Coc-Sucer: Coc Club

All characters in this playful fiction are above the age of consent...

*****

Sex was the only game in town...

'Everyone has sex. Yet everyone wants sex. That's the conundrum,' says Roly. 'All I do is provide a space for that interaction to take place. Nothing more.'

No future. This far into the 1980s, I'm nineteen - straight outta high school with no qualifications. But there are no career opportunities available to use it on if I had one. And there's this dirty old guy we call 'Roly' who lives a little way down our road. Well, he seems kinda old to us... looking back now, he's probably around fifty. And he give us cigarettes and allows us to drink booze if we go around to his house for his parties, to 'play'. He holds 'Open House' Friday nights between eight and nine, although they go on longer if things are happening.

So - why not, the streets are dangerous. Hoodies hang out on corners looking for trouble. Rough-sleepers and junkies lurk around the subway. Benefits don't leave much for escape. No place to go anyway. Nothing but Soaps and Game-Shows on TV. But I've got a burning hunger in my groin that won't leave me alone, and Roly also gives us financial 'gifts' if we especially please him. He never actually touches us, but what he likes for us to do is undress for him, and touch each other, playing around naked while he watches. He has a pile of soft-core magazines and some porn VHS-videos to get us in the mood.

First time here I'm very uncertain, don't say much, just watch. I've heard rumours and strange stories about what goes on here, but he seems friendly in an unthreatening way as he invites me inside. He's soft-spoken, his grey hair thinning around the sides of his thin face. The lighting is low in his front room, the curtains drawn in a secretive way, there's an odd tingling aroma, and four other guys who I vaguely recognise, two reading girlie magazines and chortling, and an old indistinct jerky video on the TV. There are mounds of cushions on the floor and a grubby mattress in the corner that smells of stale cum.

Roly gives me a cigarette - fat and ragged, which I'm unfamiliar with, choking on the fumes. It's only then - as my eyes adjust to the gloom, that I notice, on a pile of cushions on the low couch, a man is lying on his back with his pants around his knees, while a naked younger guy - probably around my age, has his head buried in his groin, obviously sucking his cock. I can't believe what I'm seeing. It's skin-crawlingly fascinating to watch. I've seen both of them around - maybe in the mall, although I've never seen them together. I think the only time they're ever together is here. Moving furtively around, so I can see better, I watch the expression on the sucker's face, a kind of dazed blurry pleasure there as he enthusiastically sucks at the big hard cock in his mouth, his eyes glazed over as though in a trance, the cock visibly moving between his lips swelling and making little up-thrust fucking motions.

Even as I watch, there's a deep moist groaning and a slurpy gurgle, the his eyes widen into a startled stare, and I know exactly what's happening. The other two guys look up from their magazines and laugh. And at that moment I'm jealous of him. Almost without realising it, I've been associating myself with the cock-sucker, not the man being sucked. I want to do that. I want to experience the pleasure he's experiencing. I want to be the centre of attention like he is.

But Roly is patient. It's only later, on my second visit that I'm 'paired', pushed together with a guy I don't really know. At Roly's urging we undress, checking each other out naked and shy, smirking in the way that late-teen youths do, discovering his body and him discovering mine, yes - he's got a nice big cock. We're touching and feeling-up, I tense to crouch down and lick the rubbery tip of his inflamed cock, then we're sixty-nining there on the rug before the fire as Roly watches. First we lie side by side. I'm clumsy and fumbling, reaching out for him, wriggling myself closer, but it's amazingly good. Once begun, it's impossible to stop. I love the vulgar sensation of his smooth warm cock pulsing in my mouth, especially when we move around so he's lying over me pinning me down, fucking my mouth, his fat balls flopping across my nose with each down-thrust, even more than the exquisite sensation of his wet mouth moving tightly up and down on my own achingly-hard cock.

When the convulsions of my orgasm begin he moves his head away so that it spurts up my stomach in long white streaks, but when he cums, pressing down hard so he's spasming directly into my mouth, there's no escape, even if I'd wanted to, and it seems the most natural thing in the world to swallow. Getting up smiling bashfully at him afterwards in a self-satisfied way, wiping a trickle of spunk from my chin. Roly is observing, he obviously realises he's gained an eager new recruit for his games.

Looking back now, I guess I was something of a push-over. I wasn't much good at anything, and wasn't used to being praised, so when Roly says I'm a good cock-sucker I positively glow with smug pride, eager and willing to prove myself. At home I lie awake that night thinking over and over again how good it feels, reliving each moment, getting erect, imagining what more there is. Once I've had one guy's cock in my mouth I start into wondering what it will be like to have others there, if they'll feel different... so I naturally feel compelled to find out. Some men go to his house once - and never again. I go numerous times, compelled to return again and again, addicted to the cock-play each time I'm there.

I remember the sweet dirty excitement and anticipation of knocking on his door... scared and nervous when he invites me in. But wearing only T-shirt and tight faded jeans, to ease the speed of undressing. Once in Roly's twilit front room, self-conscious as I tug my T-shirt up and off, then shrugging my pants down, knowing that the others already there are watching me, checking me out. I've never been ashamed of my body. I'm skinny and slightly-built, but my cock is a little over average size, not the biggest I've ever seen, but a respectable length. And the nervous embarrassment seems to disappear with my clothes, once I'm naked with nothing to hide - and always erect, I'm free and ready. I've always been the shy outsider, the awkward tongue-tied misfit who finds it difficult to make friends. This is a place I can belong. This is a place that exists outside of normality, where anything can happen, and rules no longer apply. It lasts for the best part of a year, sometimes twice a week, an hour each time, sometimes more when time allows, seldom less. Then I'll go a fortnight without a visit, when the intensity of it overwhelms and scares me. I try to stay away. Try to resist the temptation to return. But it's impossible to fight that dark urging. Everybody knows it as the 'Cock Club', and I'm an upstanding member.

There's a quiet dark-haired guy called Neil a couple of years older than me - maybe twenty-five. He's sometimes here. I like him - although I can never bring myself to tell him. I always like it when he's here. I follow him around and smile in an infatuated goo-goo-eyed way, hoping I'll get the opportunity of sucking his nice big circumcised cock. Then he sprawls back on the mattress on the floor, and I crawl in between his splayed knees before anyone else can. He's amused by my eagerness, but once my lips close around the fat arrowhead of his cock, I try to communicate by using my tongue and my mouth on him the best way I possibly can, taking him deeper and sucking more greedily than anyone else does. He grunts deep in his throat, and has a way of holding my head in tight when he cums in my mouth that makes me feel so safe and protected. I love that.

Although Roly says I must never show favouritism, and suck all cocks equally. But Neil is my favourite, I'd gratefully suck him off anytime he wants me to, but we only ever do it here. And honestly, why should he be interested in me in any way other than as a spunk-dump? They're not Gay... not Queer, most of these guys just come here to get off, for hard raw uncomplicated sex. And me? I don't know. I'm an emotional mess, churned up inside by the sweet intoxication of sensations I don't understand. This is an anonymous place. What happens here, stays here. Roly merely provides the excuse for us to be here, and for me to do it.

'Cocks are for sucking, ass-holes are for fucking' he tells us, then watches as we follow these instructions. Sometimes there are just two of us here playing, sucking each others cocks. At most - as I recall, there are six of us, and I get a special 'gift' for sucking each of their cocks in turn. At first I pretend to be reluctant, but secretly I'm loving the attention. We are all naked, they're sitting on the stained couch as I crouch on the rug. Dipping my head in to slide the first cock into my mouth, suck... then shuffle across to the next. My face burning with breathless excitement, it feels so daring, that they're all ready for me, all hard and impatient for me, all their lust and sexual desire focussed on me. They want me. My own hard cock jiggling and swaying as I crouch down in between the next splayed legs to plunge the next erection deep into my mouth. As I slurp, I get vivid flashbacks of seeing that first blow-job on my first visit, how that guy's eyes were glazed over in a kind of dazed blurry pleasure as though in a trance. My face must look like that now. There's a lot of breathless laughter and some nervous excitement as I go from one to the next. Once I've tasted each one, I move back to the first, and because we're all very sexed-up, there's soon a lot of spurting spunk. Gulping and swallowing. Afterwards, the images storm my mind, cock after cock, the cloying taste in my mouth, the blood roaring in my head, like I'm drunk or high. This isn't a sophisticated LA poolside porn-shoot, this is a grimy house in a northern-England sink-estate. This is sweat-dirty and real. This is me doing this.

Sometimes, while I'm here we talk and whisper, scurrilous rumour and gossip. Someone tells me that the older men who are sometimes here, married guys in their forties and maybe fifties - they pay Roly so they can be here, to take advantage of the sex on offer. 'Trespassers Will Be Prostituted'. HaHaHa. I've been with a couple of them, it's no big deal. One I vaguely recognise as Mr Rhavid from a street away - although neither of us acknowledge that knowing, he makes a point of seeking me out on a couple of occasions. He likes to masturbate me in a roughly aggressive way, I hate the clasp of his greasy fingers squeezing my balls, and the way he leers 'you love this don't you?' as he pumps up-and-down my cock. I try to smile and nod. Then I suck him off, he has a ridiculously small hooded cock that smells funny, I don't like it very much. But refusal, or even reluctance is not an option. That's what we're here to do. If I back off I'll not be welcome here anymore, and that idea scares me even more. And when he slips me a couple of banknotes afterwards, that makes it all well worthwhile. There are a couple of back rooms for privacy, one of them lined with black pvc in an unsettling kinky way. Hoods and handcuffs. Some say they take Roly's 'favourites' in there for 'special sex'. I'm not sure if that's true. If so, I'm jealous and resentful, why hasn't he taken me in there? Aren't I one of his favourites? Haven't I done everything - and more, to gain his favour?

After all, it's also at Roly's that I take it up the arse for the first time, but not the last. I'm here with another guy a couple of years older than me, and Roly tells him to fuck my bottom. I don't much like this guy, he's leery and rough. I'm a little scared, but too scared to admit it, and too scared to back out. So I crouch down, feeling so very vulnerable as he lubes, his cock is so big and my little bum-hole so small. He takes me doggy-fashion, as Roly watches. I brace, and as soon as he slides inside me I'm erect, the curious sensation flooding through me, my own cock and balls swaying and bobbing with each thrust he makes into me, I'm tingling and trembling so much that I'm the first to cum as he fucks me, spurting down onto the floor. Then I brace and clench as I feel the wet heat of him cumming inside me, his hot breath panting and gasping out on my shoulder. I feel giddy and confused, a little shy as I straighten up afterwards, but pleased and proud, quite happy to do it again the next time, with the same guy, then with two others.

Do I enjoy it...? I'm a dirty-minded fuck, it's all part of a learning curve. And yes, I enjoy it a lot, the entire experience, the being naked with other men, the anticipation of cock inside me, the sensation of being penetrated, and the mutual cum at the climax... how could I not love it? I always prefer being fucked, to doing the fucking, and still do. To the best of my knowledge, Roly never touched any of us in a sexual way. Likely he was a lonely old Gay who just likes to watch us doing it to each other. We knew he was pervy. Some of them laugh and make dirty jokes about him behind his back. Some of them steal beer and cigarettes when he's not looking, although I'm certain he knows anyway. I always try to be polite and respectful to him.

September. I'm going around to the 'Cock Club'. Turn the corner into the street, and it's crawling with police. Two cars and a police van, their lights washing the verges and the faces of people gawking. I hang back to watch, as best I can, without drawing attention. Police are carrying boxes from Roly's house out the van, loading them into its maw. I can't see him... and, actually, never see him ever again.

That night there's nothing on regional TV. But - scouring the local newspaper there's a small paragraph hidden away on the inside pages about a drug's raid. An arrest for dealing. Quantities of illegal substances found. No mention of immorality offences or hosting group homosexuality. Then the house is boarded up with shutters and left abandoned for what seems like forever. Until it no longer matters.

Then I'm in the mall, and quite by chance, I notice Neil through the steamy glass of the Starbucks, he's with a girl who sips latté and gazes up at him with an infatuated expression I recognise, it's the same one I used to look up at him with. I wonder if she sucks his cock as well as I did. The image in my head hurts. I have to look away.

Roly is gone. And I miss the Cock Club. He once told me that everyone has sex. Yet everyone wants sex. That's the conundrum. And sometimes - I admit, he's there now in my private late-night wank-fantasies. He opens up his long coat and unfasten his flies, he has a cock so big it takes my breath away with intimidated awe, I strain hard to get its massive girth into my mouth, and when he ejaculates down my throat, I near-drown in tides of spunk...

By

Tristan Trotsky