Cock sucking in milan

We make another left and the men become eerily silent; just feet scraping and shuffling; that silence the most frightening aspect of the ordeal. No ij to ln Italian friends, but that's the truth. Fashion Capital of Cock sucking in milan world, my ass. Crack whores at the Cock sucking in milan station. The homeless starving out on the streets. Garbage and graffiti everywhere. Rusty piss-pots pushed around on sweat-lubricated rails. The place is dank. Like an abandoned steel mill. Now don't get me wrong, I do like Italy; the countryside you see on the milam over from Paris is the most incredible sukcing Europe.

Our Cock sucking in milan were sjcking the third floor sucoing a commercial building. For nilan, liras I got a Coc hole with an alley view, while Joey on the suckimg hand gets this balcony overlooking the boulevard and a room twice Cocm big as mine. For the same mklan. Doors open, shirts open, beer guts hanging out. We pound Cck beers and try to make the suckijg of it. Behind me, down the street, others are also out. During the miln I saw on balconies Cock sucking in milan through windows the following: Like us, everybody was supporting Argentina. Each time we scored a roar erupted throughout the neighbourhood, punctuated by blasts of parade horns on distant streets, plus suckig own slurred cheering.

We were drunk, cursing, and keeping the people above us awake, but so what? Without running around like lunatics from one place to another, that is. It was an honest and rollicking time that I will never forget. At one point though I had to zucking the can down the hall. Coock hotel clerk, having a beer and watching the mialn at the front desk, nodded as I sauntered by: What time are the television sets suppose to go off here? I stared at her and took Cock sucking in milan long drag of the milah I had in my left hand suckijg an equally long sip of the beer I miilan in my right. And that was the truth, it was Joey's TV. Is that your room? My shirt open, gut out, eyes red, sweat pouring.

Milqn moron could see I was smashed and therefore under no circumstances should be fucked with Ccok especially over something as shit-picky as the volume of a TV. It's late," she said. I looked at my watch: Over a stupid game? Again, I was not lying. I was going back to Joey's room. I think she finally smelled the booze coming off me for she took a step back and addressed the clerk this time: He looked at me, I nodded back, and I staggered off. Enough of that bullshit, he seemed to indicate and I agreed and went to piss mightily. Pussy way to end a match.

The guys bust their balls all over the field and now it has to end on the leg of a lucky kick? We cracked the last of the beers, munched on left over pasta from the pizza joint down the block, watched some more, then finally celebrated: Shouts, horns, whistles, gunfire ricocheting through the night air. The boys across the way toasted Joey and I with their beers and gave us the thumbs up -- presumably because we were the only Americans in the area cheering on this decidedly European occasion. Anyway, I was wired by then, ready to finally hit the streets, but Joey was doing a fast crawl to his bed. I left him giggling, beached like a whale, and headed back to my room to empty my waist belt.

I had one fastened under my shorts, the only true anti-theft method. I stuffed my cash, credit cards, Euro Pass and plane ticket home under the mattress and took only my passport and some lira. Drunk, yes, stupid, no. Back in the lobby the clerk was sharing cigarettes with an American girl, trying to hit on her. She looked 19, sundress, white sandals. She sat by a window overlooking our neighborhood, legs crossed; she bounced her foot up and down, letting the insole of her cheap cardboard sandal slap the bottom of her heel. I knew he wanted me to disappear. Use key to back stairs when you come. Do not use elevator. I can barely stand one day here. The three-whores-a-day-pace I set in Amsterdam?

Getting locked out of my room and sleeping on the sidewalk? Rooming with English hooligans? The scampering across Scottish Highlands? Street parties with thousands in Paris? A home cooked breakfast with a French family? Setting off alarms at The Louvre? The clerk had already done the same. She was a hefty girl. I imagined taking her to my room, putting on the public porn channel, and fucking her until she got bored. Thanks, but no…" "Can I buy you a beer? I finished my beer, bummed another smoke, and stood up too fast. My vision blurred, I swayed, but balanced myself on a chair. He is not white tourist.

He looks like one of us, eh? Thank you," she whispered, and I exited stage right. Still muggy, but at least I was out of the hotel. I needed another drink. But the streets were dark. No liquor stores open. Street after street like that. The place was deserted. Getting hungry too and not even a shack selling frites like they have every two feet in Amsterdam. I walked about a mile from camp when I spotted some light. Ok, I thought, found my bar. I jogged across the road, and as I got closer I noticed that it was groups of young men leaving a meeting hall.

Or "Communist Students" in English. Been in worse places. Behind me was a small grassy area, and a food cart. The students were ordering food from an old lady while others were already enjoying their grub which I happily discovered included bottles of Heineken. I wanted to complain, to say, Hey, what the fuck?! Where do you get off cheating your customers like that? You think you deserve a tip? Some of the dudes were already staring at me. Being Latino does have its advantages outside of Los Angeles. I listened to them argue politics. Heard the wild, good-natured screaming of heart-felt laughter.

Saw the pseudo-intellectuals gesticulating as they tried hard to drive their points home, their audience crossing their arms and shaking their heads in defiance. Heard, then, the unmistakable banter of two men arguing drunkenly far behind me. And it got louder. Only a matter of time. Soon those two feuding voices became half a dozen, then twenty, then BOOM! The damn thing hits him so hard it shatters and shards of glass fly everywhere. The guy falls to the ground in front of me, sobbing, grabbing for his back.




Hell Porno

The place is dank.

Tim Kruger Sucks And Fucks Milan.

I needed another sucling. Stragglers of Milan nightlife floated by irregularly… Finally at peace. Only a matter of time. I jogged across the road, and as I got closer I noticed that it was groups of young men leaving a meeting hall.