INTRODUCTION: The following is a memorable highlight of a frisky night from the summer of 2003 when I got lucky (very lucky), here in Portland, Oregon.

PART 1: BIG YOUNG MEAT
WHEN: Saturday 05/31/2003 11:30 P.M. to Sunday 06/01/2003 3:30 A.M.
WHERE: Club XES/Club Glory, 415 SW 13th Ave.

This short-lived sex club had about a two-year run, with maybe a year or two under each of its successive club names. It was basically one big room that you entered at one end, and after following a winding route inside, you then exited about twelve feet to the left of where you started. The room was painted black and kept fairly dark, with touches of red, grey, and neon yellow, and with some areas spot-lit in contrast to other areas in near darkness. Along with a wall of double-stacked lockers, there were eight glory hole booths, three private cubicles (each containing a padded three-by-four foot bench and a half-door that latched closed), a public sling, a set of facing bleachers or risers beneath a pair of televisions showing porn, a hot tub and shower, and a small six-by-nine foot group room with a central padded table and padded benches along two walls.

This was my first visit (of three), and happened to be on the night of The Starlight Parade, part of our annual citywide Rose Festival. So while all of the downtown bars and clubs were hopping with locals and tourists, this club was dead, except for one completely uninterested guy, and little old horny me. So I did a walk-through to get a feel for the layout, and then, because absolutely nothing was happening, I contemplated heading out to a nearby adult bookstore to just be done with things. But in another few minutes, the place was suddenly flooded by a range of men and physical types, with most guys appearing to be in their thirties and forties.

The dark glory hole booths were very active, so I took a booth that had good-sized holes on three sides, and I immediately heard someone enter the booth at my left. I leaned down to check out my neighbor: a short, beefy-muscled black guy in his early 40s, wearing a tight white T-shirt, tight pale denim short-shorts, a wide black belt, and black work boots with white socks. He quickly fed me a nice, but never fully hard 6-by-5 inch dick, and we suck-swapped for a bit. But what he really wanted was assplay, made apparent when he turned and dropped his shorts and smashed his beefy jock-strapped butt against the large opening, presenting a well used and, I’m sorry to say, not so pretty asshole for me to work on. I love ass, really I do. But this one just wasn’t doing it for me. So I briefly worked his asslips over with a couple of spit-slick fingers and gave his cheeks a little pat, and then turned my attention to the hole in the right-side wall of my booth.

All I could see was the back of a lanky, dark-haired guy kneeling to suck from a hole in the right-side wall of his booth; he was dressed in white jeans and an untucked, cream-colored, western-styled long-sleeved shirt with rolled up sleeves. And somehow, without even seeing his face, he was generating this sexual buzz that made me hungry to hook up with him. But because he was busy sucking off over yonder, I killed time by swap-sucking with a guy through the middle glory hole in my booth. This one was a fully nude, beefy, furry blond guy in his mid-forties. He fed me a nice thick semi-erect 7-inch dick, and presented a pair of furry, low-hanging balls that were fun to play with. But he never got fully hard, and he eventually pulled away to work on one of his neighbors.

I moved back to my right in hopes that the guy in white would turn my way, and he did. I was surprised, given the median age of the clientele, to see that Hot Guy was in his mid-twenties. He stood over six feet tall, and he had a pale, slender athletic body. His attractive face was long and a bit flat (Anglo with perhaps a touch of Hispanic in him), with big brown eyes and a great smile; dark hair hid his brows and ears with a mane of loose, shaggy, full curls. Hot Guy was relaxed and confident, and he actually seemed likable, but then factor in the fact that he was generating these rolling waves of sexual energy, and I found myself sailing on a sex buzz from just looking at the guy!

Hot Guy gave me a grin and stood up to put his fat, semi-erect, 10-inch cock through the glory hole. One look at that beauty and I gasped an amazed “Fuck!” Shaped like a long cucumber, it was pale and even-colored, and covered in the softest, smoothest cock skin I’d ever touched. I gently held the log of hardening meat, stroking its full length, and smoothed the shaft along my cheek as it pumped upward, getting harder, but not much longer. With my dry lips apart, I slid my mouth from the furry root to the smooth, slick tip of the shaft, and then pressed against the tiny opening to taste the bit of precum starting to leak. Pulling back to take one more look, I said “Fuck!” out loud, and Hot Guy quietly laughed. Then I wet my lips and dove down hard, shoving as much of him into me as I could.

This was a much bigger cock than what I usually encounter, and I could only get about 4 thick inches into my straining mouth. (Blowjobs aren’t my specialty, because of a shallow mouth that can open only so wide.) But a lot of saliva, tongue-work, and hand-action generally does the job at turning a semi-hard cock into a rigid shaft of meat, and it worked here. Within a few minutes, Hot Guy’s cock was bone hard and sticking straight out through the glory hole. Still I kept pulling off with an impressed “Fuck!” to admire what Hot Guy was feeding me, and then it was back to my very satisfying job of working over some seriously big cock.

I was a little alarmed when, maybe five minutes later, Hot Guy pulled back through the glory hole. (Was he bored? Was it that bad of a blowjob?) But then he knelt and put his face to the hole. “Stand up,” he said, and as I did, he reached through the big hole and unzipped my jeans, untangled my achingly stiff and sticky 6.75 inches, and pulled me with ease through the glory hole and all the way down his throat. “Fuck!” I clung to the top of the plywood wall and, with my head thrown back I just melted into the wet heat of Hot Guy’s clutching throat. But it was pushing me too close to blast-off (me, who normally takes for-EVER to cum), and I didn’t want this scene to end without my getting another go at his meat. So I pulled out and dropped to his face. “My turn,” I said, giving him the Groucho Marx one-two-three with my eyebrows.

Hot Guy stood up with a laugh, allowing me to again get that hard-as-a-spike, big log of meat all slicked up with spit and precum. But as much fun as that was, after a few minutes I took a breath and asked: “How would you feel about fucking me with that big thing?” Hot Guy laughed at my bluntness and, kneeling to face me, said with a grin: “Meet me outside.” I wondered if he meant outside of the building, but when we stepped out of our respective booths, he took my hand and led me through the club, picking up a few free condoms on the way, and saying “Hi” to other guys he seemed to know.

After taking a quick look into the pair of cubicles deeper within the facility, Hot Guy led me to the third one, closest to the exit, which afforded us a bit more privacy because of the way it was positioned. He latched the half-door shut, and we awkwardly made out while attempting to undress each other, finally giving up to just undress ourselves. I was the first one to climb onto the padded “bed”, which was closed in by black plywood walls that were seven feet tall, opening above us to allow sounds and dim light from the main room into our darkened little world.

Hot Guy was grinning and unhurried, and I noted that he chewed gum throughout our entire encounter. At one point later in the evening, I was so amused and amazed by his non-stop gum chewing, considering all we’d been doing with our mouths, that I jokingly asked: "Do you still have that gum?" With a smile, he stuck out his long tongue to show me the wad of pale pink gum. I just laughed and moved right in to mash my mouth against his to carry on as before.

Anyway, the two of us are both over six-feet tall, and there we were, rolling around on that little “bed” and knocking knees and elbows against the walls while making out (and he knew how), before moving on to swap-sucking and some 69 action, too. Ending up on my back, I eventually pulled that big cock out of my mouth and asked Hot Guy if I could rim him. He pulled off my cock and turned to give me a grin: "Only if I get to rim you, too." I nodded eagerly, and he sat back, lowering his firm, lightly furred, squeaky-clean ass right onto my mouth. So with his balls draped over my chin and neck, and that big dick of his thumping hard and heavy along my sternum, I got busy, working over his tight slick bud until it was relaxed and puffy and dripping with spit.

Hot Guy let me feed on his hole for another few minutes before turning around to stretch out on top of me, sliding that long tongue into my mouth while his hands latched firmly behind my widespread knees. As he started to roll me up, pushing my knees up beside my ears, he broke our lip-lock and said with a grin: “Your turn.” He continued pushing until I was balanced on my upper back and shoulders, with my rigid dick dangling overhead, maybe six inches away, and drooling strings of sweet precum right onto my face. He couldn’t have known that shooting into my own mouth is a favorite way to cum, and I was thinking that things couldn’t possibly get any hotter.

Then he made contact. Oh, fuck! Now, I am all about my ass, so when that long wet tongue began to gently lap at my hole, I gasped and actually stopped breathing for a minute to revel in the sensations that zapped my libido into overdrive. And since I’m no limp fuck, I did my bit by contracting and pushing out, giving Hot Guy my spotless, spit-puckered bud to suck on and dig into.

I must have been speaking in Fuck Tongues or something, because Hot Guy pulled pack with a grin, lowered my ass to his lap, and asked: “Are you OK?” I nodded and exhaled a long: “Fu-u-u-ck!” And then, while keeping his eyes on mine, he easily slipped a long finger all the way inside me. I gasped at the sudden entry, and my dick burped a wad of precum right up to my sternum. Hot Guy slid in two fingers, digging deep, turning his fingers and stretching the tight ring of my hole. With our eyes locked, he pulled out and scooped up a glob of my precum. He slathered my hole with the cooling syrup, and then fingers one, two, and three drilled firm and deep. And that’s when I got a little greedy.

My only experiences with fisting, up to that point, were solo scenes: awkward as hell, but I loved the sensation of “butt-fullness” and that of knuckles working over my prostate, all of which tends to keep me at a brink-of-orgasm plateau for as long as I want to hover there. So there I was, with only spit and precum for lube, and a hot-as-fuck dude who seemed willing to go all the way. And I said: “I can take more.”

Hot Guy smiled big and kept his eyes locked on mine as he worked in finger number four and stretched and fucked my hole even wider, working over my prostate, making my dick drool a steady stream of precum, while I grabbed onto Hot Guy’s knees positioned just below my ass. Then tucking his thumb into his palm, his whole hand slipped in, right up to his wrist. I gasped “Fu-u-u-ck!” and Hot Guy held still until I caught my breath and gave him a nod. With eyes locked, his fist moved inside me, smooth and firm, sliding against my prostate, and then slowly backing all the way out, and again sliding right back in, soon picking up a steady rhythm of punch-fucking me, sometimes just holding inside, and then picking up speed again, and all the while I’m gasping “Fuck!” with every in-and-out of his fist.

Meanwhile, I was peripherally aware of someone trying to look over the top of our cubicle’s half-door to get a look at what we were up to inside. This guy then began to jump up and down like a Jack Russell Terrier before he finally just reached over and unlatched the door and came right on in, followed by four other guys, all descending on us like ravenous vultures. One heavy-set guy climbed the table to straddle my face, forcing his chunky dick into my mouth, but I was in an awkward position and had to keep pushing his cock out so I could breath. My vision was blocked, but I knew Hot Guy was getting worked on too, and I felt a bit of jealous disappointment as his attention was getting diverted away from me. Then an intruder tried to get his hand inside me along with Hot Guy's. That’s when I finally put an end to it all: we'd been going at it for 20-plus minutes of fisting with no actual lube in my ass, and I was feeling the friction (and not in a good way). The Vultures mercifully relented and, disappointed, they all took off.

Hot Guy and I just laughed a “What the fuck!” at our sudden invasion, and then he eased his hand out of me. I told him to use my T-shirt to clean us up with, which I then tossed in the garbage. Then Hot Guy stood up to get back into his clothes, saying he needed a break and was going to get a Coke. I stayed put while Hot Guy dressed, and gave him a hug and a kiss before he left.

After a shower, I found that my locker was right next to a young, skinny, bleached blond Bitch Queen who was in a jealous rage, relaying to his young, very hot, dark-haired friend how Bitch Queen’s boyfriend was a Shit Hole. I got out of their way, fast, giving them a few minutes to pack up and get out. Then I continued dressing, noting that the glory hole booths across from the lockers were bustling with activity. I had just pulled on my over shirt when Hot Guy walked by, briefly sliding the palm of his hand along my stomach as he stuck out his tongue to show me he still had that gum, and with a grin, he kept on moving. I croaked out an exhausted “Have fun!” as he disappeared around the corner of the glory hole booths and back into the club.

On the fifteen-minute hike home, I caught myself laughing out loud at walking like a bow-legged veteran cowboy with an ass that had been super-tenderized! But that tender ass was worth every minute of my amazing time spent with Hot Guy. (It was a good lesson, too, to remember to always carry a vial of lube with me whenever I go out to play.)

2009 Epilogue: I never saw Hot Guy again, and my two return trips to the club (before it shut down) were far less eventful or rewarding. But man, oh, man! That was a night to remember, and whack off to, again, and again . . .

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