Where the Girls Aren't

If there's a commonly reoccurring theme to my existence it is one of overbearing responsibility, doing the right thing, taking care of others and eschewing the thing that I might want for the thing that is most practical or more socially acceptable. All in all, it's not a terrible perspective on it's own but as with everything - moderation is key and without it one is always likely to get lost in the shuffling of the deck.

I can say with confidence that I'm not precisely the man I want to be. I like who I am in most regards, but I have a lot to learn about living. I see people in the world that are light hearted and fun and adventure seeking and while I have my moments in which I display such characteristics I often find myself feeling that in comparison to others who have come and gone from my life that these traits are definitely dialed down within me to a very conservative level.

I think too much. I over think. I assess everything. I have a real difficult time in letting go and enjoying the moment for what it is. Some part of me always wants to know what the moment means in the greater scheme of things. Is it building to something more? Is it a distraction from what I should be pursuing? ...as I said, I have a real problem with over examination. I don't know if it's genetic or a result of how I was raised. Nonetheless it is in me and I've spent the better part of the last seven years retraining myself to be less of what I am and more of the person I want to become. The area in which I've gained the most ground - my sexuality.

I've never been sexually repressed in the traditional way that we like to think of sexual repression. I have kinks, taboo desires, and fetishes. I've had them from day one and I've always been aware of them. I've lived out many of my fantasies since then, but the level of fulfillment that I somehow felt I should have been receiving from living out such fantasies has always fallen short of the anticipated mark. As I gained greater degrees of experience I noticed a consistent trend. The women I would engage with intimately would tell me one after the other that our time together was unlike anything they'd experienced before and that they'd never been with a man who was so confident sexually, who acted without hangups, and who was so encompassingly intense and playful, seductive and attentive. They were having a great time and I did for a duration derive a thrill and a sense of pride from being the kind of lover that would get a random text or e-mail years later from such a woman telling me that she still thinks of the things we did and that it makes her smile. For a time that was enough. But then I noticed another trend. The cornerstone of my own experience was fast becoming one of providing memorable fulfulling experiences for others yet I didn't seem to be along for the ride. I wasn't able to say that I was getting much fulfillment, sense of adventure, or enjoyment myself.

Over time I was reaching a point in which I was becoming acutely aware of the differences between how the women I slept with conducted themselves comparative to how I handled myself during sex. My hands explored each woman's entire form in an effort to search out her most unattended, unexplored erogenous zones and read her reactions. My words and tone of voice were each consciously tailored to fall on her ears in a way that brought her desires to a fevered, panting pitch and I noticed that as I put in all of this effort to find what might uniquely work for her, she would as each woman would - simply apply a one-size fits all approach toward me, leaving me unmoved, unfulfilled, and to a degree unimpressed.

From weekend to weekend, the faces of the women in my bed would change. The experience would not. There was no excitement in it for me and something needed to change.

I had long been involved in visiting swingers clubs on Friday or Saturday nights and in-truth I went semi-regularly both on my own and from time to time with a woman on my arm. There are a lot of voyeuristic opportunities within such an environment and they led to me once again noticing an overly exaggerated trend in what I was seeing. The men, despite whatever complaints women may have about the male gender, were attentive. They actively read their female partners looking for signs of satisfaction and enjoyment to appear in the sounds of their voices and in the expressions surfacing on their female partner's faces. What I did not see were examples of the age old female complaint that men go straight for the breasts and pussy. Time and time again I watched as male hands were cradling the women's heads, they were firmly pulling their heads back by the hair as their masculine lips and teeth made contact with her exposed and vulnerable neck. The lips and tongues of men would trace down the bodies of women circling the sensitive bits but never quite touching them directly until the tension had been properly built up in her mind and body. His hands now beneath her would cradle her ass as he circled her clit first with his breath and then with a gentle flick of his tongue before encompassing her entire vulva with his mouth in a firm kiss as his tongue slid upward between her swelling lips.

It always seems to play out in a similar fashion. Her hips rising and falling to meet her lover's mouth in a rhythmic motion, her breathing catching in her throat before changing altogether into an audible panting moan. His eyes all the while looking up at her watching her face with her eyes closed. His hands sliding upwards from their grip on her ass to her outer hips, up over her stomach before moving downwards over the hourglass shape of her sides before circling back up her stomach to cup her breasts and firmly squeeze them before catching each of her nipples between his fingers. Pinching them. Twisting them. Her body arches back and her head tilts with it. Her hands now on her own body; running over her stomach, over her own breasts, her own neck and back down her body and up her own open thighs. Her lover untouched; unattended to. She cums under his touch, his mouth, his attention, and the energy he gives. She comes once then twice.

She sits up with hunger in her eyes and a lit fire for being fucked. Maybe he climbs on top, maybe she gets onto all fours back arched with her holes in the air; wet and ready, maybe she climbs on top of him. The position they take varies from couple to couple, but what follows is nearly universally the same. His hands continue to wash over her like a tide lapping at the shores, but if her hands, her energy, her attention land anywhere other than the sheets beneath her then they too will be washing over and crashing upon the same shores of her body. The form of her male lover's body remaining an undiscovered land. Along the way, they cum.

This didn't seem to bother anyone, male or female. For many, most, nearly all - maybe this is enough. But it is not enough for me. Such things leave me feeling undesired and my satisfaction unimportant and I want more. I want better.

I've never harbored an interest in men. I've never desired to sleep with men or to experiment with men. However, in the face of my muted satisfaction and frustration with women's inability to return one's sexual energy toward their partner I began to wonder - Why not men?

And that brings us to where I am today. I've now been with over a dozen men and there's no turning this new part of me off again. I still sleep with women. I've been the third in two threesomes with male/female couples. For whatever reason, when it comes to my default desire for relationships, companionship, and to a degree sex - I still gravitate toward women. Men though ...well, men are much more giving.

In the beginning I looked around at personals on craigslist and I did meet with men on two different occasions one of which culminated in the most mind opening, toe curling blow job I had ever received. I did however become quickly disenchanted by the quality of the online M4M ads along with the inarticulate messages that flooded in response to my own posted personals.

I quickly discovered adam4adam.com which was a private yet free membership hookup site and I found that the interactions there were much more conversational and inviting. The downside however was in the high number of men who would get cold feet at the last minute and ghost on the chat altogether. Next up, the mobile app Grindr.

I liked that I could search by type and interest. There were muscle bears, men into leather, Daddy types and silverfoxes, along with young boys, twinks, and even ladyboys. I chatted with anyone who looked interesting and who invested the effort to fill out their profile. For a long while it seemed like I had found the most promising venue for connecting with other men on a sexual level. I met one guy and we had an okay time, but in-truth the experience left me wondering if maybe men weren't for me.

I'm not entirely certain exactly how I found my first bathhouse aside for that facts that I'm confident I searched it out online and that my motivation was that I wanted to find an environment similar to what swinger's clubs provided for heterosexual couples.

My first bathhouse visit was thrilling. It was an hour and a half drive to get there from where I live and the anticipation on the drive was very much part of the fun. The nerves and excitement made me feel alive. It felt like a secret adventure that was all my own. Once inside, I enjoyed the sensation of undressing down to nothing in the locker room. As such a mundane act and one that I've done many times in gym locker rooms it seems to be something that shouldn't have any effect, but the difference is all in the context. This time I was undressing not among indifferent men averting their eyes but I was exposing my physique in front of men who would soon be expressing a very real interest in running their hands over my muscles, tasting my skin, and treating me like a sex toy.

I stripped down and wrapped a skimpy white towel about my waist that parted over my left thigh as I walked. It was soft and thin enough to cling to the shape of my cock underneath. I felt sexual in that towel and the feeling of how it left me feeling seductively exposed was fun. I remember everyone I passed in the hallways visually appreciating my body lusting after me in a very apparent manner. It was such a radically new world and it felt so much more freeing than what I was accustomed to among mixed company swing clubs where women put in so much effort to act uninterested toward men they are attracted to.

The lighting was dim and a bluish-cool color temperature throughout the bathhouse. The extensive maze of corridors that made up the facility were lined with doors leading into private rooms and public play spaces. Many of the doors to the private rooms were open. The insides of the rooms spilling a warm reddish light out into the hallway. An open door seemed to stand as an invitation to watch whatever activities were taking place or to step in and have a bit of conversation or fun. As I traversed my way through the club familiarizing myself with the surroundings I discovered the wet area which was comprised of a massive in-floor hot tub capable of sitting twelve men, a steam room, and the most amazingly comfortable dry sauna I've experienced anywhere. The steam room was where most of the wet room action seemed to be taking place and I believed that to be due to the incredibly low visibility that lent a certain degree of anonymity to the wandering hands and mouths of everyone inside. I experienced strange hands roving over my chest and back more than once; it was interesting and I did kind of like it. As one anonymous stranger's hands massaged their way over the muscles of my back I felt the hand of someone else slide up the length of the inside of my right thigh and make it's way up beneath my towel where it caressed the shape of my scrotum before cupping it in the extreme warmth of it's palm. I felt my balls relax into the heat of this stranger's hand and my cock stood into a rigid erection that threatened to undo the tuck of the towel from about my waist.

I felt a gentle tug by the fingers wrapping around the back of my balls in a firm gentle gesture to step forward. The man who's hands had been on my back had now slid their way around my chest and were feeling up my pecs. It was sensation from every direction and the hand that had been coaxing me forward was now beginning to undo my towel for an unobstructed access to my cock. I don't like to think that I panicked, but so much was happening so quickly and I moved my own hands downward to keep my towel about me and stepped my way out of the dense white steam and the room that it was filling.

I did my best to position my swollen, rigid cock in a way that minimized it's state visually beneath my towel as I traded one heat room for another and opened the door to the dry sauna. The dry sauna was a very different environment. There was no vision-obstructing steam in the air and the four men currently occupying its cedar benches were quite visible and not engaged in any type of physical activity at all. It was very calm with an energy that seemed to be one of relaxation and taking a breather. I sat down on one of the benches that lined the walls and let my towel unwrap itself completely and rest beneath me and to either side of where I sat. I felt eyes on my cock, chest, and toned legs. No one spoke a word. Everyone chose to sit in silence only occasionally checking out one another's physiques from time to time. Every newcomer who walked through the door collected everyone's attention until they found a seat among the crowd at which point the attention dispersed evenly among all of the sauna's occupants once again.

I found the heat of the sauna and the radiated warmth from the benches and cedar walls to be unbelievably stress reducing and I found it easy to tilt my head back against the wall and close my eyes. Not in sleep but in comfort. After twenty minutes or so if enjoying the muscle relaxing heat I gathered my towel about my waist and set out to explore the rest of the bath house.

The air outside of the wet area felt cool with a bit of a chill to it as I stepped through the dark corridors that winded through the club like a labyrinth. Things had picked up in contrast to earlier in the evening when I had made my first partial round of the club. There was a very palpable energy of sexuality in the air and around every corner. Private doors that were open had now been transformed into picture windows that on-looked onto a purely masculine sexual landscape. Within every door appeared to be a tableau of men penetrating other men with their bodies seemingly moving in a heated and cinematic slow motion. Twosomes. Threesomes. Group sex. Each room exposed a new scene from the same film. Men on their backs with their legs held high in the air by the hands of other men whose cocks were slowly disappearing between their round full cheeks. Within one door a very masculine, broadly built strong, tan man dipped his cock repeatedly into the consenting and welcoming hole of a much younger boyishly attractive man lying on his back. Between them existed only three points of contact of which even the mere sight was admittedly intoxicating and stirred within me a strange sense of longing. The man on top was exercising complete control over the boyish bottom. One of his hands was firmly grasping the boyish bottom's cock like a joystick as if he were instructing his very positioning and manner of response. The palm of his other hand was planted squarely in the center of the boy's chest as if to insist that he remain flatly on his back until the top was truly done satisfying himself with the younger man's smooth round bottom and tight fuck hole.

In other rooms men were massaging their own cocks waiting for company to take over this duty for them. At the end of one hallway I stumbled upon a door frame with an opaque black curtain where a door would otherwise stand.

I parted the curtain and stepped through into what revealed itself to me as a video room serving as a public play space. There were multiple flat-screen monitors embedded in all four walls playing various scenes of man on man pornography. Two levels of benches lined two of the walls opposite of the curtained entrance. Several fully independent instances of men sucking the cocks and worshipping the balls of other men were taking place side by side. In two such occurrences there was a third man kneeling behind the cock-sucking men his tongue or cock between the sucking men's round cheeks.

I watched men straddle one another cowboy style. Their asses sliding down the length of full cocks as their lips intertwined and their tongues danced together. Once again I found myself seemingly observing movements that appeared to be happening in front of my eyes in slow motion. There was sex happening in every room and in every direction. It didn't feel seedy. It didn't feel cheap as one might expect sex to feel in such an environment. Instead, the sex had an aura about it that seemed liberated from the misdirection and obstruction of gender differences. There were no games being played. No vying for power. It was freeing. Carefree. Primal. Lovers appreciating lovers fully. Men giving and receiving what they needed, desired, and craved. Men cornering other men against a wall, flirtatiously trapping them in slow, deep, passionate kisses and the strength of their masculine palms running over one another's bodies, their fingers tugging on one another's nipples - sometimes for no other reason than to cause the other man's mouth to gasp open further so as to engage him in a firmer, deeper kiss.

I watched various couplings form and dissolve. One man might edge himself with the mouth and round tight ass of one man only to trade partners and finish deep inside of someone else. For a moment I found myself slipping into my old mindset of behavioral observation yet this time what I took note of didn't have a negative connotation. Here in the company of other men and in the total absence of women these men were losing themselves in the deep swells of the experiences they were enjoying. No man's focus appeared to be on reaching orgasm but rather on extending the duration of the pleasurable journey they were finding themselves on.

There were moans, neck kisses, gentle hair pulling, lip nibbling, nipple sucking, and full body experiences to be observed in every corner of every room. I wanted to experience the energy of an all male sexual environment but I came here without any self-directed pressure to do anything. And now as I stood here taking in the sight of everything unfolding before my eyes it wasn't pressure I was feeling but rather the beginnings of a heated and lustful desire.

I set out once again to finish the task of discovering every corner of the bathhouse and soon found myself stepping foot in yet another unique environment within the club. The dark area.

As I stepped through my second set of curtains for the evening I found myself enshrouded in near absolute darkness with only a small amount of illumination being provided by a sparingly small amount of red tinted light bulbs positioned in the walls and installed overhead in the ceiling.

Of what little I could see, my eyes discerned the sight of men with their palms planted on the featureless black walls in front of them as hard-dicked men smashed deeply into them from behind. Men were on their knees sucking the cocks of burly well hung men with fat veiny cocks. There was a sex swing installed in the center of the room with bondage cuffs and a blindfold for it's occupant. There was a fit, attractive, beefily stocky bearish man currently in the swing and a tall, well built fully smooth black man standing between his open, elevated legs. The black man's hands were on the chains connecting the swing to the ceiling and he was using them to gently sway the helplessly bound and blindfolded bear and his ample ass back and forth along the full length of his large uncut bare cock. Just as he was about to climax he pulled out of the bear's gaping asshole and unleashed a frosting of thick heavy creamy cum onto the bear's balls and rigid unshaved yet trimmed cock.