Testing in Room 200

There's an outreach clinic that does free HIV testing at the baths. 

They have a guy set up in one of the dressing rooms... and on the night that I go, the usual guy that does it is really, really cute. Like stupid cute. He barely comes up to my chin, with these sparkly bright blue eyes, a bit of a golden scruffy beard, and these little dimples when he smiles. And he smiles at me a LOT, looking up under long curly bangs that hang over his eyes - a little shy, a little impish... a smile that makes Daddy very happy in the penis. He smiles at me, he looks down at my dick (I wear my towel over my shoulder, not around my waist) and he smiles back up at me. If he wasn't working doing missionary work on behalf of the horny gay Universe, advocating for safer sex in an unsafe-sex place, it would be a blatant invitation.

It always seems to me a little unfair, almost like having a sexy shirtless shot guy handing out free shots at a bar...  but you find out when you take one, that it's a vegetarian protein drink, and not a promotion for a new brand of vodka. There's also a certain aspect of "dude, not now, the teacher's watching" - it feels a little guilty, having random unsafe sex with strangers (more on that later, I'm a little safer than you might think) while a guy is sitting there offering to test you for the consequences of your actions. I totally respect what they're doing - they're making testing free and available for a population that really needs free and available testing, and they're doing their best to make it as shame-free and non-judgmental as possible. You step in and he closes the door, and it's all conducted in confidence and privacy. I applaud them for doing what they do. And a lot of guys really give them stink-eye and resent them being there, so I make a point to smile and say hi. 

Anyway... I had decided that the erotic irony was just too much, and after the third or fourth lap where he smiled at me, looked at my dick, and smiled at me again, I was going to stop and engage, and tell him that it was unfair of him to be so cute and friendly when he wasn't available for me to fuck... and before I could open my mouth, he picked up his pad of paper like he was doing an intake for me, and beckoned me into his little dressing room, and closed the door. I wasn't quite sure what was going on, if he thought I was looking to get tested. 

And then he knelt down and started nursing on my dick.

I put my hand on the back of his head and started to fuck into his mouth, and to my amazement he let me fuck him in the throat with zero resistance - I mean, physical resistance, sure - he gagged some, and retched a time or two, but just kept going like a trooper. He told me in a soft voice that he had to keep it quiet... so I made sure to keep my cock all the way in his throat so there wasn't much noise. I scolded him when he made any gagging sounds... and then I made him gag some more. I told him we had to be careful to not get his copious slobber all over his clean fresh scrubs. He was starting to drool down his face, and he had cocksucker tears streaming from his eyes. This sweet beautiful boy was very devoted to my dick. 

He peeled off his clothes, folding them into a neat pile with swift, practiced movements. He pulled a bottle of poppers out of nowhere and huffed some. I fucked his throat with his head pinned against the wall so that there was nowhere for him to go; he gazed up at me so I could see the odd mix of calm and near-panic in his eyes - trusting me to control him, to drive the experience, letting me manage his emotional and physiological state. I told him that I didn't want to get him in trouble; he told me that he's done this before - and with that, I knew we'd be OK. An announcement came over the loud speaker, saying that there was free HIV testing going on in Room 200. Meanwhile, actually IN room 200 - I was testing how deep down his throat I could get my cock. It was pretty deep. I could feel the cartilage in his nose bending against my pubis. The result was very good. He passed the test with flying colors. These rooms have thin walls and locking doors, but no ceilings; they are open at the top to the larger building, and we could hear guys walking past and talking. They could hear us grunting and slurping, although it's impossible to tell which room is which. 

"Safe" sex is such a complicated concept in the gay world - it's been used to mean "sex that reduces the risk of disease transmission," but there's also the older, more sinister meaning - sex in a space where you're unlikely to get your teeth knocked out, where someone won't kick you in the nuts and steal your wallet. A seedy bath house IS a safe space. Sex has always been dangerous. We can hurt ourselves and one another in a myriad of ways; anyone who can suck your dick, could bite it off if they only let themselves believe it. I thought about these things as I was using my cock to completely obstruct this sweet obedient young man's airway. I told him some of my thoughts; he didn't respond, because, well, I had taken away his power of speech. I kind of enjoy these bully-pulpit moments. I like hearing myself talk, and I like talking to a guy who's gagging on my throbbing erection. I told him about the cocktail of hormones that flood his system when his body thinks he's going to choke to death; about the autonomic nervous response that makes him drool and cry and gag, trying to dislodge the foreign body from his airway. I talked in a soothing, quiet voice, as I was roughly thrusting my cock between his tonsils and through his pharynx and past his epiglottis into his esophagus... and with this boy being a nurse, we both knew that I know what I'm talking about, and what I'm doing. I could hurt him very badly if I do it wrong. I do it very, very well. We appreciate one another's skill. 

I pulled my cock out, then reached my hand into his throat and gagged him deliberately, pressing off and on on the center-back of his tongue and then holding my hand in front of his mouth so he could spit, until I got a good handful of the slick slimy slobber that I love so much. I used it to lube up his asshole, and started stretching it out with my fingers, and then my dick. I began with him standing leaning over the bed, and then after a while fucking him upright, flipped him onto his back. I fucked him harder and harder, driving into him - I was holding him by the clavicles, rocking his whole body back and forth, so that eventually I was standing still and moving him like he was on a rocker glide. I leaned forward and bit him hard on the meaty parts of his shoulders, sinking my teeth into him, leaving prints of my full dental record. It's tricky to get all the molars in there, but it's worth the effort. I wanted to slap him, but couldn't make that much noise. We both had some poppers.

He told me he's wanted my cock for so long. I told him I've wanted to fuck him for a long time, that it has always seemed so unfair for him to be standing there, smiling and cute but unavailable... and I kept going, talking in a calm, conversational tone as I was driving my cock into him. The pent-up tension made the fuck extra-delicious; hunger always makes the best sauce. Eventually, his face started to curl up, almost like he was about to cry; and finally, I pounded the orgasm out of him in near silence, just the rhythmic slamming of my hips into his ass. He arched and bucked, twisting his body like he was holding a live electrical wire, and then he flopped down boneless and spent, fully relaxed. It was beautiful. 

I didn't have a big orgasm, but I'd had several little orgasm-ettes throughout... smaller peaks where I cum a little, like a tiny petit-mal tremor, and keep going - I've learned to enjoy those as a way to have fun and continue having fun, without the "got off, all done, going home" aspect of traditional male ejaculatory orgasm. It's a Tantra thing. So I know for sure that he had my semen inside him, but I didn't go through a classic big shuddering multi-spurt climax. It's like riding along the edge of a cliff, instead of crashing off the edge. His, however... he CAME. I wonder if he's loud, if he's not in a place where he's constrained to silence.

In the afterglow, as I lay atop of him, my weight crushing him a little, my cock softening but still inside him lazily stroking in and out, I told him about how much I respect what he's doing - and how I feel like he's doing Good Work, and somewhat ironically, I feel like it's doing even MORE good work, taking an anonymous bareback cock in his ass. Because not only is he normalizing having a discussion about sex and STI's and HIV, he's also engaging as a human being, and he's participating in the conversation from the perspective of an active community member, not an outsider. He can relate to the guys who are here having unguarded fun with randoms. I have no idea whether he's positive or negative - I didn't ask. It DIDN'T MATTER. I told him that I'm negative, and on PrEP. If you're reading this, and you want to ask me questions about my safety choices and ways you can access prevention and care, you can email me: rubmybutch@gmail.com. I don't know it all, but I'll talk with you and help you figure it out. I told him about how I'm vaccinated for Hep A and B and MPox, and how I got the Meningitis vaccine because not only does it protect against Neisseria meningitidis, it provides significant cross-protection against Neisseria gonorrhoeae, the bacterium that causes gonorrhea (the science is still brand-spanking-new, but it's pretty promising. Talk to your doctor. Efficacy is around thirty percent.) and I take Doxycycline PEP after any night at the baths or a sex party. I feel like I'm doing the Good Work, too, because I'm talking to guys about their bodies and helping them understand how sex works and why it's so hot - and I'm delivering good dick while I'm doing it. I told him about the blog, and I told him I was somewhat chagrined that this experience - which was so totally hot, and so perfectly story-shaped - seemed like one that would be also totally inappropriate for me to write about, because it could get him into trouble and cause difficulties for the program. 

And because he's not only a hot little foot-soldier in the army of sexual health, AND a good-giving-and-game fuck piggy, but ALSO a brave and open-hearted creative thinker - he told me it was OK to write it up and publish it. You don't know what he looks like (everything I told you about him is a lie, just this once, for that reason), you don't even know what race or what color or what day - although you definitely know what a filthy slut he was for my dick. The adjectives about his nouns were lies... but the verbs, every thing that I did, and every word that I said, were all truth. And this is one of my favorite of the stories so far.