’t swallow him alive – he was just playing the tough guy! He caught no more than a few winks that night. As with most cases of insomnia when there’s an important day ahead, Simon finally fell into a deep sleep some forty-five minutes before he had to wake up. The voice announcing, ‘Room Service!’ was a familiar one. Simon, naked, his eyelids puffy and reddened, clambered from his untidy bed and scurried to the door. Opening it a jar, he focused on narrowed eyes, topped by almost aggressive brows, contrasted with soft smiling lips.

“You sure you wanna go ahead with this? I could eat a horse!” Nathan was leaning with his right hand against the doorframe, and a crumpled a newspaper in his left. “Just say ‘no’ and I’ll vanish outta here. Oh, thought you might like The New York Times.”

Simon beckoned his guest inside and closed and locked the door behind him. Nathan hadn’t bothered to shave. He wore a tight black vest and the same sweaty white Speedos as yesterday. He peered around, concluding to himself that every hotel room, wherever in the world, looked very much like the next. He flicked the newspaper to the carpet.

“Nathan, I’m a bit nervous!” Simon stepped over the discarded journal and followed his scantily clad friend around to the closed curtains. Nathan parted them with a middle finger and thumb, checked the view and then opened them fully. Simon winced as the bright morning sun gushed in. “Just a little,” he added. “Nervous, I mean.” “Sure you’re nervous,” said Nathan, reaching out and stroking Simon’s hair.

“See, I’ve never had sex with a guy as big as you.”

“Sex?” Nathan laughed. “Who said anything about sex?”

“I thought you’d come here for sex!” Nathan was beginning to feel both embarrassed and confused.

“Look, bud,” Nathan began to explain. “I think we’re at cross purposes. I’m here to ‘do breakfast’, just like you invited me. Not for sex.”

“Oh.” Simon reached for the telephone. “I’m sorry.”

“Who are you calling?”

“Well, room service.”

“For what?” Nathan dropped his hand over the receiver.

“For breakfast: Eggs, bacon, toast, coffee…”

“You still don’t get it, do you?” Nathan was amazed at Simon’s stupidity. “You’re the fuckin’ breakfast!”

“Nathan,” Simon was now convinced he’d opened his door to a maniac. “Perhaps you should leave. I’m sorry to have wasted your time.”

“Leave?” The hungry he-man squared up to Simon and slid his palms around his shoulders. “I’m not leaving this building,” he whispered, “until you’re squirming around in my belly.” Blushes drained from Simon’s face. Before he had a chance to panic, Nathan continued. “But, hey,” he smiled. “I do get so horny first thing in the morning. Maybe you could give this some attention.” Simon peered down at an impressive bulge. “You get your sex, I get my breakfast. Everybody’s happy.” Nathan swaggered to the door and took the ‘Do Not Disturb’ sign from the handle. “We don’t want the maid crashing in and seeing you sucking me off or, worse still, me sucking you down!” He quickly hooked the laminated instruction on the outside handle and closed and locked the door. He peeled off his vest, kicked off his sneakers and, after dropping his Speedos to the floor, fell back on the bed. Simon’s eyes almost popped out of their sockets as they beheld Nathan’s mighty cannon and two bouncing balls. “You better be good.” He dragged a pillow under his head as Simon climbed between his knees and prised his legs apart. “Oh, I better warn you,” he sniggered, “I was in such a rush to get here I didn’t have time to freshen up this morning. It’s not gonna smell too pretty down there.”

“No need to apologise…”

“I ain’t apologising to you – I’m telling you!”

Even with his face over two feet away, Simon could already detect the heavy aromas wafting up from a sweaty crack, swollen sack, and a stiffening ten-inches. He reached forward and pulled down on the throbbing length. The damp foreskin unfolded to reveal a shiny pink dome. Nathan writhed and moaned with approval as Simon surrendered to the hot masculine lure. This wasn’t to be a quick gratuitous blow - it was a steady, thorough five-star service. Two thick thighs closed in, gently trapping Simon in place as he worked and worked, all the while realising that these powerful legs were capable of crushing him to death. Occasionally he opened his eyes to observe the detail of Nathan’s pubic forest, his lower abs, and their protruding veins. As he licked, kissed and sucked, he wondered if he really would end up behind that perfect belly button.

Fifteen minutes drifted by. Simon knew that, as much as this unbelievable creature was enjoying his attentions, sooner or later he would have to deliver. He decided to go into overdrive and do all he could to satisfy. Nathan was indeed impressed. He thrust his pelvis upward and, with a long deep sigh, forced the contents of his testicles up, into and along his throbbing shaft. Ordinary men produce between three and five squirts. But Nathan was no ordinary man. It was all Simon could do to drink the double helping of salty cream. Not a drop was wasted. Nathan relaxed, his chest heaving, his hands behind his head. Simon, licking his lips, flopped forward, his head resting on those tight lower abs, Nathan’s erection against his face. Tenderly, he ran the fingers of his right hand up and down the twitching length. His left hand ventured north to toy with Nathan’s pierced nipple. The two men enjoyed a few peaceful minutes resting. Simon’s thoughts were torn between his own need to climax, and wondering if Nathan would simply dress and leave, or eat him alive. He dared to release himself from the clutches of Nathan’s legs and pull himself up to rest on his exquisite torso. Nathan was sniffing at his armpits.

“I really should take a shower,” he remarked proudly. “These pits are hummin’”

“May I?” asked Simon, hesitantly.

“May you what?” Nathan peered down into admiring, hopeful eyes.

“Well,” Simon explained, “yesterday, in Central Park, when you were lying back like this, I just wanted to push my face right into them.”

“Man, you are so gross!” Nathan laughed as the remains of Simon’s dignity evaporated. “But if you really want to lap up three days of sticky old sweat…” Before he had time to give permission, the eager Brit was pushing his face into a moist underarm cavity, inhaling its powerful scent and licking furiously. “Ah!” Nathan was surprised at how wonderful it felt. “This is so cool,” he exclaimed. “You’re the first guy who’s ever sucked my dick, and the only person on earth to clean my pits with their tongue!” He slid Simon across to slurp beneath the other arm. “Hey,” Nathan had a mischievous thought. “If you licked my butt, too, I wouldn’t need to take that shower until Thursday!” Simon didn’t respond verbally. Instead he demonstrated his willingness to comply with the suggestion by sucking hard on the rank flesh covering his mouth. “Now way!” The moment was suddenly gone. Nathan was sitting at the foot of the bed with Simon standing between his feet. The two were eye to eye. “I only came here for breakfast. Remember?” “Nathan, don’t hurt me, please.” It was plain that Simon could be pulled limb from limb by this monster. Whether or not he could swallow him alive remained to be seen. “I was confused. I didn’t know what you wanted. I just…”

“You just thought I wanted to have sex with you.” Nathan smiled and raised an eyebrow. “Like a guy like me is gonna be turned on by a guy like you!” He held on to Simon’s pale, weak arms. “Oh, I don’t think so! See, I’m here for breakfast,” he confirmed. “Simon, I’m gonna eat you up. You are just so tomorrow’s shit!”

“No, please!” Simon tried to back away but Nathan’s grasp was too firm. “Let me go, Nathan. I’m sorry. I really am so sorry.” His enduring boner flapped as his feet shuffled this way and that before rustling the front page of the crumpled newspaper.

“Hey,” Nathan’s tone had changed from sinister torment to childish taunt. “You didn’t read your copy of The New York Times!” Simon looked down at the morning’s headlines. Nathan placed a finger beneath his victim’s chin and raised his head to re-establish eye contact. “How about I wipe my ass on it? That way you can read it on the way out.” Nathan’s giggles came to an abrupt halt. He sneered. “And while we’re talking ass, I can’t believe you enjoy licking butt holes!”

“Sorry,” repeated Simon, guessing that Nathan was worried he might enjoy such a service too much. This could interfere with his macho self-image. “What must you think of me?”

“This is what I think of you, boy.” Nathan snorted, and gathered up as much saliva as was possible. He then spat the entire yellow-grey wad into Simon’s face with stinging force. “That’s what I think of you!” He spat again, this time mercifully much less than before. “Just greasing you up with a little gunk to help you slip on down.” He used his huge fingers to smear Simon’s face, head and shoulders. With his arms now free, Simon could have easily made a dash for the door. But his mind was crumbling to the will of the bigger man. “Just a little more,” Nathan announced before juicing up his hands with dribble and running them down Simon’s back. “You just do a little burp?” He asked, cocking his head to one side. Simon confessed with a dazed nod, as he tasted again the savoury delights of this stunner’s rich semen. “Man, I do real big burps. I mean big! There’s nothing I like more after a tasty meal than letting out a loud one.”

“I have to check out soon.” Simon’s glazed eyes were fixed on his captor’s tender lips.

“You ain’t checkin’ out,” came the delighted retort. “You’re checkin’ in – TO ME!”

Nathan was surprised that he’d spent so long conversing with the worthless runt quaking before him. He wiggled his lower jaw until he heard and felt a deep-pitched ‘click’. Again he grabbed the arms of the quarry that could so easily have escaped, and pulled him closer and closer, as he widened his mouth. Simon trembled from head to toe. He whispered his eater’s name three of four times as his head and shoulders were brought ever nearer the expanding cave. Nathan’s mouth was a wonder to behold: Those lips ever-soft, teeth slightly yet wonderfully imperfect, inner flesh so inexplicably welcoming, and a tongue more comfortable than the mattress on which he’d slept the night. Of course, by the time he’d realised the latter, he was already passing head first between those lips, and toward the dark, beckoning void between a pair of tonsil-shaped security guards - Then sudden force and discomfort. Nathan rammed his fodder deep into his hot, steaming mouth: Torso, hips, knees and ankles. The once delicate tongue had become a ruthless, functional tool. It rose and fell. It flicked and tossed. It heaved and dragged. The all-engulfing pull was unbearable. Unable to scream, beg or plead, Simon was swiftly sucked and squeezed into the determined fleshy furnace of Nathan’s careless interior.

Simon ejaculated as the unloving gullet drove him speedily through the tight muscled entrance to Nathan’s selfish stomach. The eye smarting, foul tasting bile and acids within almost distracted the terrified meal from pushing his head above the gastric slurry to take in a few life-sustaining gulps of choking air. Nathan had quickly dressed and left the hotel lobby via the revolving door. Back on the street, he delivered his best belch to date. Moments before suffocation, the Englishman’s only regret was to having not licked Nathan’s ass. Nathan, as his guts set about taking apart his dying breakfast, wished Simon had. He belched again as the struggles within subsided.

The End