Thursday, April 03, 2003

My nipples are still sore. For a man with no nipples, that means a lot. Late last night, heading home on the bike, I knew to take Bleeker St. east, as it would have traffic lights, as opposed to stop signs, at the intersections. Seeing a red light up in the sky meant stop, seeing a red light at eye level or lower meant cab, slow down. My glasses were tucked in my leather jacket pocket, as the lens had popped out, and I wasn't able to screw the pieces back together. I hate not being able to see, it makes driving kinda tough.

Earlier in the night, I had decided to head out to the Lure for Pork, figuring that if the bar is closing in a week, perhaps there might be more adventuresome guys hanging out, and perhaps the "rules" might not get enforced (with all the men in leather and other "fetish" garb, the guys who work there spend a lot of time making people keep their stuff in their pants so as not to endanger their liquor license). But while the crowd was okay, it seemed to be the same ol' same ol', perhaps a few couples making out, but nothing terribly interesting. Even the new no-smoking law was being strictly adhered to, so I figured a few beers, then head back east, and maybe catch Jeff at The Slide dj-ing. One shirtless, goatteed bearish guy kinda caught my attention, and he seemed to be checking me out, too. He sat down in the back, that sort of faux alleyway, and I circled a few times, finally realizing there's no reason to dick around, go for it and see what happens. As I approached, he let out a slight grin, we kissed lightly, and he grabbed my chest. Somehow he managed to find a nipple, and began tugging. I licked his chest, his neck, his rather large nipples, and he let the slightest groan out. He pulled harder, alternating each side, then suddenly pulled his cock out of his pants, and pushed my head down. A few slurps, he pulled me up, we kissed, and a bouncer came by, telling him to "put it away or you're out!" We settled in for some above-the-waist activity, but apparently he was worked up, and once he saw the bouncer pass by on his rounds, he unbuttoned, shoved me down, and thrust into me. Suddenly pulling me up and turning me around, so my leather pants-covered ass was pressing against his dick, me looking forward and him reaching and unbuttoning my fly. A couple of guys stood around, watching. He continued on my nipples, and after the bouncer passed again, he swung me around, pushed me down, and fucked my face again. Stopping again, swinging me around, the bouncer passed, then back down again. This time someone approached from behind, grabbing me, then suddenly my belt was coming off. He grabbed my hands, and used my belt to tie them behind my back, while my partner continued to fuck my face, pull on my nipples, and give the occasional slurp to my mouth. A passing thought regarding my glasses, how they are already fucked up and askew from me falling asleep on them a few times, and now being thrust into his hairy belly. Suddenly I'm pulled up, he tried to kiss me, and a flash light is pointed at his crotch, and a different bouncer barks: "put it away, once more and you're out!" The unknown guy behind me is gone, my hands easily slip out of the belt, and I put it back on. My partner in crime has zipped up, and stood up, saying he needs to piss, and walks off. I button back up, my glasses are practically falling off my face, and I pull them off to wipe them. Clink. What was that? as I put them back on, seeing that the right lens is missing.

Shit! Fumbling around on the dank floor, somehow I manage to find the lens, get up, and am grateful that the teeny tiny screw is still in place. But there's no way I can get it back together; I walk to the bar, to the nice older guy with glasses, and ask if he has a teeny tiny eyeglass screwdriver. Nope. A few feeble attempts with a knife, my nonexistent finger nails, but nothing does the trick. I give up, and go to the coat check, not really being able to see, just following brighter light and avoiding darker spots. The sweet coat check guy can't help, saying he usually carries his Swiss Army Knife, but not tonight. As I head out, I see my "partner," lick one of his nipples, and say goodnight. Traffic isn't the real concern going home; it's late, and like I mentioned, once I got onto Bleeker St., the intersections all have traffic lights, so I keep it slow and steady, but it's the potholes I can barely make out. But it is a beautiful night, and I can't help grinning from ear to ear, and manage to get all the way back to the East Side (phewww!) in one piece. I park the bike in front of The Slide, some friends are coming out to smoke, and we do the cheek-kiss thing, as I go inside, see Jeff, get a beer. There's a tall man in a bunny suit, but apparently the go-go boy has finished for the night. Some groovy music, Jeff remarks on my lack of glasses, and I briefly explain - the part about my belt being used to tie my hands makes him say "ahhhh, years since anything like..." and he trails off mumbling - poor "married" man! I am about to buy another Happy Hour beer (2 bucks after 2 am!) but count my money, and I have just enough to get into House of Regrets.

Having said my goodnights, I pedal the block over, lock up, go inside, and immediately realize the problem I'll be having. No, not that I'm too drunk; not that most, if not all, of them are too drunk or stoned; and not quite that I can't see faces that well until up close. I realize there will be no subtleties here if I am to have sex. I can't see if someone is looking in my direction, doing the tacky porno-movie lip-licking, or crotch-grabbing. But it's late enough that most of the guys are more obvious than usual, wanting to get it on and get home. The first two guys I tried were quite handsome up close, and bodies that looked better unclothed than clothed. But for some reason I was giving off this "I'm a top and I want to fuck you" vibe, and when I wouldn't, each seemed quite disappointed (the 2nd guy tried sticking it in, unsheathed, as I got up from behind him at one point). So we parted ways rather quickly after that. Finally a shortie seemed quite interested, and he had a nice, little tight body. Like the other two, he seemed to dig the old beard-in-yer-balls routine; but unlike the other two, this seemed enough to do the trick, and like a good boy, got it on me , not in me. We giggled like kids as we dressed, him leaving the sweaty room first, and me attempting a quick (but not terribly thorough, as I saw this morning in the mirror) clean-up in the bathroom before straddling the bike, and riding those last few blocks home. My nipples are still sore.