My house was a mile walk from the bus stop. I was nearing the edge of town as the buildings shifted from strict business establishments to the leisurely entertainment facilities. Trees stood confidently beside storefronts, their canopies thick with leaves that littered everything, their branches strangling telephone poles and hugging the necks of street lamps. I glanced over the names of the buildings I approached, pondering which one would be a good place to order a meal. My eyes then settled on a vivid neon sign flickering in the distance. Standing alone and proud in contrast to the barren, black sky, the sign would periodically blink an array of colors. The building was called South Street Nine. It appeared classy from a distance, so I made up my mind to dine there.
As I reached it, I found that the building was the size of a two-story townhouse and looked exactly the same as the other buildings that neighbored it, its only other uniqueness the arrangement of potted plants around the doors and shuttered windows. There was a man leaning on the wall of its entrance, and as he saw me deviate from my path towards him, he stood up and straightened his blazer. He intercepted me when I was close enough to question. His voice was brusque.
"You wanna get in to South Street?" he asked. I stumbled out a yes, smiling at the stranger, his mirror aviators reflecting my rather silly grin.
"It's a restaurant, right?" I asked, "You serve food?"
"It's a gay bar for men."
His blunt statement caught me by surprise, his shades matching my dumb expression. He continued.
"We serve refreshments, though. You can only get in if you're gay." He paused, furrowing his brow. "...
Are
you?"
Without hesitating, I blurted out a yes. I knew not what I just said, what I was doing, or what I was getting myself into. Shortly after I confirmed my sexuality to him, I assured myself that it would just be a social experience. I had never been to a gay bar before. It might be interesting.
The man gave me a quick nod and ushered me through the door.
Techno music blared, siren lights glared, and the dance floor was packed with men of all sorts. I tried to ignore the rush of motion and sound, pushing through the couples and groups that were chatting and dancing. The mass thinned out as one panned the room, the eastern end hosting noticeably less people than the western. I immediately headed for the bar, which took up almost the entire East wall, the nearest corner of the strip reserved for the stairwell to the second floor. A rowdy cheer roared from the dance mob as I sat myself down on one of the few bar stools vacant. My heart was racing. I felt so uncomfortable amidst all this noise and talk and people. I hunched over the burnished counter, staring at my clasped hands, trying to take everything in. I was rudely shocked from my introversion when a shot glass slammed in front of me.
I whipped my attention up to a handsome man with a friendly smile on his stubbly face. As the bartender, he wore a pinstripe shirt with a dapper sweater vest to fit the theme. His hair slicked up into a ducktail.
"Welcome to South Street Nine, buddy," he chirped. "What would you like to drink?"
I made an attempt to smile, but the corners of my lips could only form a timid simper.
"I... don't really know, actually..." I tend to chuckle at the end of my phrases when I'm unsure of myself. I did so then. Fortunately for me, the bartender took it lightly and laughed along with me.
"I could definitely start you off with a shot of our signature liquor," he urged. "It's kinda fruity—like
me
." God, how awful! His terrible joke made me snort, and he deemed his job as comic relief accomplished. He then turned his back towards me to retrieve a few bottles of alcohol off the shelves and proceeded to concoct my drink. I let my attention wander with my eyes to the others nearby. Just out of the illumination of the bar's hanging lights was a couple in the shade. I had to strain a bit to see them, but they appeared to be dressed in dark, sleek leather and metal studs. One was sitting on a stool, pressed up against the wall, loose vest giving way to his brawny chest. His more slender partner was standing and nudging him into the corner, kissing him amorously. They caressed each other's bodies with long strokes and firm grips, the one on the stool fidgeting more so than his lover. I lowered my gaze a bit to see the reason—tenderly groping the crotch of his pants. I couldn't help but lick my lips. Absentmindedly, I allowed my hand to drift as I watched him drag his fingers over the rim of the other's pants, letting them linger there—just to tease. My twitching fingers lightly traced the seam of my fly as he began to wedge his hand between tight leather and writhing muscle, slowly sinking into the depths of his pants...
"Here you go!" bellowed the bartender. I started, my face flushing a bit as I whipped my gaze back to him. The guy smiled. "I'll make this one on the house, buddy."
I thanked him and took a sip, pushing my hand off my hardening crotch and clasping my knee, darting my eyes about in an attempt to avoid the bartender and the temptation in the corner. I focused on a group of casually dressed Arabian men on the opposite end of the bar, laughing and holding a conversation that I could barely hear. I caught something of a foreign language during a quick lull in background noise. The wine had something of a fruitful flavor—a punch of spice when it hit the tongue, mellowing out into a round, sweet tone. I examined the yellowish-green liquid in my glass, approving of the taste. The man leaned over the counter on his arm, his face spouting a playful look of anticipation that simply impelled one to respond.
"It's, uh, really good," I managed to utter. I felt the hotness of my cheeks gradually blow over. The man bobbed his head in agreement, grinning.
"That's why it's our special, you know." He winked. Abruptly, he changed the subject. "I've never seen you around this bar before—and I've seen a
lot
of people." He smiled, raised his brow, and then asked, "Are you new?"
I nodded. "I just came by because I thought you served dinners."
The bartender told me otherwise and slicked back his hair.
"Just drinks. A restaurant is right next to us, though. It's closed now. It's... a quarter past nine?" He strained to remember, and then checked his wristwatch to reassure himself. "I mean 9:21... Well, you know." He shrugged. "By the way, I'm Jared. Sorry I didn't mention it before. I kind of misplaced my name tag. Yours?" Jared was a pleasant guy. Strangely, I felt myself grow more relaxed around him. I smiled and told him I was Collin. He smiled too.
We had a short conversation about the club. Jared told me that South Street Nine hosts a special themed weekend once every month. It just so happened that this weekend was such, and tonight's theme was celebrating fetishes. He told me that because the topic was so broad, it brought in a colorful lot of people. He also gave me a verbal layout of the place, informing me that the second floor hosted the bedrooms and restroom. The bedrooms piqued some interest. The thought of people actually coming here to find sex
and
have it? It was a foreign concept to a virgin like me.
I finished off my glass and thanked Jared, who welcomed me with a wink and a winning smile. I shifted off the barstool and bid the man adieu, allowing him to resume his slow work on this side of the chaos. I pardoned myself past the few people loitering at the end of bar and around the stairwell. As I neared, the light from the bar faded and I stood in the shadow, stepping up on the landing that hosted the flight. The stairway was rather dark, save for the few classy outdoor lights that illuminated every few steps. I found that as I entered the second floor, it was well lit with warm, sensual lighting. It was fashioned like a lobby. The center area squared off with a couch set, its center piece a round table with magazines and mints. Gorgeous paintings of men hung on the walls. There was the occasional scattered chair, potted plant, and stand lamp. The walls on either side of the room were lined with doors; the left side rooms had solid oak, but the rooms on the right had glass ones. I found that strange. Those couldn't be
bedrooms
, could they? I crept my way toward one and stood off to its side in an attempt to hide myself from any occupants, leaned toward it, and peered through the glass.
The room was small and dimly lit, but from my angle, all I could see was the queen-sized bed and two nude older men. One sat at the edge of the bed, his head tipped back, and his posture straight. His bearded lips mouthed a few words as he nodded and dipped down to share a romantic gaze with his entertainer. He ran a powerful hand over his dark, cropped hair, brushing wisps from his brow. The second man was on his knees, his bald head gleaming a bit in the light. He was intent on his work, and watching him made me feel a sensation come over me.
The way he dragged his tongue over the sole of his superior's foot made me curl my toes in excitement. The lesser took such loving care with his mate, skimming his bottom lip lightly up the sole, causing his man's toes to flex and flinch. I could only imagine the sensation of the tip of his tongue wriggling between my toes, taking care to reach every inch of it. The subordinate began to suck on the toes, slowly and intensely on each one, lingering the longest on the plump big toe. The bearded man couldn't help but part his lips for another contented coo, his cock standing full and erect, neglected of touch and attention. My first time seeing a penis off screen. As the lesser sensually lapped up his heel and flicked a tongue at his ankles, I thought I saw his appendage twitch from sheer arousal. A pool of tingling warmth began to flow from my cheeks, trickling down my spine, somehow ending up between my thighs...
I pulled away from the scene, attempting to blink it out of my mind. My face must have been a striking red. Yes, they were bedrooms. I assumed they were for the more open of the sexually active. They must not have minded being watched, but... why do I mind watching
them
...? I decided to peek in another room, hoping that it may culture me into becoming more open.
The next room hosted a scene of arrest. A young, thin-looking boy was wearing a striped pullover jacket, beanie hat, and baggy pants. He stood barefoot on the bed, his front pressed to the wall and his hands behind his back. He must have been freshly handcuffed, as the fairly toned policeman was shifting positions, sliding down on his knees to match the boy's waist. His navy blue suit was tightly fit, showcasing the few meaty ripples that came with his physique. The wide brim of his police cap cast a shadow over his eyes. The officer shot a glare at the delinquent, barking something that made the boy cry back with a guiltless face. The officer sneered, and a shiver crept down my spine as I witnessed his hand glide over the boy's round rump. The boy bit his lip as the corrupt man began to fondle his cheeks, my hand absentmindedly imitating his strokes on my thigh. I wanted to be that bad boy. I wanted to be held against my will by a powerful man like that...
