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2010/05/07

Bumping My Head Against the Latex Ceiling – Part II: The Allure of Mystery Holes in Zombieland

It’s not every day that I find myself trying to carry on a conversation with a dude who has just fucked me while another dude is slipping his dick up my ass. Given the environment, I guess I should have expected it; I mean, I’ve been to bathhouses in the past. I’ve always found them to be a hit and miss affair with the emphasis on the miss, but what’s happening to me at that moment is a first and I failed to deal with it well, or at all.

It didn’t go on for long. About five minutes into the fuck, the Campbell Soup Kid begins to make moans indicating that he is about to cum. And then he does. He mouths something at me that I can’t hear and walks away. I feel a little bit like one of those people who lose their hearing after a bomb explodes. In a way, one did; up my ass. I feel like the victim of a drive-by fuck, only I’m no victim. I’m there of my own freewill and could have stopped him at any time, but didn’t.

A week later, on-line, I get an email from this guy on one of the hook-up sites I frequent. All it says is, “It was nice to meet you.” This is a guy whom I have been emailing back and forth for over two years. We never get together because our schedules never jive. His profile is all about how he is a power top and blah, blah. His pics show him to be a real macho man who takes his fucking very seriously. Okay, long story, short, it turns out this is the Campbell Soup Kid! Only it’s not. Not by a long shot – or rather not according to his dick shot. There is no way the pea shooter that tapped my ass at that sex party is the same one pictured in this dude’s profile. Also, the Campbell Soup Kid was sort of all shiny and hairless, while this guy looks swarthy, lean and mean. But what do I know. That must be what he was mouthing to me at the time – that he was the guy from the internet. Well, I have to go on record saying – I waited two years for that?

Of course I don’t know this at the time. At the time I’m still a little stunned that some dude has unloaded his wiener up my butt. I excuse myself and head back to home base and my duffle bag stuffed beside the couch in the middle room. I gargle with Listerine, drink some water, wipe my face and ass with a couple of wet wipes, and regroup my energies. The first dude that fucked me walks over to me and we make small talk, kiss a bit, and then he takes off, doing the circuit with the other zombies. But things have changed in Zombieland. Little pockets of activity are heating up all over the place. In that little loft space there is now a muscle-bound jock pimping out some guy’s ass. Dudes are lined up in that dark little covey watching someone take an ass pounding on that couch. This goes on for well over an hour, during which I climb up those steps a couple of times to see what all the noise is about (the bottom is quite vocal), but I never stay long enough to get a good sense of the guys’ face or what the scene is all about.

I drift into the sling room and bump into two buds I know from the Prairie. I like them both quite a bit. One is tall, hairy and bearded. The other is lanky and smooth. They are both quite tan and well hung. We’re on friendly terms and seem to get along fine. Both are nude and drinking beer. We run out of conversation after about ten minutes and I decide to drift back into rotation with the other zombies, even though I secretly wish I could just hang out with them.

Walking along the back wall of the room with the glory hole booths I bump into this thin, dark-haired dude. It’s very dark back there, but from what I can make out of his features, he’s younger than me by at least ten years (possibly more). He has a handsomely contoured, almond shaped face. His body, seemingly tanned, has not an ounce of body fat on it, though it’s his dick that gets most of my attention. It’s only about 7.5 inches, cut, with an average width, but seems to fit my mouth perfectly. Without much pre-game talk, I slip it into my mouth and happily slurp on his knob for the longest time. This appears to be all that he wants and I’m only to happy to oblige. Several times he leans over and compliments me on my cocksucking skills. This, of course, spurs me on and I redouble my efforts. He stops me several times, claiming to be close to cumming. He wants to hang onto his load. Finally, after taking him to the edge one too many times, he tells me he needs a break. No problem. I get up and head back to home base for a nice gargle before rejoining the zombie line.

This time, as I move into the sling room, I notice that one of the slings is now occupied by one of the guys I know from the Prairie – the smooth, lanky one. Some guys have all the luck. Of course, no doubt, it also helps that he is so handsome and personable. I’m sure he will be making a lot of friends here tonight. He looks right at home in that sling. I don’t recognize the dude fucking him, but then I don’t get much of an opportunity to check him out, as they are soon surrounded and swallowed up by a crowd of onlookers.

I continue on my way, doing the rounds until I decide it’s time for a bathroom break. I head up stairs in search of the john. There is a line, of course, but that gives me time to check out the refreshment room which is right beside the bathrooms. There is a nice spread of sorts: lots of bottled water, pretzels and chips of various kinds and a neat pile of mini-lubes and condoms. There is music playing – an old Pet Shop Boys song. In line waiting to get into the bathroom are a couple of femmy Asian boys. Giggling a lot, they take their time checking me out before it is their turn to use the restroom. They go in together, leaving just me and one other dude waiting in line. I make small talk and take my turn when the time comes.

Okay, so some dude just shot a load up my ass. Do you think I might want sit on the john and get it the hell out of me? I think I must have still been in denial or something, because all I do is use the urinal and then give myself a whore’s bath at the sink. I look in the mirror above the sink. I look okay, for an old dude. Sort of. Something tells me, that in the darkness of the lower level, I come off as passable.

I grab some lube from the refreshment room, even though I have an ample supply in my duffle bag downstairs. Checking out the snacks, I decide not to partake. If I did, I’d have to brush my teeth. Heading toward the steps that lead to the lower level, I glance into the room where dudes sit on couches waiting for blow jobs. Sitting spread eagle is a bearded dude that I’d noticed briefly during my earlier rounds in the basement. He looks like a mountain man come to town to do some cat-housing. His longish beard is not shaped or sculpted. His eyes and demeanor are intensely masculine and confident. I pause in the doorway, eying his dick in the hopes that he will nod his head and allow me to be of service. He doesn’t, but his eyes meet mine and our gaze locks. This isn’t a case of Vulcan Mind-meld, but more like a scene from any number of 1970’s gay porno flicks and as close to cliché cruising as I get this night. It feels a bit choreographed, but soon I’m on more familiar ground as I kneel between his legs and take is soft cock into my mouth. He has dark brown hair and a light coating of fur over his entire body. His body is in very good shape and I’m thinking that he might be quite handsome under that beard. But something is off - his body, and in particular, his pubes, smell of fresh urine. It stings the pores of my skin on my recently shaven face. I suspect this dude pissed on himself a few moments before I wandered onto the scene. On this couch? Really? Around his neck, on a leather strap, hangs a bottle of poppers; a brand I am not familiar with. He shoves the bottle under my nose and I inhale deeply. That’s all the inspiration I need. Before I know it I’m working every trick I know to bring his slumbering member to life.

After about five minutes, I get a rise out of him and am thinking, oh, this should be easy; get him off and move on. But he has something else in mind. He starts talking. Well, more like, he starts telling me how to work his dick with my mouth. His voice is masculine and pleasing enough, but after about ten minutes his constant narration and string of instructions start to get on my nerves. That’s when I realize – hey, this is a sex party, not a commitment ceremony; I am free to get up and move on any time I like. So I do. I’m sure someone else will be more than willing to take my place. His dick, while not much over six inches, is pleasant enough and I am sure there will be someone much hungrier than I crossing his path soon.

Descending into the darkness of the lower level, I resume my rounds with the other zombies. I stop at my duffel bag, gargle, clean my face with an antiseptic wipe, and grab a few swigs of water. There is a man sitting with another man on the couch and while I am taking care of business, bent over my duffle bag, his hands are roaming all over my body. He pays me some very sweet (and somewhat undeserved) compliments about my body. I keep it polite and cordial. He’s not my kind of fun and after playing nice for about five minutes I excuse myself and head toward the sling room.

In the middle of the room there stands the taller of the two guys I know from the Prairie – not the one that was in the sling earlier, the other one. He’s messing around with this short, super hairy dude – seriously, dude has like orangutan hair, very long and very straight all over his bod. As I approach, they appear to just be macking on each other. The tall dude’s dick is semi-hard and waving out there in the open. I sucked him off once at the Prairie, so I figure why not go for it. I crouch down before him and take his dick in my mouth. He doesn’t push me away, but then he also doesn’t make any gesture that might indicate that he is cool with it. After about five minutes I end up feeling like an interloper, an intruder, and abandon the scene. Rising up, I give him a kiss and walk away, leaving him to play with his furry little friend. On my way out of the room I catch sight of the other guy from the Prairie, who is now squatting over some dude seated in one of the chairs. He’s taking the dude’s dick up his ass like a pro. Hell, I don’t know what protocol is in these types of situations. Is okay to stare? It looks hot, but I decide not to stare.

Circling back to the room with the glory hole boxes for the umpteenth time, I walk over to the darkest corner and move along the back wall checking out the action; lots of oddly shaped bodies groping and slobbering all over each other. I reach the last of the boxes and notice there is somebody standing inside. Since he’s not kneeling, peering through the holes, I assume he is looking to get sucked, so I move around to the side of the box and crouch down. I’ve never played with a glory hole before and the idea of it intrigues me.

I remember the first time I ever laid eyes on one. It was in Austin, MN at some pseudo-shopping complex where my Mother would go each Saturday to shop for groceries at the Red Owl while we kids checked out the toys and candy at the nearby Ben Franklin. We’d been going to this shopping mall for years, but I had never gone to the public restroom during that time. I must have been about fourteen or so, because I had recently discovered the joys of masturbation and sported a constant hard on. Telling my Mom that I was going to the Ben Franklin, I instead headed down the corridor toward the public restroom. Entering, you immediately got a sense that nobody at the mall paid much attention to this poor excuse for a bathroom. I made a bee line for the third of four stalls, locking the door behind me as soon as I got inside. Undoing my jeans, I sat down on the can. My dick was already hard and I began to play with it right away. As I did I noticed there was graffiti scrawled all over the insides of that stall; mostly crude drawings of genitalia, demands for various types of service and hastily etched phone numbers. I read the words without much understanding, but I knew that what it referred to was dirty and that just made my adolescent dick throb all the more. That’s when my eyes lit upon this odd, craggy hole that gaped in the stall’s wall to my right. It was too big to be an accident and too irregular to be a design feature. I remember leaning forward to examine it closer when my eyes caught sight of someone sitting in the other stall. I pulled back and sat upright pretty fast, unsure what the hell was going on. My heart racing, I tried hard not to breathe. All I wanted to do was shrink up and disappear. I was just beginning to think I’d been successful, when two, very adult, very male fingers came through the hole.

Well, of course I freaked. After all I was a naïve, guilt-ridden, choir-singing, church-going altar boy. Masturbation was a sin for which I was surely going to hell, so whatever was going on with that hole in that restroom was surely not something that was going slow my descent. I bolted right out of the stall, pulling up and trying to right my pants as I banged noisily out of the stall and through the restroom door into the mall corridor where I ran right smack into my own Mother. Her eyes went big as she asked me what I was doing. I mumbled something about going to the bathroom, as I finished zipping up and pushed past her to head toward the Ben Franklins. Once in the safety and relative anonymity of the Ben Franklins’ candy aisle I noticed that I had broken out in a full sweat. Completely flushed, my heart was pounding just as hard as my dick was throbbing. I was one confused mess. It would be many, many years before I’d have even the slightest inkling of what was going on in the restroom at that mall and even though we continued to visit that mall for several more years, I would never venture into that restroom again.

Now, here I was, all these years later, crouching down to peer through a similar hole. Only this time I definitely knew what it was for…

End Part II

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