Date: Fri, 2 Nov 2012 08:56:12 -0700 (PDT) From: Vincent Salerno Subject: Dirty Movies, Gay Bars & Bromance; "Bar Lookin' & Sometimes A Little More" Bar Lookin' and Sometimes a Little More Droppin' by a bar for the scent and feel of gayness. Very rarely would I follow through on any impulse but I liked to stop by a gay bar now and then to see what was happening. I read about most of them in the local gay papers and magazines, and would smile over the appealing and often creative names. Since as a married man my available time for such activity was extremely limited, I usually would just have a quick drink to check out a new spot. The reality would often fail to live up to my expectations, but I kept trying anyhow. Once in a while I would be treated to a sight that I could clearly remember twenty years later. For example, once I stopped by a rundown little hole in the wall of a bar, called Dirty Edna's in New York City. Nothing too exciting going on, which was usual at these places. Especially at five o'clock in the afternoon when I would visit. This place seemed to have a local crowd who knew each other. It became apparent to me that some of the boys were selling it. As I got rid of my beer in the men's room, one of the hustlers who I had seen out at the bar came up to the urinal next to mine and unzipped. Well, okay, let's hang out a minute more to see this. I casually glance to the side as he removes his dick. Uh, what is this!! What the fuck did he take out ? It occurred to me that maybe it was one of those joke cocks that are sold in novelty stores, or a dildo of some type. I can't give this one a discreet sideward glance, got to look at it headon. This is fucking unbelievable. What did he remove from his jeans? It's surely not a cock. Wait a minute, I think that it is. Yep, I look openmouthed at the largest, longest, fattest dick I've ever seen. I had read in jerk-off books about beer can sized dicks. This cock was the only dick that I've ever seen that could be accurately described that way. It was fascinating to see, but a little bizarre at the same time. The hustler was not at all shy about my looking. He leaned back as he started to piss and lifted the monster in his hand up and down, making it undulate like a small animal in his hand. He smiled at me as he showed his wares. What could you do with a cock that big? I surely couldn't get it into my mouth. I can't imagine anybody wanting it up the ass (although I guess there would be some takers). I stepped away from the urinal, running the water in the sink as I continued to stare. Let's get a look at the rest of him. Tall. Very tall, with dark, kind of greasy hair, an ordinary face, with no outstandingly attractive or unattractive features. Skinny, and dressed in jeans and a t shirt. The t shirt has been lifted up and his thin hairy stomach is revealed along with his cock, as he continues to stand at the urinal showing off his dick for my benefit. I return to the bar. I take my seat next to a very good looking young man with straight light brown hair who looks somewhat like the film actor Joe D'Allessandro. We had exchanged a few words earlier, and now after I return from the john, he becomes friendlier and begins to ask me about myself. Do I live in the area, am I visiting from out of town, etc. When I make some comment about some of the guys hanging out being professional, he makes it clear that he is not making idle chit-chat with me. Nor is he interested in anything other than my wallet. "I'm selling it too," he says simply. "Actually, renting it for a while," he corrects with a smile. The guy from the bathroom with the monstrous cock has walked up to us and is standing next to the Joe D lookalike. "Joe" has his back to the hung hustler who begins to gesture to me that "Joe" has a tiny dick. He holds his thumb and index finger about an inch apart and then points at "Joe." After a few minutes he injects himself into the conversation that "Joe" and I are having. They jostle with each other good-naturedly and quickly monstercock brings the conversation around to dick size and begins to brag about his endowment. "Oh, sure, oh sure," says 'Joe'. I guess you're a regular bull, right ?" . "He saw what I have, this guy saw what I have, tell him, mister. Am I hung like a bull or what? " This whole competition scene was getting too heavy for me. It wasn't quite clear whether it was just a friendly game that hustlers play or whether they were desperately vying for my business. In either case I was not interested in contributing to its continuance, so I said my goodbys and left. Another day many years later found me at a bar also on the west side of Manhattan, where young guys for rent, mostly Latino, hung out. It was early and not very busy. I passed several minutes. A few of the working boys approached me discreetly, and I actually helped one fill out a job application form for a job as an usher in a local movie house. Before leaving I decided to hit the john, and was followed in by a big Latino guy who joined me at the urinal. He flipped out a very long snakelike uncut cock of monumental proportions. He skinned it back and began to make it hard with slow, deliberate movements. I hadn't seen anything as big as this in years, maybe ever, and quickly put away my dinky pee-pee, unable to urinate. As I left the bar, I flashed back at the enormous dick I had seen at Dirty Edna's those many years earlier. Now, which one was bigger? Not having them next to each other to compare, and also working with the disadvantage of comparing visual memory images twenty years apart, I nevertheless decided that the winner and still champion was the Dirty Edna guy, since the current challenger was probably not as thick. But I think that he was a pretty good match in length, and I hope that he enjoys showing it for pleasure and profit for many years to come. You may be thinking: Hey, don't you ever do anything but look? Well, come on, you know that I do. Just not often, and usually not in bars. But an exception comes to mind. There used to be a nice bar for gay gentlemen in an old residential hotel for genteel ladies. Having read about it, I visited it late one afternoon and met a guy about my age, or maybe a little older. He was drunk and had a cute Irish face. In fact, lots of the guys who came here were usually drunk and had cute Irish faces. On an earlier visit, I had met one who was a retired New York City cop. I liked him and would have liked to get to know him better. I could tell that he was interested in me too. Unfortunately, I ran into a neighbor of mine from the suburbs, who was a buddy of the cop, and that spooked me. So I left that day, and returned today hoping to find the cop. But no, instead I found this other guy. Dressed in a suit, great smile, we were playing kneesies in no time. We progressed to discreet brushing of dicks and hand holding. In the men's room we got to see the object of our tactile explorations. Terrence reached over and took my dick in his hand. He pulled back the foreskin, tickled the head with his fingers and then jerked it a few times. It quickly became hard and started to ooze. I reached over and wrapped my fist around his dick which was three quarters hard. After a blissful moment or two, which included exploring his small hairy balls, we zippered up. We made a date to meet at the same bar in a week's time. It was springtime, and romance was blossoming. The bar was named Menemsha, a town on Martha's Vineyard, an island off Massachusetts, or is it Rhode Island, I always forget. There were suitable seafaring scenes on the walls of the bar, with lanterns and fishing nets and such thrown about. Sometimes, some of the genteel ladies in residence at the hotel would be having a wee cocktail at one of the tables. They were blind to the goings on about them, or chose to be. Although a nor'easter was brewing in a print on the wall, the weather outside was more cherry blossom time. And Terrence and I were slowly moving toward the day of consummating our relationship. Finally the date was set. It was to be at a local bathhouse. I stood outside on the designated corner for thirty minutes waiting nervously. No Terrence. I slowly walked away to my train --in a way sad, and in a way, relieved. I never returned to Menemsha. I read sometime later that it had closed down.