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Bebo the fashion runway stud

WARNING

This blog does contain adult and gay material. If you are under your country's legal age (18 or 21), do not scroll down and leave this page now. Thanks.

By Kevin McLean

I really never became interested in fashion until I met Bebo; or Bebito as everyone called him. My degree of expertise and knowledge is limited to medicine and science and I do mean limited because I am still learning…and there is so much to learn. Another area where I can modestly claim some expertise is that of love making, but that is more of a practical, physical aspect than theoretical…I suck, I fuck, therefore I am.

This is something I would normally wear; sometimes with the sleeves cut off or the cut-off jean shorts below I was wearing that night…with holes in them and easy to access my butt.

My concern for my appearance has never been fastidious or most of the time I just don’t care…I will wear something if I think it would help me pick up a trick…like the pair of torn cut off jeans with holes in them in strategic places. Most of the time I go around in my 501s, a sweatshirt or a plaid shirt with the sleeves cut off. For me dressing up is wearing a pull-over shirt with a collar and over that a sports coat. I will still wear my jeans with that.

When it comes to fashion sense I have sent Bonita directly to the vomitarium when I showed up one day wearing striped pants with a plaid shirt…the pants a rusty color and the shirt a mint green. Bonita said: “Kevin, I am just going to have to take your gay card away”. I think you get the picture.

Then I meet Bebo and he was scrumptious; at first I wasn’t attracted to him when I saw him at the bar. The guy was wearing an outfit that I thought was fruity and as a consequence; when I looked at him I thought he was extremely good looking but because of the outfit he was wearing I just assumed he was a bottom…no, I thought he would be a flaming faggot.

Bebo was the one who came on to me. He saw me and managed to get closer and closer as we were both on the edge of the dance floor. He finally got right next to me and said: “you don’t dance, do you?”

“No, I’m one of those gringos without any rhythm” I had to yell that because the music was so loud. That is when he said: “Let’s go upstairs where the music is not so loud.” I hesitated because I didn’t want to encourage him. So once up there we sat on a sofa type seat that ran the length of the back wall and he said: “What are you into Kevin?” That’s when I said: “Look dude, I’m a big bottom, I don’t think that you would be interested in that.” and his answer totally surprised me. “OH, yeah, that is exactly what I am looking for.”

That is when I took a second look at Bebo. The guy was beautiful. When you get right down to it he was one of these drop-dead gorgeous guys a bit too effeminate perhaps or not projecting a butch image was more like it. I ordinarily go for guys that are rough looking, dressed like truckers and who have that “I don’t give a fuck look”. But Bebo was nowhere near one of those. He had on a leather jacket but it wasn’t the gay leather issue worn by guys in leather bars; his was one of these Milan-Paris type jackets and he had a black shirt underneath, open all the way down to his belly button and a tie aimlessly and uselessly hanging from his neck.

I am sure that in fashion circles he was quite with it; but here at the Ozone he looked a bit out of place.

However, I picked up on it right away: the guy was a model and it was clear that he wasn’t a bottom although he looked it. At least he had several days’ worth of beard growth and that compensated for the outfit. He pulled a fast one on me, he kind of leaned over and when I turned my head he kissed me.

That’s when I realized the guy was assertive. Bebo smelled good too…no, I don’t mean deodorized, sanitized smell good, Bebo smelled like a man; which was not consistent with his image as a fashion model. He then said for us to get the hell out of there and go to his apartment.

Bebo lived in one of those swanky high rise buildings on Brickell and the minute we walked in the door opulence hit you like a freight train…but it wasn’t over the top, just understated elegance and you could tell things were quality crafted and the real McCoy, not cheap reproductions. Some Chinese Ming vases, some Russian Faberge, a lot of masculine colors and leather chairs.

Bebo grabbed me and just like that, pushed me down on to my knees and pulled out his cock for me to suck. He was already hard and I was not disappointed. He had at least eight inches of uncut dick and it was beautiful and thick with the foreskin covering the head completely. I peeled it back and got it in my mouth. It went all the way down my throat but I don’t think Bebo was expecting so much pleasure when I applied the gargling technique. “Oh man, how do you do that? That is awesome…I have never felt pleasure like that…do it again”

Bebo: “Come on Kevin, let’s go to the bedroom, I want to fuck you…I want to be inside of you” He grabbed my hand and pulled me up and we were on the bed when he forcefully lifted my lower body so that my ass was protruding up in the air and he parted the ass cheeks and went to work. That boy could rim and if I wanted him before now I was begging for him to just fuck me without mercy, the way I like it…rough and fast. He did not disappoint me. Within minutes of a little finger probing and some spit; Bebo penetrated me and was pumping away like a mad man. I wasn’t sure what sounds were coming out of my mouth but I am sure they expressed the intense pleasure he was giving me: “yeah, fuck yeah, fuck me, yeah, oh, oh, oh, aaaah, aaaah, fuck me hard stud, yeah, fuck that ass”

Bebo: “Kevin, oh, oh, Kevin, oh, oh, that is fantastic, your ass is awesome…the way you do that…squeezing my dick, you are milking it…you are gonna make me cum…ah, ah, ah, shiiiiiit, fuuuuuck, aaaaaaaah, aaaaaaah, aaaaaaaah” He came and so did I…at the same time. We went at it again sometime in the middle of the night and he woke me up in the morning by ramming his hard morning woody into my ass; what a pleasant way to wake up.

That Sunday we spent together. I was in the living room while he was making breakfast and there was a large leather portfolio and he said for me to look at it…from the kitchen he said: “those are my photos…that’s what I do for a living…I’m leaving tomorrow night for a fashion show in Milan”

I opened it and he was pictured in all kinds of poses, some close ups of his handsome face…I couldn’t understand the hooded sweatshirt, but the others were amazing…until I got to the section where he had photos of fashion shows he had done. I didn’t say anything but to me they looked ridiculous. I am sure that the designers are just trying to outdo each other when it comes to being outrageous; but none of these garments and combinations thereof would ever catch on and be worn by the general public no matter how accepting, how daring, how progressive a society we become. Some of the photos of Bebo looked like he was a bag lady. Others resembled Halloween costumes of I don’t know what.

Would I walk downtown Miami wearing one of these? Would I even wear it come Halloween?

What the fuck are these designers thinking? Do they think people will actually wear those? Fashions for men are beginning to look more and more like the Coral Gables bag lady.

SOURCE: John-Galliano-Paris-Menswear-Otoño-Invierno-2011-12-(17)