sex & the (new) city

sex is 'mental metamucil' for me. my brain gets constipated if i don't fuck regularly. i even make the 'i'm constipated face' if i have not placed my dick in something that is not my hand. the constipated face? very unsightly.

the first day i moved to chicago, i ended up fucking a dude in an adult bookstore.

at that point in my life, it was time for me to get out of wisconsin post-hasty. during this period, my regular sex dates didn't fit into my moving plans. so by the time i rolled into chicago on a friday night, i was ready to pop.

i went to the (now closed) Manhole. it was a vaguely leather bar every night except friday, which then turned into a visual/aural assault of whitney houston remixes and herb ritts second-stringers. every guy was waxed, buffed, and upholstered in diesel jeans. not usually my type, but i was ready to cut corners this time.

the man in question hit all the right notes: leanly compact, buzzed head, dark brown eyes. hairy and dark. and all fuck-me-use-me-abuse-me attitude.

we cruised each other relentlessly. he and i, like everyone else in the club, had their shirts off. usually, i refuse to take my shirt off. i have a nice body - and i certainly like to see a nice body. but there's something flagrant about removing one's shirt. it's usaually a turn off.

but that night a vodka tonic and a vicodin whispered into my ear. ever being easily influenced by reliable friends - i listened.

we circled each other until the closing time. even with the "reality lights" come on he still turns my crank. we're both sweating and reeking of endorphins.

ME: we can't go to my place. i'm staying with a friend.
HIM: can't be my place either. off-limits right now.
ME: boyfriend?
HIM: yeah.
ME: he know?
HIM: "don't ask don't tell" policy. that changes things?

if i don't know the S/O, i could give a fuck (pun intended). the only thing i'm thinking about is that now knowing there is a S/O - it will be a slamBAMthankyouSIR session and not a go-the-distance-for-a-few-hours.

we go to a 24-hour bookstore. since it's after bar-time, the pace has picked up. it’s as seedy as one would imagine, which i totally dig. he pulls me into a stall, pops a few coins to start the porn, and we start at it.

the stall is approximately the size of a broom closet. now, i've fucked guys in public places before - but i've never done a bookstore. the concept always seemed so 1974 - i could easily imagine rock hudson or tony randall strolling in. plus, i keep thinking we will get busted. but the dude is efficient. he clearly has done this (and in this bookstore) before. his ease relaxes me; i’m hard within seconds. aside from being a good "host", he also quickly shows himself to be an expert dicksucker. yay.

we're rough with each other. spit-slicked dicks bunted into faces - the cramped griminess of the surroundings - make it a much hotter scene than I would have anticipated.

it's time to fuck. i bend him over, one leg propped on the chair in the stall. his ass is perfect; thick with muscle, hairy. it's a man's ass - he's clearly no twink or 'boi'. but there's one problem.

"i don't got lube, man" i tell him.
he tosses a look over his shoulder; he wants my dick real bad. "it's cool. just use spit. i don't mind."


i'm skeptical - i tell him so. he proves me wrong. he turns and gets on his knees. this time the blow job is especially sloppy. strings of saliva connect from my dick to his mouth each time he pulls away. then he gets back into position.

"yeah, i'm sure," he tosses over his shoulder.

i shift into high(er) gear. the entire moment was perfect; arrogant aggressive bottom boys are like no other fucks. he knows he owns the moment too; he flexes his ass slightly.

after applying my own coat of spit - and eating his ass out for an added benefit - i fuck him mercilessly. he whimpers and begs - for more. i deliver to his request.

we finish. exit the stall. there is, like, a crowd milling around our door. dude doesn't seem amused, he pushes through the crowd. i take my time, give the "eye" to a few; silently telling them "remember this face. you, too, can get a ticket to this show at a later date".

outside we face each other. exchange a few pleasantries - both eager to get to our respective homes. we exchange numbers. he hints at doing this again - but with his BF. i vaguely concur - but am already losing interest.

by the next day, i forget where i last left it.