Cruising On-Line in Las Cruces: Part I: Getting My Freaky On

This is part one of a two part series.

I had a wedding to go to in Las Cruces, NM. It was taking place at a hotel so I booked a room there. The wedding had a theme – it was a costume party and I planned to rent something for the occasion once I arrived.

I check in on Friday night. The wedding is the next night and I plan on staying thru Sunday, using Monday as a day of travel.

There’s a layover at the El Paso airport, and as I’m by myself and had my new Droid with me, I decide to check the net to see if there are any active mens rooms. There is – one. Having over an hour to kill before my connecting flight begins to board, I take that snaky train thing to the correct terminal and find the mens room described in the posting. Following directions, I go to the rear of the facility and plop my ass down in one of the stalls, drop trou and show hard. The room has two entrances, one at each end, with a wall of stalls facing a wall of sinks over which hangs a room-length mirror. I choose a stall in the middle of the room, not really expecting much. There is no one else around. Apparently this particular terminal is not well travelled.

Within a few minutes a young Hispanic walks through the room, peaking in the cracks of the stalls. He remains outside my cube while I show off my rock hard dick for about 5 minutes and then disappears, only to reappear five minutes later. This goes on for about a half hour. I think he may have pressed his own dick against the crack of the door and he definitely lets me know that he wants to suck my dick, licking his lips suggestively and going so far as to come into the empty stall next to mine and offer me a hand. But I’m not interested. The place is too well lit and there are several travelers who come in during this time period to use the facility for its intended purposes. I have to hand it to the young Hispanic, though. He has balls.

While playing with the young Hispanic, we are joined by a redheaded kid wearing sagger jeans and sporting a skateboarder look. First time he sits down in the stall next to mine I play it cool, figuring he’s just there to use the facilities. However, he’s not shy about letting his jeans fall all the way to his ankles so he can spread his legs and he lingers longer than a normal user. Soon I notice a lot of shadow movement on the floor of the stall he’s occupying. Peeking through the crack at the back of our conjoined stalls, I can see his backside quite plainly in the white porcelain tile that lines the back wall. He has a cute ass and he’s bent over looking at my spread legs under the stall wall. The young Hispanic returns and is soon checking out, not only me, but the redhead as well. Well, Red doesn’t care for that, and he picks up his jeans, zips up and bolts out of his stall. This spooks the young Hispanic and he runs off again. Red goes to the sink and washes his hands – about four times. He’s looking at me in the mirror for a bit before exiting. The Hispanic kid reappears and disappears, and then Red returns and we do basically the same thing that we did the last time he was there, only this time he is sitting on my other side. After a bit, Red leaves again. I’m watching the time and am about ready to go when Red returns for a third time. I let him get settled in and then decide that there is no time like the present. It’s time to put up or shut up. I reach an open palm under the stall wall that divides us. Holding it there for about 20 seconds I realize that this kid is probably not schooled in the art of tea room action. Pulling up my pants, I pick up my stuff and call it a day. As I’m walking out I catch the eye of a cute, balding guy about a foot shorter than me, but as I have a plane to catch I figure I’ll let him go tease Red.

Arriving at my hotel, I get on-line and set up my accounts to reflect my location. I work adam4adam, another site on which there are no members in the area, and put out an ad on Craigslist. I have lots of little obligations I have to keep during my time in Las Cruces, but I am hoping to coerce some guys into coming to my room to service my hole.

It’s Friday night and my hotel, as it turns out, is a few miles from New Mexico State University. So it should come as no great surprise that my first taker is a geeky looking twenty-something with a desire to walk in, fuck me and get out as fast as possible. I’m feeling comfortable in my surroundings and the kid is pretty cocky, acting like he does this with hotel guests all the time, so I’m game. Shortly before 9:00 pm, I crack open the door to my hotel room. Naked, I get on the bed, on all fours, with my ass facing the door. (From now on we will just refer to this as “assuming the position”.) Lube and condoms at the ready, my heart is racing as I wait for Contestant #1.

I am, of course, wishing I had some poppers with me, but, again, due to my fear that they would be confiscated at the airport, I decided to travel without. Contestant #1 enters quietly and quickly. I decide not to turn around and look at him until invited to do so. He was pretty specific about the set-up he was comfortable with, so I follow his directions to a “T”. (I do take direction very well.) He drops his pants and good to his word, enters from behind with little fanfare. I let him hump away for a bit before stealing a look over my shoulder. He’s better looking in person than in his pics; dark hair, pale white skin, thin and young. His cock is only 6”, but it’s hard as a rock and he seems to know what to do with it. In an attempt to mix things up a bit, I start fucking back onto his dick and this elicits one of the few oral responses I get from him. Suddenly, he grabs me by the hips and starts pile driving, working his load into me. With a satisfying sigh, he relaxes, pulls up his pants and exits, saying ‘thanks’. Not anything that’s going to cause me to lose my breath, but not the worst fuck either; impersonal, anonymous and… yes, way empty.

I rinse out my ass and get back on-line. A Hispanic dude, age 40, has been chatting back and forth with me since I got into town. He’s ready to come over, so I send him the room number, set up supplies and wait for the appropriate time to prop open my door. Assuming the position, I know that this one will be a lot more personal, as he promises lots of kissing, rimming and body contact. He arrives a little later than expected, enters the room and is immediately appreciative of what he sees. I wait for him to touch my hole before I turn around for a look. He’s about 5’8”, a tad stocky, with a winning smile and an enthusiastic outlook; this could be fun. I turn around on the bed and take his dick into my mouth. It’s about 7” and uncut. I also notice that he has two metal cock rings on: one at the base, behind his balls and the other, a much smaller one, around the base of his shaft, in front of his balls. There’s something about this configuration that makes me uneasy, but I go with the flow.

We immediately get swept up in the moment. Passionate, deep kisses, fully committed 69ing, voracious rimming and intense body contact are all on the menu and served up with a ferocity that takes me by surprise. The proceedings are a little too gymnastic for my taste; lacking a truly natural flow, but his enthusiasm is contagious and I stay in the moment. Twenty minutes in, I’m straddling him, riding his dick for all it’s worth.
And then a freaky thing happens.

Okay, so the truth is, sex is not always pretty. Sometimes the bottom is not clean, sometimes the top thinks being aggressive in bed gives him license to use his dick as a jackhammer for the entire time he’s fucking you resulting an a painful and joyless fuck, sometimes someone moves too quickly hitting someone in the face, sometimes someone pushes an emotional button they could not anticipate - bottom line: sometimes, things get messy and ugly. So here is a bit of ugly reality to go with your voyeuristic, thrilling, illicit, anonymous sex.

As I lean back on the bed in order change up the angle, I see red… as in blood - all over the sheets. Understandably, I freak. Jumping up I immediately check myself - nothing pouring out of me. I glance at him and notice the metal ring around the shaft of his dick. WTF? Still flustered, I race to the bathroom, wet a towel, wipe him down, wipe me down, race back to the bathroom, rinse towel, race back to bed and begin dabbing the sheets and comforter in order to remove the blood. I’m freaked, but he’s kind of casual about it. Is he doped up? Somehow, after repeated trips to the bathroom I manage to get all the blood out of the comforter and sheets. When they eventually dry the naked eye will be unable to detect that anything happened, unless you are doing some forensic-type testing. As I mentioned, he seems pretty cool about this, but I’m ragged out, thinking by impaling myself on his cockring I have somehow managed to ruin the rest of my weekend. I ask him if he’s bleeding and he tells me no. So is it me? All play ceases. Game over. I send him packing and go in for what I suspect will be a horrendous douche.

But it’s not.

In fact, it’s not me at all. My ass is fine. What the hell just happened? I’m not bleeding at all. There is no torn tissue. So, thinking it must have been him, I mean, who wears a cockring that way (turns out, a lot of dudes do)? I’m thinking the force of our fucking caused the ring to dig into the flesh of his engorged penis and break the skin. That’s what happens when you wear a cockring that is too small in that manner. That’s also what happens when you don’t wrap it up in latex.

I’m wary, but I’m horny, so I’m back on-line a half hour after the Hispanic dude has left. Pity, he was a lot of fun. It’s now near midnight. I’m tired from having travelled all day and I have things to do in the morning, so I am thinking about hitting the hay when I get hit on by this black dude. He’s big on kissing and rimming and he’s rather of charming. Stats are promising; age is good, and even though the pic is a bit distant and unfocused, based on the give and take while chatting things seem right on target. So, I bite.

It’s now 1:00 am. After cocking the door ajar, I assume the position. He walks in and immediately tongue dives my ass. Good to his word, he’s knows what the fuck he’s doing. I melt, as if on poppers. We spend over an hour and a half making out, fucking, kissing, and making small talk. During that hour and a half I learn – 1/ he lives about a half a block away, 2/ he thrives on late night booty calls and… 3/ while his on-line profile says he’s 49 years old, he is, in fact, 61. Really? His body is a little thick and his face does show some time, but then, I’m no spring chicken. I don’t care. His dick is big (over 8 inches and thick) and hard, his breath is good, and the man can kiss and eat ass like he born to do it. So I’m good and in good company. But I’m also tired, so when he takes his leave, I’m relieved and fall into a deep sleep.

Next day is filled with errands, including me finding a costume. I send two hours at this really cool costume rental place. It’s a mixed bag of packaged costumes, bits and pieces of vintage wear, and some modern glad rags. I end up picking out a bunch of bits and pieces to create my own glam rock creation featuring a pair of black, laced, leather biker leggings with spandex shorts, a weird alien belt that ends up looking like a subtle, futuristic cod piece, a gold lame’ vest with a metallic gold and black striped sleeveless tunic, a pair of super high black platform shoes (think Lady Miss Kier), all topped off with a black feather boa and gold lame’ top hat. From the waist down I look like a member of the KISS Army and from the waist up I look like a lean/mean Liza Minnelli!

A group of us have lunch at this awful BBQ restaurant and then I beg off, saying I need a nap. Which is code for “I have to get back on-line and hunt down some cock.” Which is exactly what I do. It’s 3:00 pm on a Saturday. The wedding is at 7:00 pm. I split my time between chatting on-line and getting ready for the wedding, which is taking place at the hotel. I have to report for duty at 6:30 pm. I figure the ceremony will start at 7:00 and take a half hour. I’m talking away… there’s dude in his forties who wants to stop by… we chat back and forth, I give him the room number and time and never hear from him again. Figuring that was a waste of time, I continue to chat while waiting to for some confirmation from the 40-something dude. I never hear from him. I do hear from a kid, really similar to the first kid I played with, only even younger (19) who wants to come over. I give him the time of 7:45 and the room number. He loves the idea of walking in on me on all fours with my naked ass in the air. Cool. I dress and go to the wedding.

The wedding is taking place in one of the nightclubs at the hotel. It’s nice; dark, with disco lights, a dance floor, a stage, and tons of alcoves housing round tables with white table clothes. My costume gets some kudos and attention. The bride is there. The groom is there. Everything is on schedule.

Except the minister. He’s late.

At 7:15 pm we’re still waiting. I’m back and forth to my room, contacting the kid, telling him to wait. We reschedule for 8:15, then 8:45. Finally the wedding takes place. I complain about not feeling good from the Chicken Cesar Salad I had at that unfortunate BBQ place. While everyone else is hitting the wedding buffet, I’m heading to my room. I strip out of my ridiculous outfit (I’m 6’1 in bare feet. In platform shoes? I’m 6’5”. With the feather boa I feel like Gay Big Bird on Ice.)

At the designated time, I place my door ajar and assume the position. My heart skips a wild beat as the door opens. This should be so much fun. Part of me wishes there was some way to capture the look on their faces as they walk in. I assume they would be delighted, and many are, but with my luck I’d also end up capturing some very indecisive or disappointed looks, so it’s probably just as well that I can’t.

This guy is silent. He remains by the door much longer than anyone usually does and this prompts me to turn my head in order to see what’s up. Near the door stands a man, probably in his 40’s, wearing glasses, a blue and white checked shirt, shapeless jeans and an odd expression on his face. He has messy curly hair and a mustache. In other words, this is not the 19 year old kid. Who the fuck is this?

I get up off the bed and grab a nearby towel to cover myself. The guy steps forward and says “Hi.” There’s something really spacey and creepy to the tone of his voice. I step back. He’s got me cornered. He motions toward the bed and says, “So… what do you want to do?” Now, in my on-line conversations I am really direct about ‘what’ I want to ‘do’. So there should be no question. When somebody arrives, they know what’s expected of them – even to the point that spontaneity is not welcome to the party. So now I am really thrown.

But before I am able to respond in walks the 19 year-old wearing a look of total confusion…

End of Part I
Next Week: Part II