Chapter 1: Urinal Gag
This one is dedicated to M.S. It was during an email exchange that I sketched out the fantasy I'd had when I first came across the Urinal Gag online, and that gave me the impetus to write this out. That shows how valuable that feedback (especially emails and private messages) can be. It makes it feel worthwhile to know that these stories are as arousing for other people as they are for me, and sharing fantasies can help with inspiration for the next story. If this or any of my stories turn you on, feel free to drop me a line, whether you'd just like to share your own secret desires with a sympathetic listener, swap pictures, or anything else. Thanks for reading!
*
After I got my promotion, I found out that I was going to have to travel a bit more. Nothing too bad, just short trips from our branch office to the corporate headquarters every few months. The prospect of getting to the big city was exciting for me, and right from the start I took advantage. My sex life had been a dead zone for a while, so I decided to put some of my extra salary to toward getting laid. I'd never hired an escort before, but it turned out to be surprisingly easy -- even if the results were never great. The dead-eyed women that came to my hotel seemed to be in such a passionless rush to get me off and leave that it just didn't seem like any
fun
.
After a few trips to the city like that I was a little frustrated, and instead of browsing through the boards with the escort ads, I found myself on Craigslist.
Maybe there's a bored housewife that wants to get her bell rung
, I thought to myself. And once I was looking at those, it was just one click over to look at the "M4M" ads. I couldn't believe how much looking at
those
turned me on -- something about the forthright, no-bullshit directness of simply saying what you want to do, I guess. It also re-awakened something I thought I was done with. I'd had a few gay experiences in my younger days, back in college when everyone was being "experimental". I'd enjoyed them with no regrets, but once I was out of school, it wasn't something that happened again.
But now, man I was ready. Over my next few trips, I found that a Craigslist ad with "downtown hotel" in its location got lots of replies, and I had one great hookup, two good ones, one okay one and one unpleasantly awkward one. (It's a long story.)
So anyway, I wasn't making any trips to the city during the summertime, so on my first time back in September I felt a real tingle of anticipation down in my belly. I'd been waiting for this all week, and I had a big four-day load that I was ready to give someone. Usually I'd been waiting for the last night I'd be in town to set up my hookup, but there was no way I was going to be able to hold off. To my great frustration, on my first night in, there was an after-work dinner I had to go to, and I was fidgety all through it, thinking about what might happen to me that night. In fact, I cut out after one post-dinner drink, telling everyone I wanted to walk back to the hotel.
Which was true enough. I wanted to let dinner settle as I turned over in my mind what I was going to put in my ad that night. The stroll took me through a district that I wasn't normally in, so I was also looking at the cool old buildings with approval. Very restrained, very dignified, even if they were a bit worn down. It looked like the sort of neighborhood that was about two years away from being filled with hipster artisanal cupcake boutiques.
Maybe that's why one sign that was a bit out of place caught my eye. It wasn't flamboyant, just a brass plate like a lot of the other businesses on the street had. But it read: "CLUB PLUNDER" and underneath, in smaller type, "a pansexual playground". That stopped me in my tracks, and I found myself looking at the posters by the door. There were couples nights, swingers' parties, "dis/ability sex workshops" and something called "shemale sundays". The freshly-printed one on top read, "TONIGHT! Boys' night! No cover -- live fetish shows all night -- join in -- get lucky!"
Now, a few months back, I probably would have just kept walking. This seemed strange and a little dangerous somehow. But all the discoveries I'd been making on my business trips must have emboldened me a bit. And anyways, I was really horny.
Why not?
I thought, as I opened the door and stepped in.
Let's see what this is like
.
There was a long stairway up from the street, and at the top something more like a reception room than I was expecting. A slim, attractive twink at the desk, with spiked blond hair and glitter on his cheekbones greeted me with a smile, quickly evaluated me as someone who was new here, and explained to me how it worked. Five bucks made me a temporary member of the club, and I had to sign a form that said something about acknowledging that I would be in the presence of sexual activity and... well, I signed it quickly enough that I didn't read it very closely.
A couple minutes later I was in the change room, and handed a cloth laundry bag to check my clothes. When he saw me looking confused, the attendant mentioned that footwear was mandatory and helpfully suggested I might put keys and wallet in my socks. It was a bit like a bathhouse, I gathered (though I had never been to one) in that you were otherwise expected to be naked or in a towel. There were also small rooms you could go to if you found someone you wanted privacy with, but as I entered the main hall, towel wrapped around my waist, I realized it was mostly just like a bar.
Well, somewhat. There was a large lounge with tables for mingling, and dance room with disco lights off to one side which I wasn't particularly interested in. But the stage area wasn't like anything I'd seen at a bar before: a raised circular platform with tiered seating all around it. A pair of older men, naked but for crocs and fanny packs passed by me and said hello. I didn't quite feel like chatting yet, so I decided to go find a spot overlooking the stage. The padded benches weren't all that busy, with about a dozen spectators on hand as I found a spot away on my own. It looked like the live show was already in progress.
On stage, there was a guy giving head to another dude. As I settled in, it looked like the skinny guy on his knees was close to finishing off his partner, a tall, bald-headed black man. After a minute, the black guy pushed the other guy's head back, and started furiously stroking his cock for a few seconds before launching a huge wad of semen on his partner's lips. There was some clapping and appreciative cheers as the pair left the stage, the skinny guy wiping the cream from his face with his towel.
A well-built guy wearing nothing but a bow-tie and a pair of dress shoes took to the stage with a microphone. He was Troy, the night's MC, and he fired off a couple jokes and bantered with the regulars in the crowd for a bit as another guy (in tight short-shorts and a STAFF t-shirt) carried a bench onto the stage. "A round of applause for Mitch," Troy said as Mitch sat the bench down and waved to a guy whistling at him.
"I see some new faces here tonight," he was now saying, flashing a smile in my direction. "Well, remember folks: at Club Plunder, you're not paying through the nose to watch bored strippers. You are the entertainment! The sign-up sheet is over at the bar, so go put your name down if you want to show your stuff tonight!"
He looked at his clipboard. "And up next, we have... George, who signed up for... Spank the Twink! George, get down here!"
A guy who was sitting on the other side of the stage from me stood up. He was young-looking, barely old enough to be in here, I figured. And he was a real cutie, too: blond, tanned and lean. He had a big grin on his face as Mitch set down a box beside the bench.
"Welcome back, George," said Troy. "In case any of you guys haven't seen him before, I'll just let you know that George likes a real hard spanking, so don't be afraid to use some elbow grease. Anyone want to get him started?"