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WBPBMS-2 What Began Playfully Became More Serious - PART TWO
THE DANCER
I like the dark and I like to dance. If I have to cruise too much it takes time away from dancing, and you could spend a hell of a lot of time trying to cruise without much result. For me a perfect evening was to go clubbing, dance til the floors were almost empty, score, his place or mine, fuck, sleep in his arms, fuck, coffee, seeya! Sometimes we would have breakfast.
Sometimes a guy would just come on to me and I'd be, Ok, let's do this! and leave. I like that molestation when this man's a bit high on something, loses his inhibitions, gets hard in his pants and just decides to go for it. I've had that happen when this guy just like grabs me from behind, round the waist, on the dancefloor; he'll pull me into him with an arm round my stomach so my backside is pressed against his groin and I can feel his dick rubbing against me like a hard promise. I always go for that. If he rubs a hand over my chest and puts his fingers round my throat so that my face jerks round for him to put his tongue in my mouth, pretty soon we're not dancing, though everybody else is, and we're snogging like wild animals; he forces his hand inside the waistband of my trousers, just about managing to get a finger down my arsecrack. I'm so engrossed I don't even know what he looks like, but that cock says everything to me about him. Then he says, "Can you feel it?" And I can. I love being molested.
I was quite lucky because, by now, I had matured physically. Fuckable, hard and cute, eager to explore; I rewarded any top with the balls, because I was tight, and flexible, and also very oral. I liked to use mouths - kissing, sucking, worshipping each other's body, which we would drive each other wild. "Oh yeah you like that!" "Yeah I like that!" "You know I'm gonna fuck you and fuck you and fuck you ..." Being with another man is like a fight, a kind of contest where the object is to lose, to lose yourself. Forgetting who I am and seeing him forget is the climax.
But I also liked to hang around the darkrooms, getting followed and sucking cock for hours. Glory holes and anonymous dungeons where the feast of men was neverending relaxed me when I was too horney to sit in the library and read a book! I know I was happy because I never wanted anything else. I think I had lots of regular fucks, but I don't know because I didn't care. If a man said he'd seen me about, I slipped my hand round his neck and sat on his dick. I had a lot of fun that way.
--- So when I next saw Joseph I was in a club dancing; it was some years later and he was standing holding a pint like he was making it last all night. Obviously I knew it wasn't him but I had to keep looking. And I was thinking, what's he doing here? I don't remember what I was on, but I kept thinking, "Oh was he gay after all?' and that seemed unlikely. But he looked so familiar. I couldnt tell; maybe he was just another stranger, but he was still as sexy as Joseph had been, but older, as Joseph would have to have been by now. I could tell he was horny because his way of dressing had a wiff of a military vibe going on, from the scalped hair to the boots - yeah I know it can be as bit camp, all that dressing up, but it conveys a signal and that saves time at the cliff edge of cruising when you know exactly what you're into and you need to know who's going to give you what you want. Or it should; trouble is guys don't always play by the rules, dressing hard when they aren't hard, dressing serious when they are cock teasers. But in his case I thought he had definite follow through, so I was wiggling my hips and punching the air to the music but always glancing in his direction just in case he was ready to make a move. I thought he was into me as well because he was looking at me as well every time I glanced his way. The sweat was pouring off me and my tee was plastered to me, soaked to the skin, showing my body to its full advantage. Attracting men with my body is the ultimate because I'm just so advertising that I want to get used and fucked. I felt fantastic and I thought, I am so hot, I am so hot, I really need to get fucked tonight. Fucked tonight. Fucked tonight.
Then he was gone.
Damn. The dark corner he had been occupying was empty. I looked about for a plan B to replace him, still wondering if it really had been the Joseph I knew at school. I more or less convinced myself that I'd made a mistake. I thought back to the school friend I remembered and the guy I'd seen and realised they were nothing like each other. I mean, people change, they grow up, square off and fill out, they can look completely different. I had changed! He had probably changed too, but the guy I'd seen, I didn't think he could have changed that much. I suddenly wondered why I thought it was him at all. After all, Joseph was straight and probably married by now and two kids and a load of straight problems. Who knows? ...except that this wouldn't be much of a story if that was the case, so, you know, he wasn't married with two kids. And only gay problems, I guess.
As the evening progressed it was one of those nights when I couldn't stop dancing. I was making eye contact with loads of guys and had all these possible hook-ups in my mind all just waiting for the music to ease off and us to split off to screw. But I was vaguely aware of getting dehydrated so I went to the bar to get some iced water, just to cool off. The heat was incredible. I could feel the sweat in my tee cold and hot on my skin. The pounding music and the lights flashing all around me made it difficult to stand still even with a glass. As I knocked it back I watched the guys on the dancefloor enviously, but also aware that this was a moment someone who had been eyeing me up might make a move, if I kept still for long enough! There was a soldier dancing manically now in the centre of the crowd and making all the others give space to him. "Oh my fuck!" I realised the military Joseph lookalike was now strutting his stuff like Michael Jackson in the spot where I had been only a few moments before. I stared at him, trying to work out if he was really Joseph or what the fuck, when he sort of raised his arms and spun around, pretty camp, and I just thought, I need to know. So I lost the glass and made my way back to him through the crowd.
When I was dancing I managed to weave through the bodies until I was right by him and thought he would look at me and I'd be able to tell. So I just swayed to the music and stared at him. Trouble is he was totally involved in his dance and even had his eyes closed a lot of the time, or didn't want to make eye contact. He did look at me, in my direction, a couple of times, but nothing came of it. Gradually I forgot about my quest and just got lost in the music as well. I was so high. I started dancing as manically as he was and just sort of swirling around. But as I did so we did eventually make eye contact so that it was a bit like we were dancing together somehow. Gradually we were dancing for each other - or I was dancing for him; he was just dancing. I constantly looked at him to see if he was indeed the Joseph I knew from my past.
He was now even so much more of a man than he had been. Slightly more muscle-bound, slightly less athletic; he had let himself go a little bit in that sense - his body had become a little fleshy but that only added to his masculinity, his comfortable take-it-or-leave-it self-assurance. The more I stared at him and the more he stared at me, gradually we were staring more and dancing less. It was a slow process but eventually dancing together was like dancing for an audience, dancing like gogo-boys. His dance slowed down, just sexy twisting, facing me and responding to my moves. I continued jumping and writhing. In the end he didn't move much, he just watched me and occasionally reached for me like I was a spinning top that needed slowing down.
Finally the club was emptying and we were dancing with just a small group. He was swaying like a drunk. He grabbed me and snogged me hard, right there in the middle of the dancefloor. I thought, 'Yeh!' He surrounded me with his arms; the sweaty smell of him and the heat of his body, so human and male and energetic, engulfed me; it was like being tied a meteorite about to fly off into the sky and explode. When he released me I laughed, "I've been waiting for you to do that all night!" I felt like I'd been waiting all my life. "It's nice to see you smile," he said, unoriginally. He said my name. Then he said, "You always did have such a cute face when you smile."
So it was him?
"Do I know you?" I said. "Is it Joseph?" I said. "Are you gay?" He grinned and stuck his tongue in my mouth, groping me shamelessly and grinding his crotch into mine. "Am I gay? Dunno," he said. "Are you?" He gripped my waist and kissed me again, pushing me off the dancefloor and into the privacy of a dark corner. I held onto him and kissed him back. His tongue tasted sugary when he thrust it into my mouth and when I gave him my tongue he sucked on it like he owned it. It was like he was a stranger, but I recognised the way he made me feel protected in the darkness. After a long while snogging in a corner, we left and I let him take me back to his place, which was a flat in Shepherd's Bush - which is West London.
The taxi was fun, catching up on things, a little. He had his hand round my neck and brushed my moustache playfully with his finger, and smiled, as if my moustache was some kind of joke, "What's this? Macho Man! That's a new thing. Funny," he said. "You don't like it?" "No, yeah, it's fine! It's fine. I do like it. It's fine. Like a toothbrush." He laughed. "But no I do like it. It's funny though cause it's so masculine," I blushed, "it is! We are both men. But, I just think, funny, cause at school everyone knew you were a fairy, everyone knew, but no one cared." "I did," I said. "I cared that no one wanted to be my friend." "I did. I wanted to be your friend. I wanted to be your boyfriend." "Did you?" I blushed again. "Yeh. I thought you were boyfriend material." "You're kidding." "Yes I am kidding. But I sure wanted to fuck you, that's for sure." "Did you? Why didn't you?" "You were impossible to get close to like that. I tried." "Did you? I didn't notice." "You didn't want to notice. Anyway. No matter. Here we are and we can catch up. If you want to. Do you want to?" I put my hand between his legs and felt the package he had to offer. He spread his legs to let me, and smiled self-confidently. "It's all there," he said. He put a hand behind my neck, pulled my face in to his and snogged me some more. His facial hair rubbing my facial hair. I was rubbing his bulge; it was bigger than I remembered it. He pushed my head down to his jeans and pushed my face into his fly. The smell and wetness of him was great. I tried to open it but he stopped me. "Hold on. Tiger." He called me Tiger!
Inside his flat we were drinking and kissing, we undressed each other and I saw his prick for the first time. He sat me on the bed and stood in front of me so that I could look at it. The big balls weighed down from it in their sack. Then he bent down to kiss me. "Mmm. That's good. You want to suck my cock don't you?" I barely moved my head. "Go on. Put it in your mouth. Watch the brush!" (He meant my moustache.) I liked that he was giving me permission to do it at the same time as seemingly instructing me to. Truth is, I needed it gagging me for every sort of reason. I felt fulfilled when a cock was in my mouth. I think he knew that. He held it in his fist, pointed towards my face. I licked my lips and opened them. His foreskin was peeling away from his knob end as it grew. I licked the end and let him insert it into me, looking up at him to see if he was pleased by my technique. "All the way in," he said. "That's it. Gag. Just a little. I like it when my guys gag a little." He laughed. He held my head and choked me with it so I wanted to cough. I was red and my eyes were watering. He let me breath and wiped his cockhead on my nose. "You're good." That made me feel kinda proud, but my hunger for his nob was Increasing and I went to gobble it down again, tightening my lips on his hard shaft. He guided me and told me what he liked. When I'd mastered the technique he preferred he let me know and fed me like a calf.
Fucking was easy. He told me when he was ready. "You're wild in bed aren't ya!" he said. "You're fun!" I had straddled him, doing all the work; when he came I took every drop and came on his stomach at the same time. It was perfect. Perfect. Then we were exhausted and slept like kittens, wrapped in each other's arms.
His hands held me in a bear hug but I liked to grip his junk so that I could sleep in comfort.
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END OF What Began Playfully Became More Serious - PART TWO