Former USSR
Part 1

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"You're taking up all the space, dammit! There's no room for my stuff!"

"You don't have any posters."

"That's 'cause there's no place to put them, even if I did have any! You've stolen all the walls just 'cause you're older than I am!"

I stood back to admire the poster of Mark Philippoussis, amongst the others of Pete Sampras, Andre Agassi, and Boris Becker. "One day, I will be a tennis champion just like those guys!"

"Yeah, right. You need money for that, and we don't have any money... just like I don't have any wall space."

Andrey was correct. We lived with our parents on the eighth floor of an apartment block. It was basic accommodation, similar to most of the apartments in our city... two bedrooms, a living room, kitchen, and bathroom. We were fortunate, though, 'cause we had a small balcony. My mom would often sit there during the warmer months, and shell peas while she gazed out at the other buildings.

Nearby, was the Sports Training Hall, a large facility that had been built during the Soviet times, and where I would spend every afternoon after school, as well as all day Saturday, playing indoor tennis, or working out in the gym. Fitness was very important to me, but, for some reason, I could never build my muscles as big as I would like. Many of the other boys were built much bigger than I was, but I had a lot of determination, and a strong will to win. Besides, my smaller size meant that I was faster, and much more agile. On the tennis court, I was the human 'Road Runner'. Beep, beep!

Over dinner one night, I mentioned to my father that everyone at the Training Hall had been talking about the youth tennis tournament, which was to be held in a couple of months.

"You're wasting your breath, son. Tournaments mean travel and accommodation, and that costs money. And you know as well as I do, Egor, that, in this country, there are no government subsidies for sport... not like there used to be in the old days."

"Then I will get a job!"

"You don't have time for job."

"I'll make time!"

In bed that night, I thought about what I could do to make enough money to go on the tour. Then I remembered something that a boy from the Training Hall had said to me one afternoon. "You could earn money as a model." I'd just laughed at him 'cause I thought he was joking. But maybe he wasn't! And I knew that models could earn good money.

The following day, after school, I saw the same boy at the Training Hall, and reminded him of what he'd said to me. "So what makes you think I could be a model?"

"You have the looks."

"Me?"

"Well, I think so. I've often admired you."

"Admired me?"

"Yes. I've seen you play tennis, and work out afterwards... and you have a certain quality."

"Which is?"

He blushed slightly, and lowered his eyes. "You're sexy."

"You must be crazy! I don't know anything about being sexy!"

"You don't have to know about it, it's just something you are, or you're not. And you are."

"I think you're full of bullshit. And if you're being truthful, you must be the only person in the world who thinks like you do!"

"Maybe. Anyway, I've heard about a guy named Nikita. He's a photographer. I think you should go see him."

I quit the Training Hall early, and walked to the address that the boy had given me. A tall man, wearing glasses, opened the door. "Yes?"

"Hello, sir, I'm Egor. A friend told me to come here. He said that I could be a model."

I thought that Nikita would never stop laughing, which not only disappointed me, but caught me completely by surprise. "I think your friend must be pulling your leg, Egor. Anyway, since you're here, come inside."

The office was a couple of rooms, fitted with desks, chairs, computers, a kitchenette, and a phone. "Where are all the lights and cameras and stuff?"

"This is not a normal photographic studio, Egor. Everything we have here, except for the lighting, is digital ... digital cameras, computers, and that sort of thing. Now, what did your friend tell you about being a model?"

"Well, he didn't say... at least, not exactly."

"So you don't know what kind of modelling we do here?"

"Not really."

"Then I must tell you that I don't think you would be interested. For one thing, you're too young..."

"I'm sixteen!"

"And for another, you don't have... well, let me put it this way... you're very polite, and quite shy. You're not the type of person who would be suited to this... uh, activity."

"I'm not shy when I'm playing tennis! I win almost all of my matches!"

"Egor, let me show you something, and you'll understand what I mean."

I could hardly believe what I was seeing when Nikita sat at one of the computers and began to show me pictures of his models. "But they're hardly wearing any clothes!"

"That is only the beginning, Egor. Later, they don't wear any clothes at all."

"No clothes? At all?"

"Naked as the day they were born. So, Egor," he smiled, as a father might smile to his son, "you can see that this kind of modelling is not for you."

"Do they make much money?"

"Some do... it depends on their popularity... the more popular they are, the more money they make. And, to be quite frank, Egor, I think you'd be wasting your time. Now, if you'll pardon me, I can't sit here talking because I have much work to do!"

During the walk home, I wondered about the pictures I'd seen, as well as the guys themselves. If they could do it, so could I! Or could I? Hmmm. I'd never done anything like that before. On the other hand, inexperience had never stopped me from trying something new. I liked to be adventurous. And my friends had often told me that I was crazy 'cause I would do things that they were afraid to do. I could never resist the thrill that was associated with accepting a dare, and I loved the satisfaction of being congratulated afterwards for my courage. There was only one problem, though... how to convince Nikita to give me a chance at modelling.

That night, my bro and I were getting ready for bed. "Hey, Andrey. You wanna watch me jack off?"

"What?"

"I know that you peek at me while I'm the shower."

"I do not!"

"Do, too. Anyway, you wanna watch me?"

"You serious?"

"Sure. It's all part of your education, bro."

"Well... if you put it like that... and I am kinda curious to see it up close."

"So you do peek at me in the shower?"

"Only once!"

"Yeah, right. Try a hundred." I laid on my back, naked on top of my bed, and began to fist my boner. It was the first time I'd actually had an audience in the same room, which heightened the thrill of jacking myself, big time. It was just so damn cool to have somebody watching... as if I were a performer doing a special show.

I'd seen my dick a million times before, so I was much more interested in Andrey's reaction. His wide eyes were absolutely glued to my rock-hard cock as my fist slid up and down its thick shaft, and my foreskin enveloped, then exposed my pink knob with each teasing stroke.

"It's huge! Am I gonna see stuff come outa your piss hole?"

"I'm not doing this just to exercise my arm, bro."

Then I felt the rush of boy juice begin its electrically charged journey from my balls. I lifted my ass off the bed, and stretched my legs so that my thigh muscles were taut. "Wow!" A long ribbon of cum exploded from my knob, and landed in the groove between my pecs. Another draped over my abs. After three or four more explosions, my torso was covered in glistening, white blobs of sticky juice.

"So that's what babies are made from!"

"Yeah... and you haven't changed much," I laughed. "So, what did you think?"

"Awesome!" He poked a finger into a blob and smoothed it over my stomach. "Feels kinda weird."

"You won't think it's so weird when you start shooting, Andrey. Now go to the bathroom and get me some toilet paper."

After he'd returned, and I'd cleaned myself, I asked him if he thought watching me jack off was sexy.

"It was interesting."

"Interesting!!!??? It wasn't supposed to be fucking 'interesting', Andrey! It was supposed to be sexy!"

"It was interesting."

"So... you're saying that I'm not sexy?"

"You? You're my skinny bro!" he giggled. "What could be sexy about that?"

"Go to bed, asshole."

As I laid there in the dark, I wondered about the boy at the Training Hall, and what he'd said about my being sexy. Was he the only one who thought so? My bro obviously didn't think so. And Nikita didn't show the slightest interest in me. There had been girls at school who'd given me a smile occasionally, but what did that mean? Did they think I was sexy?

The next afternoon at the Training Hall, I saw the boy again while I was working on one of my favorite machines... the one I used to improve my arm and chest muscles. "Did you see Nikita?" he asked, as his eyes drifted down to my shiny, sweating pecs.

"Yep."

"And?"

"Zilch. Nikita wasn't interested. Hey, what did you mean when you said I look sexy?"

"It's in your eyes."

Well, that surprised the hell outa me. I figured he'd say my chest since he was paying so much damn attention to it. "Eyes?"

"Yeah. It's in your attitude... your eyes."

"Well, I guess Nikita didn't like my eyes."

"Maybe he didn't see what was really in them... or what I see in them."

"Are you sure you're not crazy?"

"I am one of many, many crazy guys," he grinned. "I think you should see Nikita again, and ask him to take some test pictures."

I got off the machine, and grabbed a towel, which I used to wipe the sweat from my face. "Why are you so interested in me?"

"I've heard that you can't go on the tennis tournament 'cause your parents can't afford it."

"But you don't even know me."

"I would like to," he smiled nervously. "Do you have time for a chat before you go home?"

"You can talk to me in the showers."

I wasn't quite sure why Vlad was showering next to me. From what I'd observed, he hadn't raised so much as a single bead of sweat. When I quizzed him about it, he admitted that he came to the Training Hall just to watch the other guys work out and play sport. "I am not a very physical person, like you are, but I like to smell the atmosphere, and admire the athletes."

"Like you're admiring me right now?"

"Sorry. I didn't mean to stare."

"That's OK. I don't mind you staring... I just wanna know why you're staring!"

"You don't know? You are so innocent that you don't know? I can't believe it."

"Hey, listen. Do you have time for a Coca Cola? I'd like to talk to you privately for a few minutes after we've showered."

"Yes, I would like that," he beamed. "And I would like to ask you about your fantasy... if you have one."

The rest of the story, with illustrations, is continued on the main Mr B site.

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