This is different. I don’t typically get a wristband when I check in to the Sheraton in Toronto. It seems out of place, and cheapens the experience. I look at the petite Chinese woman at the check-in counter quizzically.
“This is for your security, sir. This weekend we are not allowing overnight visitors due to an event.”
“What’s the event?” I asked.
She looks shocked, leans forward and mouths, “It’s the Pride parade.”
“Oh yeah,” I say trying to pretend I only momentarily forgot. This business trip was getting a lot more interesting.
Outwardly, I have always politely ignored pride parades. Inwardly, I used to loath them. Gayness, I reasoned, should not be flaunted. Why could they not suppress their urges, as I had? I had gotten along perfectly well, married a loving woman, had kids. It wasn’t too difficult for me to just keep this side of myself locked away. I kept my eyes up and away in the Goodlife change rooms. Sure, I had gay acquaintances, and made polite conversation, but I always avoided them otherwise. They made no attempt at self-control. I did not hate them, but I hated the unfairness that they saw no need to contain it.
That all changed a year ago. After I took some medication for depression, something inside changed. I felt confident. I brazenly fooled around with men, and it energized me. I fretted at my lack of guilt. It was if my conscience had been switched off. I could see things on two levels at once. Intellectually, I knew that was doing was unquestionably wrong, as I was committed to my wife. But as long as I was careful, it would not hurt anybody, and most importantly, it didn’t feel wrong. It made me happy, and gave me a spring in my step that she noticed and appreciated. My bitterness about our dead bedroom was gone. I was free to love and spoil her, in the nonsexual ways she wanted. What did it matter if I spoiled myself too?
I push open the heavy door to my hotel room, drop my things on the floor, splash some water on my face, and set off in the direction of the festivities.
The streets are barricaded for several blocks approaching Church street. The party is on the long street, the centre of the Toronto Gay Scene. Rainbow coloured and pink tented booths are set on on either side of the wide avenue, and the festivities stretch off endlessly in both directions. One booth offers free corn dogs, and these are easily deep throated by countless jokers. My weakness is poutine. For a moment, I rest my hand on my almost-abs under my thin T-shirt. Fuck it. I buy a container and dig into it with gusto while I slowly stroll through the throng.
Unlike the photos on the news, the people are almost normal. Some are topless, sure, but it’s a hot day. I only saw one thing extreme: A thin, bearded man, his leathery skin parched by the sun, walks nude with his flaccid dick dangling low between his legs. He holds a cardboard sign with his twitter handle scrawled on it in black marker. He enjoys the craning necks of the crowds that pass him.
A familiar face appears in the masses walking towards me. He’s brown-skinned and black-bearded. He walks, guffawing and joking with his arms locked around the shoulders of another man and a woman. He looks up, and when he sees me, his big brown eyes brighten. He grins, breaks away from the group and runs toward me, shouting “Hey. Hey! Don’t be a stranger!”
I smile, spread my arms and we embrace warmly. Back in University Town, while his boyfriend was away, I had sucked his dick many times, and most recently, I had made him writhe in desperation, aching for release in his shower. But I can’t really say anything. Is that his boyfriend there now, eyeing us? The moment passes, and we both continue on our way.
Further on, the crowd grows thick and hard to walk through. Fences confine us to the sidewalks. Suddenly my eyes widened as I see Justin Trudeau, just steps away from me. His aides usher him into a van. He suddenly brushes them aside, flashes his smile at a camera and speaks soundlessly into a microphone, getting in one last sound bite. He keeps talking even as the suits finally succeed in stuffing him inside and the van pulls away
The parade was starting now. A marching band playing trumpets and big booming drums marches past. Maybe if I were with friends, this would be fun, but alone it is just another parade. A group of black women, clad in black and gold march past. One is angry and shouting into the crowd with a megaphone. I leave the commotion, and make my way back down Church street. I have a plan, and it feels like the right time to do it.
If you walk far enough, the crowds disappear, and you get to an unremarkable street. In the middle of a long brick wall are some ornate wooden doors. They are marked simply with the words SPA EXCESS. I slink toward them, pretending that I am on my way somewhere else. A the last second, I pull one open and disappear inside.
I’ve been here before, but there was nobody around at the time. I successfully visited the bathhouse without touching anybody. Today, anything might happen.
Up the stairs, a small cashier’s window has a hastily written sign above it. This weekend, it says, there will be no student discounts. Business is good. I wait awkwardly, ashamed in my own skin, while the clerk lets a couple of guys exit before he gets to me.
“I’d like a locker, please.” I shove a crisp twenty dollar bill towards the window. The clerk expressionlessly hands me the key and the small white towel. I take a deep breath and duck in through the door, head down. The bar area is never busy. A fat, bearded man sits at a table, reading his iPhone. He’s wearing nothing but the skimpy towel. I feel conspicuous. I’ve got to get out of these street clothes.
I head past the bar to the stairs. It takes a couple of tries before I find the floor where the lockers are. All around the room, slowly changing rainbow lights illuminate bubbles coursing through plastic tubes. A hot stud is seated there, taking off his shoes. The black light makes his skin purple and his teeth and towel light up like torches. I quickly find my locker in the meagre glow. Without looking at the guy, I quickly take off my shorts, shirt, and boxers, and carefully wrap the towel around myself, and shove my things into a heap in the bottom of the box.
I head upstairs. In the staircase, I pass a tall and blonde haired guy. He looks at me hungrily as I hurry past him.
Upstairs is where the people are, but so are all the walls. A central hallway divides the floor. To the left is a corridor of private rooms. To the right is an opening into darkness. Guys are everywhere., walking briskly through the halls, not speaking, trying not to look at each-other. Dance music blares from the speakers, but it is not enough to drown out the sounds of gasping grunting pleasure from somewhere.
I slowly walk down the central hallway, so I will not look lost. The only one with clothes is an employee. He sits on a stool reading his phone. In front of him on a small table is a basket of condoms and lube.
Just past him is a bathroom, and further on, the other entrance to the maze. The screams are louder here. I turn the corner and enter. Just around another bend is a small alcove, lit with red lights. A small crowd of guys sit on boxes around the edges, looking dour. In the middle, a guy is in the sex swing, screaming rhythmically as he is fucked. The top holds onto his legs firmly, concentrating on his task while the others watch and wait their turn.
I suddenly feel weak and scared. I continue around another corner, leaving the cries behind me. It’s darker here, and there’s a bench, so I sit down.
The only light comes from a long, narrow window in front of me, looking out onto some white tiles. As I watch, a man comes up to the window, pulls out his cock, and pisses on it. It’s one way glass, and this is the bathroom I saw coming in. I watch as another dick comes in and empties into the trough. This one is dark skinned, cut, and very thick. I try to imagine the guy from his crotch. In a moment I am stroking myself, and the towel lays on the bench beside me.
“Hi,” a voice comes from the darkness, and I bolt upright and fling the towel over my penis. The voice came from an Asian man, standing and blocking me into my little corner. He is well built and has defined abs. Only a wisp of grey in his temples belie his age.
“Come, let’s go to your room,” he tells me.
“I don’t have a room,” I tell him. “And I uh, I just like to suck.”
“It’s good. Let’s go,” he says, pointing somewhere outside.
“No I’m OK,” I tell him.
“What you mean?”
“Well I’m a little concerned about STIs…”
“It’s fine. I clean!” he says enthusiastically gesturing to his crotch .
“No.” I say firmly. “I’m good for now.”
The pushy Asian rolls his eyes and disappears into the darkness.
I take a deep breath. I’m flustered and I need to walk. I rush through the rest of the maze now.
The walls feel bumpy. They are just made of plywood, coated with layers of black paint over
layers of use over more layers of paint. I stumble out into the hallway, and keep going. Now I”m in the room section.
Most of the doors are closed or only half open. I peek inside one, and see a large bottom, pointed at the door, its owner’s head buried in the pillow. “Come in,” I hear his muffled voice beckon. I quickly move on.
In the next room, I see a young brown man lying on his back, reading his phone. His cock sticks up into the air, and his balls hang down over his shaved crack. The sight turns me on. I keep going. When I get to the end of the hall, I glance back, and see his head sticking out of the room. He quickly ducks back inside when I spot him.
I circle back around and lazily make the route again, and this time when I arrive at his room, I take a breath and duck inside. The man couldn’t have been more than 20. He lazily lay back on his bed, knees spread apart, looking sexy as fuck.
“Hi there,” I tell him.
“Hey bud, you party?” he asks me, barely moving to face me.
I pause, not knowing how to answer. “By party, do you mean marijuana?”
He chuckles. “Yeah.”
“No sorry. I just wanted to see if you wanted a blowjob?”
He looks down at his cock and laughs at me. “I’ve been here since Friday,” he tells me. “I’ve fucked so many guys I can’t count. No way, I’m taking a break!”
He spots something on my hand.
“Hey man you’re married?!”
“Yeah I am,” I admit.
He looks agitated, shaking his head. “You shouldn’t be here!”
“Yeah, yeah. I know.”
He grabs my wrist, looks at me in the eye, pleading. His pupils are wide as platters. “You gotta be careful bud. People lie.”
Ashamed, I jerk free from his grip and leave his room, closing the door on him behind me.
So far this has been terrible. I’m all tense now, so I head downstairs to the spa.
I hang my towel and key on the hook and hope nobody steals it. A muscular black man is showering. His robust rear is facing me. I take the faucet across from him, and try to look at him as much. When he’s done wiping his face, I spin my head back so he doesn’t see me, close my eyes, and imagine his body. It is a pleasant picture.
I’m nude, and it feels strange as I walk past him, dripping wet, to the hot tub. A couple of guys are in there already. One is watching the TV, and the other leans back against the tiles with his eyes half closed. I strut past him, showing off my body, and slowly lower myself into the hot, surging waters. I find a spot on the side, where I can see the TV, and relax as the jets massage my lower back.
When I look back to the entrance for the black guy, instead I get a shock. There, staring at me, is the pushy Asian. He makes no move to get in. When he catches my eye, he backs away, and disappears into the other room again. Fuck, I feel like I’m being followed. To make sure he’s gone, I watch vintage porn on the TV for a while longer. The other two guys quietly leave before I start to get too hot, and pull myself up onto the tiles again.
I quickly shower off again, trying not to think of the hundreds of loads that must have been dumped into that water. Beside the shower is another door. I open it and peek inside. A blast of dry heat hits my face, with the scent of cedar and cleaning chemicals. I’ve stumbled into a sauna. At the other end, a group of four guys stand around. On the bench, a guy lies on his side, awkwardly getting fucked. He lies at this awkward angle because another man grasps his head, making him suck his dick. It is quiet here, the only sounds are the slurping and sliding of flesh.
One of the men sitting the bench spots me. It is the pushy Asian again. I duck out of the room. I find my towel on the hook and dash up the stairs.
I’m wandering through the darkest part of the maze. In an open area, a large structure with steps lets you climb and look down at the floor below. I climb it, but there is a bald man at the top, so I tip-toe back down. As I walk around the structure, I see eyes peering out. The men have a hiding place, where they wait for their prey, beckoning them to connect. I’m constantly adjusting my towel, pulling it tighter around myself. I feel so vulnerable and out of my element. I have no idea what I want to do. It’s thrilling.
Someone stands in my way, lightly grasping my arm. We’re so close, I can feel his hot breath on my face. I’m looking into the eyes of my Asian friend.
I feel a rush of anger. Reviews of the spa consistently complain of pushy Asians. I thought this was merely racism, but now it’s confirmed. Everything I’ve read in the Bathhouse Blues blog says this is a massive breach of etiquette. I’ve rejected him already and he should move on. I open my mouth to tell him so.
“Suck me,” he says.
“Okay,” I say quietly.
He clasps my hand, and turns, briefly surveying the place. This is his territory. He leads me away, through the dark hallways. We pass the window to the urinal without pausing, and head straight toward the sex swing. I wonder what I will do if I have an audience.
At the last moment, we swerve to the side. He opens a door, peeks inside, and motions for me to go in. The space is a closet, with barely enough room for one person. I enter and crouch before him. Everything darkens as he stands in the doorway, and half closes the door behind him. As I look up at him expectantly, he lets down his towel.
I can barely see the outline of his erection. I let it sit against my face, and then, heart pounding, I stick out my tongue and lick his soft ballsack. They smell like the soap in the spa area. Slowly I let my tongue explore,. while his penis rests against my nose, threatening to reach my eye. I try desperately to catch a glimpse of it, but I cannot see any signs of disease in the darkness. Finally, I open my mouth and let it slide in through my lips.
He moans and rests his hands on my head while I suck him to hardness. Soon, I am bobbing up and down on his cock and he is moaning louder and louder. I wonder, how often does he come here? He came after me so casually. I imagine he gets his cock sucked right here in this closet, every single day, just by asking and being shot down over and over.
He grabs his cock and slaps it against my lips, staring down at me in complete comfort. Then he lets go, and I’m forced to resume the bobbing.
“I cum soon,” he says.
I look up at him and keep on sucking. I live for this.
“You swallow?!” he exclaims, thrilled. Then, grabbing my shoulders, he thrusts with a renewed vigor. I feel the smoothness of his cock sliding and hitting the back of my mouth, sometimes scraping against my molars.
“Ooooooh,” he groans and thrusts into my mouth, and I feel him exploding onto my tongue. The man is shaking as an orgasm blasts through every muscle in his body.
Then, without another word, he wipes off my spit with the towel and deftly ties it back onto his body, and he is gone. The door swings shut with a creak, almost hitting me in the face.
The fun is over, and I think I’ve had all I can take.
When I open the door to leave, I am taken aback. There, waiting patiently, is the muscular black guy from the shower. He stares straight at me with his deep set eyes, and it is clear that he has been waiting in a queue of one for his chance to be with me.
I back up into the closet again and beckon him to come in with me. He saunters up and drops his towel. Tiny curls of black hair cover his nether regions. He positions himself in front of my face breathlessly, then looks on with anticipation. His penis is so long, it dangles downwards even while erect.
I run my hands along the smooth, black skin on his legs, feeling every hard curve of his brawn. Then, eager to please him, I engulf his tremendous penis between my lips.
I love the taste of black. I suck in a huge breath, pulling his musky scent into my lungs as if I could consume his manliness and make it mine.
I’m still carried away from the blowjob I just gave, so instead of giving him the buildup he deserves I immediately begin to suck and bob my head. I cup my hands under his balls. Their weight is like two massive ball bearings in my palm. I slide my hands around to his ass, and let my fingers dip slightly into its crevice, admiring the hard muscularity of his body.
I can taste his precum, delicious and sweet, and I try to with futility to force more of it down into my throat.
Inexplicably, he tears himself away. I am stunned, and I almost want to cry. What did I do wrong? The man cock disappears into the towel, out of reach. I look up into his face, searching for an explanation, but I get none. With a turn of his body he is gone, vanishing behind the dark wall into the maze.
I get to my feet, and stumble away, grimacing at my numb legs welling with pins and needles. He just didn’t want to cum yet, I tell myself. Maybe he just got here.
As for myself, I’m done. I walk purposefully down the hall, back towards the locker room. There are fantasies, and there is stupidity, and it’s too easy to give in here .
Back in the locker room my Asian friend is closing his locker. He’s already fully dressed in his shirt and Chinos.
“You’re leaving already?” he says.
“Yeah, I guess I got what I wanted.”
Another fun adventure.