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.