Bolshoi Papa
[Derek Wilson’s Diary—Monday, August 7]
So, I’ve finally made it to Kiev for the last leg of my trip! So far, it seems like a beautiful city—sprawling, but beautiful—I’m glad I’m going to have 4 more whole days to explore it. I checked in to my hostel around 3:00 in the afternoon, and today I had just enough time to walk around Independence Square and then check out this cool sculpture park I’d read about in my guidebook.
The hostel’s kind of got an interesting vibe. Not sure how to describe it—maybe “post-Soviet frat house”? It’s pretty small, and they’ve got the guys rooms and the girls rooms on different floors. There are three rooms on my floor, one 6-man room and two 4-man rooms. Each one’s named for a different color—I’m staying in the Blue Room with 3 other guys: Lukas from Lithuania, Aram from Armenia, and Ion from Moldova. That’s one cool thing about this hostel: most of the guys come from different former Soviet republics, with Russian as the lingua franca that connects them. I think I might be the only American there; I’m definitely the only one who can’t keep up with the conversation in Russian. Thankfully, most of the guys here are pretty young—mid-20s, like me, or even a bit younger—so they seem to be able to speak at least a few words of English.
There is one older guy staying here, though. It’s hard to miss him, since he’s been sitting around in just his underwear all day in the common room doing something on his laptop computer. He’s a really big guy—he must be around 6′4″ with a hairy barrel chest and a beer belly, but powerful, muscular-looking shoulders, arms, and legs. It’s hard to tell, because men around this part of the world seem to age so much quicker than American men do—the vodka catches up with them, I guess—but he looked like he was about mid-40s, with close-cropped salt-and-pepper hair.
I wouldn’t have paid such close attention to the guy, except for the fact that he cornered me in the common room when I was coming back from my walk. He just walked up to me and started saying something to me in Russian in a low, deep voice. He was getting awfully close as he spoke—so close I could smell his unwashed armpits—and his intense stare was making me uncomfortable.
“Sorry,” I said, breaking eye contact and waving my right hand back and forth to get a bit more personal space, “I don’t understand Russian.”
When I got back to the Blue Room, I asked Ion, “Who’s that older guy staying here? The one who’s in his underwear all the time. I just had an encounter with him that was pretty…intense.”
“Aha…” Ion smirked, “Now you have met Bolshoi Papa.”
“Bolshoi Papa?”
“Yes, that is our name for him. In English, ‘Big Daddy.’ Is joke.”
It doesn’t totally seem like a joke, though. I’ve seen the way some of the other guys, especially his roommates in the Yellow Room, behave around him, and they genuinely do look like kids looking for approval from their dad. Bolshoi Papa was holding court in the common room this evening, still dressed in only his tight grey underwear, with four young guys huddled around him, gazing up at him admiringly and hanging on his every word, giggling sycophantically as he told jokes or stories or whatever he was saying to them in Russian.
It gave me the creeps a little bit, but I figure I can just keep my distance until I check out or Bolshoi Papa checks out, whichever comes first. I’m just glad I don’t have to share a room with him!
I can’t believe I just spent a whole page writing about this guy. Come tomorrow I should have more real Kiev adventures to chronicle.
[Derek Wilson’s Diary—Tuesday, August 8]
I don’t know what’s wrong with me. I spent hours today going to the most amazing Orthodox churches, seeing all these priceless religious icons and artworks, and all I want to write about tonight is Bolshoi Papa.
He’s creeping me out again. And it’s not just him. It’s also the way that my roommates are acting towards him.
Like this morning, I got up early because I needed to take a piss. On the way to the toilets, I had to pass the showers, and that’s where I saw Lukas talking to Bolshoi Papa. Actually, Bolshoi Papa was the one who seemed to be doing all the talking, standing really close to Lukas and saying something in a low, soft voice. All I could see Lukas doing was occasionally nodding and responding with “Da….da….”
What made it even creepier was the fact that Bolshoi Papa was standing there totally naked—he had a towel hanging around his neck—with droplets of water from the shower still dripping down his hairy chest, invading Lukas’ personal space while Lukas was standing there in just his briefs, still clutching his towel and shower things. Glancing down, I could see one other reason why Bolshoi Papa might have gotten that nickname: the man is hung like a horse! Luckily, it stayed soft, but I could only imagine how big that thing got when he had a hard-on.
Lukas has the bunk below me, and when he got back from his shower, I could see that he had a dazed look in his eyes. Standing in front of our bunk, he dropped his towel to the floor, then just stood there for a moment, swaying on his feet. I thought about asking him if he was OK, but then I decided that would be too weird, because then he might think I was just spying on him getting naked. Then he reached under his bed to pull out his suitcase, opened it, and stared at the contents for a couple of minutes, like he was trying to make a critical decision. Finally, he pulled out a skimpy pair of striped blue and gold underwear and pulled them on. I thought about following him as he walked out the door, but I suspected I already knew where he was headed, and the faint sound of the Yellow Room door opening only confirmed it—he was going to see Bolshoi Papa.
When I got back to the hostel that evening, Bolshoi Papa was again holding court in the common room, dressed in only his tight grey underwear, with a group of young guys huddled around him, gazing up at him admiringly and hanging on his every word. This time, the group included Lukas, who was lying at Bolshoi Papa’s feet, still wearing nothing but his little blue and gold striped briefs. I wondered if he’d even left the hostel all day, or if he’d just been sitting around in his underwear with Bolshoi Papa all day.
I looked at Lukas’ eyes—they seemed a little glazed, as he gave Bolshoi Papa a cow-like look of devotion. Was he stoned? Or on some kind of harder drugs? Was Bolshoi Papa some kind of pusher, who’d gotten these boys hooked? Were they just sucking up to him in order to get their next fix?
Whatever was going on, I knew that Bolshoi Papa creeped me the fuck out, so I headed back to my room, hoping to speak with Ion about what I’d seen this morning. Ion was lying on his top bunk in just his black boxer-briefs, looking at something on his phone. I started to tell him about all the weird shit I’d seen going down with Bolshoi Papa, but as soon as I said the man’s name, Ion got a faraway look in his eyes and his face broke into a dreamy smile.
“No, no, Derek, you are wrong. Bolshoi Papa is good man. Very nice man. Not creepy. You don’t understand. But I speak to Bolshoi Papa today. Now I understand. Bolshoi Papa wants best for us. Bolshoi Papa knows best for us. Come speak to Bolshoi Papa. You will understand.”
I thought about arguing with him or even shouting, “What the fuck’s wrong with you?” But before I could, Aram entered the room and began stripping off his T-shirt. As Aram stepped out of his jeans, revealing a pair of red briefs underneath, he spoke to Ion in the bunk above him. Since they were speaking Russian, I couldn’t make out what they were saying, except for the words “Bolshoi Papa.”
But apparently that was enough for Ion, who climbed down from his top bunk and told me, “Aram says Bolshoi Papa is telling funny story outside. Come with us and hear funny story. Bolshoi Papa is very funny and wise.”
I followed Ion and Aram out the door—neither had bothered to put on any more clothes, beyond their underwear—but I walked right past the common area and headed out to dinner at McDonalds. After the strangeness at the hostel, I needed an infusion of all-American normalcy. Afterwards, I went to go see a movie—dubbed into Russian, of course, but it didn’t much matter since the movie was mostly exploding robots anyway.
At first, I was happy to see that Bolshoi Papa and his followers were no longer lounging around the common room. But then I saw where he was—right outside the door of my room. In fact, he was blocking the door of my room as he spoke to Aram, leaning in so close that the shorter younger man’s face was nearly in his armpit. And he was totally naked again, one hand casually scratching his heavy balls as he talked in a low murmur. At least Aram was dressed in a towel; he stood there swaying on his feet, looking up at Bolshoi Papa and occasionally nodding, apparently enthralled by what the older man had to say.
I cleared my throat as I approached them, but neither moved from the door. Through hand gestures, I tried to show that I needed in the room, but Bolshoi Papa just murmured something to me in Russian. After I loudly told him that I don’t understand Russian, he pointed at my clothes, then made a “lift shirt” gesture and a “lower pants” gesture, then pointed to Aram’s towel. I shook my head no, then he said something to Aram, who nodded at him in response. Then the two of them started saying something in Russian and making “soaping up” gestures, as I vigorously shook my head in protest. I thought if I stayed there any longer, the two of them might actually drag me to the showers, so I literally shoved myself in between them—feeling Bolshoi Papa’s big dick flopping against my ass I squeezed past him—and forced my way back into my room.
When I got back in the room, Lukas was in the bunk below me, messing around on his phone as he lay on top of the covers totally naked. And when Aram came back from his shower about 30 minutes later, he dropped his towel, grabbed his phone, and lay on top of the covers totally naked. From my top bunk (where I’ve been writing this), I can’t see what they’re doing on their phones. But I can hear these clicking noises, like they’re taking selfies. Are they taking naked selfies down there?
I’m thinking about sleeping in my clothes tonight. All this sudden casual nudity is making me uncomfortable.
[Derek Wilson’s Diary—Wednesday, August 9—Morning]
So I was woken up in the middle of the night by the sound of our door opening. Through the faint light of the hallway, I could see Bolshoi Papa enter our room—naked, of course. As he walked toward the bunk bed I shared with Lukas, I closed my eyes and pretended to sleep. But I could still hear his heavy breathing as he stood beside my bed for an uncomfortably long time. In fact, I could still smell him—the sweaty, musky, strong scent of his hairy chest and armpits making my nose twitch involuntarily.
Finally, I heard him saying something to Lukas in Russian, then in a couple of moments, the door opened and he was gone. And so was Lukas. I leaned over and saw his bottom bunk was empty. It’s now 9:00 am and he still hasn’t returned.
Aram and Ion woke me up about an hour ago with all the noise they were making, moving around the room and rummaging through suitcases.
“What’s going on?” I asked them, “Are you guys checking out already?”
“No,” said Ion, making no effort to cover up his nudity or his morning wood. “We look for sexy underwear.” He pulled a pair of grey briefs out of his suitcase, then showed it to Aram, who shook his head no. “Bolshoi Papa says we must wear sexy underwear,” he explained, gesturing to Aram to try on a pair of skimpy yellow briefs he’d just pulled out of his suitcase.
“Bolshoi Papa…wants you to wear sexy underwear?” I asked, “But why? Is he some kind of pervert who gets off on guys in underwear?”
Ion just smiled. “No, no, Derek. You don’t understand. Bolshoi Papa is good man. Bolshoi Papa wants best for us. Bolshoi Papa knows best for us. Sexy underwear is best for us. Come speak to Bolshoi Papa. You will understand.”
I watched the two of them try on and take off pair after pair of underwear before they finally gathered several pairs in their arms and headed toward the door naked.
“Where are you going?” I asked Ion.
“To see Bolshoi Papa. He will know sexiest underwear. Bolshoi Papa knows best for us. He will choose best.”
[Derek Wilson’s Diary—Wednesday, August 9—Evening]
This morning, I headed to a local gym and worked off some of the tension I’d been feeling. I’d been wondering if I should move to another hostel, but as I got into my workout and started to relax, I realized that I was just being silly. Sure, Bolshoi Papa was a creepy guy, and he seemed to have a weird magnetic influence over the other guys in the hostel, almost like a modern-day Rasputin. But he wasn’t going to talk me into anything. He literally didn’t speak my language, and as long as I kept my distance for the next couple of days, I should be fine.
When I got back to the hostel, there was a young dark-haired guy checking in, who looked like he was about 19 or 20. Overhearing him talk to the desk clerk in Russian, I could pick up that his name was Ruslan and he was from Azerbaijan. Then I heard the desk clerk say the word “zhelty”—“yellow” in Russian. They must be putting him in the Yellow Room. Bolshoi Papa was going to eat this kid for lunch. I felt like I needed to warn him, maybe even get him to switch rooms.
I went up to Ruslan and tapped him on the shoulder. “Excuse me,” I said slowly, trying to speak simply and enunciate clearly, “the Yellow Room is a bad room. A bad man named Bolshoi Papa is in the Yellow Room. Avoid Bolshoi Papa. He is a big, older, hairy man. Usually he is naked. Avoid him! Don’t talk to him! Move to the White Room and avoid Bolshoi Papa.”
Ruslan just stood there with a bemused look on his face and said, “Sorry…English…no good. Ty govirish po russki?”
I shook my head sadly, then he just smiled and walked upstairs with his suitcase, headed for the Yellow Room. This evening, after I got back from visiting the Dnieper River beaches in the center of Kiev, I saw Ruslan again. He was in the common room, sitting beside Bolshoi Papa as he told one of his stories to an admiring crowd. As he spoke, gesticulating widely with his arms, Bolshoi Papa reached over and put Ruslan in a headlock, shoving the young man’s face into his hairy pits. The boy seemed to love it, though; he was smiling and laughing, not even trying hard to break free.
The others sprawled out around Bolshoi Papa’s feet were enjoying it too. Unlike Ruslan, who was still fully dressed, the other guys were only wearing tight sexy underwear. Ion, who was actually resting his head on Bolshoi Papa’s right foot, appeared to be wearing Aram’s skimpy yellow briefs. Aram, who was sitting right beside him, was wearing a pair of little blue and gold striped briefs, suspiciously similar to what Lukas had been wearing yesterday.
As I passed by, Ion noticed me and gestured for me to join them, but I just shook my head. Then Bolshoi Papa pointed at me and said something in Russian that made all the others laugh. I didn’t stick around to hear more.
[Derek Wilson’s Diary—Thursday, August 10—Morning]
I think that…maybe I’m not as immune as I thought. I’m worried that I might be starting to change too. That I might be starting to fall under Bolshoi Papa’s power. That Bolshoi Papa is very powerful and I am starting to fall under his power. Bolshoi Papa is a powerful man with a powerful scent and I am starting to fall under his power. Bolshoi Papa
Oh god. I had to stop writing just then. I had to stop writing and start playing with myself under the covers. I had to stroke my dick just because I was thinking of Bolshoi Papa. I have to stop thinking about Bolshoi Papa. But I can’t stop thinking about Bolshoi Papa.
I can’t stop thinking about what happened this morning when I woke up. When I woke up and my face was covered. Covered with a pair of grey underwear. Bolshoi Papa’s underwear. I could smell it. The sweat-stained, spunk-stained crotch was right over my nostrils. Involuntarily, I took a big inhale, and it went straight to my head. Powerful. The musk of a powerful alpha male.
I felt myself harden up and gave my dick a few strokes through the fabric of my sweatpants. After a moment, though, I started to wake up and come back to my senses. I took the underwear off my face and tossed them to the floor. I then lay on my top bunk, breathing heavily, my heart racing as I came down from the high of smelling Bolshoi Papa. Though his odor still lingered in my nostrils. The powerful male musk never quite went away.
As I tried to regain my wits, Ion jumped down from the other top bunk and grabbed the grey underwear I had tossed on the floor. He was naked of course, his morning wood sticking straight out in front of him. Ion held the crotch of Bolshoi Papa’s underwear up to his nose and took a deep sniff, his dick visibly twitching in response. Then he began beating off, standing right there in the middle of the room, with the underwear draped over his face.
After a couple of minutes, he walked over to Aram’s bunk and dangled Bolshoi Papa’s dirty underwear over Aram’s face. Aram took a deep sniff, then grabbed at the underwear, trying to bury his nose in their powerful scent. Ion pulled the underwear back, then gestured at Aram to stand. Pulling Bolshoi Papa’s smelly grey briefs over Aram’s nose and face, Ion began to kiss him through the cotton fabric, taking deep snorts of Bolshoi Papa’s powerful male musk as he made out with Aram.
Ion and Aram stood there in front of me for a few minutes like that, each man furiously jerking his hard cock as he buried his nose in Bolshoi Papa’s scent. Finally, Aram came all over Ion’s hard belly, and a moment later, Ion returned the favor.
After they came, Ion and Aram grabbed their towels and headed for the shower. On his way out the door, Ion tossed the grey briefs up to my bed. I kept fighting the urge to grab them again and lift them to my face, to deeply inhale Bolshoi Papa’s powerful male scent and jerk off just like Ion and Aram had. It was so tempting. After all, my hard-on hadn’t gone down all morning; I’d been rock hard just watching those guys.
Finally, I tossed the briefs back to the ground, grabbed the computer from my locker, and started writing this diary entry. But I can still smell them. I can still smell him. Bolshoi Papa is a powerful man with a powerful scent and
Oh god. I’ve got to resist this. But I’m still so horny. I can see my boner making a tent in my sweatpants. But I’ve got to resist this. Maybe a shower will help. A cold shower. And soap. To wash away that powerful scent Bolshoi Papa’s powerful alpha male
A cold, clean shower. That’s all I need. To wash this all away and clear my mind.
Derek Wilson’s Diary—Thursday, August 10—Evening
I don’t feel like writing very much tonight. I always write these long diary entries about my worries. I worry too much. I think too much about my worries. But now I don’t need to worry. And I don’t need to think too much. Bolshoi Papa knows best. He can do the thinking for me.
I’m so glad I’ve given in to Bolshoi Papa’s power. This morning, I was still resisting it. But in the shower, I couldn’t help thinking about it—the powerful smell of Bolshoi Papa’s hairy crotch, the powerful scent of his spunk, his powerful heavy balls and thick dick shooting out all that powerful spunk…
Well, before I knew it, I was shooting out a massive load right there in the shower. And then I felt tired, light-headed, like I needed another nap, so I went back to the room, picked up the grey underwear from the floor, wrapped its crotch around my face and went swiftly to sleep.
When I woke up, there was a new guy in the room, putting his backpack on Lukas’ empty bottom bunk. Maksim looked a little freaked out to find me there, sleeping naked and half-hard with a pair of dirty underwear on my face. But he’d understand soon. Once he met Bolshoi Papa.
Climbing naked from my top bunk, I fished around in my suitcase, then pulled on a pair of boxer briefs and headed out to the common area. To my delight, Bolshoi Papa was already there, sitting in his underwear, surrounded by a circle of similarly half-naked young men. I smiled at him, and he grinned back, gesturing for me to take a seat beside him. I practically skipped across the room, happy for the chance to rest my head beside Bolshoi Papa’s sweaty hairy chest, to take big sniffs of the powerful alpha male odor emanating from his hairy armpits. I was sure the others could see the big lump forming in my boxer briefs, but they didn’t seem to mind.
I must have lay there for hours, feeling safe and content with Bolshoi Papa’s powerful arm wrapped around my shoulder. I could now feel—no, I could even smell—that what Ion and the others had said was true: Bolshoi Papa was a good man. Bolshoi Papa wanted what was best for us. Bolshoi Papa knew what was best for us. I was in Bolshoi Papa’s power. But he would use his power over me for good. It was all for the best. That I’d stopped fighting. That I’d stopped thinking.
Instead, I could just sit here, gazing up at my powerful Bolshoi Papa, smiling in admiration, laughing at his stories. I still didn’t quite understand the words he was saying. But deep down I knew that Bolshoi Papa was funny and wise. And so I laughed in sync with the other boys. It felt so good to be in sync with the other boys now. They felt a bit like my brothers, united in our submission to Bolshoi Papa’s power.
At the end of the evening, Bolshoi Papa took me into the Yellow Room and spent some special alone time with me. Well, Ion was there too, helping to translate Bolshoi Papa’s instructions as he told me about my new job. And some of the other boys in the room were there as well, sitting on their beds and masturbating for their webcam shows.
But it really felt special, just like it was Bolshoi Papa and me, especially when he pulled down his briefs and had me suck his big dick. Well, in the middle he made me stop and watch Ion blow him so I could see the proper technique—apparently, I was using too many teeth—but then Bolshoi Papa and I had a special moment and I got my whole mouth around his big dick and I could taste his powerful male flavor on my tongue and smell his powerful male scent as I buried my nose in his sweaty pubes and before I knew it I blew a load in my boxer-briefs.
I know I’ll sleep well tonight, just dreaming of the moment that I get to have Bolshoi Papa’s powerful dick in my mouth again.
Derek Wilson’s Diary—Friday, August 11—Evening
I’m so sad that I have to leave in the morning! I’ve wasted so much time fighting Bolshoi Papa’s power. Time that I could have spent working for him, as one of his CamBoys.
I’ve been working nearly all day, ever since I got up, picked a selection of the sexiest underwear from my suitcase, and headed naked into the Yellow Room to ask Bolshoi Papa what I should wear. He didn’t really like any of my underwear, so he gave me a sexy little pair of striped briefs that Ruslan had been wearing. Sure enough, when I got on the webcam this morning, the clients loved them. And they liked my afternoon duo show with Ruslan even better; it got them excited when I typed that I was wearing my friend’s underwear (and even more excited when Ruslan and I stroked each other’s hard-ons through those tight briefs).
After Ruslan and I showered the cum off our bodies, we pulled on some underwear and joined the other boys in the common room listening to Bolshoi Papa’s stories. Maksim was there this evening, sitting shirtless, a smile on his face as his eyes started to glaze over. I was happy for him; it looked like he wasn’t resisting Bolshoi Papa at all.
After dinner, it was time for the orgy show. Bolshoi Papa was so kind and generous. He knew that I would only have time to participate in one orgy, so he gave me the position of honor: on my hands and knees, staring into the camera as he fucked me from behind. Sure, Bolshoi Papa’s big powerful cock hurt thrusting into my virgin ass, even after Ruslan lubed me up and fingered my hole in front of the camera for 5 minutes. But I trusted Bolshoi Papa. I knew he wanted what was best for me. And if he thought a good hard fucking was what I needed, then I’d take his good hard fucking and like it.
And when Bolshoi Papa shot his hot load up my virgin ass, just knowing I’d pleased him was enough to make me come too. Afterwards, I scooped his slimy load out of my ass, licked it, then winked at the camera. Later, Ion told me Bolshoi Papa had said I was a “natural slut.” That made me feel so proud.
And I’m proud that I’ll be able to continue serving Bolshoi Papa as one of his webcam boys when I get home. Plus, I have a feeling that even though I’ll be halfway across the world, this won’t be the last time I see Bolshoi Papa in the flesh. Maybe he can even come visit me in America. I know I’ve got a bunch of hot friends who could use a strong male role model in their lives…