I wish I would have known this about myself before
By: Patrick in OK
I’m a 40-year old gay man that recently discovered I’m hopelessly addicted to draining men out. Let me tell you a little about me and why – now that I live in Podunk – I’m completely screwed.
My personal revelation happened earlier this year on a planned spring trip to NYC. I’m just going to dive in and give you all the dirt. Warning: some of it ain’t pretty.
OK … several hours before Easter morning 2016, I’d spent a good part of the night engaging in oral fun with an Australian F-Bud. He was a slender and mischievous guy with finely sculpted legs and a love of tight AussieBum briefs.
We’d fooled around years earlier when I lived in Chelsea, but because I’d moved, I hadn’t seen him in nearly a decade. Thanks to the magic of email and texting, we managed to keep in touch.
So back to the Easter-Eve.
After working on him on him like a lollipop for a good hour, he asked if I wanted to party with a cola. Feeling adventurous, I told him I was cool with it but only a tiny amount.
Hey, when you get to 40, you can’t get all Mr. Snuffleupagus with that stuff like some 20-year old, you know?
In the months leading up to my visit, he and I had fantasized via text about inviting a bunch of “giant guys” over for an all-nighter.
But sadly, the men we invited over who met our larger than life criteria flaked out – even with the promise of party favors. Don’t you hate that crap?
Anyway … we were determined to make something happen.
My bud kept talking about it while flipping through the boys on his Hornet app: remarking about how big each of one was, if he knew them and if so, how they liked to be drained.
With some of those guys, he even knew minute details, like how they smelled and if they were cut or uncut. But trying to get people to come over on the fly proved difficult – not surprising, huh?
“How about a bathhouse?” he suggested.
I recoiled at the thought. You see I’d been to a NYC bathhouse back in the day and remembered it being somewhat scummy with a bunch of zombie-eyed tweakers following me around, hoping I’d join them for some PNP.
Plus, bathhouses can nickel and dime you to death — there’s the entry fee, the membership fee, the towel fee, the locker fee, the room fee…
“Nah,” I said, resigning myself to a low-key night of continued one-on-one action. And then he said, “Hey, have you ever been to The C*ck?”
The C*ck! Of course I had — it’s basically a gay institution (and hole in the wall) in NY’s East Village (click link). I’d only gone one night — back when it was a single darkened room with masses of partially clothed men huddled in the back corner, kissing groping and sweating all over one another.
During that one time visit, I remember servicing a guy in the bathroom at 3am while someone pounded on the door, needing to take a dump.
“You know, it’s changed location now,” my friend said. “It’s much nicer!”
To me, that was like saying that a porta poddy was “much nicer” now because it was in a posh neighborhood. But honestly, I was so worked up that I was down for anything.
Ever been that horned before?
So before I knew it, we were walking through the door.
The $10 cover and $8 drinks ended up costing about as much as a bathhouse, but The C*ck offered so much more. For one, the place was packed: Easter Morning had brought out many bunnies looking for “baskets” and “eggs”.
Secondly, though the men were younger (early twenties to mid-thirties), the bar had bodies of all types — bears, average Joes, muscle twinks, even Hasidic Jews in their traditional shirts and slacks — the sort of guys who could easily be your friends, your gym mates, your co-workers – or some random man walking down the street.
In the dark half of the sweaty downstairs area, music-pumping and bodies huddled together, my Aussie pal and I partied a little more with cola, rubbing it on our gums and swishing it down with vodka soda, and then went into the crowd.
We stayed there for about three hours and I ended up servicing 7 guys. Yep, I’m not kidding – 7. Oink!
The entire thing had worked me up into a frenzy – to the point that I didn’t know who or what I was helping to release.
But I remember that something opened up inside of me. You see, I’d been openly gay for years, but had never realized how much I absolutely loved draining other men!
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And even after my Aussie pal and I went home and finished each other off, I knew I had become addicted. You know how some people get hooked on Mountain Dew? Well, that’s what happened to me except switch out the can of soda for massive eggplants!
And here’s what really sucks (no pun intended):
Now I live in a conservative Oklahoma and in a town where there’s nothing at all like The C*ck. Oh sure, we’ve got gyms in my area but I’ve tried hanging out in the sauna for hours with zero luck.
If I ever want to do that again, I either have to return to NYC or try to arrange my own group or had back to The C*ck.
And speaking of groups – the truth is that’s just not possible here in Podunk. That’s probably because anybody decent looking lives 100 miles away or in another state!
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Plus, to complicate matters, I have a housemate that’s not as forward thinking as I am. Bathhouses don’t exist around here and the one hideous local adult video store in town is a joke!
For now, I’m stuck trolling gay blogs like this one while I make plans to move back to something that offers more. I hear Chicago and LA are nice places to live.
Thankfully, Denver is a quick plane ride away. That will tie me over until I move.
Thanks for reading 🙂
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