I hover outside the door of the dilapidated student condo, just across the street from the University, waiting for him to come to the door. Instead, a message comes up.
“Enter the code 9134 and come downstairs”
I peer down at the keypad and punch them in. The door unlocks and I’m in. The staircase is unkempt and muddy from salt and snow. As I round the flight of stairs I see the door at the bottom open. I only see him when I get in front of it.
Ali is 18, as far as I care to know. In the photo he sent me, he was well groomed with a thin black goatee, staring up from the pillow at his camera with large alluring brown eyes. His brown skin was smooth, making me worry about his age. I’m relieved when I see him in person. The guy at the door is a little older. And a little rounder.
I smile. He’s still got the eyes, but the rest of him has succumbed to the frosh fifteen. He’s cute though, and I can’t imagine him needing to ever catfish by sending a fake photo.
He quietly leads me to his room, the first of several in the large basement apartment.
“My room’s a mess. Sorry.” he says.
“Ah, that’s ok.” The smell of rotting chicken is in the air, and several unwashed plates are on his dresser. Several day’s worth of underwear is on the floor.
“Mind if we turn off the light?” He switches off the light, plunging us into the dim glow from the streetlamps outside.
“I have to say, I’m surprised,” I tell him as I toss my coat on the floor. “When we talked a few months ago you were just looking for people to hang out and watch movies together.”
He laughs. “Before, I was looking for friends. And now I am like ‘just fuck it.‘”
He’s standing close to the bed, unsure of what to do.
I sidle up to him, and reach over with one hand and pull my shirt off, in one practised motion. He fumbles with his own, but it’s too late. I’m right in front of him. “Want to make out?” I ask.
As our lips touch, he kisses with the starved passion of a horny teenager. He engulfs my whole mouth and our faces twist against each-other as he nibbles my lips. Growing bolder, his tongue invades my own.
Our hands travel, caressing each other’s bodies. Mine roam downwards, and I cup his hardness which is pressing against his sweat pants. This is why I am here.
I pull away and looking into his eyes for approval, I slowly pull down his pants. He cooperates eagerly and in a moment we are both nude.
We resume kissing and my own cock pokes against his abdomen. In a moment I feel his dick make its way between my legs; it curves upwards and as I am standing I feel like I am riding on it. I can feel him begin to hump against my perineum. I open my eyes and he looks into them with uncertainty, even as he continues to thrusts against me. I allow this. With every motion, my own dick slides along his abdomen.
Finally I reach down between my legs, and grab his invading cock in my fist. As I stroke it I watch his eyes to roll back into his head in pleasure.
He’s gasping. I feel the slickness of his precum between my fingers.
“I really want to suck you,” he says.
I release him. “Go ahead.”
He kicks aside some textbooks on his bedroom floor, kneels down before me, and grasps my cock in his hands. He tries to get a good look, but there is not much to see in the darkness, aside from it’s length. It’s bigger than his, anyway. I flex it to make sure he knows that.
He takes a deep breath, and I gasp as suddenly I am engulfed in the warm softness of the teen’s mouth. He begins to suck with such skill, I swear he’s been doing it for years.
“God that’s good,” I exclaim, and reach behind his head to caress his thick black hair. I pull his head toward me and thrust slightly, making him suck me the way I like.
Maybe I thrust too hard or something. Anyway, he grabs my dick with his other hand and starts to stroke me off, while sucking. I feel my balls getting ready to gush and realize I can’t take much more so I push him off. (I always like to stay horny.)
He stands up and this time I’m kneeling, back against the bed. His penis is already quivering and leaking, so I start off slowly, moving from the bottom to the tip, then back to the bottom again. He wants it so bad, I feel his hands on me, too afraid to press me, but just trying to nudge me closer to his cock head.
I make him wait before finally taking him into my mouth, just a little at first, then more until it’s in my throat, where it belongs.
I swallow and move my tongue, caressing it’s entire area and he gasps.
Then, his hands are on my shoulders, steadying himself as he pulls out, and begins to thrusts in on his own. He seems to like the tip moving through my lips. I have fun caressing his butt in my palms.
Then he stops, lays on the bed, face up. I get between his legs, eager to resume, but his hand is there, stroking himself. I move near him to lick his balls and inhale the heady aroma of his scent.
“You want me to cum on your face?” he asks suddenly.
“No, I like to taste it.” I tell him.
That spurs him on, as his body arches into the air, his head pressed low into the pillow. His hand is a blur.
“Go now. Take it now–” he says, and I feel his other hand clumsily behind my ear, trying to direct me. I lunge at his cock, grabbing it between my lips. His hand moves lower down the shaft to make room, but still moving madly.
“Ahhh ahh—” he grunts, voice breaking into a falsetto. “I’m cummming!“
When I started my adventures I wanted desperately to feel a man cumming inside my mouth. I soon found that this was difficult. For one, cum is at body temperature, so it doesn’t really feel like anything. Often, it’s without taste as well. So I do appreciate the announcement. But this time, for once, I can feel it too. The teen’s cock spasms and his hips shoot up into the air and at the same moment I feel it hitting smack in the middle of my tongue, with all of the pressure of a dentist’s water pick. He keeps shooting, five shots in all, and I can actually feel its thickness against my tongue.
I gulp it down, and then keep sucking gently as his hand falls against his thigh and he lays there, chest heaving. I suck all I can, until he starts to giggle and wriggle away. Cut guys get sensitive.
As I get my clothes back on, he reluctantly gets up from his drowsy aftermath.
“Wait let me check for my roommates,” he warns me. He pokes his head out of his room, then gives me me the signal to go.
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.
I have a memory of a memory. I’m a young boy, I don’t know, maybe eleven years old, and I’m lying in my bed in the darkness. I feel a tightness in my chest, and eventually I sense a dark, formless figure. It is sitting on me. It is heavy like a dog, and it terrifies me. I can’t move. I can’t even lift my arm. I want to cry out to my mommy down the hall. But all I can do struggle to fill my lungs with air, while staring, petrified, into the shifting features of the horrific, shadowy beast. I do not know how I make it through the night. When I awake, my pyjamas are soaked, and the thing has fled.
The night terror never returned to me, but it had buried itself in my mind. As I grew older, I began to remember more. What was that, lying against my tummy? Was it the fuzz of a scrotum? Maybe it wanted something, but I was too afraid, and too young to recognize its erection. As a teenager, I would lie under my blanket, hand moving inside my white briefs, thinking of it. I even tried to conjure it, promising that I would do whatever depraved thing it wanted. But soon, somehow, my mind turned to girls, and the demon was forgotten.
I am well into my thirties, and I have not thought of it in years. But tonight something transpired that dredged up these ancient dreams and left me shaken.
It’s winter. The polar vortex has exhaled its icy breath over University Town. I’m free in the evening for the first time in months, and I happen to see a familiar, faceless profile on Grindr. Even after five months, he remembers me. It takes only two messages before I’m driving over.
When he leads me into his apartment, my pulse quickens. You wouldn’t notice him if he were in an office cubical next to you. Yet I know what he’s capable of. I’m sure we would make great friends, if I dared to ask. He’s close to my age, for one, and from his bookshelf, it seems we are both closet geeks. After taking off my boots, we head straight to his bedroom.
I see a copy of Predictably Irrational, a book on business psychology, lying on the floor. “Hey, I read that! It’s useful,” I remark.
“I’ve been meaning to finish it,” he says. He’s still got his pants on. They are tan in colour, suitable for the office, and they look pricey. They fit him perfectly, and the suede textured material closely hugs his ass. I can see the top of his boxers against his tight abdomen. He pulls off his shirt, revealing his firm body, and walks around the bed to the window. Outside, across a small lake, we see the buildings and lights of University Town. With a quick pull, the view disappears behind his thick velvet curtains.
My pants and shirt lay in a heap on the floor, and I leap into his bed, sliding up to relax against the headboard.
The outline of his erection is clear and left leaning. From across the room, he locks eyes with me. His gaze is intense, like he is looking into my soul.
“What are you looking for?” he asks. “Same as last time?”
“Yeah. I just like to be used.”
I feel his eyes raking over my body as he approaches. He reaches towards the lamp.
The room disappears into darkness.
“Well this is different,” I remark. He doesn’t respond, but I hear the rustling of his pants sliding off.
His hand brushes against my side, and the bed creaks as he mounts it. He’s straddling my waist. My eyes are beginning to adjust. I see only his dark outline rising up above me. A sliver of light reflects from the smooth head of his penis. Erect and ready, it slopes under its own weight towards my chest. I feel his hands reaching for me, finding my shoulders, and shoving me down. I obey, and slide my body down, slipping along his silky smooth sheets.
Under me, something hard digs into my naked back and I wince. I open my mouth to tell him, but I only manage to gasp before he stuffs himself in. He grips its base, shakes it around, slapping my molars and soft parts alike. I close my lips around it and taste his delicious saltiness. I let my tongue roll its head, feeling its smooth yet squishy texture.
He slowly pulls it out then shuffles closer to my face. His balls, shaved smooth, press against my nose. I open up to receive them, and suck one into my mouth. I slowly suck on it and hear him gasp above me. I’ve found something he loves.
A moment later he presses his penis through my lips once again.
“Suck,” he tells me.
I try to maintain a suction, which becomes difficult as he plunges his member against the back of my mouth, and pulls it out again. I can see nothing but darkness, and the thing poking my back is breaking my concentration. I bend my elbow back and my fingers close around the pointed object that is bothering me. I pull it out and hold it up in front of me.
Wordlessly, he takes it from my hands, and without removing his penis from my mouth, leans over and puts it beside the lamp.
His hands go back onto my shoulders again, and he thrusts a while. Then, unexpectedly, he rolls back out of the bed.
“What’s wrong?”
“Lay down. With your head off the bed.”
“Oh! Sure,” I say. Damn, I intentionally choose this position because it gives me more control. Last time he face-fucked me, he nearly suffocated me. Not that I didn’t enjoy it.
“I will try.” I spin around and lay back, head dangling from the side of the bed. “I’ll let you know if it’s too much.” I take a deep breath. At this point, I don’t know about the strange and terrifying thing that’s going to happen.
He steps forward, and I sense the warmth of his thighs around my ears, before he plunges his cock into my mouth. He gasps when it hits the back, and I brace myself, and allow it to slide down further. I stare up into the darkness and imagine what awesome sight I would be seeing if only the light were on. You’re fine, I tell myself. You can do this.
He pushes against my ribs with his hands, and draws himself out again. I slurp in a wet breath around his cock before he slams his body forward again. Maybe because he can’t see me, he is much rougher than last time. In the darkness I can hear his breath, coming in short gasps of pleasure. I focus on them to stop the urge to vomit. He’s sliding so far forward now he lifts one knee and then the other onto the bed, beside my shoulders. He’s directly over my face now. When he bounces on his knees, his penis drives straight down away from his body into my open mouth and deep into my throat.
I retch, and he pulls it out, stroking himself, and presses his balls against my mouth. I oblige and slurp them in, greatful for the break. I massage them in turn with my lips as I hear him gasping above me.
“Fuck,” he whispers, and shimmies even further forward. over my face. I’m licking his perineum. I can feel him stroking himself over my chest, bending his body to direct my licks further and further into his crack. In a moment, he’s sitting on my face. I suck in a breath through my nose. The air is rife with the smell of his fabric softener, his musky aroma, and the tiniest whiff of nastiness.
So far, everything is going great. I rake my tongue up through his crack, letting it slide over each thick, unshaven wiry ass hair, and finally shove it into his puckered hole.
“Oh yeah,” he breathes, plopping himself down onto my face. I open up and give his ass hairs a wet, sucking kiss. I’m making out with his bottom now, and his moans of pleasure mix with my own moans of appreciation at being able to serve him.
Suddenly he pulls away, flips around and crouches over my chest, his hands still moving furiously over his cock. I can see only his dark silhouette, his back is arched towards the ceiling.
His features seem to shift in the darkness. All of a sudden, pictures come flooding into my mind. They are a memory of a memory, warped by time. I feel a cold sweat break out, and I grip the sheets with my fists. It is like I am at the top of a ski hill, so high I cannot see the bottom, and I’m about to jump. It is terror, and excitement all at once.
Above me, the dark figure moves its fists over its cock, readying itself for what it has been waiting to do, for all these god damned years.
It stops and glares at me. I see the light glinting off its eyes, but I can’t make out his face. My imagination whirls. It looks like it has an impossibly huge mouth, filled with sharp spikes instead of teeth.
“You wanna eat my load?” the creature rasps.
“Uh huh” I squeak.
“What did you say?”
“Yes please, sir”
“Take it.” it barks, pointing its penis towards me, almost straight down. I feel its other paw behind my head, lifting me up, and as the cock passes through my lips. The dark figure thrusts itself into my face, its hands press me into it, forcing me to eat its large, slick cock all the way down to the thick pubic hair. It thrusts like an animal and I can hear it panting and grunting. And then, as if to further impress me with its size, it stops, and flexes its cock muscles. It expands in my mouth, contracts. Expands, contracts.
He’s not flexing, I realize as I feel a thickness surge in back of my throat. It tastes like pure evil, bitter yet decadent. I close my lips around it and lightly suck. I hear deep, ragged breaths above me as each pulse fills my mouth with more. Soon the pulses have stopped, but the dark form holds my face tightly against his body, forcing me to suckle him and draw out every precious bit of his demon seed while he softens. I swallow it all, just as I had promised.
The form shifts, reaches behind itself, feeling around the darkness for something. A hand, hot as fire, closes around my own cock. I usually don’t like getting reciprocated, but like in my ancient dream, I am paralysed and powerless to stop him. The beast roughly yanks my dick from my briefs and begins to pump it. With my mouth still being impaled, I feel the unstoppable wave rising within me, and I tense up, trying to hold it inside. My cries are muffled against its flesh as I buck my hips into the air and shoot my pent up sperm onto its wrist. Waves of orgasm release me from my paralysis as my butt hits the bed again, and I feel thick, hot ropes land on my belly.
I’m done, and it hurts now. The demon carries on stroking without slowing down. I cannot speak with my mouth full. I squirm, but each time I move my waist, the cursed hand follows, ceaselessly stroking without mercy. My eyes well with tears and they spill over my cheeks, and just as I did before, I give up and submit to him. He holds me there, and I lie under him, feeling empty and used, until his dick is completely flaccid and pops from my mouth on its own.
I do not know how long I lay there. When the light comes on, the demon is gone, and only my unassuming hookup remains. My skin is slick with sweat and cum, mostly mine. The sudden chill makes me shiver.
I search around for something to wipe myself. Finding nothing, I wait while he towels his own crotch and meticulously wipes his wrist before he tosses it to me. I use the corner to dab the tears from my eyes.
We do not speak until I am dressed. I do not have words to describe what happened. Instead, we talk about the weather until I am in the elevator and the door closes. Then, knees weak, I collapse against the railing and wait there until long after I reach the ground floor, just trying to process what I have just experienced.
A meetup from Grindr should be considered tentative until he’s in your house. Half the time, the guy doesn’t show up. He gets freaked out at the last minute and cancels. He has to work. His mom drops by.
If you can get him through the door, you are usually in for a good time. But other times, when you first lay eyes on him, you just know it’s not going to work and now you have tokick the guy out of your fucking house.
These are stories of three failed hookups, with a twist. In all three, the guy being kicked out is me.
The last laugh
The twink has a great smile and he really want’s to suck my dick.
I want to let him. I’m sitting in the Starbucks parking lot, ready to drive, waiting for him to message back. His parents are in Vancouver this week, and he just has to wait for his brother to go to work before he has the house to himself.
“Is he gone?” I text back, getting impatient. I’ve already ignored two other guys while I’ve been waiting.
“Yeah he left. Come over”
I start mapping my way to his house and start the car.
“Wait he came back to get something”
This is not going well. The last thing I want is someone to come home and find his little brother face deep in my crotch. I turn the car off and wait a few more minutes in the parking lot. “Please tell me when you are absolutely sure nobody will come back.”
“Come now.”
Finally, I drive over to the suburban neighbourhood and park several blocks away. As I walk up to the door, my heart flutters. This is very early on in my adventures and I’m still getting the rush, telling me to turn back. I no longer fear being murdered. But I imagine his muscle-bound big brother coming home, and while my friend blubbers and tries to explain I have to shamefully pull up my pants and get my shoes on and slink out the door.
I text him at the door and it opens immediately. He’s a fresh faced boy of eighteen, and after I get my shoes off (and put them in a easily accessible escape location) he leads me to the living room. It’s a modern home, and probably the family’s second. A chandelier hangs from the vaulted ceiling in the white plush carpeted living room.
“Uh – Do you do this often?” I ask. I never know what else to say and this greeting has worked to break the ice before. My heart is pounding now and I still feel nervous. I try to keep it out of my voice.
He smiles and laughs. “Not really, no.” He stands near the couch, which is covered in soft, ivory coloured leather.
I plunk down and settle into the soft cushions, and unbuckle my pants. At this, he sits down beside me. I yank my underwear down and spread open my knees.
He stares down at my crotch for a moment, and giggles.
I’m anxious now. I’ve exposed myself in the family room. I can’t stop looking around, sure that someone will come down the staircase, or the front door will fling open. “Er– It’s not hard yet, but that’ll change pretty quickly once you get started,” I tell him.
He stands up. “I don’t think it’ll work,” he tells me, his nervous giggles turning to outright laughter.
I’m surprised that he’s laughing at my size. On a good day, I’m an easy 7. “Ah, don’t worry, I’m a grower – it gets much bigger…”
“No,” he interrupts, slowly backing away. “I mean, I don’t think I can do this!” He’s stopped laughing.
Consent has been withdrawn. “OK. No worries,” I tell him evenly. While he hovers, I silently latch my belt and clumsily pull on my shoes without undoing the laces.
As I speed-walk back to my car, I start to text him back, to tell him not to worry about it. But as I’m typing the screen implodes and goes back to the grid. I’m blocked.
I’m kicking myself. Damn it! I was a ball of nerves there from the start. I realize then that so far I’ve always relied on the other guy to make me feel comfortable. It’s time to grow up, because it’s just as much my job too.
A week passes. He messages me again from a new profile, sending me his familiar picture again, and asks what I’m into. As I move to text him back, he writes, “Wait I think I saw you b4.” and re-blocks.
This time, I’m LMAO.
The roommate
“I’m an artist,” he tells me, in his Australian accent, after I ask what he does. He’s got blond hair, and he’s pleasantly muscled.
That seems like enough conversation for now. Comfort achieved. I take off my shirt, to show him my own set of toned pecs, and lean down to suck his cock.
His cut penis is smooth as a dolphin’s nose and quickly rises to a full 7”, which I gratefully take into my throat.
The Australian lies back on the bed, completely motionless, and stares at the ceiling.
“Is there anything I could be doing differently?” I ask him.
“Nah.” he grunts.
I lick his balls, work the shaft, the frenulum, swirl my tongue around the smooth head, trying to find his sweet spot. But it seems like nothing works.
Suddenly, he shifts and grabs his phone off the nightstand.
“Sorry mate, my roommates coming back!” he suddenly exclaims. Shit. I stand up and pull my shirt on.
He’s already grabbing a pack of cigarettes from the nightstand. “Tell you what. I’ll distract her in the garage, you wait a bit and go out the front way.”
“But how long should I wait?” I ask him, panicked.
He pauses, annoyed. “Have a bat, I don’t care. A couple of minutes.”
I dutifully pace his bedroom, looking at the painted pictures on his wall.
I can hear the ticking clock in the kitchen as I carefully pad down the stairs in my socks, silently put on my shoes and slip out the door.
I’m walking across the road before I dare to look back. I see him having a smoke in the empty garage, and then I have to grin at his ingenuity.
What a classy way of being thrown the fuck out!
Gore
STI tests always stress me out. You go in, get swabbed, pee in a cup, and you can’t call for your results for five days. I know that HIV is not a major concern for my oral adventures, as it requires blood to blood contact. I worry about chlamydia, gonorrhoea, and syphilis, which have about a thousand times the prevalence in the general population. During sixteen months of adventures, they’ve never found anything from my oral swabs, and I have begun to believe that blow jobs are as low-risk as they say. Luckily I happen to love doing them.
Yesterday, I had my most recent test, and with the stress of it all, I’m feeling a little worn out lately. There’s nothing like a hookup to get my blood flowing.
I get to his messy bachelor apartment. He stands there, freshly showered, wearing only a purple towel. As soon as I see his face, I realize that this town is too small.
Before I could stop myself, I say, “Hey you look familiar.”
He tenses up. “Why?”
Shit. I should keep things to myself. What I said would freak me out. But too late now. “Do you know Ricky?”
He shifts uncomfortably. “Yeah. How do you know him?”
“I don’t really. But I saw you in his Snapchat story.” I follow random guys who post their Snapchat ids on Grindr. Ricky stands out because he regularly stages outrageous photo stories. Last week, he had posted five public photos about him and my host picking up a pizza and getting trashed in his apartment. It was very entertaining, and I was just surprised to find someone I recognized.
“You want to suck my cock?” he says.
He sits on the couch and spreads open the towel. He’s hard already and soon he’s humping my throat as I kneel on the floor and go down on him.
He has a perfectly sized dick for me and i really love the feeling of it slamming against my throat so I go deep.
Gradually I begin to sense something unusual. I’m on auto pilot though, just enjoying the moment. But 30 seconds pass by when it suddenly clicks.
“There’s blood here.” I croak.
He jumps up, cock jutting out straight from his body, and we both gawk at a microscopic fleck of scarlet near the tip of his dick.
“Do you have a cut?! Or do I have a cut?!” I say. The shock and danger of it all just starts to set in. I need to know NOW.
“Fuuuuck.” He says, wiping at it with the towel.
“Where did it come from?” I ask again. I’m putting on my shirt, finding my footwear. This is over.
He’s bending down, examining his penis.
“I don’t think it’s me.” He announces.
I can still taste it. my throat is raw and burning. “I don’t know what happened. I’m sorry.” Shit, I want to run it the door and pretend this never happened. But I’ve got to know. “When was your last STI test?!”
“F- February” He stutters.
“Clean?”
“Yeah.”
“Mine was yesterday,” I say. Fuck, that really sounds like I’m lying. ”I’ll know the results next week. The last one was May. Clean.”
Now I can leave. “Sorry,” I tell him, heading out the door. “It’s never happened before. And don’t block me or I won’t be able to tell you my results. And I’d would appreciate if you let me know your next test too.”
The next day, I feel even more run down than before. I just have a standard cold and a sore throat. By the time my test results come in (all negative), I’m over it and back to my healthy self. I dutifully text him everything I know. He hasn’t blocked me yet, but hasn’t said anything either.
I don’t expect I’ll hear from him again. There’s just no coming back from that.
