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I
guess he was drunk.
Or
maybe he thought that I only spoke English.
But,
whatever the reason, the fat German sitting at the next table in the
Prague boy bar broke the first rule of lovers of young cock.
Never,
but never, divulge your source of supply.
As
it was, however, he just couldn’t have made it plainer. And that
wasn’t just to his two friends and the cute Czech kids sitting
alongside and having their dicks and assholes fondled under the
inadequate cover of the tablecloth, but also to me.
Luckily
not quite so drunk as the German and temporarily without a boy to
distract me, I made a careful mental note of the directions the guy was
giving his friends.
And
so late next morning I arrived at the small village they’d been
talking about. It was 15 miles east of the city, way off the beaten
track and notable, until now, only for a small but quite beautiful
nearby lake.
The
lake was the focus of the German’s interest. Stopping there for
directions when he’d got lost last year, he’d apparently discovered
that the local boys were so unfamiliar with modern sexual hang-ups that
they still maintained their small community’s age-old tradition of
unembarrassed skinny dipping in the lake.
But
the boys were, at the same time, not so unaware of the contemporary
world just 15 miles to the west that they didn’t know what a solitary
German, transfixed at the edge of the lake, really wanted.
And
several, I’d gathered, had been quite prepared to give it to him in
exchange for a comparatively modest sum.
As
I arrived that day, I could see the German party had already beaten me
to it. They were sunning themselves at the lakeside and, though giving
me a decidedly hostile stare at first, they soon returned to matters
which were, to them, of far greater interest.
A
group of five boys were horsing about at the edge of the water right in
front of the Germans. There were four who were, I guess, about 20 years
old. They were a playful bunch, running in and out of the water and
obviously trying to look as attractive to the older men as they could.
Two
of them had already cast aside their swimming trunks altogether.
A
little way away was a fifth boy, maybe a couple of years younger. He
didn’t join in the play. In fact, he looked shy and maybe just a
little bit embarrassed by what was going on nearby. I gathered from one
or two things the older boys said (I understand a little Czech too) that
the kid was the brother of one of them and was named Oliver.
About
20 minutes after my arrival, the four older boys, exchanging smiles and
a few remarks with the German party, left the lakeside and headed off
into a nearby wood. They made sure that they kept looking back and
smiling at the older men as they did so.
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