Second Showing

I've been excited all week - it was hot seeing the film on a big screen, but it's hotter for me, somehow, to see it at the Eagle. In the cinema, with nachos and a drink and everybody fifteen feet tall on the screen - it was surreal, a cinema experience. Yeah, the audience was primarily the gay crowd I know, and they all get all the jokes, and all... but you can't sit and rub a handsome stranger's hairy shoulders while you watch. There's just something about gay bars. Plus, chances of a blowjob in the bathroom at the Eagle are pretty strong. [See also: They Knew When They Built Those Stalls]

My Husband is working crazy long hours lately, and so I come home, walk the dogs, feed the dogs, water the yard with a timer and different sprinkler positions, take out the trash, give the old dog his medicine, feed the fish. I didn't sleep enough last night, and my brain is saying, "you know, you really should have planned a nap into this afternoon..." but I overrule it and get some chunks of roast that we grill up and call Roasties from the fridge, and I make sure I have a couple of bottles of fresh poppers, and one of the good gummies, and my harness looks good with shorts and the big stompy waterproof boots that I'm wearing to be prepared to hike in the Tongass national forest in Alaska next week. And, hopefully, we'll get to have some erotic adventure on that trip, too. We kind of missed out on two previous cruises, one because despite it being 100% gay bears, we hadn't opened up yet really as a couple... and we didn't work out with any of the folks we were chatting with as a couple... and the other cruise, was because it was a family trip with my parents and my brother and his religious wife and their kids who at that point were like twelve and fourteen. So... we're going prepared to be whores on this trip if that happens, although we haven't yet made any real plans to meet any particular guys. There are some hot looking ones on a couple of the gays-on-cruises apps. I packed appropriately. 

I take a quick shower - more to get the dog-walking sweat off me than anything, because I feel sticky - I debate leaving my foreskin unwashed, which I do if I know certain particular fans thereof are going to be at an event... I decide on rinsed, but not much. Like, get all the cheesy chunks off, but don't use any soap and don't scrub off all the flavor. I don't douche. It's just feeling like a suck-Daddy's-dick kind of night. And hell, if a boy wants to play with my ass and I tell him I had a good solid shit this morning but he's taking his chances..... I mean, spelunk away. Explore. It'll probably be OK. 

I'm starting to interact with people who are not just creative and sexual and fun play partners and all that... but I'm having conversations with guys who are into the intense porn shit I jerk off to. By the way - total shout-out, unpaid endorsement... if you're looking for a hot place to put the Just for Fans subscription the next time one opens up, Apollo Fates. HOLY FUCK, dude, the series where FitnessPapi pisses into his mouth and throat as he intermittently swallows, and then FUCKS THE PISS BACK OUT, with repeated deep thrusting. Mwah. Chef's kiss. But the thing is... with someone who's had those experiences, you can have a different conversation. A lot of people in the porn biz are surprisingly complex, well-read, thoughtful men; yeah, they focus a lot on the gym and the cock, but they are also doing other awesome work, being in shows, writing songs, painting. ANYWAY. Shorts, waterproof boots that make me feel tall and manly and fit right at a size 13EE, and the harness under the Key West tanktop with the cock silhouette on it, and I'm good to go. 

I'm early. I planned to be early, because I wanted a chance to wander through and visit with some of the guys before the show starts, but I didn't realize that what I'm walking into was going to be a mix of karaoke and drag queens. Oh, well - I visit with a friend of my Husband's and his friend; I introduce one of the guys who's here to see the show, who walks up to our little huddle, and they figure out that they have performed in many of the same theaters, but different shows. Yes, I know Theater Gays. The thing is... Theater Gays are HOT FUCK. They think about things in terms of dramatic tension, lighting, composition, pacing... if they're GOOD, if they're solid-meat human beings and not over-trained character specialists... I highly recommend banging dancers, singers, actors, any of the creative trades. 

I don't remember what conversational path we took to get to foreskin, but talk turned to foreskin, and I told them the story of accidentally pissing in that poor beautiful man's mouth, and how it's hot if you plan it but NOT hot if you don't get consent. I show them the video from a pool party [see also: Fraternity of the Hands-Free Daddies, Part 1: And One to Grow On] and we talk about piss play and exploration. There's some piss play in the film - simulated, because acting, but still. It's a theme of trying new things. 

So we keep having this chat, and the bar fills up. I go wander in to get a drink and see who's arrived. 

I go to the far side of the bar and there's this very sexy bartender - beefy, Daddy-looking with a ball cap and no shirt, tight short shorts cupping his meaty round ass. He's furry and muscular, his prominent nipples make me want to pinch them, but instead of reaching out and violating his personal space bubble, I explain how I separate my whiskey and my soda, and he's awesome and we talk for a while about getting bullied in high school, and getting fucked by your cousin, and getting the shit beat out of you by your Dad. He's three years younger than I am, but we had some very similar growing-up experiences. We bemoan the fact that the hot daddies who should have been blowing our minds by teaching us how to suck cock behind bookstores... were all staying home and worrying about that new bruise. A whole generation missed out on getting to learn from the guys in their forties and fifties. There's always been this culture - straights excuse it in their own men, while calling it "grooming" in ours - but young guys have always been hot, and older dudes who know shit have always had a certain appeal for some of the young hot guys. It's just how things work. And there's a certain amount of "hot gym boys who hang out with older men with boats and nice cars because it gets them things," and I'll admit that one of my dating relationships had some of that angle when I was twenty-something. But the AIDS crisis, and the scare of not ever knowing which strangers were dangerous, really put the kibosh on any back-alley throat training. So I feel like I need to learn and study the skills, catching up to the point of Daddy Who Knows Things, and then turn around and teach them to as many guys as want to explore them. Not only does it mean they do amazing things with MY dick... but I feel like a lot of times they pick up some useful knowledge that they will carry with them. 

I see a guy I know that I should recognize... pure white hair and a beard, but he's coming up "file not found" in my brain. It takes a while to figure out. Finally, I realize that I am used to thinking of him in old-fashioned clothes - he's in the gay men's chorus, and I've been going to their shows for almost thirty years. Any time I see this particular guy, he's usually in formal wear - and his formal wear is custom-fitted, and has a matching hat and gloves. His holiday concert attire has tails. I totally respect this. I grew up living a double life - weekends in court doublets, weekdays in awkward ill-fitting golf-collar shirts and jeans. I respect someone who finds an aesthetic they like and leans into it. 

Anyway, he and I get to talking - carrying forward some of the subjects I was holding forth to the bartender about... and I give him several chances to tell me that he's had enough and I've answered his question, but we just keep talking - and talking, about dancing, and learning to dance in the living room from my Mom when they took lessons in the nearby town, and then learning again in middle school before we had our first school dance, and we had to learn the Schottische and the Cotton Eyed Joe and all the polkas and waltzes and two-steps... because that shit would happen at our school dances. We learned dance etiquette, and we had to go up and ask girls in the PE class to dance, and that was just as awkward as it sounds, but hey, we learned things like how to ask nicely and decline with kindness, and how you walk a girl back to her friends at the end of the song. I learned again, when I started going to SCA historical re-enactment dance classes - but that whole thread of learning was folk dance, and historical dances pulled from old manuscripts by dance archaeologists (and, I was the kind of dude who knew dance archaeologists) and we learned to pavanne and galliard and Strip the Willow and reels and bransles and dances with complicated choreography that looks like Celtic knotwork on the diagrams, because it's all magic. 

And then, when I turned old enough to actually go out to the bars, I started learning to two-step all over again, and how to jitterbug, and I was doing flips and drops and shit. And we talked about how the RoundUp used to have country music all night long, including a long set with those same country dances I'd learned in high school. I also learned to square dance, both in school and with the Thousand Trails campground group that my grandparents belonged to - we went to Thousand Trails campgrounds all across the Southeast, and there were things like bingo and square dancing and badminton games. And jarts, which I'm glad none of us were ever stupid enough to stand in the way of. Anyway. I keep having this awesome conversation with him, and then his husband comes up, and he introduces me, but we've met and had conversations before - what I didn't know previously, is that he's also done a lot of textile dye work, and so we sit and talk about cool yarn things I got to do, and the chemicals he's worked with. The gene-spliced cocoons that I had to sign paperwork with the Navy to handle. The Nanotech Institute. The embroidery skeins that I worked up by dyeing the spider-silk that the British university was making from transgenic goat's milk. I shit you not at all.

I'm having this totally unrelated-to-gay-bar conversation, and it's awesome, because we just seem to have a good conversational connection. Then, I find out from one of the guys, that they got the schedule mixed up; they double booked part of the evening, and despite the fact that all the flyers say nine, it's going to be ten before the movie goes up. The karaoke show is... fair. I mean, several of them are pretty decent singers, but none of them made me stop breathless as the chills climbed up my neck. And then there's drag queens. I pull out a couple of singles and tip as they walk by, because I support the arts, and then they have more singing and more singing.

I run into a buddy I've played with at a previous pool party and a couple of other bar nights - I'm honestly not certain if I've written about him previously, the recent event we played a lot at, was one of the ones I didn't get around to finishing. There's just been too much for the hours I have to write. But, he's a kinky fucker, and we have fun. I ask him if I can spank him - I've brought in my black wooden paddle, tucked in my left shorts pocket so that the handle clearly protrudes. He lets me get several light smacks on his ass cheeks with the paddle, and then I play with his nipples, which are a hot button for him. He whimpers and writhes as I squeeze them, roll them like radio dials, one in each hand, then thump them with a flicked finger, then squeeze and start over. He reaches back and massages my hardening cock in my shorts. Turning somebody on turns me on. 

I explain to the little group that I'm standing with - Lorenzo, and this short-stack hottie that I'm using like an etch-a-sketch, twiddling one knob after another, and a couple of other guys we know from going out, that I'm in the video, and you see me kind of dancing my way across the screen at one point, my freakishly large nuts flopping in the breeze. A guy says something about Daddy's balls, but I don't remember the exact line. So, because it's always fun to show them off, I whip out said balls standing there in the bar, and show them how the right one is kind of medium-large, nice testicle and all, but the left one is a monster. I talk about the hydrocele, and the conversation I had with my urologist as he was rolling my nuts in his hands. And then I wander around, and I see and hug the guys who made the film, and guys who were in the cast, and guys I know from other places.

It's finally time for the karaoke to end and the show to start. They've been fighting some kind of image-transmission problem in their computer system, and the video screen shows a part of the beginning of the video, but in a window where you see the buttons and stuff. They do some more twiddling, and then the full screen version goes up. There's a little oddness in the center of the screen, some kind of a computer glitch I think, but it's perfectly fine once the actual video starts. I've been standing at the end of the bar, visiting with this hot, muscular Latino Papi type, tank top, hairy shoulders, silver threads in his black beard, furry arms. We talk about how pleasant it is to touch someone, to be stroked and brushed and explored with the fingertips. So as the video starts, I'm stroking his body, his chest, his arms, the veins in his muscular hands. It's like a sensory counterpart to seeing all the hot guys on screen. The show is erotic, and funny, and sweet and touching - I hadn't seen the script at all before seeing the whole thing on the big screen, so I didn't know anything about the story. It's an awesome film; I really hope they win some awards with it at the gay movie festivals, and that we get to still have gay movie festivals. Y'all VOTE. Write your Senators.   

After the movie has played, everybody's laughing and having a celebratory drink, and slapping the creative crew on the back. I ask them to let me join a group photo, and they do. I get hold of my buddy with the high-powered nipple knobs, and ask him if he'll go to the bathroom with me and suck my dick, because it could really use some attention after all that. We go into the double-wide stall, and he kneels down and gets to work. This man does everything that I want. We play around a lot. We hit some poppers. The tiny room with its spacious-enough-for-wheelchair-code, reels around us as he swallows my cock, and swallows, and gags, and then I put my hand in his mouth and feel my way around. We are familiar with one another; he lets me hit him with the paddle again a couple of times. He keeps swallowing. It starts to pull the fire up, and then I'm unloading down his throat. A guy in another stall says something like "Fuck, yeah!" as I stammer and shake. I just almost bang my head against the tile wall. 

And he keeps going.  

It takes a minute - my cock has gotten just a little soft after the first orgasm, but it quickly hardens back up and he keeps sucking. Swallowing. Letting me grab his shaved skull and fuck his throat hard. I'm fucking him to the beat of the dance music that a hot famous DJ is spinning... and I feel the second wave coming up. More shaking and rocking; I grab the handicapped bar for support and let the waves pass through me. 

He pauses for just a bit - I play with his nipples, and one more smack on his ass with the paddle, and then he takes my half-hard cock in his mouth and skillfully sucks it hard again. It's fucking amazing. The third orgasm isn't as bright as the first couple, but I grab his skull and plunge it all the way in and hold until he writhes and gags and finally taps. 

I'm pretty squeezed dry at this point. I go and get another whiskey and another club soda, chug the soda and get another refill, sip the whiskey, flirt with the hot bartender, and then go outside. I wander through the bar, watch some guys dancing, say hi to some people I know. I'm hoping to run into a guy who wants a spanking - and later, find out that I just missed him, that he was there looking for me too. Then, I see the theater guy I had been talking to on the patio, and he says he wants to try that foreskin shot thing. I tell him that I've got a syringe in the car - and I go get it, then order the Fireball and a water and lead him to the bathroom. 

Like I said... fuck theater guys. The juice and the squeeze are both worth it. He kneels down and I put the two cups on the tiny shelf. I pull up the amber liquid into the syringe, and he watches as I put the tip under the skin and make a little pouch, then let some dribble into his mouth, and then let it unload. He swallows and sucks like a good boy, getting it nice and clean... and, YES! he keeps sucking. I mean, we both knew it was something he was wanting to do... but it's still hot to plan one thing and then extemporize off script. He lets me take hold of his head and shove; I put the back of his head against the stall wall and fuck into his skull where he's pinned against the tiles. Unusually for me, I'm pretty quiet when I'm in this situation, where being noisy can mean guys banging on the door telling you they need the stall. I bang into his mouth, pounding him against the wall, and eventually I feel the shaking start and another orgasm. It's GOOD TO BE ME. 

Whew. After the shaking stops and I let go of his head, he gets up and we exit the stall and go wash our hands because we're not animals... and go out and get another round of drinks. I go and watch guys dancing. A guy comes up and hangs out with me for a bit; he tells me that if I need to take a piss, to let him know. He tells me that he's followed me around for a while, hoping to get to hook up with me some time. He tells me he's sucked my semen out of several guys' asses. After another round of water and another traverse of the patio, I go and tap him on the shoulder and we go. 

Hell fucking yes, you had an eventful night, tell me more.

Did I mention that I've been texting this whole thing as a series of chat windows, to the guy who just sucked the Fireball out of my foreskin? Well, I have been.

I always have trouble getting my penis's mind changed from fuck mode to piss mode, but he patiently and quietly holds his mouth still, and I get some piss to come, and then shove it down his throat. And shove it down his throat. The idea of this handsome guy sucking my seed out of other men's assholes really turns me on. And he sucks, and he swallows. FUCK. It keeps going. I get some more piss out, but I'm pretty much fucking him in the throat like a Fleshlight. I realize that I'm not going to cum again, but I fuck, and I fuck, and I fuck. He massages the shaft of my cock with his throat. He stands up and swiftly turns around, his hole bouncing down onto my cock all in one go. His cunt feels amazing, throbbing and muscular and tight. I fuck him for most of a song, and then play with and suck his big uncut dick some. Finally, it's time. I go and check out with the sexy bartender, who lets me stroke his furry chest and belly and arms, and I tell him that I'm surprised we haven't run into one another at somebody's fuck party. I look him up on Facebook and send him a message. I tab out and tip heavily because he's been awesome, and I head for home.