Encounters Backroom Some years ago, on a night in the middle of the week, I was in the back room of the International Stud in the West Village, at Greenwich and Perry Streets, looking for dick to suck. There were about ten guys in the room, most just sipping their beers, waiting for something to happen, watching the porno movie that flickered on the wall while the music pounded.
A couple of other cocksuckers were down on their knees giving head to guys who were standing against the wall. But that night nobody in the room turned me on and I was getting bored. It must have been about one-thirty in the morning, and while I was hungry for dick, I also wanted to go home and get some sleep.
That's when he walked in. Although I was in the Stud often in those days, I had never seen him before. He wasn't tall, maybe five-nine; about twenty-five; dirty blond hair that fell over one eye; lean, trim body. He was wearing well-worn jeans, a white alligator shirt, and sneakers. Good- looking in an all-American-boy sort of way, he was not homo-acting or -looking at all. Instead, he had in full measure the unconscious grace of someone who took his masculinity and his good looks totally for granted.
I wanted him the instant I saw him. He stood up against the back wall, bending one knee and putting his foot up against it. Sipping his beer, he appeared to be watching the movie and looking like he was in no hurry for anything. Not wanting someone to get in ahead of me, I walked past him, letting my hand trail across his crotch, copping a gentle feel, hoping he wouldn't just brush it away.
Instead he just ignored me, letting me feel him up as he watched the movie, his hardening cock the only sign he was aware I was there. His cock and balls felt good in my hand, beneath the smooth, worn denim of his jeans. I guessed the story now. He had probably spent the evening with friends, maybe a girl friend. He was horny and had decided to come to the Stud to get a blow-job rather than just go home and jerk off.
Being young, good-looking, and knowing the Village scene, he knew he could get serviced by one of the cocksuckers at the Stud without any hassles. I unbuttoned his fly, reached in and took out his cock and balls as he remained impassive. His dick was hard now, a nice size and shape, not a monster, but a dick to be proud of. It was cut, with a pair of large balls beneath it and a wreath of pubes around it that trailed up his flat stomach towards his navel.
I took a bottle of poppers out of my pocket and looked at him to see if he wanted some. He nodded assent and I put the opened bottle up to one nostril as I pressed the other gently closed. He inhaled, his eyes half shut. I switched nostrils and he inhaled again.
I looked at him as I drew deeply from the bottle myself and he looked back at me, giving me just the barest hint of a smile, mostly in his eyes. Nothing cocky or nervous about it, just a recognition that we were two guys with compatible desires.
He wanted a blow job; I wanted to suck dick. That's why we were there at the International Stud that free market in cocks and mouths how we had come together for this brief second of our separate lives. As the poppers began to play with my head, I sank to my knees before him. Fondling his balls, I looked for a second from a few inches away at the beautiful rock-hard dick sticking out of his unbuttoned 's, waiting for me.
Like a million other cocksuckers before and since in that position, I wondered how guys could possibly be straight. How could anyone want pussy when they could have dick instead? Then, as the poppers took hold, the world went away.
I opened my mouth, took his cock into me, and began to suck on it to worship it gently. Moving up and down on his shaft, I could just take the whole thing in and it filled my mouth and my being with his masculinity.
The angel choir of my homosexuality began to sing somewhere deep within and I was utterly content to be on my knees before this handsome, totally masculine guy, to be his cocksucker. I held him lightly by his hips as I moved up and down on his dick, corkscrewing my head slightly as I went, making my lips and tongue and throat into the instrument of his sexual pleasure while I fed my hunger for cock.
It didn't take him long to come. As he got close, he took hold of my head and began to fuck my face gently. I felt his load blast against the back of my throat and I swallowed willingly. His whole body spasmed with the intensity of his climax. I squatted there on my haunches, just holding him in my mouth, until his ecstasy had passed and the poppers cleared from our heads. Then it was over. I released his dick reluctantly, knowing I'd probably never see it or feel it again.
As I stood up, he tucked it back in his jeans and began to button his fly. He'd gotten what he came for. He looked at me, giving me an almost little-boy smile, and I fell instantly in love with this young, good-looking guy who had shared his manhood with me for a couple of minutes while he used me for his pleasure, knowing I wanted to be used by men like him because I'm a cocksucker.
Then he placed his still mostly full bottle of beer on the bar and walked out of both the room and my life.