Date: Wed, 17 Dec 2003 14:42:21 -0800 (PST)
From: pendragon03301@yahoo.com
Subject: Doug in Seattle

I glanced back over my right shoulder. "Yes!" I thought as the
shirtless hunky guy in the white painters overalls moved away from his
pose against the wall. He barely nodded, and then slowly, purposefully
trailed me through the maze of dim hallways.

It was 1995, a hot early June night in Seattle. I was there for a
weeklong conference and had taken a few extra days to enjoy the peninsula
and Pacific coast with an older and very celibate friend. By the time the
conference started I was about as horny as a man can get in summertime.
The conference hotel was downtown and within walking distance of some of
the hottest gay territory in the region.

I had picked up the local gay papers and then discretely asked around for
the best, safe casual action. No sense getting arrested for public
displays in a park when you're 3,000 miles from home. Everyone made the
same recommendation: Basic Plumbing.

I went over about 10:30 that night, as soon as I could discretely excuse
myself from my clinging co-conferees. I don't drink any more and a night
of barroom gossip and pointless oral masturbation was not in my plan. I
wanted some real fun and it was not going to be found in this conference
crowd -- as much as I liked most of the folks attending from all around
the country. I simply had a different agenda for the evening.

Walking in the sultry night air I wandered along the streets, looking for
the right address, passing an active early night crowd of hunky guys and
freaky Sixties leftovers. I must have walked by the doorway three times
before I recognized the tiny street number beside the blank metal door.
A small doorpost lamp lit the initials BP.

I tugged, the door stuck, and I pulled harder. Suddenly, click, the door
flew open in my hand and I was standing in a tiny hallway, facing another
impenetrable metal door and a small glass window on my right. I turned
and faced a smiling face with a big dark mustache and wire-rimmed
glasses. "Hey," he intoned, "Welcome to BP."

I stared back, tongue-tied for a moment as I took in my surroundings. I
was sort of new to this whole scene. I had only been "out" for a few
years and had rarely gone to this kind of place. But my curiosity
overcame my qualms and I returned the greeting. "Hey, yourself," I
smiled.

Now what?

"What can I do for your," Mr. Mustache asked.

"A room, please?" I answered, ever so politely.

He smiled again. "Sorry, no rooms here. Want a locker instead?'

"Sure. How much?" I pulled out my wallet and began rifling for bills.

"You do know this is a . . . shall we say . . .men's club?" Mustache
asked, one eyebrow slightly raised above a twinkling eye.

"Um. Yeah." Pause. "At least I hope it is," I gasped.

His smile lit up the small hallway. "Good. Just wanted to make sure.
Where are you from?"

"Ohio," I said, not ready or willing to give out much information.

"Indiana, here," he laughed. "We're a long way from home. Here on
business?"

Hmmm. Too many questions. "Yep. Just a few days. Thought I'd see the
local sights," I replied, gradually warming to my host's overtures.
"Tell me about this place."

Mr. Mustache launched into a brief history of the club, explained some of
the rules, emphasizing that "No means no. If you don't want someone to
do something, or if they don't want you to do something, then no means
no. Otherwise, we'll ask you to leave. Understood?"

"Sure. No problem."

"Good. That's $15 for a guest membership, good for seven days, and $10
for the locker. It's a Thursday night, kinda quiet, so the lockers are
cheaper tonight."

Gulp. I dug a twenty and a five from my wallet and slipped it over the
counter. Seemed a lot for an unknown experience. At the same time my
hands got sweaty and my heart raced a little as he handed me a key.

"Go through the door, turn right then left. Your locker is about seven
down on your right. "Have fuh-uhn, hon," he crooned.

Gulp. The door switch buzzed, a little too loudly I thought, and I
stepped into a darker hallway. How could there be less light? I stood
in another hallway and followed the path he prescribed, hearing nothing,
seeing no one else.

I found locker 57, inserted the key, and the locker clanked open,
thudding against the next door. I took off my jacket, buried my wallet
and hotel key in the pocket, closed and locked the door. BP is a
bathhouse without a bath. No plumbing, no sauna, no steam room, no
towels, no near-naked guys wandering around. Clothes were not optional --
well almost not optional -- but you had to wear them. It depended on the
circumstances and the venue.

I wandered along the hallway, passing a series of black-painted walls and
little alcoves. One hallway led to another, and another, and another,
twisting and turning throughout the first floor. A few built-in benches
offered a place to sit. The large holes in the wall behind the bench
allowed views into other small rooms. Some rooms were closed off with
black cloth curtains, dark, dank, musty rooms surrounded on all sides
with large hip-height holes from other rooms or cubicles.

In retrospect, my naivet was astounding. These were the famous glory
holes I had read -- and fantasized about -- and they were right here!
Sweet.

I found the stairway to the second floor and wandered that maze, a little
more light, a few larger rooms, the back smoking area with a curious
antique barber's chair, and a bunch of tiny booths with locking doors.
Wow.

I walked. And walked. I passed a few other men, all older, all
stone-faced. Some looked rough, some swished. "Shit," I thought, "Is
this all that's here?" I went back to the barber chair, lit a Winston,
inhaled deeply, reassured by the rush of nicotine. I watched and waited
then wandered again.

The crowd picked up about midnight. As I walked the hallways on both
levels I could see groups of twos or threes in the darker corners,
fondling, kissing, on their knees or rocking back and forth on their
heels as a hot mouth sucked an unseen cock.

I was as hard as steel and shaking so hard I was almost epileptic. This
was too much!

A really tall, thin guy walked past a few times, nodded, then walked on.
The third time we passed, I turned and nodded back and he moved his head
sideways indicating a dark alcove. I turned around and followed. He
immediately grabbed me in a crushing embrace, the smell of alcohol
rolling off his breath like a nasty fog. He grabbed my butt and gave a
squeeze and ground his hard dick into my belly. Even through his 501s I
could tell he was big.

Almost immediately he popped the buttons and hauled out an enormous
cock. His balls flopped out, as big as eggs, and he began jacking
furiously. He groped for my crotch and I unzipped my Levis, pulling out
my stiff prick. He grabbed it, gave a squeeze, then pulled me into a
breathtaking kiss. I thought he was going to suck my lungs out.

I hefted his balls in my left hand as I slowly jacked myself. He groaned,
lurched, and then shot a glob of cum onto his shoes. Another dribble and
he was done. He collapsed, panting heavily, and let out a long, drawn-out
breath. "Hey, thanks, man. That was hot." He walked away, folding his
spent cock into his tight jeans and buttoning up as he walked. "So much
for passion," I thought.

I peaked out of the alcove, glancing around, suddenly aware that more
than one set of eyes must have been watching us as small groups and
individuals moved in different directions through the hallways, some
groping themselves, some chatting.

"Damn!" I thought. "Too fast, too soon, and I'm still too hard and
it's almost too late for me to have any fun tonight," I whined
internally as I glanced at my watch, realizing it was nearing 1 a.m. I
normally turn into a pumpkin long before midnight, so this was pushing my
limits. But I wasn't sleepy. In fact, I felt like I was just getting
started. I couldn't have been more correct.

I went back to the barber's chair, now occupied by a very hairy, bearded
guy who looked as if he'd just walked out of a poster for Haight-Ashbury
in 1968. His left leg was flung over the arm and his booted right foot
was planted firmly on the footrest. He dragged in a deep pull on a
Marlboro and looked up at me. He was utterly bored, utterly stoned,
totally smashed, or a combination of all three -- or more. His plaid
flannel shirt was open all the way to his waist and his chest was a
forest of black and gray hair. A set of very large, dark, and erect
nipples showed through the hair. His jeans were indescribably filthy and
ragged, with obviously but carefully contrived holes to show his white
jockey shorts and more hair.

He exhaled a cloud of stale smoke and gave a half grin and a half-hearted
nod. Without saying a word, he crushed his cigarette on the armrest and
stood, all six-foot, four of him. He groped his ample crotch, apparently
adjusting his equipment, shook his left leg at me then sauntered away,
his surprisingly tiny butt showing firm through his black jeans.

A few heads turned as other men watched him swagger by, then they caught
my eye and grinned, assuming, I guess, that we had been having some fun
in the smoker's area. I lit another Winston and leaned on the window
ledge, watching a slow parade of men shuffle by, most looking tired,
worn, weary, and supremely bored.

I glanced at my watch again -- almost 1:30 -- time to head back to the
hotel for some sleep. I hadn't gotten off, mostly because nothing looked
appetizing or even worth pursuing. A slow wank in my sterile hotel bed
would need to suffice. "Shit," I thought. "There's $25 down the
drain."

I pushed myself away from the wall and headed for the stairs.

That's when I saw him. God, he was stunningly beautiful. Probably about
25 or so; short, maybe 5'6", slim but muscular, straight dark-brown
hair long enough to sweep over his eyes and long enough to reach his
collar, if he were wearing one.

Instead, he had on a paint of white painter's bib overalls with the left
strap strategically undone, his perfect nipple just showing inside the
cloth. Hands in his pockets, head down, his left foot hiked against the
wall, he leaned there, his perfect butt holding up the wall at the top of
the staircase -- perhaps holding up the universe for all I knew. I
stopped dead in my tracks and gawked for a few millennia -- all of 20
seconds -- taking in his perfect beauty.

I forced myself to move, turning 90 degrees away from the stairwell, and
headed down the hall. Just as I turned the corner, I glanced back over my
shoulder. "Yes!" He was following. My heart raced. "Calm down," I
warned myself. "And dammit, stop shaking. Nothing's going to happen.
He's too perfect."

I followed the maze, finally finding the largest dark room on the upper
level. It was thankfully empty and almost totally black with one dim red
light in the ceiling, providing a hellish glow. I stepped inside the
entrance and assumed his same position against the wall: crooked left
leg, hands in pockets, head down. But my eyes were darting to the left,
watching the entrance. A head poked in -- blindingly bald and shiny, with
an enormous metal hoop in one ear -- a leering grin; then he was gone. I
slumped, exhaling in sheer frustration an audible "Damn."

He padded in, silent as a cat, went directly opposite me to the other
wall and stood there in all of his beauty, staring straight at me, eyes
ablaze. He nodded slightly and I nodded tentatively back. We watched each
other for a few minutes. Was I dreaming? I don't know if his heart was
racing as fast as mine; I'm surprised he couldn't hear it on the other
side of the room.

Then he moved, stretched and planted both legs in front of him slightly
splayed, digging his hands deeper in his pockets. He looked straight at
me -- or through me, his gaze was that piercing -- and gave the nod I had
been dreading would never come. His head cocked a little to the left, his
chin pointed the way. "Come stand by me," he said without uttering a
word.

I pushed myself away from the wall and walked across the room, standing
right in front of him, our eyes locked together with every step. I stood,
rooted to the floor, and we reached up at the same moment -- almost as if
it were choreographed -- and touched each other for the first time. The
lightening was dazzling in the dark room. At least I think there was
lightening. He stood ramrod straight and reached for my face.

I placed my hand on his bare chest and caressed his perfectly smooth body
and slid a finger to his erect left nipple. He groaned and pulled me to
into his embrace as our mouths launched toward each other, clashing in a
supernova of passion. I have never before -- nor ever since -- had a kiss
like that. We melted into each other, a perfect fit of body to body, our
legs slipping between the other's legs, our crotches crunching together,
grinding, mashing in ecstasy as we slowly explored mouths, torsos, arms,
butts, and backs.

He slipped the other strap off his right shoulder then reached over and
quickly unbuttoned my shirt, exposing my smooth but hardly defined chest.
As the bib of his overall fell forward his breathtaking chest and abs
glowed in the darkness. It was the most beautiful body I had even seen.

We crashed together again, bare chest to bare chest, our sweat allowing
us to freely rub against each other as our tongues found new places to
explore. We breathed as one, knowing, guessing, and perceiving the
other's next move.

His hands slipped under the back of my jeans -- pausing when he realized
I was freeballing -- and I felt him grin. He sighed and slid his hands
forward and snapped open the buttons one by one. I leaned back and
reached to the sides of his overalls, parting the side buttons --
grinning as I realized he was going commando style, too.

He pushed his hot hands back around to my but and squeezed me hard as I
slipped my hands into his fiery crotch, feeling the dank hardness of his
cock and feeling the sweat of his ample balls. We rocked together for a
moment, savoring the feelings and smells of hot, sweaty, man-to-man love.

He pushed my jeans to my knees and then reached up to remove my shirt,
tossing it to the floor next to us. Then he reached behind and slid his
overalls all the way to his ankles. A hot cloud of hormonal scents rose
with him as we crashed together, our dripping cocks sliding back and
forth, our pubes rustling. This was heaven!

Then a cold hand swept across my backside and I jumped. Turning around,
baldy with the earring leered at me. I brushed his hand away and realized
the room was filling with an amazing number of men.

I turned to my new friend and whispered in his ear, "Want to find a more
private spot?"

"No," he whispered back. "Let's draw a crowd." Then he smiled,
lighting up the room with his perfect teeth and twinkling eyes. I nodded
in agreement, swallowed hard, and eased myself back onto his hot body.

As we ground together again, he kicked off his shoes and shifted his
weight and reached down to slip first one, then the other leg off of his
overalls, exposing a stunning set of muscular, hairy thighs and calves.
He had dancer's legs and he flexed them as he reached around to drop his
cloths on top of mine.

Squatting down he pulled my Levies to my ankles, slipped my shoes off,
and removed my socks and pants. I stood, naked in front of a crowd of
men, shivering with excitement as he sank his mouth onto my straining
cock. I almost lost it as he swallowed me to the balls, his nose rubbing
back and forth across my pubes, snuffling at the heady aroma.

I leaned over, groaning, running my hands up and down his muscular back,
and caressing his beautiful hair as he bobbed up and down my pole.

I pulled him up by his sweaty armpits -- almost too close, too soon to
cumming -- and grabbed him in a tight hug, grinding together again before
I slowly hit my knees, licking my way along his wispy treasure trail,
drinking in the incredible fragrances of his sleek body. I nestled into
his pubes, inhaling deeply, over and over, as my tongue made tentative
licks along the upper base of this cock. God, this was hot.

I slid my tongue along his pulsing cock and lapped at the tender pee
hole, savoring the honey drop oozing from the tip. He sighed, humped his
hips forward, and my mouth swallowed his beautiful dick.

We acted in slow motion, our audience groaning and moaning approval as we
made incredibly tender and very public, passionate love in this inferno
of a room. I stood and looked around. There was no place to stand now;
the room was entirely filled with an array of twisted and distorted
bodies.

I slipped next to him and we stood side by side, our backs against the
wall, slowly jacking each other, tweaking nipples and making gentle love.
Every imaginable sexual position was displayed before us. Men of all ages
sucked, jacked, licked, rimmed, and fucked in every square inch of space
in the dim glow of the red light. It was like a scene from
"Mephistopheles" as Richard Burton twisted his way into eternal
damnation for selling his soul to the Devil. "Yeah," I thought, "I
know why."

Hands groped us now from both sides, handling, squeezing, rubbing all
over our bodies. We turned to each other for a deep kiss then he turned
his back to me and I licked his neck, watching another hot man suck him
deep, slurping and humming his pleasure and my friend squirmed and pushed
his incredible bubble butt into my drooling cock. I slid my hardon
between his legs and below his balls as he rocked back and forth,
groaning and whispering inaudible sex words as I slid my hands over his
erasure-hard nipples and nibbled on his ear.

Behind me someone slid a finger between my sweaty ass cheeks and I
reached behind to brush him away. Another hand rubbed up and down my
back, kneading my butt while another hand reached under and caressed my
tight nut sack.

We were pried apart as new faces and bodies fought their way to us, each
face flashing pure lust, every hand reaching for a tiny touch, every cock
being furiously worked.

Across the room loud groans and moans announced impending orgasms, and
the ecstatic "Huh, huh, huh" of someone nearby momentarily stilled the
room as he splattered his cum on a guy's face. It was almost too much.

I glanced sideways and caught his eye. We broke into amazed grins,
telepathically exalting "Look what we've done!" We reached across the
groping bodies to grasp hands and pull us together. The crowd fell back
and we stood, panting, side by side, our hands holding each other's
tight buns, kneading the hard muscles.

We brushed more intruders away and turned slightly toward each other, now
jacking fast and furious. My balls churned; my cum was building,
building, building -- the pressure to release almost too much to bear --
as I gazed into his lustful eyes. I arched up onto my toes, slamming away
at my cock and hunching my hips forward, straining to shoot long and
hard.

"Uhh," I panted. "I'm cumming," I groaned, "I'm cumming." I
gasped as I turned toward the center of the room, giving him a perfect
side view of my glistening cock. Like Moses parting the sea, the crowd
split down the center of the room as the first shot spewed from my cock.
It arced in the air, hung suspended, then splatted on the floor as a new
volley rushed out. Gasps filled the room as shot after shot of cum flew
from my boner. I've never shot as far or as much in my life -- and I'm
an incredible shooter. "Oh, man," someone groaned as cock after cock
reached the peak of stimulation and showered the room with cum.

As my cosmic orgasm ended and I came back to earth I turned, panting, to
him and leaned my head on his shoulder. I reached for his cock. His hand
was flying up and down and I stopped it, brushed his hand away, and
started slowly jacking him. I watched, enchanted, as his leg muscles
flexed and tightened. I slid my free hand down his back to cup his hard
ass, my middle finger sliding into his crack -- never entering his hole,
simply sliding up and down the sweat-slicked parting.

He began to rise on his toes, much as a ballet star begins an incredible
pirouette, and arced his back, thrusting his pubic bone into my pistoning
hand. He hunched once, twice, then stopped, suspended in pure pleasure,
as his balls snapped up into his groin and his large cock became even
harder and larger. The perfect mushroom head pulsed and formed a first
large clear drop, paused, then spewed a perfect jet of pure white boy
juice through the air. I couldn't see where it landed; I didn't care.
Time was suspended as rope after perfect rope of cum shot from his
sculptured cock. I lost count of the number of times he sprayed his seed.
Then he came back off his toes and slumped against the wall as his
throbbing organ leaked a few more drops and slowly shriveled in my hand.

I simply held his magnificent cock as it twitched itself to normal, a
steady stream of clear fluid dripping from the tip. Above me he breathed
deeply and gave one deep sigh. I didn't want to let go, but I knew it
was over. His hand gripped mine and together we held his cock, smearing
the last few drops around the head. He took his hand away, and I did,
too, bringing my hand to my nose to savor the fragrance and a I flicked
my tongue to smear the salty taste on my bruised lips.

Men started to leave the room. The show was over. I stood slowly,
grunting slightly as my knees cracked and my back straightened. As one,
we turned to embrace, one last time, feeling the heat and electricity
draining from the room and from each other. We pressed our slimy, sweaty
crotches together for a lingering, satisfying moment. We rocked gently.
It was good, and we knew it.

We pushed away from each other, hands gently pressing on shoulders, and
gazed into each other's eyes. We didn't need words; our eyes said it
all. We reached for our clothes, now strewn about the room, and shyly
dressed.

Then I nodded and turned to walk out. He nodded back as he tied one
shoelace, gracefully balancing on one foot. Then he grinned.

I went back to smoking area for a last smoke and settled, exhausted, into
the barber's chair. I leaned my head back on the headrest and closed my
eyes, savoring the taste of the tobacco. My reverie was interrupted by a
rustling and I pried open my eyes to find him standing next to the chair,
casually lighting a Marlboro Light. We grinned and nodded to each other,
unsure what to say.

"Wow," I said, "That was intense."

He grinned broadly and said, "Oh, yeah. That was hot." Pause. "You
from around here?"

"Nope. Here on business."

"Oh," he said, the word dropping like a rock to the floor.

"Name's Mike," I said, reaching out my hand.

"Doug," he said, reaching back, giving a good squeeze and holding on a
little longer than necessary. Our hands parted reluctantly. Both at a
loss for words we each took another drag and exhaled, starting to say
something almost in the same moment.

"You first," he said.

"No, you. I insist." We grinned again. This was fun.

We ended up talking for almost an hour -- no doubt frustrating the
remaining straggling trolls who slid by, almost stepping on their tongues
as they drooled over Doug's perfect body.

We told secrets and shared confidences, all of which I will hold dear in
my heart until I die.

I told him I would never forget his name -- or his face -- and I
haven't. Doug was the name of my first childhood love. Hearing the word
Seattle now doesn't conjure the city skyline, the magnificent coast, or
any other image; instead, I see Doug's face, his beautiful brown hair
slipping over his twinkling eyes, and the way he cocked his head and
nodded as we parted that night.

Your comments are welcome at pendragon03301@yahoo.com.