Poor guy

I was sitting at Kitai-Gorod, or Chinatown, metro station on a granite wall sucking the heat out of my ass and thighs. Tamara was there, too, sitting on my lap, and my arms were around her to keep warm. Kitai-Gorod has four exits, two at the top and two at the bottom of a wide cobblestone walkway boarded by bushes and oaks shading especially at night homosexuals and straight swingers ("naturals"). We were at the top, next to an octagonal chapel topped with a pagoda roof and cross with crooked footrest. It was dusk, but foot traffic was heavy and it was cold, so we thought we'd be alone together in the crowd.
I heard a high voice in front of us and looked up- there was an 18 year old boy in a US-style sweatshirt with low-relief ribbed elastic collar and a capital Q printed on it. He had a pale sleepless head like that of a gray space alien heads, gray eyes, a mullet and thin lips he was continually licking. The first thing he asked was, "Oooo, which of you is better?" Tamara turned her head back to show me how she was giggling, and I replied by burying my head behind her arm, as if to shield myself from the cold.
If you want to call a Russian guy a fag, you use the word "pedik", which comes from the word for pedophile. I look younger than I am, especially in Russia, where I look like a baby against the background of the wrecked and wrinkled; me cuddling my head into the back of Tamara's armpit was probably the unwisest thing I could have done, and soon several people were eying us.
The boy in front of us asked what we were looking for tonight, at which Tamara turned back and smiled at me in disbelief we were both willing to be amused by; he liked everyone and everything and was trying to enjoy life with as many different people as possible. I am principally curious about all facts, even trivia, and all sensations not brought about by "vice", but not all acts, and the curiosity definitely does not seep down into my fundament. Since I didn't want to raise any expectations, I just asked how much of a hemorrhoid (Russians call a pain in the ass a hemorrhoid) it was to be gay in Russia.
To our right a sallow, balding, dark-haired, ponytailed, blotchy-sallow bystander in markedly crooked gold-rimmed glasses approached us. His expression changed from a mortified skulk to one that seemed cautiously eager to . It looked like his head had been broken in two on a diagonal axis running below below his eyes. He said that he had been attacked a few years ago by skinheads. They fractured his skull, and he spent two weeks in a coma, and then I don't remember how much more time in the hospital bed, during which time he lost his job.
He came back. The need for love percolates all the way down to the very fundament in some men.
Tamara asked exactly what he was doing there, and the mulleted boy answered that he was there for oral sex.
"You're shaming me." Tamara looked back. I nestled into her armpit, trying to do it in the least sexy way possible.