Inspired by Sue Grafton's alphabetical series.
The movie Cruising did it for me.
I watched every frame of that movie salivating and stroking my meat, watching Al Pacino in leather or with a bandanna hanging out of the back pocket of his jeans. I fell in love with the dark side, the
nasty
side of being a homosexual. I wanted the sweaty, faceless, nameless sex. I wanted the cock shoved into my dry asshole. I wanted the spit on my palm as I stroked myself. I wanted it all.
As soon as I graduated from college, I said goodbye to my Midwestern birthplace and hitchhiked to New York. Within two days, I had found an apartment, an expensive basement floor hole in the wall and got a job waiting tables in Manhattan. I was lucky and I knew it. I worked my ass off every night and always came home with a pocket full of cash. After a week, I decided to head out and conquer the scene.
There were several clubs to choose from. Most of the clubs catered to gays, bis and straights, in an effort to grab those dollars. I wasn't interested in that. I wanted a
gay
club. A club where no woman could enter. I wanted to walk in and smell sperm and see couples pumping in the dark corners. I wanted sticky floors and locked stalls. I wanted my version of a gay sex addict's Shangri-la.
It took me five weeks to find the club, located in Manhattan and accessed from an alley door, lit by a single naked bulb. I knocked. The door opened into darkness and I stepped in.
"ID." A voice barked the question, a light shining in my face.
"I don't have one."
"Then get the fuck out of here."
"Wait!" I begged. "Please. Tell me how to get one."
"Suck my dick and maybe I'll tell you." I heard a zipper and another flashlight illuminated the flesh that I was to suck. I bent down, took the tool into my mouth and began to eagerly suck. I knew that I was good at sucking cock but it wasn't good enough for this guy. He pushed me away after a few minutes. "You suck like a girl." The snickers of others floated in the darkness. "Get the fuck out of here."
I turned around and dropped my jeans, bending down and grasping my ankles. Complete silence permeated the entryway. I stood there for what seemed like hours before a gob of spit landed on my hole and someone pushed a fat-headed dick into me, hard and fast. Tears pricked my eyes from the pain but I held onto my ankles, moving only to compensate for balance. The man rammed his meat into my tender hole, scraping my prostate and driving me crazy. I grunted with every stroke and yelled 'Fuck!' when I came. I felt the guy's cum spurt into my ass and I tightened my muscles, trying to hold him in. He finally pulled out with a
pop
and gave me a slap.
I pulled up my pants and whirled around to face the darkness. "Tell me how to get a card."
A hand came out of the darkness with a piece of paper, a few lines scribbled on it. "Don't come back here until you have one."
I shoved the paper into my pocket and didn't read it until I was home, soaking my sore asshole in a tub of hot water. It was a phone number. When I called, I got a recording. It said to go to Dr. Bishop for sexual disease testing and gave the address. My results would be mailed to headquarters and if I passed the additional background check, I would receive a card in the mail.
I went to the address and submitted my body to the doctor's poking and prodding. He took saliva, urine, blood and stool samples and gave me a thorough checkup. The cost was $2,000 dollars. I had already been informed of the price from the phone recording and forked it over to the smiling doctor. He wished me 'good luck' and sent me on my way, tucking my hard-earned money in his pocket.
Three long weeks passed with no card. Then, tucked in behind the electric bill was a stamp less envelope, my name written in block letters across the front. My card had come. It was plain white with a silver star on one side and a brown stripe on the other. I jumped for joy. I was in.
