DISCLAIMER
As this story involves the turn of a character from straight to whore, it was necessary to smooth out some things, lengthen and fictionalize the effects of others, and exaggerate yet more. Please accept any offenses found as simply being narrative devices meant to allow the plot to slide forward.
*
"... and these are poppers," the man continued. In a heavily tattooed hand covered in fingerless leather biker gloves, a small white bottle with a metal lid.
The cameraman focused in on the bottle, taking a close shot for the benefit of the future television special.
Daniel nodded. "I've heard of these. Something about making the gag reflex go away? I can see how that would be useful around here," he said. There was a smugness to his tone that was just...
always there
. The host's brow furrowed momentarily but smoothed almost as quickly.
"Something like that. It doesn't really do that, but it can convince a guy to ignore his. Think of it like... short-term Ecstasy and you're almost there." The host shrugged and stashed the bottle in the little sling-bag around his torso.
"I'd heard there were health risks," Daniel said.
"Such is life, friend. There's risk to everything."
The host, Carlos, raised his glass from the stained, black wood bar and Daniel followed suit. The camera shifted to take them in as they shared a shot. Daniel was beginning to feel quite warm and comfortable, the liquor soaking into his stomach with a pleasant burn.
Daniel, a small, thin man with thick glasses was incongruously dressed in tight,
tight
leather pants, platform leather combat boots that came up to his knee, a leather harness across his chest and a leather choker around his neck. The black straps stood out strongly against his pale skin, a body that looked like it had never tasted sunlight. Carlos had also suggested the green bandana trailing from the tight leather jeans' back left pocket.
When he'd asked Carlos via email earlier in the week what to wear for his special investigative feature into the dying leather club scene, Carlos had suggested something along those lines.
Carlos himself was clad in what he described as jodhpur leather pants (pants with strange padding and an oversized pocket area), jackboots, a leather shirt and had a leather jacket slung over his shoulder.
Carlos nodded to the large, bald bartender clad apparently only in a leather vest, and two more shots appeared on the bar top.
"So have you... sorry, it's a difficult question to ask, but have you had... been in...?" Daniel was stuttering a bit. The interior of the dark bar was very intimidating. Shapes moved in the smoke and the dancing strobing lights, often shining with leather. Hatted, masked, or bare.
Carlos seemed unphased. "Fucked? Been fucked? Both at once? You name it, brother, I done it in these walls probably. That's the thing; the message I invited you in here to send out to the world. You gotta
try
things to know who you really are and what you really want."
Daniel sensed the message of his feature revealing itself. The camera moved back and forth between them as they each spoke. "You're saying places like these can have some kind of transformative effect?"
"Sure, man. Hey, I didn't consider myself even gay first time I came into a place like this. I was, you know, in fuckin'
mourning
. Got my ass dumped by some
senorita
who thought she could do better elsewhere--and hey, maybe she did. Point is, I found out a bunch of things about myself that night, and so did the other guy."
Privately revolted, but pretending outside interest, Daniel nodded. He considered his next question, but was saved from having to hurry by a large black man emerging from the smoke. The new figure, at least six foot three, bent Carlos's ear for a few moments and spoke quietly. The two exchanged nods, then the big man moved off.
When Carlos returned his attention to Daniel, the reporter was ready. "So would you say places like these are places to rebel against what's normal?"
Carlos's eyes briefly narrowed at
normal
, but once again smoothed almost instantly. Instead, he seemed to take a moment to weigh his reply and study the camera. "Here, lemme tell you what I see when I look at the news, at social media, at all this bullshit being pushed around by politicians and talking heads and and shit. I see hordes of dudes fawning over like fifteen percent of women. I see dudes throwing money at bitches who sit behind computers and dress like hookers. I saw a report of some chick making a quarter million dollars selling bottled farts.
Then take it the other way. Bitches talking down to men. Women demanding multiple guys in a relationship. Women setting financial conditions for staying with guys. And listen even if
none of this is true?
It shows that what guys think they are is beginning to cost 'em. Places like my bar here? It's not rebellion. It's just freedom. I'm hoping someday, somehow, the message gets out that men ain't prisoners to women like that. You can be
gay
here one night and go back to your
normal
on the walk home. No one knows. No one cares. But it opens, you know, this huge world to explore and I bet the ladies gonna seem to have, suddenly, a lot less demanding power."
Carlos had not sounded angry. The word
bitch
had no specific connotation. It just seemed to be a way to refer to women, sometimes--value neutral. There was no malice.
"That..." Daniel said, a little taken aback by the message, "makes sense, actually. I'll drink to that."
Glasses clinked. Then hit the bar. Two more filled glasses appeared as though by magic. Daniel was beginning to feel very warm indeed! "Well," Carlos said, and raised the new glass. Daniel, as though jerked by puppet strings, did the same. "Let's go explore. I'm sure you'll want some of the nitty-gritty for your feature, right?" The manager's jovial tone made Daniel feel at home, and they drained their drinks.
Daniel had some trouble standing but made it after a while. The boots, with the added inch or two, were actually rather difficult to walk in at first. The harness and choker were strange additions. They chafed, and the choker had a strange restraining effect on his Adam's apple, but Daniel stomped along in Carlos's wake. The tight leather pants were actually...
perfect.
Never having worn anything like them before, they were the piece of clothing Daniel had been most concerned about, but if he were truthful, he barely even realized they were there. They were beyond soft and comfortable, looked great, shone dully in the lighting, and made a very satisfying creak when he moved.
He would naturally never admit that to anyone and had no intention of ever wearing anything like them again, but in this place? They were incredible.
As they slid into the smoke, Carlos gave running commentary on the goings-on. He was explaining that there was some kind of event tonight with the music and the smoke. Daniel didn't catch it; the camera-man had sidled up to focus on Carlos, and he knew he'd watch it all over later anyway.
As he trailed Carlos and the camera-man, staring around curiously and somewhat drunkenly, a large man wound up next to him, almost as though conjured by the smoke. "How much?" the man grunted at Daniel.
"What'd you mean? How much what?"
"'Ey! 'Ey! He's busy, yeah?" Carlos called back from ahead. The man looked at Daniel, all the way up and all the way down, then nodded at Carlos and vanished back into the smoke.
"What was that all about?" Daniel called up to Carlos, who waved the question off.
"Mixed signals, you know. People do get hooked up in here, right? I mean, that's the no-holds area there and you can see..."
Carlos pointed to the other side, where a duct tape line had been placed on the floor through a large set of opened double doors. Inside, came the sound of slapping flesh and creaking leather. Daniel blinked and motioned at the doors. He and the camera-man started toward the opening but Carlos said, "Don't step across the tape unless you really wanna play."
Taking the words to heart, the two reporters paused and peered into the room. Black leather couches alternated with pink leather couches and chairs. A few sex swings hung from exposed rafters. On one of the pink couches, a majestic-looking older man in a leather jacket with some kind of graphic tee-shirt underneath reclined, smoking a cigar. His legs were spread, knees shoulder-width apart, what was maybe a pair of leather pants bunched around the ankles of leather combat boots.
On top of him, straddling his hips and facing away, a lithe young man was pumping himself up and down, up and down. All he was wearing was a mesh top, a thong pulled to one side, and a pair of crotch-high black leather stripper boots, the heels at least eight inches tall. On the couch next to the elderly man, a long black fur-coat type affair lay in a heap.
Taking notice of them, the elderly man gave a kingly wave and blew a smoke ring. One of his large, calloused hands came to rest on the younger man's hip and he gave an unexpected thrust that made the younger man yelp.
"Say hi," came a gravelly voice from behind the elderly man's majestic silver beard.
"Hi," panted the younger man in the thigh boots, who, job finished, immediately began to fuck himself again on what was an
immense
cock--at least nine inches and quite thick.
Daniel, revolted, couldn't take his eyes away for a long minute. He was disgusted as he focused on the defined muscles of the older man's legs, the smooth skin of his friend. The younger man's belly piercing jingling and shining in the light and motion...
