Friday, July 9, 2010

The Cellar

Part of the reason my recent trip to Toronto wasn’t an outright fuckfest is that I was traveling with a few other people—friends who were also there for Toronto Pride. My propensity to flirt with both sexes and pick up guys isn’t exactly unknown to them. When I would announce that I was going to take the evening to myself, it was a bit like watching an old VH-1 Pop-up Video bit in which over each of their would appear a little thought balloon with the word Slut! in the middle.

I’m not the kind of guy who throws his sexual conquests in the faces of others, however. (I just blog about them for thousands worldwide to read.) So even if I’m not as completely on the down-low as I’d like to believe, I’m also not the sort who stands at the dinner table and announces, “Well, chums, I beg your pardon, but I’ve got some boyhole to split.”

One of the friends I’ve mentioned before in here, whom I’ll call Matt, is a little more aware of my sexual adventures than the others. Early on in the vacation he asked if I’d take him with me to one of Toronto’s bathhouses. On our last night, I took him aside after dinner and said, “You know, if you want to do the baths still, tonight’s got to be the night. Are you in?”

He was. He wanted to do Steamworks, where I generally have a good time and thought that he would enjoy himself. After dinner and dessert, when we finally separated ourselves from our other two friends, he began to chicken out. “Steamworks is going to be filled with muscle guys who won’t want to pay attention to me,” he said. “Plus we’ll have to buy a membership. That adds up.”

“Okay,” I said. “Let’s do The Cellar instead. It’s cheaper, and there’s no membership.”

“I don’t think I’ll like the Cellar,” he said.

“You liked the last time you were here.”

“I’ve never been there.”

I almost stopped in the street to stare. “You went to it twice,” I reminded him. “You went once by yourself, and then went back the next night with me because you liked it so much.”

“No I didn’t.”

I could have argued it with him, because I knew I was one hundred percent right, but I didn’t. Instead we opened the almost invisible black door on Wellesley (honestly, you’d never know it was there unless you were aiming for it—it’s like searching for Platform 9 3/4 for the train to Hogwarts) and clomped down to the basement, where the guy behind the cage asked Matt if he’d ever visited there before.

“No,” said Matt.

“Yes, he has,” I assured him.

The poor guy didn’t know who to believe, so he went through his whole spiel about the facilities. Then he buzzed us in.

“Oh,” said Matt, the moment we were through the door and standing in a dark hallway lined with lockers. “Now I remember.”

Doofus.

The night’s encounters can be summed up in roughly three acts.



Act I: The Free-for-All

After I’d removed my clothing and changed into some cheap flip-flops from my bag (Matt: “It’s like you came prepared or something!” Me: “Um, yes.”), I made a circuit around the bathhouse. The Cellar is known not for its amenities, exactly, but for the dimness of the lights within. Save for the showers, everything is dark. The rooms are murky pits where it’s hard to see anything more than vague and indefinite shapes. The hallways can be almost completely black. In the center of the facility is a small set of gloryhole booths in which it’s possible to slip into the darkness and seem little more than a shadow yourself. I noticed there were several guys watching the film in the movie theater, a few more in various rooms, sprawled on their beds, and several milling around just as I was.

I also noticed, after a few minutes, that I’d developed something of a trail of men behind me. I was like the Pied Piper of The Cellar, playing the skin flute and beckoning all the men within hearing to follow my path into the darkness. I paused in the darkest of the hallways, completely enveloped in the darkness, and leaned against the walls.

I didn’t have long to wait. I felt an invisible hand on my face, and a pair of lips on mine. Someone with a goatee and a shaved head was kissing me softly, and gently, and with a lot of passion. He moved slightly as someone else knelt down on the floor to remove my towel and take my dick in his mouth.

Within a few seconds I had more men crowding in on me. A few were handling my dick while the unseen cocksucker continued to service it; someone played with my hole. There was a mouth on one nipple, and then another mouth on the other. I was being attacked by hungry carnivores. I saw Matt turn the corner and see me at the center of it all, then adjust his towel and walk away.

Conceited as it sounds, the phenomenon of being beset upon in a bathhouse like this isn’t novel to me. It’s not because I’m particularly attractive or have the best body. I have no illusions of being a stud. It was simply because I was the fresh meat, and because I let myself be approachable. So many guys in the baths spend a lot of time stalking around, arms crossed, not doing anything. I tend to walk in and let possibilities happen. When the action starts, it cascades. Men cluster up and join in. All it takes is one person for all that to happen. I’m absolutely willing to be that person.

All during the free-for-all, guys were coming and going, joining in. Men took turns on my dick, but I was too given over to the pleasure of it all to keep track of how many, or who. The guy I was most into was the bald guy; eventually I pulled my dick out of some cocksucker’s mouth and knelt down on the ground to suck the man who’d been kissing me so passionately and well. He groaned with delight as he face-fucked me with his uncut dick. I stroked the sides of his balls and tickled his asshole until he came, long and hard, in my mouth. Then he pulled me up to my feet, shoved me against the wall, and plunged his tongue in my mouth, sharing the last traces of his own sperm with me.

Afterward, he did something unexpected. He turned me around, pressed me against the wall again, and covered my neck and shoulders with the lightest of kisses. Then he did the same to my chest, my chin, the front of my neck and shoulders, my cheeks, my forehead, and my nose. The little touches of his lips against my skin were so soft and sweet that I shivered in delight. It was ironic, I thought, that I’d visited one of the sleazier baths in Toronto simply for the pleasure of butterfly kisses on my skin. But it was the nicest moment of all the sex I had while I was there.



After that liberating experience, though, I had a frustrating encounter with Matt. I walked out of the dark hallway to find him putting on his clothes in the locker room. “Are you going?” I asked.

“There’s no reason for me to stay here.” He slammed his locker shut and tossed his shoes on the floor. “Not if you’re going to take all the guys.”

There wasn’t a lot I could really do to counter the pissy mood. I tried pointing out that the only reason I’d had ‘all the guys’ on me was because I’d been receptive to playing. I also pointed out that if he’d, oh, stood beside me instead of walking away in a huff, he could’ve shared in the bounty. In the end, though, he walked out somewhat angry at me, and I let him go. It’s not my job to babysit and handhold.



Act II: The Asian Bottom

I’d noticed the Asian bottom in his room when I’d passed earlier in the evening. He was short, and lean, and lightly muscular. His left arm was completely covered with a sleeve of tattoos, and hung over the side of the bed where he lay face down, pointing at the door. Even in the dark I could tell he was good looking. I paused in the opening of his room. He beckoned me in, and I removed my towel.

Almost instantly his mouth was on my dick. He sucked badly, and with too much teeth, but it wasn’t bad enough to make me pull out. Besides, it wasn’t his mouth I intended to stay in for very long. Within moments, he was on his knees, pointing his boy-like ass at my dick. I slid in.

“I love your big white dick in me,” he gasped with a little bit of an accent. I’d barely touched bottom, though, when suddenly his body began to quiver. Little droplets of cum sprayed against the wall as he shot without warning. “Fuck yes,” he said, immediately hopping off me and handing me my towel.

The total amount of time I was in him: maybe all of thirty seconds. At least he had fun.



Act III: The Man from Montreal

He could have been French, actually. All I knew is that he was a fucking hot little slab of manflesh covered in muscle, sporting a bald head and a tattoo shaped like a barcode imprinted at the back of his neck. Unlike everyone else in the facility, he’d shunned a towel and walked and lounged around completely naked, save for a metal cockring, a pair of heavy black workboots, and some thick brown socks poking out of their tops.

The Man from Montreal been part of the group play in the back hallway, and was probably the hottest guy in the entire bathhouse, but I hadn’t gotten a chance to get any one-on-one time with him until later in the evening. I saw him stare at me as I passed through the movie room on the way back from the showers; he followed me to the warren of gloryholes. Once I’d slipped into the shadows, he sank down to his knees and began sucking my dick.

He was one of the noisiest suckers I’ve ever encountered. Every time my knob reached the back of his throat, he’d gag and choke and sputter, spraying spit all over my pubes and nuts. When I reached down to play with his eraser-like nipples, he groaned and began beating furiously at his cock. And when I squeezed his nipples and simultaneously began to fuck his mouth, he was in heaven. “Harder!” he said, in a heavy French accent. I savaged his nips, squeezing them so hard I wouldn’t have been surprised if they’d burst, much less bruised. “Harder!”

He didn’t last long under the nipple torture. When he came, it was so violently that he fell against me and pushed me into the opposite partition, hard; the entire gloryhole booth structure shuddered from the impact. He remained on all fours for a moment, then struggled up to his feet. His sweaty arms clasped around my neck for the briefest of moments as he clung to me, his smooth head on my chest. Then he said, “Messy!” and vanished.

I thought it was to clean up. Then I realized he’d actually been thanking me, in French.

Even though I hadn’t shot the entire time I was at The Cellar, it was late enough that I decided to head back to my hotel. I’d put back on my polo shirt and shorts when the Man from Montreal joined me at his own locker, almost right next to mine. In his baggy athletic clothing he looked even more Frenchified than he had naked. The little pair of rectangular black glasses he stuck on his face gave the impression that I could find him eating croissants and reading French literary theory at some outdoor cafe, during the daylight hours.

He followed me up the stairs, out of The Cellar, and into the muggy Toronto summer night. At the Wellesley stop light, he stood beside me with his hands in his pocket, looking somewhat sheepish. It seemed we were both headed in the same direction, and I thought he was perhaps a little embarrassed to be seen with me in the street’s lights.

At the subway stop I paused when he did. We faced each other a little awkwardly for a moment. He opened his mouth as if to say something, then closed it, shook his head, and smiled. I smiled back at him. “Thanks. And have a nice night,” I told him in benediction, before entering the station, with its rush of noise and air from the speeding train below.

Then I watched him turn, wave, and continue his walk down the street.

20 comments:

  1. Wow. Again you never fail to disappoint. From pop culture references of Pop Up Video and Harry Potter to descriptions of hot raw sex. What isn't to love.

    I doff my metaphorical hat to you!

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  2. GH Fan,

    Here I thought it was my dick doing all the work. Now I know it's my pop culture references!

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  3. Asian muscleboys really do it for me. . glad you enjoyed that one, even if he didn't last long.

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  4. Doc_Rob,

    Can you believe that was my first Asian guy? I've had several half-Asians before. I kind of wish the encounter had been longer.

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  5. I have cum like your Asian bottom did, but (For Me) getting fucked after I cum is even better than before. There is NO WAY I would have done that too you, or anyone else for that matter.

    Craig

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  6. Craig,

    Even I have let guys finish off inside me during the rare occasions I've been topped and shot during the act. If I can do it, you'd think just about anyone could!

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  7. I like the ending. It's really cute.

    And you are a total slut! :)

    Will

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  8. Will,

    I think the ending would've been better if he'd asked me to go home with him, personally!

    And I can't deny the accusation of slutdom. :-)

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  9. Was there a "minimum" age limit to get in ? "Matt" doesn't sound as though he has reached it ! He was behaving like a schoolgirl.

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  10. What!! Rob, can't believe such modesty at the Cellar! You must be HOT as FUCk to attract so many horndogs and wearing a towel! I haven't been there for a long time but there were alwaysso manyhot naked guys flaunting cock and ass that it was a visual feast.The French guy is used to that kind of exhibitionism in Quebec!Vive le difference! Ialways got a thrill walking around stark naked with guys reaching out to grabass and boner as I strolled by! Sitting spread-legged fingering my low-hangers and stroking was also a great attention grabber! Fucking hot!Got to go again very soon! I'm all horned up!

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  11. Well, it sounds like the Cellar was fun--and different is good…

    One of the things I love about the place is that the Cellar knows it is a sex club. There is no masquerading behind the idea that it is a “gym” with some solitary piece of exercise equipment in the corner gathering dust. I always get a room (well, when I can). I like room “P”. Yeah, yeah, but I remember the room letter because of my penchant to leave it potentially wetter than I found it…It is a pretty standard bathhouse room--with two differences: some of these rooms have glory holes to the adjoining room--Room P has it in the door. The other difference is there are windows with grills in most of the doors. Sort of like prison cells. You can close them, or leave them open so guys wandering by can watch you--even if the door is closed. I remember distinctly luring a well built, 40ish tatted pig into my room. I’d turned the dimmer up slightly so he could just see me in the half light, kneading my obscenely distended jock strap. He came in and shut the door….but the window and the GH were still wide open. He instantly fell to his knees by the bed and began mouthing my cock through the dirty jock. “Fuck, yeah” I muttered. “Can you taste that cummy hole it was pressed up against last night?“ He made a moan of approval and got my pouch sopping wet before he pulled my cock out. He gave excellent head, taking it deep, with no teeth. I glanced at the door. A hot blond boy stood outside watching us. When he saw me notice him, he stuck his uncut cock thru the door. I got up. “Come here, boy” The tatted boy watched me move to the door. Still on all fours he crawled to me. “Suck this cock.” He did. I moved behind him…his ass was dripping with cum. I licked up what I could in that slightly awkward position. “You are gonna get fucked.” My fully engorged cock slapped his ass right on the last word. “Right-- Now.” I pushed forward and, with all the cum, I slid all the way home, mashing him up against the door. I entered that fuck haze pretty fast as I drove it into him, past the second ring. Mostly long and slow strokes, but changing up to shorter jabs to keep him off guard. He moaned around the cock in the door. I think the uncut cock had given him some cum--all I knew was that the next time I looked at his face, it was a thin black cock in his mouth. That triggered me. I shot deep--over and over. I pulled out, licking at the mix of my own cum and the load or loads he had arrived with, now seeping out of his hole…I pulled him away from the now empty glory hole and kissed him, snowballing the mess to him. “Good boy,” I said. “Now where do you want my piss….?” His eyes just widened…

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  12. Roswelltop,

    I thought it was a kind of pissy reaction, too, and one that could've been avoided. But I've walked away from the baths in a bad mood too, sometimes, when the flow hasn't been going my way.

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  13. Anonymous,

    We'll have to go together sometime. You can be bare-assed, and I'll start with the towel, and we'll see who gets more action.

    Aw, hell. Let's just team up and double our fun.

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  14. FelchingPisser,

    I love the room doors at the Cellar with the barred grates and the gloryholes. When I was there earlier in the week, though, most guys were just leaving the doors open. On those really busy nights, though, it was always fun to get some action through those holes.

    I loved the gloryhole rooms at the St. Marc's for the same reason.

    Your Room P memory has left my shorts damp. Thank you.

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  15. Thanks your so sweet I love how passionate you are. I think I am falling for you I guess I have to get in line! !!

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  16. Johnny,

    I am a passionate man. Thank you!

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  17. I have been on both sides of the Matt situation. I think the difference is how you put yourself out there if your nervious or hesitent your not as lickely to have fun. If you throw yourself in lookout your goin to get all kinds of action. Mostly with groups its not about competing its about playing and having fun! The fact that Matt didn't want to go set him on a self fullfilling prophecy that he wouldn't get picked up. Its shame I can relate to the whole situation.

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  18. Oh, Johnny,

    I know that feeling entirely. I've been there too. Putting yourself in a self-defeating loop is one thing, but making someone else feel as if it's their fault is another however. And making me run around a bathhouse in a towel to sort it out isn't really the way to get to the root of the problem.

    Groups and baths are never the place to have a competition, but there have been times at both when I've walked away feeling like the big slobby loser. Usually the clear light of day sorts things out, though. Trust me, I understand.

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  19. Yea its not your job to babysit I am not sure what he exped sd you to do. Like you said he could have stood beside you and had lot of action! !!!

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  20. That's very true about Matt. But I was wondering: have you fucked him? Could that have been what he was hoping for - your attention?
    You know I'd be jumping all over your hot self there! And watching Felching fuck his pig while getting head through his door. HOT story, too!
    JPinPDX

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