The Top Hat Club.
By Bald Hairy Man
This is a story for adult men. It depicts gay sex. If this offends or bothers you, DO NOT READ IT. It is a fantasy and is not a sex manual, or a discussion of safe sex. If you have comments send them to winarch47@yahoo.com
There was no official founding date for the Top Hat Club. It was the result of a gathering of friends at Stevenson D. Markham's his summer home. His city residence was in a mews behind Washington Square in New York City. It was 1924 and Greenwich Village was becoming known as a bohemian outpost. Stevenson was not a bohemian by any standard, but he liked the atmosphere.
He was wounded and shell shocked during the War and had just returned to an almost normal life. He was much decorated commander of a brigade, but there are only so many of your men you can see blown up before your eyes without mental damage. I am Billy Williams. I was the company clerk. As a clerk, I assumed I would be posted behind the lines. I never discovered the lines. There was too much mud. Everywhere I went there was shelling and attacks for months.
I wrote the notification letters to the wives and family of the men who died when I wasn't dodging bullets or bombs. Stevenson couldn't do it. He felt personally responsible for each death. Six years later I was his secretary.
Stevenson and I shared another secret. He loved his men. He and I shared the same love for men. He never expressed this except to me. His love for his men was platonic, but deeply felt. My relationship with Stevenson was not platonic.
During the long period of recovery after he was wounded, I was with him. His father was a work obsessed captain of industry. His mother was a beautiful, charming woman who was entirely incapable of dealing with major problems. Her son was too much for her to help or even admit there as a problem.
Stevenson set about making new friends in Greenwich Village. In the Village there was an unlimited variety of men, some of whom shared our interests. Stevenson wanted to discover and indulge in all the pleasures we had missed in the trenches of France.
He was handsome and a bit melancholy. That look was very stylish. He had been educated in elite private schools and Harvard. The men under his command were not elite. They were ordinary men, varied and individual. He told me that meeting them was as if someone opened the windows and let fresh air into the room.
He closest friend from college was Rooster Burnside. He hadn't been in France, but he had been code breaking in a secret location in London. He received some impressive medals for his work. They were medals he could never wear in public.
When I met him for the first time in 1922, I discovered I could give him medals for fucking me. It would be more correct to say I encountered him. I was showering when he joined me. He slipped his cock into my ass and fucked me for fifteen minutes and shot off for what seemed like another minute.
"Rooster's the name, fucking my game," he said. "Stevenson told me your ass was worth a visit."
"Was it satisfactory?" I asked.
"Oh yes!" he replied. "I am afraid I let my cock take the lead. Several men have told me a big cock does not make up for being a fool. I promise not to do this again."
"You aren't going to fuck me again?" I asked.
"I certainly hope I will fuck you. Do you top?" he asked.
"Once in a while. I usually suck and bottom," I said.
"Stevenson told me you are an honest man. I am not used to that," he replied. "I mostly top, but I rarely slip into a perfect ass. God, in his infinite wisdom saw fit to give you the perfect ass for my cock. It and you were a lovely fuck." He paused briefly. "If I were to be perfectly truthful, it was much more than lovely."
Stevenson joined us and we had a pleasant romp. I am embarrassed to admit this, but while Roster wasn't my type; his cock was.
Over the next year Stevenson and I made more friends with similar interests. Greenwich Village was the bohemian center for New York. Poets, socialists, painters, and actors filled the streets, alleys, and apartments of the neighborhood. It was not at all stylish, but that became high style for the knowledgeable. Many of residents' ideas were eccentric and odd. That included their sexual tastes and interests.
Stevenson became friendly and popular as he recovered from the mental ravages of war. He reconnected with old friends and made new friends. A maiden aunt left him a farm she called "the Retreat," in the Catskills. It had not been a farm in years, and the property was now wooded. The Aunt used it as a summer getaway. It was a cool refuge from the summer heat.
Stevenson made it into a summer getaway for some of our friends. Some were invited, others dropped in. All shared our sexual tastes.
We had a 4th of July party and invited many of Stevenson's friends for the weekend. Rooster was a regular visitor as was Buddy Halford. He was another schoolmate.
Two older men Rusty and Dusty came to see us. They had once been gardeners at Stevenson's home before the war. Big muscular men. they were rough looking, but friendly. Stevenson's father was uninvolved in his son's life. In the trenches Stevenson knew how to fix and repair things. That was due to Rusty and Dusty.
A man named Bunny and his friend Art joined us. Art was an artist who lived near the house in the mews. Bunny discovered him. Bunny was not as foolish as he seemed, but that was a low bar. Bunny had been shell-shocked, and being a brainless twat was his reaction to the war.
Ovid Brown our neighbor came. He was a farmer and at least sixty. We encountered him swimming nude in our pond. He had been doing that since he was a child. Stevenson and I joined him and discovered we shared other interests. Ovid was a confirmed bachelor and we discovered that was his preference.
Stevenson's house was secluded and sat in a large, wooded property. It had been a farm and the farmland had returned to nature. We went skinny dipping in a small, spring fed pond. Everyone in our group was a confirmed bachelor, but no one was a virgin.
While were an odd assemblage of men. You could have said the same thing about the men in the trenches. We were all used to that. We all discovered it was more important the know the man, that to know his parents were prominent, or you went to a good school.
It was also clear to all of us, that your cock couldn't tell who was wealthy by the way his ass caressed your tool. It is hard to put on airs when you are naked and erect or have a cock in your ass.
At first, we were splashing around in the pond, but soon the men get aroused. Some of us knew the other members of the group. I was soon evident we all shared common sexual interests. I sensed a battle between a desire to stick with old friends and the excitement of meeting a new friend. Everyone decided to do both.
That worked out well. I was with Ovid the farmer and Bunny. Ovid was six feet tall, muscular, and hung. Bunny was five-five, baby faced, except for his protruding teeth, and a thin, pink, and average cock.
"Would you like to have some fun?" Ovid asked.
Bunny stared at Ovid's cock, and said, "It's huge."
"Men tell me it tastes good," Ovid said. "I need to tell you that eventually it will be stretching you ass. I'm a farmer and I like to seed."
I thought it was crude. After sucking Ovid's cock for about ten minutes, Ovid fucked him for about ten minutes, and shot off. Bunny shot off seconds later, and I was close enough to take Bunny's load. Bunny went back to the pond with cum dripping from his ass.
"I think he liked it when you took his load," Ovid said.
"I don't believe it fit. Do you think he will come back?" I asked.
"Oh yeah," Ovid said. "That boy is lost. He thinks he worthless. He wants some one to want him, even if it's only just to provide a place to shoot his seed."
"Are you sure he wants you?" I asked.
"I want him. That's what he wants," Ovid replied. He went off to talk with Stevenson.
Buddy Halford, Rusty, and Dusty came over to me. "We are a trio, but we would like to make it a quartet. Are you game?" Buddy asked. "We are kind of new to this, and Stevenson told me you are into it."
"I am new to it too, but I'm not shy and I'm horny," I said. "I was hoping you are horny. I know how to help men with the horny problem. I like to suck cock and I don't mind when some needy men want to visit my back side for some stress relief."
"You would do that?" Dusty asked.
"You would have to ask politely and say please," I said. they laughed.
"Do you have to say thank you too?" Rusty asked.
"That would be nice, but if you have left a thick, liquid, gift deep in my ass, you don't need to say thanks," I said.
"There is no need to gild the Lilly?" Rusty remarked. "I've never been up a guy's shit tube."
"When you are fucking a guy, the shit tube becomes the back door to heaven," I said.
With nine, naked, sexually excited men you become experienced quickly. You share experiences, interests, and skills. I would have thought that pushing your cock into a man's ass would be a fairly standardized act. There was unexpected variety in approaches, penetrations, and orgasms.
The men spent the night. At the breakfast table, Stevenson asked if we had enjoyed the visit and the sex.
"Everyone here is polite and friendly, but technically it was an orgy. Did any of you get to the point when you relaxed?"
"It couldn't have been an orgy," Rusty said. "There were no grapes!" The men laughed.
"I thought an orgy required delicate youths, mourning their lost innocence?" Ovid remarked.
"I've never had sex in daylight with men who admitted they enjoyed it before," Bunny said. "Even though I wholeheartedly support virginity, I somehow had a good time. This morning a gentleman told me that my ass was as firm and tight as he had been the night before." The men burst out laughing. Bunny was not shy.
"I was thinking that we might make this sort of get together into a more regular event," Stevenson said. "I know that nude events are popular in Europe."
"Is this so we can stay tan?" Buddy asked. There was some laughter.
"I was thinking of it as a chance to get together, renew our friendships and reduce stress," Stevenson said. "It would be a chance to make sure everything is in working order. We might exchange tokens of our affection."
"Is that sticky and messy stuff?" Ovid asked.
"That depends on where you deposit these fluids," Stevenson said. There was more laughter.
After some conversation clearly everyone was interested.
"Are we going to called it the Naked Man Social club?" Buddy asked.
"That might be ever so slightly too overt," Bunny said. "I think something like the "The Top Hat Club," would better describe the club."
"That is the most incorrect description of the club's intent as is possible," Buddy said.
"Exactly!" Bunny exclaimed. "It is perfect."
"I like to top," Ovid said. Ovid's comment carried the day. Our little group became the Top Hat Club.
Stevenson became the first president and the head of the membership committee. Since he owned the Retreat and the carriage house in Greenwich Village, he was the obvious choice. Rooster thought the carriage house was too small. I told him I doubted that many men would object to being close. There was more laughter.
Back in New York, Stevenson interviewed one or two men over the next few weeks. They came with their sponsors. It was an interview in some ways, but it was more of a sexual audition.
I am prone to worry, and I was afraid the true nature of the club would become known. That would be concerning to all the Club's members. That wasn't a problem.
The potential new members were oversexed and outgoing. The chance to have sex with multiple men was a dream come true for them. I suspected many of them didn't have dreams that good. If word of the club's activities got out, many of the men could be ruined. Stevenson mentioned that it would be wise to avoid men who drank too much. Some men talk when they have been drinking. Sex crazed but sober men were the ideal. Versatility was also a desirable trait in new members.
Art explained the reason for the small number of men trying to join. The members were all oversexed men with non-standard sexual urges. Many men and women have unusual needs and urges. I knew men who were obsessed their business or with railroad engines or horses. I assume most great scientists such as M. Pasture in France or Mr. Edison, had obsessive tendencies.
Many of these obsessions are good and beneficial. While a mild sexual obsession is not a problem, an out-of-control obsession is dangerous and destructive. It is fine to be sexually interested in women. Being a lecher or sexually interested in little girls, is not. When affection turns to a sexual craving disaster can result.
Art thought that our club members understood this. They knew the potential new members well and knew all was well. While our members loved sex with men, they were selective. They also liked friends they had known for years.
While spending a weekend at the farm in the early fall, Ovid came to see us. He said he had a buddy we might like, but he was shy and not a sophisticate. Ovid was a good, straight forward man, but he wasn't a sophisticated man of the world, so I wondered what his friend was like.
Stevenson said he would like to meet with him. Ovid went home and returned two hours later with Alonzo Jones. Alonzo was two or three inches taller than Ovid, but much more muscular. He looked like a circus strong man. He was soft spoken and polite. Ovid told me later his mamma had taught him right.
Alonzo told us that he was a lumberjack. He and Ovid played some fun games, and Ovid told him we liked the same games.
I asked him what he liked most about the games. He didn't answer right away.
"Alonzo, it's okay to tell these gentlemen what you like," Ovid said. "These men are close friends."
"I knew squirting was fun, but I didn't know it was more fun with another man," Alonzo explained. "What I did it alone it was good, but I made a mess. Ovid knew places where you could shoot it and not make a mess. I like that a lot too."
"Alonzo, would you like to play with us?" Stevenson asked. "We like to get naked and do it with another naked man."
"Do you think it would be fun?" he asked. "Ovid likes to play naked. I like that too."
We all stripped, and Alonzo was more impressive nude than when he was dressed. Blond hair covered most of his body and his muscles were beautiful. I dropped to my knees and took the tip of his monster cock into my mouth.
"Ovid said it would be alright if I spurt when playing with you," Alonzo said. "Is that right?"
"Ovid was completely right about that," Stevenson said. "Billy and I would love to have you shoot off. We would like to taste it too."
"Ovid said he thought you would like that," Alonzo replied.
Alonzo's shyness vanished as my tongue licked his tender knob. His cock grew to full size, and I knew it was too big for me. Oddly, I wanted to feel it probing my ass. That may have been an impossible dream, but a little later my cock overruled my brain, and I took it.
Alonzo was careful and took things slowly. It was a rare time when his sexual urges coincided with my sexual needs. I could feel his needy cock finding the perfect place to rest in my ass.
Ovid was fucking Stevenson. Stevenson moaned, "Oh baby." That happened when the ordinary fucking stopped, and the sexual merger began. In the marriage ceremony they mention two becoming one. Ovid had sexually merged with Stevenson.
As they merged, I felt as if I was being baptized as Alonzo's ball juices filled me. I get excited when a man shoots his load into me, but Alonzo's ejaculations were different. Alonzo had a slow-motion orgasm. Each ejaculation was separate and distinct. They felt like individual orgasms, not a single event. He moaned a guttural, "Oh yeah!" with each shot. Alonzo gave me a one-man gang bang.
When the ejaculations stopped, Alonzo's cock remained in my ass. He and I savored the moment. He twitched once more, and I shot off. He pulled out and leaned over to take my sperm.
Moments later, Otis lost the battle and transferred every drop of his sperm it to Stevenson's ass. Stevenson moaned with each volley of Otis's man seed.
I felt like I had done a good thing for Alonzo, and he was thanking me for my efforts to please by taking my load. Alonzo became the first new member of the Top Hat Club.
Soon the interviews included what Stevenson called the Baptismal Exchange. There were two types of baptisms. One he called the Oral Feast, and the other he called the Rectal Impregnation. Stevenson insisted that the new member had a choice depending on his personal preferences. He felt that since men's private parts were delicate and exposed, men knew best what would fit where.