Bye bye bouncers: From frisked to frisky
>> If you missed the pre-lude to this post, ‘The Evolution of ‘The Club’, catch it here.
(…Cont’d)
On arrival there are no bouncers, no clipboard and no cold smokers outside to greet you with toothless grins. It almost takes a second to realize that your drugs do not belong in your shoe anymore, they belong in your hand and in your nose, sharing is customary too! Music almost ahead of or on par with the clubs, washing facilities, sofas and cock on tap seems to be sending the hot half-naked boys and men running around in shorts even John Wayne Gacy would have struggled to picture; into a frenzy! All of them squeezed tantalizingly close to one another telling the most interesting story or just spraying utter shit from their mouths. In almost every room in the house, the scene is the same; legs touching, hands on shoulders, lips lightly pressing together. Oh. Except one room – you can’t go in there. Because the host has a roommate that has an angry friend that wants it empty. Whatever. Within five minutes that room has been flipped on it’s back and fucked mercilessly into the same condition as the others.
The sexual energy is almost more intoxicating than whatever substance you’re on, 25+ guys, half-naked, sweating, horny and high… Excuse me while I mop my forehead. Guys pair off, trio’s slide away and quartets bound excitedly to soft surfaces that bounce back to unleash the biggest storm of group chem-sex I have ever seen. I almost sound like an ornithologist whose witnessed a strange migratory pattern of an endangered bird. By this stage people are sporting jock straps, harnesses, some both, some neither. Not everyone is having sex, some people make shots of G so the sexatheletes can keep going, others watch and slap an arse here and there while some prefer to just sit and engage in normal conversation.
Over the top of the music you can hear the slapping of skin, grunts of a top to your left and the Californian valley-girl wailing of a bottom to your right. Joke. Something becomes fairly clear as time progresses; a lot of people are having fun, a lot of people are high, and a lot of people are barebacking. That’s not something I wish to comment on as the sexual behaviour of two consenting adults is none of my business and I assume a standard “you poz or neg?” had been exchanged beforehand.
The only way to really experience it is to truly let go. Let go of your body shyness, don’t worry about your cock not being big enough, or your arse not being round enough for there’s at least 10 people there willing to get on the Ol’ Buckin’ Bronco. Chances are you’re likely to try at least half of them. The answer is no, you’re not gonna hate it.
Some people occasionally skulk off into the toilets, or to more secluded rooms. My guess is as good as yours, for perhaps a little more sexual privacy? Although after witnessing the largest Human Centipede of my short time on this Earth; it dawned on me, with a twinge of fear and swirl of curiosity, ‘why did they need that privacy?’ I was better acquainted with their anatomy than my very own. I later learned they were slamming. Experience has led me to expect that at least several people per “sex party” are I.V drug users and very hygienic and careful ones might I add.
As with any scene, there is always an underbelly, in this case I feel as though nothing new or sinister has been born from the lack of club attendance. Instead a primal stripping of the first stages of clubbing foreplay have taken place: giving way to exactly what some of these men want right from the get go. There is however a strong potential for standards to slip, and once that happens it becomes a constant weigh up with your own moral compass. Can you occasionally go to these places, make friends, have fun and fool around with a bunch of nice guys? Or will you end up going repeatedly, just for the drugs, to look at cocks instead of faces and lose yourself in the self-perceived hedonism of it all?
WORDS BY: “SODOMYN”
What did you think of his first post for Cocktails and Cocktalk?
