I was in a club and at that moment the music was a thumping techno beat backed by a loud and rolling keyboard playing electronic noise. Lights flashed and strobed all around as sweaty strangers bumped against each other as they undulated and danced. I know this probably sounds familiar, like you heard it before, or it happened to you before. Maybe it’s an average story and nothing special. I guess I think back on it because it happened to me and I love replaying the memory.
He was near the bar dressed in a navy jacket with a blue shirt, no tie and two buttons open, doing his best to look like he was cool and did not care about anything. It was working, at least for me. He was hot, bald with a neatly trimmed mustache and goatee, and he looked vaguely Latino. He was one of those guys who looked skinny and scrawny at first glance, but you knew that under his clothes he was muscled up despite his frame and looked chiseled like Bruce Lee. He put off that vibe that said, Just for a hook up. I thought he was hot and I had no problem with that.
I managed to catch his eye. He apparently liked what he saw, and he knew I understood what he wanted. He stepped up to me and said nothing. We went to the edge of the floor and moved and ground against each other with the rest of the crowd. No at a word was said. The dancing was just a formality.
As I turned, undulating my body, I caught sight of my friend Taffy a little further on the floor. At that moment the nameless techno electronica gave way to t.A.T.u.’s ‘Malchik Gay’, which happens to be her favorite song. She sees me and that I am with someone and gives a high sign. Taffy has hooked up with a big butchy looking girl, the kind that she likes to be with. I wave back. Each knows the other has scored, but my friend will not be leaving the club with us, although Taffy’s could possibly come home. She is looking for a relationship. I’ve been burned too many times, so for now I just want to play.
The music changes again. ‘Fireflies’. Neither my hot stud nor myself are in the mood for slow dancing. He suggest we go to the bar, the first thing said. There he orders us shots of something called Prairie Fire. It’s hot, cinnamon and burning. The jury is still out on if it tasted good or not. I have not had it again since. Although he ordered us two more and I drank the second one down as well.
He whispers in my ear, not trying to be romantic, but sly. There is a place he knows in the club that’s out of the way enough and private. He wanted to know if I thought that would be okay.
“Yes.”
We go to the spot he knows. There is a scaffold hidden by a tarp. We climb up the steps to a platform. As he suggested no one can see us. Only someone who knew it was there would even know to find it.
We kissed, hot and passionately, each groping at the other. It is the only thing that makes it feel the slightest bit romantic. Hands between us I work the buttons of his shirt. I reach in and feel his sweaty and muscled chest. His hands go lower. He undoes my belt, and then opens my pants. I sigh and rub his chest, kissing him again as he reaches in and fishes out my cock.
I pant into his mouth, eyes closed as he slowly strokes my stiffening shaft. “That’s nice, baby,” he tells me, finally something coherent.
“Yeah,” I whisper back. I kissed his ear and then his neck. As I grind my side against him as he jacks me I feel that his own cock is already hard, and very big. Read the rest of this entry »