The Dark Room

dark roomI decided to check out one of sin city’s sex clubs, as it was my fourth night in town without so much as a blowjob and I was going crazy. The place was a little more run-down than I had imagined, but it was fairly busy with a diverse crowd. It had numerous private rooms, various “scene-rooms”, and a dark room. I wrapped a towel around my waist and wandered around the narrow, red-lit halls and for 30 minutes or so, but no one really caught my interest. I poked my head in the dark room, which had an s-shaped entry hall to keep out the light. I couldn’t see a thing, but it was full of moaning action. I was tempted to join the fun, but everyone entering or leaving the room were out-of-shape guys who all looked older than my grandfather.

Frustrated yet horny, I headed to the showers and decided jacking off in front of random guys could be fun. A few guys stopped to watch me and I was about to crank one out and call it a night when a fucking stud stepped into the room, glanced at my hard cock and smiled. He looked Latin or Italian with cropped dark hair and dark eyes. He had a smooth, ripped gymnast body and a chiseled face with a few days growth of scruff. His dick hung low and was semi-hard; his balls were smooth and full. He joined me under the stream of hot water without a word, pushed my hand away from my aching cock, and slowly stroked it. He was shorter, maybe 5’9”, and he licked my neck and hairy chest before dragging me out of the shower by my cock. I followed him into the dark-room without question.

I couldn’t see for shit, yet allowed him to lead me deep into inside. The room felt bigger than I had imagined, and smelled of man and bleach. My stud pulled me close to him and began licking my chest again. I wrapped my hands around his neck and guided him to my right nipple, which he began chewing on. I jumped when someone touched my thigh, and again when someone else started rubbing my back. I ran my hands down the stud’s ripped body and encountered random hands and mouths along the way. He reached up and began kissing me and I focused on his mouth as someone started rubbing my ass. He started moaning and I could tell someone was blowing him. He let go of my cock and grabbed my neck with both hands, pulling my mouth towards his as we continued to make out.

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Disney Blow Job


I was hanging out with a few buddies at what I like to call the biggest gay bar in Orange County: The Cove Bar at the Disneyland Resort. I counted 13 gay guys here that Saturday night; 15 if you count two of five bartenders. My two buddies and I were deep into our fourth drink and I was enjoying a good hard buzz. Four other guys joined us and we were having a great time talking about absolutely nothing as only a group of drunken men can do.

Some guy across the bar kept staring at me the entire time we were talking. He was wearing a black t-shirt and a grey baseball cap, and I really couldn’t see much through his sunglasses aside from the fact he looked Latin and roughly two hundred years younger than me. At one point, I was drunk enough to salute him with my martini and beckon him to join us, but he simply smiled and pointed to the girl sitting next to him who was animatedly talking with some other girl.  Continue reading

The Massage Client

massage clientI have seen and heard practically everything you can imagine during my ten years as a massage therapist, and am no longer capable of being surprised. I’ve learned long ago that it is easier to work on straight guys rather than gay ones. It’s not that I have anything against gay guys, as I am way more into men than women, but the reality of massage clients is nothing like the hot guys you see on TV and movies, so being hit on by my clients is rarely a fun experience. I rent a massage studio in an upscale gym here in Dallas which attracts successful, and generally straight, businessmen.

My 3:30 showed up a few minutes early, which was fine as my Wednesdays are typically slow. The guy was several inches shorter than I am, maybe 5’9”, with cropped dark hair, striking grey eyes, and a day’s worth of stubble. I’m guessing he was in his early thirties. Like most of my clients, he had already changed out of his street clothes in the locker room and was wearing a white t-shirt, grey sweats and black sneakers. The guy was hot, yet he seemed very shy as he explained that his girlfriend had given him a massage certificate as a gift, and that he had never had a professional massage before. I chatted with him for a few minutes about the gym, the shitty season the Mavericks were having, and even the weather to put the guy at ease before getting down to business. His certificate was for a 90-minute deep tissue massage and my next client wasn’t until six.

I explained he should get as undressed as his comfort level allowed and to begin face down on my table. He seemed hesitant, so I pointed out the draping sheet he could use for modesty and turned away from him to wash my hands and dim the lights.

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The Cop

My day sucked ass, and not in a good way: I spent nine hours at the office being yelled out by clients who refused to believe I couldn’t control the stock market, spilled clam chowder all over my pants during lunch, and got a speeding ticket on my way home from some homophobic asshole I had gone to high school with. I came home pissed, exhausted and reeking of fish. I yanked my clothes off as soon as I stepped in my front door and took a long hot shower. When I was certain I had washed the day off of me, I pulled on a pair of sweat shorts, grabbed a beer, and plopped down on my sofa to watch the news.

I must have dozed off, as I woke with a start when someone rang my doorbell. My heart dropped as soon as I looked through the peephole: It was Jason, that asshole cop, still in uniform. I cracked the door open. “Did you follow me home to make sure I didn’t break any other laws?

Jason laughed. “No, I got your address from your registration. Can I come in?”

“You here to arrest me?”

He shook his head. “Naw, I’m off duty.”

Incredulous, I opened the door without a word and let him in. I couldn’t believe this guy was in my house. He and his friends used to push me around in High School and tease me about being gay. It bothered me at the time but in retrospect, they were always more playful than mean – typical closed-minded high-school kids picking on an easy target. He looked the same as he did in high school, maybe a little heavier, and his formerly spiked blond hair was now cropped high and tight. His bright blue eyes and clean-shaven face made him look boyish, even though we had graduated over ten years ago. He looked good, but I suspected everyone looks better in a cop uniform. He would have looked a hell of a lot better if he wasn’t wearing a gun on his hip.

He must have picked up on my focus, because he glanced down at his gun and smiled. “I’m sorry, but I have to wear my firearm when in uniform, even when off duty. Nice place, by the way.”

I nodded dully. “Why are you here?”

He shrugged. “It felt like the right thing to do, after running into you tonight like that. I always wanted to apologize for high school, and all that. I wasn’t very nice to you back then.”

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