Sex in Public 7
This is a repost of the series formerly called Some Public Sex. I have cleaned it up a bit and changed some names and things so it can be posted again.
OK, some guy wrote me a nice e-mail about liking this stuff, so I kinda went back over some of it to see if he was all fucked up, but it turns out he really wasn't, although I had to clear up a couple of things. Like those assholes who try to take your money when you cum. Watch out for this. They want to make sure your pants are ALL THE WAY DOWN, and they'll pull them on down if you don't. That way they are bunched up around your feet and you can't feel them going through the pockets, plus it's much more difficult to chase the guy if it comes to that (which reminds me of the guy who only had $2 for a 'party' [he should have met the guy I did, but that's not part of the story], so he asks the girl what he can get and she says, I can give you a penguin. So he has no idea what that is but he's only got $2, so what the hell. So she makes him take his pants down to the floor, then she takes his $2, then she just walks off. He's chasing her yelling for his $2 with his pants around his ankles. Hence the name). I got a million of 'em.
Plus, the cocksucking will be good cuz it's really their only distraction from what at least one hand is doing, so if you can't feel both hands real close to your cock, then watch out. OK. The best thing is just don't fucking carry cash.
Then I saw that part of the story of that really cool time I had with Bern at his apartment WASN'T PUBLIC SEX AT ALL! How the fuck did that get in here? Man, I just got carried away or something fucked me up, like a brain cloud or something. Holy shit, I will never get off the fucking subject again! (But it was cool.) The guy that runs the Nifty Archive seems pretty forgiving about that kind of fuckup, but I wouldn't want to make his life hard, er, more difficult, since he doesn't get paid or anything, and he IS one of the PhD's that reads this shit, so man, if you ever see me about to tell something about PRIVATE sex, just go ahead and fucking shoot me or something. Better yet, hit Ctrl-Alt-Del, and I will be one sorry motherfucker.
OK. Now there was another time I was in New York with Marty and we were just there to fucking party (even though I probably had some real good other reason for being there). I wanted to go up to the Ramble or whatever it is called in Central Park, but I got a little scared reading the warnings, and I guess it must be somewhat dangerous or something, I don't know cuz we never went, but I am still curious about it. But anyway, Marty took the fuck off somewhere, probably to raise some spending money, so I went on over to 8th Avenue, which was close to the Marriott Marquis where we were staying, and you can easily walk down to 42nd and the Port Authority and stuff, and a few years ago there were still nothing but porn shops and arcades and even some live show places. I'd be interested to know what's left after the Big Sweep Up. But then the Gaiety and the Show Palace and things like that were there. So I went to the SP to see what that was like and it was pretty cool, I guess, at least at some times. The boys were REALLY cute, and they would just come out into the audience and it seemed like you could do just about anything with or to them that they'd let you pay, I mean tip, for. And if you hung around in that creepy lobby area outside the stage room, they'd pass by headed for whatever it was they used for a dressing room (which I peeked into and it just looked like a fucking broom closet to me, but then costuming is rather minimal at the Show Palace). And you could get their attention somehow, like maybe counting your bankroll, and they'd come over and talk and shit and rub their hard little bodies against your leg or your hip, so that was cool. A lot of them seemed to be available after the show if you wanted that, which I did, but not at New York prices. Did I break my rule against paying for it if I tipped these kids in the audience participation part of their dancing? Well, then I'm not saying if I did or not.
So I left there to get a drink somewhere and a cute hustler hit on me right away (like maybe I have hayseed tattooed on my arm, instead of my cock, where it belongs), or maybe it was just becuz I was exiting the SP, yeah, I think that was it, I'm just about positive that was it. Anyway, he takes me to a bar down the street cuz I wanted a fucking drink, and he just gives me a big time hustle, but I know it and it's kinda fun. I'm sitting there and some other kid in a g-string is dancing, and he's somehow managed to get both feet locked behind his head there on the dance floor, and his face is like crammed up against his asshole, and I'm thinking, Jesus, man, we may hafta call the fire department to get him out of that, but I was mistaken, cuz he seems to untangle without the help of any lovely female assistants, but he was obviously a professional and it was not something to try at home, although I know we all wish it was easy.
So, the dancer naturally had my attention during most of this and the hustler is getting a little impatient, cuz I just bought him a drink but nothing else, so now he's coming on pretty strong and he kisses me really hard, tongue and everything else he's got that moves is in my mouth, and starts pulling my hands onto his cock, which surprisingly did seem to be hard, and trying to find mine, which wasn't. I mean we're in a fucking bar on 8th Avenue, man, and in spite of the dancer and his remarkably independent legs, it's not entirely clear that this is a gay bar. So then he's kinda getting on my nerves a little, and I'm thinking I'd rather just go fuck Marty again or something, and hell, there's LOTS MORE to do in NYC than sit here with this aggressive little hustler, cute as he was, so I say, How much for you to go away? And he says, Twenty bucks. And I say, Five. And he takes it out of my life forever. So that was weird, paying a hustler to get lost. I later learned that $20 is a minimum charge for everything in New York, so I got a bargain with the first guy I met.
So I picked up some gentlemen's literature and found out where to go, and Marty and I cruised a lot of the bars, clubs, theaters and stuff, but the coolest was when we went to J's (I think that was the name), and it happened to be on Thursday night, which is nothing but a fucking orgy there, so that was cool. But you have to pay a cover, of course, and BYOB. What? No drinks? No. Bring your own fucking beer. And the kid behind us to get in was a really handsome young Italian looking kid named Tom, and he was really into Marty, so we kinda talked with him and that developed later. But we had to go get some beer and Tom showed us where to do that and then we get back to the club and go in, and man, it is strictly clothing optional. This is not a large place, but it's full of naked men wearing only their shoes and socks, clothes checked, I guess, and they are doing all kinds of things, even though this is really only a jackoff club. I didn't get naked right away, although eventually I was, and so was Marty, mostly. But we find Tom and he has a boyfriend there, but they are having some kind of a tiff, so Tom sits with us, and we're talking and watching the fuck films and drinking our beer and stuff. Tom, lucky for us, has another amazing cock that's probably 9 inches or more, but has this abrupt left hand turn in it that makes it look like he can fuck around obstacles or something. It is a power cock, but with that strong hook drive, I'm thinking you have to sneak up on it from behind his left hip if you want to suck the goddamn thing. So, I suavely remark that his cock is curved, and he says No shit, Sherlock. But hey, it's always been curved, what can I say? So I kinda hafta agree with this logic, and my horndogosity is getting pretty strong. Meanwhile, Marty is feeling under endowed! Man, his cock is bigger than mine, and he's embarrassed to haul it out. Go figure. So Tom is responding to me now, I guess cuz Marty's being such an asshole, and I tell him that sucking that cock has become my primary motivation in life, and he says, No, cuz this is a JACKOFF CLUB, and we don't suck cocks here. Now I know that can't be true (but it probably was), so I go looking around.
There's lube and paper towel kinda things everywhere, and men are just openly jacking off (hence, the name, I guess), but a lot of them are helping other guys with their cocks, and there are some really serious looking leather type guys fisting (Christ, I wish I hadn't seen that), and using their imaginations. In one area there seemed to be a cum contest or something, and I'd have to say there was a lot of cum. So I'm still reconnoitering and I find this little fucking closet with just a curtain across the door and it's just like for a mop bucket and the electrical panel or something. Perfect.
So Tom and Marty are just not getting anywhere by the time I deliver my report, and Marty is just sulking, but I get his cock out for him and get it hard for him and show it to him so he will remember why we are there, and he says, You only want to suck Tom's cock. Well, . . .yes. Yes, I fucking do. But I say, But you can come too. It will be fun, and Tom's cock may have to be sucked from two directions, I don't know, I haven't got that far. Why the fuck didn't he just find some other guy in there he has a bigger cock than (is that how you say that?)? So, I think, fuck Marty, which is always good too, but this time I mean I'm gonna suck Tom's cock in my newly discovered closet and that's just the way it's gonna fucking be. So I do. Tom finally agrees to just go look at it (but I knew he knew it was there all the time), and we get in there quietly somehow, although looking back on it I imagine the whole fucking place knew exactly what we were doing, maybe they had a fucking camera in there and played it on the fuck film monitors, I don't know. But we do, and Tom immediately climbs on top of the mop bucket cuz this fucking cupboard is way too small to kneel or bend over, and now this wicked curved cock is at least a foot or more higher, so I fucking go to town on that powerful young dick. I attack first in the usual fashion, but I just can't get past the elbow, so I kinda turn him sideways based on my earlier order of battle, and I start to get it lined up with my throat. Before long, it's going down pretty easy, maybe not clear down to the base, but I'm doing a very respectable job on it, and Marty The Shithead opens the fucking curtain! And he's all pouty, and we both say, Cummon in, but he says he's going home. Shit. Fuck. Etc. Fucked again.
So that kinda kills the moment, BUT, Tom decides to go with us! Now Marty perks up, and Tom is taking us around to all the boy shows and clubs and stuff, even one where, believe it or not, you had to know the fucking secret password to get in. And we had a really good time at a lot of those places, and we take some cabs and are just all fucking over each other in the back seat of the cabs. Driver? Fuck him. And somehow we go from J's, which is way the fuck down on Houston, all the way up to the Gaiety, just across the street from the Marquis. Cool. So we're in the theater, which of course is just a strip show, and I'm sitting next to Tom while Marty went out to replenish his spending money, and Tom just takes his cock out there in the second row and I'm stroking it for him, and the dancers don't care, but come over to see that curved fucker and kinda grin and shit. Then Tom has to go home or he will miss his train and have to stay in the City, which sounds cool to me, cuz, presto, I already have a hotel room. But it didn't happen. He went home. Marty didn't come back till late either. Actually we met Tom again the next night just by coincidence (in a city of ninety million or whatever, there's no such thing as coincidence), and he was with some friends, but they weren't doing anything I wanted to do until about 4 fucking o'clock in the morning, and I just went to bed. But I guess Marty fucked him or maybe the other way around, and Marty would have to have been some other way around to get that boomerang in his ass.
Anyway, the trip home was pretty fun, cuz we jacked off each other on the airplane, another thing you read about in literature. It's not that tough to do, you just have to be careful and go kinda slow, cover with a blanket and be prepared what you're going to do with the cum. Also, controlled breathing is vital, cuz you know how you can sorta lose it when you feel your balls draw up and the cum trigger pulls and you just have to gasp whether you fucking want to or not. Well, gasping is not tolerated on airplanes and it is a fucking federal offense or something to cum on board one, I guess. Anyway, they are just not very understanding people. But we didn't get caught and sorta made it through the gasping phase without any trauma. But we forgot to have any cumrags handy, which was inconvenient, but in a way made it hotter, cuz when Marty shot his load, I just cupped my hand over the head of his cock and let it splash against the palm. Then I got to lick that off discretely and I just wiped whatever fell off on his jeans. I don't think those pilot guys care about cumstains, do they? Course, Marty doesn't shoot his load very forcefully, but I do, so when he tried the same thing on my cock, it just blasted through his fingers and I'm like, HEY, THERE'S FUCKING CUM EVERYWHERE! And I hurry around to get my own hands under the blanket to catch some of this out of control semen, and I start to laugh again cuz it's like The Two Stooges, and my cock is still shooting under the blanket and both our hands are fighting each other under there to block the cumshots from getting on the blanket or into the fucking aisle or into the cockpit or something, and now I'm really laughing right out loud, which I guess is legal, unlike gasping. And I finally quit shooting my load, but I keep laughing and then I'm pretending that Marty is tickling me or something so I don't have to explain to all the people around us about the cum. That would be bad. So we kinda calm down and the pilots don't come back and throw us off the plane or anything, so we begin to clean up what we can under the blanket and lick up the cum, unobtrusively, of course. And my clothes are pretty well stuck to my body, and there's some cum on the blanket, but hey, I did the best I could, and I sent Marty to the head with the blanket to kinda clean it up, so everything came out OK, I guess, and nobody even mentioned the smell of a couple of loads of semen. As the hunk said, the pleasure was all mine.