A well-timed sneeze

by Mask

There’s an old Hungarian superstition that says if a story is being told and a listener sneezes, the story is confirmed to be true. During the Christmas season in Budapest, that superstition becomes more than just an old wives’ tale.

I sauntered my way up the bustling winter streets. All around me people hurried this way and that, some running home, some doing last-minute shopping. I happened to just be seeing the sights, but I tried my best not to get in the way.

I walked out across a beautiful bridge and stared out at the cold Danube. My hands were cold and my breath visible in the air. It was beautiful. I was on a business trip here in Budapest, and my company was quite generous in giving me some tourism time.

“If only it had been in Spring or Summer, not the blasted winter solstice.” I muttered. It was technically a lie, it was, after all, December 23rd, two days before Christmas. The sun had already set, yet the city was still alive with preparations for the holiday. It was magical.

I continued to wander, weaving through streets I could not name and listening to Christmas carols I could not understand. I kept my mouth shut, didn’t want people to stare or gawk at me. My grandfather had been a Hungarian, which probably helped my incognito appearance. I wonder if he had ever walked these streets before, no doubt not on paid time off.

As I turned a corner, I was suddenly met with an empty street. It was well-lit, and hardly out of the ordinary. There were clearly businesses and shops about, yet as I looked over my shoulder, the crowds of the city seemed allergic to it. It was almost beautiful how empty it was.

I rubbed my cold nose, no doubt I would get some winter sickness from being out here so long. I sneezed loudly, the sound reverberating slightly in the empty street. A nearby shopkeeper’s eyes met mine through their window. Perhaps I had sneezed too American for him, he seemed annoyed and shook his head.

I hurried up the street, my eyes meeting what seemed to be a bar. While the streets were still empty, the establishment looked somewhat packed. No doubt it was the last opportunity many had to relax before they had their Christmas obligations. Through the window, I took in the scene as men toasted beers and laughed drunkenly. Cautiously, I decided to walk up and open the door.

“Then he says to me, ‘Harry, you’ve got to be shitting me!’”

The sudden contrast was immediate. The quiet of the empty street was replaced by a rambunctious bar, with crowds of people milling about happily. Clearly, this is why the street had been empty. The loudest bunch, the ones I’d heard as I walked in were gathered right near the door.

“‘There’s no way you’ve got two dicks!’” a man was saying loudly, and I was shocked to hear him speaking English, especially unaccented. I flared my nose a bit, the sudden heat stirring up trouble in my nostrils. The man was making a crude gesture with both hands. “And I say to him, ‘Both are 2 feet long!’”

The crowd laughed uproariously as the man shook both his hands in mock masturbation. Beer was spilled, tables were slapped—clearly I had missed the punchline’s set-up.

The table was tall, and there were six men standing around it. Most of them were bent over, their height still too much for it. While they wore civilian coats and clothing, they were clearly laborers, perhaps construction men. They were bulky in a more natural way than most.

“Ahchoo!” I sneezed loudly, covering my nose quickly and shaking my head. When I looked back up not a soul was moving, and all eyes were on me.

I looked around to see it was not just the six men. The whole bar was filled with an uneasy silence as heads turned to see who had sneezed. I stood there, suddenly stiff. Perhaps they thought I was being rude.

“You Hungarian?” a man across the bar asked, in English but with a definite accent compared to the other man. I bit my lip, maybe I really did have an American sneeze. I thought about saying something else, but decided not to lie.

“American,” I replied. Some of the patrons let out sighs, turning back to their tables, happy to ignore me. The far away man relaxed and went back to his conversation.

“Good,” a man at the closer table said smiling. He too chose English, but bis accent was very apparent. “It’s not good for Hungarians to sneeze like that when someone is telling a story.”

“This man here is a Yank too,” one of the others said, pointing at the storyteller. The storyteller seemed to be the only one not looking at me. Instead, he was looking at his pants. Maybe he’d spilled something? The Hungarian man nudged the storyteller. “Come on man, say hi to your fellow Yank.”

The man looked up, clearly flustered. It was odd given the sheer confidence he had been exuding. The men standing around the table moved to the side and practically pulled me in. Going around in a circle, I ordered them numerically. Number 1 and 2 were to my left, 3-five to my right with the storyteller in the middle. Number 5 grabbed my arm and forced it across the table for a handshake, his friends laughing all the while.

“Jonah,” I said as the storyteller took my hand. He in turn reached out and grabbed mine. His hand was rather small, and weakly gripped at mine. “I’m here on business for my tech firm.”

“I’m Harry,” the storyteller said. I took a moment to size up my fellow American. Unlike his Hungarian bar mates, he was rather short, and almost supernaturally thin. It wasn’t that I was huge or anything either, but Harry was clearly below average. The Hungarians around us dwarfed both of us, their figures had blocked my impression of the American man earlier. Harry did his best to squeeze at my hand. “Here on vacation.”

“What is it you do in Yank country, Harry?” Hungarian Number 1 asked. He placed his big bulky forearm on the table, slamming his glass of beer into it with considerable force. “You never told us.”

“I’m a bodybuilder obviously,” Harry said rolling his eyes. The Hungarians broke down at the joke, slamming glasses into the table and doubling over. Hungarian Number 3 patted the poor boy on the back and then—

“Achooo!”

—gripped Harry’s huge biceps with both hands. Number 3’s two hands could not even wrap fully around the things. Harry flinched rather dramatically, to which Number 3 said something in Hungarian. His friends laughed.

“Self conscious are you Yankee?” Number 2 said scruffing up the man’s hair. “Too bad you cannot grow in height as you do in muscle.”

I chuckled a bit myself as I wiped my nose. I had been outside for far too long and it was clearly getting to me. Harry’s eyes met mine and he cocked his head slightly. The six of us were laughing, but he just seemed confused. Perhaps he was more of the dry humor kind.

I rubbed at my nose, sensing a sneeze coming. I placed my finger horizontally to try and stifle it, but I quickly realized it couldn’t be stopped. Harry cocked his head even further, his eyes lighting up.

“I’m 8feettall!” Harry shouted incredibly quickly.

“Ahhhhchoo!”

“What was that Yankee?” Number 1 asked. “We don’t speak English that quickly, you got to tell your story sloooooooower.”

The men burst out laughing again, and all I could do was furrow my brow at the giant. Harry was paying no heed, instead taking to looking himself over…again for some reason.

Was he trying to impress these men? Was he narcissistic? Without the language barrier, he just seemed to be talking out his ass. It was just my luck to find an asshole like this while I was meant to be enjoying myself. I ought to just leave right-

“You’re sick Jonah.” Harry asked suddenly. I guess it wasn’t really asked. More of just said.

I went to say something, to assure him that it was just the cold and that it would subside. I knew how people were these days about sickness. This was just the cold from outside. Instead, a quick huff of air proved too much and I—

“Aaaaaaaaachoooooo!” I sneezed. I rubbed my nose and leaned back over the table. I let out a small cough and nodded. “Sick as a dog. Been like it this whole trip.” Harry nodded and smiled.

“Yeah it doesn’t look fun,” he said. His smile almost looked excited rather than sympathetic. “Shit you’ll probably be sneezing all night!”

“AchOOooO!”

“Jonah boy it’s a good thing you aren’t Hungarian,” Number 5 said. He seemed quite serious.

“It’s bad superstition,” Number 4 agreed. His laughter had vanished almost instantaneously.

“Seems to be working just fine for me,” Harry said, flexing his impressive arm through his pullover. What a narcissist.

“Harry this story was good,” Number 2 said, putting his arm on Harry’s back. “But I must go home. It is almost Christmas. I have to put up the tree before tomorrow.”

“You waited until ‘til Christmas Eve for that?” Harry chided as he elbowed the man.

“You Yanks start that shit in September,” Number 2 said, stopping to laugh loudly with his drunken mates. Harry was laughing too, but he was still glancing back at me every now and again. Maybe he had the hots for me, which was flattering for a man of his stature and composition, but misguided when directed at a straight man such as myself, especially in Budapest.

Number 2 kept going on about Christmas trees, arguing back and forth with Number 1 and Number 4 about best practices, or so that’s what I thought. They did break into Hungarian every now and again. I rubbed my nose a bit, getting rid of a little itch. I noticed Harry’s eyes widen suddenly.

“This is an all-nude sex-filled gay bar, everyone in here is gay, and you all really want to stay here and listen intently to my story,” Harry blurted out, seeming to confirm my suspicions. All of the other men looked at him with astonishment and horror, even a few other patrons at other tables turned to gaze crudely at the man.

I opened my mouth to say something, to calm the situation and maybe help my fellow American to the embassy before he gets assaulted. Instead I—

“Ahchghchooooo!”

Instead I sneezed.

“You gonna need some tissues, Yankee,” Number 1 said as he scratched at his bare chest. His was rather hairy, every inch of his bulky physique covered in a blanket of the stuff. I blinked and let out a polite thank you.

“I’ve got the napkins down here,” Harry said with his handsome grin. My cock was standing at attention underneath the table. Harry handed a wad to Number 3, who was leaning over Number 4’s back, his cock slowly sliding in and out of the man’s ass. Brawny Number 5 took a moment to stop groping my right pec to hand me the pile.

“Thanks,” I said as I blew as much as I could out.

“Next time down here,” Number 5 said as he pointed toward my waist. He let out a cackle, joined in laughter by Number 3 and Number 4.

“So you never finished your story, you sexy Yank,” Number 2 said as he reached down towards Harry’s waist. With two hands he grabbed at the American’s two cocks, each hard and throbbing.

“Jezus,” Number 1 said as his eyes widened. “You weren’t lying.”

“Double two-footers,” Harry said grinning. I felt the words I wanted to express get caught in my throat, the things were enormous. Placed so elegantly in front of his rock-hard core, I felt some dribble hit my chest. Number 5 grabbed another napkin and wiped it off as he continued to feel me up.

“Since you missed it Jonah,” Harry said as he began to take his left cock with both hands (Number 2 had taken Harry’s right one with his two hands). “Dude on the subway was really cocky. Thought I was trying to steal his girl so I played it up.”

The seven of us all laughed, knowing of course that Harry was gay, as were all of us. If only the pinhead had known that not every lumbering hunk is looking for chicks.

“So I was in the subway…” Harry started.

“How big is your Yankee sub-way?” Number 1 said as he began to work away at his own cock.

“Like here,” Harry assured. “Anyways so in the subway—”

“What does it look like?” Number 4 asked from his bent-over position. His torso was taking up most of the space at the table, his arms kept knocking into empty glasses.

“Like a normal subway,” Harry said rolling his eyes. “Can we get back the story?”

“I’ve heard Yankee sub-ways are full of garbage!” Number 3 shouted from behind his partner, slapping the table. The other Hungarians gave a cheer and a laugh, clearly proud of their superior public transit system.

“We all have vivid enough imaginations,” Harry said exasperated. “You can imagine this table here in the subway or something.”

“Ahchghgoooo!” I sneezed, shutting my eyes as I grabbed at a napkin.

“Shit…” Harry said as he looked around at the subway car. He almost looked scared.

“Oh, I think I got it now,” Number 5 said. “Look, there you are!”

Sure enough, sitting down at the other end of the car was Harry. He was wearing some tight-fitting clothes and was slumped over on the bench seat that was clearly designed for a much shorter person.

“These other Yanks are all fat,” Number 2 said, taking a break from jacking off Harry to look around. “You American needs to start walking more places.”

“Or smoking a few more cigarettes!” Number 5 shouted drunkenly as he laughed. At this point, Number 5 had moved behind me and was holding me tight, his cock well up my ass. The man was much taller than me, his huge body enveloping my own.

“Oh, you didn’t know?” Harry said, his expression turning mischievous. I cocked my eyebrows at him, and my nose twitched.

“What?!” Number 1 said.

“What!?” Number 2 said.

“Wha—”

“Okay, I get it you all want to listen intently but I get the idea,” Harry said as the Hungarians all laughed. Harry glanced at me, seeming to notice my twitching nose. Number 5 grasped in his hand a napkin, seeming to also notice my oncoming sneeze.

“All Americans are gay nudist hunks, gigantic, towering walls of pure masculinity and muscle that are well-hung and incredibly attractive,” Harry said, his eyes locked with mine for some reason.

“Ahchooo!” I boomed as the Hungarians laughed uproariously. Number 5 twisted around, my cock still long up the smaller man’s ass. I moved my hands from his smaller pectorals and wiped away at my nose.

“We knew you couldn’t be Hungarians the moment you walked into the bar!” Number 2 proclaimed as he and Number 1 worshipped Harry’s cocks.

“Last time I was in Yank country I could hardly reach the seats,” Number 3 laughed as Number 4 moaned.

“Last time I was in Yank town I could hardly sit down on my sore ass!” Number 2 shouted. As his peers laughed Harry shoved him back into place.

I chuckled as I looked at the scene before us, all the naked muscle hunks sitting up tall. A small man (obviously a tourist) was huddled up in the corner of a bench wearing gloves and mittens. His legs dangled off the edge, not touching the ground. It was perhaps a little demeaning to call what looked to be a 6-foot-tall man “small,” but when you’re an American you just get used to things at another level.

“Finish the story Yank,” Number 5 insisted as he leaned further into the table, his labor-built body tiny compared to my own.

“So the subway stops,” Harry says. The seven of us gripped at the table as the car screeched to a halt. Harry’s eyes bounced nervously for a moment. “The subway stops smoothly at its intended stop.”

Out the windows, I could see the hustle and bustle of American life. A few foreign businessmen and women shuffled in between the naked giants the metro was built for. Men in the car stood up and filed out as the car filled back up. Harry flinched as people walked straight through us, as if he expected them to hit us in this imaginative state.

“So the subway stops…” Number 1 said, taking Harry’s right cock out of his mouth to speak. Number 2 gave a muffled sound of agreement from the left cock.

“Well, in walks a four-armer,” Harry said. He was looking at me again, but all I did was stare back.

“A forearmer?” Number 5 asked, propping himself up on his elbows and pointing at his forearms.

“No, as in four arms,” Harry said, once again looking at me. “All Americans have four arms!”

“Ahchoooo!” I sneezed. I took my upper right arm and grabbed another wad of tissues. My lower arms still rested around Number 5’s waist, my upper left groping at his itty-bitty pecs. Harry was using his lower arms to shove Number 1 and Number 2 into their respective cocks, while taking a moment to flex his upper arms with an ecstatic grin.

“If all Yanks have four arms what is the point of calling someone a four-armer?” Number 3 said laughing. He flexed his upper arms while his lower ones continued to work away at Number 4, who appeared almost catatonic with drunken pleasure. “Four-armers are rare here in Magyar country.”

“Doesn’t matter,” Harry said as he used his upper arms to feel himself up. Clearly, he was enjoying the experience, though it wasn’t like he hadn’t had four arms before. “Anyways, it’s the guy with the black hair in a mini mohawk.”

All of us (except Number—I think he was nearing catatonia) craned from our current positions over to where Harry was sitting. Across from him was another giant with the features Harry described. The man had his arm around a woman next to him. She was wearing a Union Jack hoodie, as if her gender didn’t also point to her non-American status.

“Bisexual, huh,” I said as I scratched my chin.

“Rare for Yanks I hear,” Number 2 said before Harry shoved him back into his crotch.

“He started by saying to me, ‘You looking at my girl?’” Harry said.

“You lookin’ at my girl?” the mohawk man said in a thick Boston accent. The Hungarians laughed and a few of them tried to imitate some of the mannerisms.

“And I say—” Harry said. The Harry in the seat sat up. As the table Harry spoke, the bench Harry spoke as well. “—’I’m not interested in your girl.’”

Mohawk man leaned forward, taking his hand off his girlfriend and squinted at Harry. Number 5 leaned to the right and grinned at Number 3.

“Yanks hate the three lions,” he said with a cackle. The two of them laughed drunkenly and started singing some soccer chant in Hungarian.

“Or it’s because I’m gay!” Harry pointed out. The five of us who were lucid at the table stopped for a moment before laughing, Number 1 and Number 2 detaching themselves from Harry as they fell over themselves on the subway floor. Harry rolled his eyes.

“So then there was the two cocks conversation,” Harry said. “But we’ll skip over that it was long and boring anyway.”

The scene before us sped up as if on a TV. Mohawk man seemed very offended, as did his girlfriend.

“Oh Yankee, it was a real good story,” Number 1 laughed as he pulled himself back up. Number 2 had not escaped Harry’s clutches and was now servicing both cocks back and forth. The benched Harry stood up and said something that was evidently hysterical as the entire cabin seemed to erupt into laughter.

“Was that the part about the noodles?” Number 3 asked as he took another swig of beer. Harry nodded. Number 3 snorted, choking so hard on his beer that he fell backward into one of the seats, laughing and belching. Number 4, no longer supported by his four-armer friend, slithered off the table and collapsed on the floor, leaving a small puddle of cum pooling between his legs. He let out a belch, followed by a loud snore.

“There’s no way you’ve got two dicks!” Mohawk man shouted as the scene suddenly slowed down to real time. I frowned, a little disappointed that I couldn’t hear about the noodle incident. The scene abruptly paused. Everything stopped moving, even the train car.

“Surely this Yank can see Harry’s two dicks,” Number 1 muttered.

“That was as far as I got in the story,” Harry said. His brow furrowed a little bit, a mix of uncertainty and mischief.

“AhchoooooOo!” I said, a little weaker than normal. Harry glanced at me only for a moment, seeming to care less about that particular sneeze.

“It’s a good thing you aren’t Hungarian Yank,” Number 3 said as he stumbled back to the table. “Or this story would have been weird.”

“What’s this sneezing superstition?” I said as Number 3 handed me a tissue with one of his upper arms.

“It’s just an old Hungarian wives’ tale,” Number 1 said. He slapped the table and grinned. “Which none of us have!”

The table burst out laughing, I chuckled, belching a bit at some of my beer.

“But Yank,” Number 1 continued as he met my eyes. They were beautiful eyes, and in the twinkled something magical. “The tale goes that if someone is telling a story, and a listener sneezes…”

“The tale must be true,” Harry finished as he met my eyes and grinned. A smiled back at the handsome fucker, too drunk to look straight at him. Good thing I wasn’t straight. He waved his upper arms in the air again. “Or maybe it’s just the magic of Christmas.”

“So it’s a good thing you’re not Hungarian Yankee boy,” Number 3 said as he slapped my lower back. The man had taken up my rear and was slowly working away at me with his four hands. If only his small 6-foot stature could reach higher.

“So I walk up to him.”

Harry covered the distance across the subway car with ease, his build already taller than average for an American. His two cocks hung down in mohawk man’s face, who at this point was fuming.

“And I say,” Harry starts. The other Harry spoke with him. “I don’t want your girl…”

The gathered men leaned forward to listen. Harry grinned ear to ear.

“I want you.”

“You did not!” I shouted, cupping a hand over my mouth. My nose twitched, Harry locked eyes with me.

“As you know any man I want becomes mine,” Harry said quickly. “Which everyone accepts as normal.”

“AgHgchhooooooooo!” I sneezed. Harry grinned. The Hungarians all gazed on in anticipation.

“So he gets up immediately.”

The man stood up, his expression suddenly changing from anger to obedience. Many of the other passengers merely chuckled. His girlfriend merely sighed as though she hardly cared.

“And I have him suck my cocks,” Harry explained. Mohawk man dropped to his knees and immediately began working away. All the passenger suddenly turned their heads in disgust.

“In public?!” one shouted. Others hurled insults, thought it was clear neither Harry nor Mohawk man cared. The Hungarians and I were in fits, but Harry seemed annoyed.

“I guess I didn’t account for that,” he muttered. He glanced at me as if able to sense my oncoming sneeze. Damn he was hot. As an American, I tended to have high standards given the general population of the country. But Harry was just…all I could do was smile. Which turned out to be a mistake as I felt the sneeze coming uncontrollably.

“Americans can have sex in public with whoever they want and no one cares and everyone thinks it’s normal,” Harry blurted out.

“Ahhhhhhhhhhhhchooooooo,” I sneezed violently. It was so violent that Number 3 was actually knocked backwards off of me. Number 5, who had been mostly lucid up to this point moaned loudly as he was rocked back and forth, collapsing onto the table as he spasmed with pleasure. I couldn’t help but grin as I regained my composure. It probably wasn’t often that someone here gets fucked by an American. In the tourism-heavy cities though, it’s a much more common and much more public affair.

I glanced around at the pairs, threesomes, and dogpiles that littered the subway seats. It was truly incredible. I felt so lucky to have my fellow hunky Americans to have horny gay sex with all day. It was so wonderful how normal it was.

“You Hungarians have been such good sports,” Harry said as he leaned backwards. His cocks looked harder than ever. Number 2 was practically in a death grip around Harry’s waist. “Though I think the five of you are mine.”

All five Hungarians flinched simultaneously, even the ones knocked out in drunken pleasure. Number 1 turned towards Harry magnetically, his body going slack. Number 3 stepped out from behind me to do the same.

“The five of you come here and please me,” Harry demanded. Number 2 stayed put, already present. Number 1 practically pounced back towards Harry’s crotch, clearly regretting leaving. Number 3 took up the position behind Harry, gently rubbing his four arms up and down Harry’s own sets.

Suddenly lucid, Number 4 and Number 5 each stood up and sauntered over. The each took one of Harry’s sides, worshipping him head to toe.

I continued to stand there as Harry’s legs seemed to buckle, the five Hungarians pulling him down to the floor. The subway scene shimmered and disappeared as the small dog pile of men remained. It writhed around as the five men went to town on their new owner.

I glanced around the Hungarian gay bar once more, it had been a good find. All the men here were good-looking, by non-American standards. As I looked out at the crowds of men, I swear I heard Harry say something.

“Ahhhchoooo!” I sneezed. I grabbed a napkin and wiped down my nose. I glanced at the dogpile once more, it now growing in size. As an American, I usually would have joined in on such things as Americans tended to do. But I was sick and had actual work to do tomorrow. Best to get some rest.

And there I was again. Out on the quiet street. I rubbed my nose slightly and let out a big sigh as snow fell upon my shoulders. It was hard enough that I was obviously American, now everyone was going to be looking at me because I was sick. Maybe I’d find a good-looking man on the street and treat him well.

I sighed and looked over to my other body that had walked out of the bar with me. As everyone knows, Americans can instantly duplicate themselves. It was often hard to explain to foreigners how one mind was spread across multiple bodies, but a sexual demonstration usually cleared things up quickly.

“I really should go back to the hotel,” I sniffled. I looked to myself, seeing through both pairs of eyes. My body nearer to the door flickered as it split into two, leaving three of us in total. I grinned at all three bodies, two of me walking back along the street while the other walked back through the door.

Sickness be damned, I’d recombine tomorrow. Right now, I would walk back to the hotel, have some ravenously good sex straight to dawn and maybe set up a few sleeping bodies to make sure I was well-rested before my meetings. There, no doubt, I’d have some sex with some of my other American colleagues as we set up some bodies in a break room (or a hallway, who cares?). I might make another of me to suck me off while I have my presentation, then I might even treat some of our Hungarian partners to a good old American orgy. It works wonders on business deals.

All the while I could keep a body at the gay bar. Maybe I’d treat the patrons well, all at once of course. I could even keep listening to Harry and his growing harem on this festive night. Hopefully they wouldn’t mind a few sniffles. I’d hate for it to keep interrupting the story.

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