Friday, October 16, 2009

Exile

It would happen almost everytime I went to this leather bar. ...but I'll back up a bit.

Not so shockingly, I have always led this double life. Nice upstanding friend, worker, family member, but underneath it all, I have always been a pig. And I do mean always. At least when you start with my sex life. From the word 'go', as a teen, I was uncontrollably horny. but unlike most teens, I found outlets for that - and as it turns out, men in their 20s, 30s and 40s like teen aged boys. Willing ones. Who knew?

So in my 20s, I would go to gay bars with my friends. You know - the dance ones. The S&M ones: stand & model. I'd say it bored the every loving shit out of me, but it served a purpose I suppose. Invariably, I'd leave my friends and head to a leather bar for the last hour of the night. They thought I either found someone or would have gone home.

While my mind fit in at the leather bar, my body and choice of clothes seemed out of place. Now and again, I'd meet someone and we'd go fuck, but normally it was a place to grab the last two beers of the evening and take in the sights. But after a while, it became something else.

One guy was always there. One guy who struck my fancy....and I guess I his. In the scenario I am about to describe - and the dozen or so repeating times with him, never a word was spoken. Ever.

He was always in full leather, save his denim under his chaps. Tall, built and handsome, he probably could have had his pick of anyone in the bar. The more I observed him, the more I noticed he didn't seem that interested in anyone there, nor did I find anyone attempting to get his attention. Except me. I like to think I was subtle, but I probably was not.

We'd catch glances and he'd make sure he caught my gaze and walk into the small, dark and dank restroom. It was only a minute or so before I entered. He'd be standing at the toilet with his cock out. A nice sized 7" dick. Just standing, and stroking with his leather-gloved hand.

I make my way and sit on the can, right in front of him, and take him into my mouth and all the way down to the buttons on his jeans. One gloved hand finds the back of my head - at least for a few minutes. Before long, I'm standing, my back to him, my pants around my ankles, me leaning over the toilet.

It doesn't take a genius (on your parts) to know where this is going. Where it went, was right up my ass. He fuck - silently. I'd take it - quietly. We both had our jobs, we both had our roles.

Naturally, it was a bathroom, so guys would come in. Some would watch. Some would mutter nasty things as they watched. Some guys came in to piss and were just annoyed at the crowd or lack of accommodations. Never once were we stopped. Never once did anyone step up to take his place after he was done.

Only once did he not finish in my ass. That one time, he pulled out, unloaded onto his gloved hand and put it in front of my mouth. I dutifully cleaned it off and shined up that glove with my tongue. The rest of the times, he'd silently unload in me. Maybe his face told the story, but his mouth never did.

By the time I'd pull my pants back up and leave the restroom, he was gone. Gone from the restroom. Gone from the bar.

It almost became a game for both of us. It was fun while it lasted.

3 comments:

Mark (iBLASTinside) said...

You were infused from this Leather God Father the material you needed to become more. More of a bottom. More of a pig. More of a man.

Anonymous said...

Your story resonates on so many levels. I, too, was one of the "boys" that would dance the night away with friends but always find my way to a leather bar an hour or two before closing time. If I could have avoided the dance bars completely I would have, as my truest nature (although my clothing choices and haircuts betrayed me) was to be in the darkness of the leather bar.

Numerous sexual partners were found in two leather bars in particular, and none of them knew my name, nor I theirs. It was inconsequential. All that mattered was my huge cock feeding them loads or their huge cocks feeding me loads. We literally saw each other and knew our roles. It was clear, uncomplicated, and hot.

At 19 I once sucked off 12 men while sitting on a toilet in a leather bar, taking cock after cock while men twice my age stroked my head or forced it down on their meat. I was young and inexperienced, but hungry and in need. I'd been sucking cock for years already, but this was when I awakened to my addiction.

The leather bars would close and in the first few months of this experience I thought that was the end of my opportunity to suck cock through the night. As my compulsion grew, and my addiction heightened, and my awareness of my cock and its power overwhelmed me, I began to learn of after-hours parties, and sex on the streets, and in garages and construction sites in the wee hours of the morning. It became a goal of mine to not go home until I'd sucked at least 20 cocks. Some nights I'd just reach 20, and other nights that number was doubled. I learned the art of cruising, and the subtle yet direct ways of making brief eye contact with other addicts and pigs.

When I use the term "addict" I do so proudly. It is not a badge of shame for me, nor is it something I wish or need to change. I love cock. I am a cockpig, cocksucking, cum swallowing man. I love to leave my loads in the throats of strangers. I cannot get enough. I truly live my life for the pleasure of my cock and the cocks of others.

Sean said...

Wow...one of the best comments I've ever read. You should post it.

Great post, although a few more details would have hotter.