Closet Pass

She asked first. After the occasional 'What are you thinking about?' questions, she began asking what I thought about when we fucked. And what did I think about when I jacked off. And eventually, I decided to let my guard down. With my previous lovers, I protected myself, gave answers that I thought they could accept, or could get them horny. I felt a mix of comfort and daring with her, and so I told her things that made me shiver when I said the words.

She had already revealed things to me. She needed sex during her period. It wasn't just physical. She wanted the blood and the mess. Sometimes she asked me not to shower after running. She wanted to feel my hotter skin on her cooler skin. She wanted to smell my sweat. She told me things she was ashamed of thinking. And I was game for the challenge each time. Some things didn't turn out like we thought. Enemas weren't sensual to either of us. They were kind of funny, or maybe we were laughing to let the other know it was going to be OK.

So I told her my truth. I started small, because I hadn't put the ideas to words before. I hadn't been bothered with details or dangers or consequences. But when I was done, shaking, and she pulled me in to be comforted, I was light headed. Hell, I may as well have been high when the relief came flooding through me.

I told her I wanted to feel another man cum. I evolved. I told her I wanted to make a man cum, and eventually I admitted I wanted a man to use me to cum. I wanted no responsibility. I wanted to let go of the obligation to be good at fucking. After coming home horny, and fucking her aggressively as soon as I could lay a hand on her. I wanted it and I knew she would let me, I told her that I wanted to feel the same thing.

She gave me a hall pass. She joked about her concern that it was really a closet pass. I tried to help her understand that this was about masculine intensity, letting go of some compromises, and experimenting with new ones. I shared that I wasn't confident that it would turn out the way I fantasized, and she understood why I wanted to take the risk without her by my side. She seemed to want to protect me, and I wanted to be daring.

NOLA is a favorite city of mine. I'm a total tourist, but a respectful one. We stay at the same spot in the same neighborhood. The innkeepers are down home good people. They are casual, willing to put themselves out for you, and expect to be respected. The patio at the inn has that home away from home feeling. Life is casual, and discreet toking is not an issue if you respect the other guests. More nice and unique restaurants and bars than my hometown could support mean no worries about traffic and transportation. We're Quarter rats who stay in the Marigny.

My girl walked farther than her knees were prepared for one sunny day. She limped back to the inn, and I knew she needed a good bath, a good drink, and a good night's sleep. I ran to get some of her favorite take out, set her up with the best possible pillow configuration, and told her I'd step out into the night on my own and wake with her in the morning.

She lets me wander. I love her for that. We each spend a good amount of time in our own heads, and we like telling each other the odd moments of adventures we'd wandered into separately. She didn't like strip clubs, but allowed me to go because she trusted me. She was a bigger prize than any college dancer, and I tell her how much I adore her whenever I have the opportunity. And I have been monogamous with her. But now I had motive and opportunity.

It seemed too small and dark to be a famous gay leather bar, but it seemed well known based on my internet research.

It was within walking distance. I wore a passport wallet around my neck with my valuables. It was late in a town that could be hard. I didn't want to have to explain where I was or why I was there. I wore jean shorts and a Safari shirt. I have a bit of a Dad bod, and twink ravewear wouldn't make it through those neighborhoods unscathed anyway.

I went straight upstairs. Big Sign. No Cameras Or Cell Phones out. Men didn't come here to do things they wanted evidence of.

It smelled a bit like ass. But, that was fine with the boys at the bar. I found an open stool and ordered an Abita Purple Haze. So very dark. Good size crowd for the space. Many dad types like me. Some real leather folk who felt casual in jockstrap and chaps. Twink boys who could use a meal. Large men who could miss a meal. Older gentlemen who seemed lost but hungry. I didn't have a type. I fantasized about cocks and asses and moustaches and chest hair and big arms. I didn't see faces, or personalities. I was going to be offering though and I wanted to take chances, so I decided against being too picky.

It wasn't clear when the action I had read so much about might start. Besides the bar, there was a T shaped set of rails, and some benches faces each other in the darker side areas.

Yeah, I was clueless. I had focused on a sling in a corner, before realizing it was more of a mood setter than a practical activity. Then I saw two men on opposites sides of the T railing staring at each other. One man, a bit older than his new found friend, ducked down below the rail, blocked by the crossbar of the T from my view. But I guessed that he wasn't bending over to pick up a good luck penny.

Now I started paying attention to the area between the benches. I saw handjobs, blowjobs, a sexy grinding lap dance. A very young man suddenly turned to face the bench back, and a beefy Dad type stepped up behind him and slide his covered cock up the twink's ass. Live gay fucking 7 yards from me. This is why I came.

I grabbed my beer and cigarettes and walked toward the T rail. I wanted to see it. The man I saw kneeling was still there. I saw the large and comfortable hole through the rail, and I saw part of a cock sticking through into kneeler's mouth. I must have missed the true finale however. He leaned back, wiped his mouth, and stood to take a drink of his beer.

There was enough room at each side of the rail for several people, and four evenly spaced holes that were drilled and finished in the same dark color as the bar. These were placed with intention.

I grabbed a spot one the same side of the rail as the cum swallower I'd just seen. After 5 minutes of working on my casual look, a guy about my age and shape took the side of the rail opposite me. He was a bit taller, and carried his size well. He seemed like he'd be comfortable leaning over the fender of a muscle car tweaking the engine. I knew nothing about him of course. We didn't really talk, and I was projecting things onto him to make him seem more attractive. I wanted another man, and that meant stereotypically masculine to me.

We made eye contact, but not too strongly. I smiled. I saw him move in a way that could only mean he was freeing his cock, though the rail blocked my view. He stepped closer to the bar, and I felt heat on my thigh. I knew it was his dick, so the surprised look on my face was due to his size. He smiled in an almost literally cocky way. I reached my right hand down, and wrapped it around half of the dick coming through the gloryhole. It was twice as long as my hand is wide. That seems like a lot of cock! The whole was at least an inch thick already, and there was more than enough left. I knew this wasn't going near my ass.

But, that leaves my choices pretty clear. I could, and would have enjoyed, stroking that fat shaft slowly and feeling it roll under my fingers. But I needed to taste it, and to let him thrust this thing into me. So I dropped a handkerchief I had stashed in my pocket. I spread it out and knelt down. It was too dark to see anything more than a piece of it clearly. But the shadow was long and pointed up at the end of it's small curve. I started licking right away. I wasn't here to see, I was here to feel.

It was warmer than I expected, and so smooth. I had practiced covering my teeth with lips, and I had trimmed my moustache so it would be felt by the next cock I sucked. This was exactly what I wanted. He wanted to fuck my mouth, and I wanted to let him. I tried to shape my lips around his rod to feel as nice as possible. I had to guess, but I seem to have done decent work. I couldn't guess how long I sucked on him. I did take time to lick it all over once, but mostly served as a vagina substitute. He went into my throat once and awhile, and I took it, because he had a big dick, and I was a cocksucker. He started to speak, telling me to take it, and calling me a faggot and his fuckface. Horrible names, but I liked it. It made me ashamed and hot. Then he came. I didn't get as much as I thought, because the first blasts went straight to the back of my throat. I pulled back and captured the rest of his cum. I wanted to see it. I worked it around in my mouth because I wasn't supposed to. I stood up, and I looked straight at his eyes. Eye opened my mouth enough to let a small amount slide from the corner of my mouth. I wiped it away, licked my hand, and swallowed all the remaining come with my mouth open.