Brief intro: I was on vacation in Puerto Vallarta for Beef Dip, a week dedicated to the thick boys and their admirers, and was staying a couple blocks away from the local bathhouse. One of those nights, I snuck out at 3am (the bars don't really close over there) and had a few experiences I wanted to share. Little vignettes. Fleeting flirtatious kisses in the dark. Snapshots, but in a lot less than a thousand words.
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"Vente."
For a microsecond, I struggle to conjure up collegiate memories to translate Spanish to English to fully understand. I have four languages rattling in my brain including English, none of which I know very well. It's odd but with my parents' native tongue, I go directly from spoken word to comprehension but for the others, they have to take a pitstop to English before my brain absorbs meaning.
That microsecond hesitation is not lost on him and he chuckles and reaches out for my hand. Come. It is such a basic word but honestly, despite being in Mexico, I heard just a spattering of Spanish here so I was caught off guard.
I'm literally contemplating my absurd, disrespectful attitude and expectation as his hand is just dangling there, waiting for me to shit or get off the pot. He has the advantage. He's in the blackout room and I'm standing in the entrance bathed in a dim red light. My eyes haven't adjusted yet and under different circumstances, I'd yell, "Oh no you don't, Pennywise!" Then I'd run for the hills, especially if the only part I can see is his arm. Forget it if he's holding out a red balloon.
But as absurd as it sounds, the disembodied voice beckoning me and mocking me for my hesitation is rather alluring. It's the stream of half naked men that are brushing by, entering or leaving the blackout room. And the occasional moans. And the slurps. And then rhythmic sounds of flesh meeting flesh. Most of the men leaving are drenched in sweat. Some of them don't even bother covering up with their towels, their spent cocks dripping or still proudly erect leading the way out in search of more bodies to conquer, their asses still sloppy from sloppy spit lube and cum. It's a good crowd, a good mix. Svelte figures brush by to enter into the dark depths. Beefy men. Tall and short. Harnesses on some and other shy types sporting briefs.
I take his hand and he leads me into the darkness that swallows us. The darkness that shrouds is immediate, a heavy blanket tucked in. It's the weight of the air of the confined space. Bodies writhing and deep breathing all trapped by the dense black, like a stopper on a chemical beaker trapping the fumes of the sex within, the weighted top of the elixir from desire decanted. Whereas the rest of the bathhouse is rather pedestrian in comparison, the dark is the catalyst that sparks inert bodies into action and the byproduct of this kinetic reaction is that heavy air that hugs me. It's palpable.
With complete, immediate trust, I shuffle in and accept my guide's hand further into the depths. Without them touching me, I can feel bodies all around but I'm expertly navigated through the maze of flesh until he finds a suitable spot. And with just a short pause, I close the gap between us, pull him in a deep embrace and kiss him deep. There's no grace, no subtlety. It's just pure need and lust bleeding onto me from the surrounding energy. We're exactly the same height so the move is easy and natural. Just two magnetized puzzle pieces fitting snugly and electrically bonded.
I feel the warmth of his hand behind my neck spread through me and he pulls me in deeper, closer. My hands roam the wide expanse of his back before using my fingers to press into the muscles that straddle his spine, walking my finger tips up and in, hitting the pressure points that make him break from the kiss and throw his head back in a sigh. I use the moment to devour his neck, kissing, licking, and then chewing on him, as I feel his body give way and go limp in my arms. My tongue tracing the fibers of his sinewy muscles, memorizing the valleys, finding the pulsing arteries and veins in between.
I continue to explore. My nose nuzzles the valley above his collarbone before descending over to the right to breath in his scent from his pits. Then down to where his bath towel is loosely tied around his waist. I vigorously shake my head to bury my nose under the terrycloth and the mere move makes it drop away and expose his rigid inches that spring and bounce in front of my face. One more quick inhale to breathe more of him in and I engulf his cock with my mouth in one swoop. I can feel his foreskin glide with my movements, a pliant sheath that shimmies over his rigidity. I don't spend much time feeling his meat ooze juices before I lap at his balls. My attempts to tongue his taint are frustrated until I grab his hips and spin him around. He naturally braces himself against the wall with two palms as I tongue it and then move up to his hole.
And this is where I lose the guise of will and self-determination. My nose is nestled between two perfect mounds of flesh as I drink in the scents of masculinity and sex. My tongue snakes out and I taste it. Other men. Other men have salivated over this hole, other men have shot their load inside, other men have sweat over him. There are other men. And that taste that jolts that revelation shocks and attracts me. I can't get enough of it. My tongue probes and digs for more. Whereas before we were having a personal conversation with our bodies in the context of others, the others have now pulled me, dominated my senses, amassed me into their collective and I completely surrendered. I suddenly felt the other hands that were there all along, roaming my body, pushing my head deeper into his ass. Intoxicated, I surrendered to the will of the darkness and I am no longer my own.
Pieces and fragments.
I fucked him. I remembered how my balls ached to shoot the moment I hit bottom, but I don't remember fucking him. I sucked other cocks, but I don't remember sucking them. I remember someone shoving into my ass while I was fucking, the searing invasion shooting up my ass and through me, surging my dick deeper into the bottom so that he yelped for me. I remember two mouths on my wired nips and my knees buckling, collapsing my body into the arms of another. I remember not saying a thing but through the collective mind a new language formed so that everyone knew exactly what buttons to push, what knobs to turn so that my cock just constantly dripped precum. More puzzle pieces snapped into place into a shifting canvas of intricate black.
No, it wasn't everyone. It was the one. The darkness. The catalyst that melded as I dissolved into the oceanic lust.
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