I loved dancing. At my local bar, they had a dance floor in their upstairs section, where I spent many happy hours boogie-ing to my heart’s content. The upstairs section also had its own bar area, smaller than the bar downstairs. The large square bar counter downstairs and the surrounding area was mainly for socializing.
Both floors in the bar had its own toilet section. Downstairs, the lavatory had three cubicles with no gloryholes and a long steel urinal. Upstairs, the far larger latrine had ten cubicles with glory holes and an even longer steel piss-trough.
After arriving at the bar at nine p.m. on a Friday evening, the downstairs area was fairly busy, as usual. Upstairs, however, the area was rather uninhabited. I always gravitated to the dance floor upstairs for my weekly dose of exercise. After ordering my drink I stood at the counter.
Not long after, my feet could no longer hold still, and soon I was swaying to the music. As I danced I observed a lanky skinhead watching me. After three songs I placed my drink on the counter and moved towards the toilets.
No sooner had I whipped my dick out before ‘Skinhead’ was standing next to me. He had a long tuft of hair under his bottom lip, extending three inches past his chin. His cock was long and thin, and it was obvious as he toyed with it that he wasn’t in need of a piss.
After I had given my knob a good shake he gestured for me to follow him, before we entered the last stall. After he closed the door it was clear that Skinhead was not into foreplay and moments later, I was bending over the toilet with his cock urgently seeking entry into my arse.
Once fully in, he solidly began to fuck me. Maintaining a steady rhythm he groaned approvingly as he contentedly speared my backside. Slowing down from time to time, it was obvious that he wasn’t in any manic hurry and for the next several minutes he blissfully pummelled my butt. When his breathing started becoming heavier I braced myself for his delivery. After seeding my arse he imprisoned his cock back in his jeans and departed without saying a word. I let out a laugh once he had left, amused by the lack of passion he had displayed.
Arriving back at the bar, I got another drink but was soon back doing what I loved most, dancing. During this marathon session, I observed a hunky guy arriving at the bar. He was heavily built with very short hair and had a really cute, boyish face. Every time I looked in his direction he was staring at me. Not long after, he stood before me on the dance floor, with a quizzical expression as if seeking permission to join in.
Hunky had no rhythm at all and moved in a cumbersome fashion on the dance floor. His killer smile, however, made up for his shortcomings as a dancer, and we boogied for the next twenty minutes. Communication was limited as we bopped along to the loud music, but we did manage to introduce ourselves. His name was Darius, and I introduced myself as Brandon. A short while later with a horny look in his eyes, he gestured to me to follow him to the toilets.
After entering one of the stalls, Darius turned out to be the exact opposite of Skinhead. Pinning my body against the wall he wrapped his arms about me and began kissing me. He was a really great kisser, displaying enthusiasm and unbridled passion. Then moving my body towards the toilet seat he gently pushed my body downwards. After I was seated, he opened his trousers, presenting a fat uncut knob that perfectly suited his frame.
Holding my head lovingly he pushed his knob into my mouth. After blowing him for a few minutes, he lifted my body before seeking entry from behind. With my manhole well lubricated from my earlier encounter, his entry was comfortable despite his girth. Shortly after, we observed a cock protruding from one of the gloryholes. Steering my head in that direction he instructed me to suck on the dick. This knob didn’t display great endurance and a minute later, I was swallowing seed from my face fucker's dick.
Afterward, I once again I anchored my body on the toilet seat before Darius upped his pace, and unloaded into me within minutes. As we exited the toilet, he told me that he had to participate in a sport the following day and was already meant to be in bed. He did, however, ask me if we could meet me the following Saturday for a prolonged session. I answered affirmatively before he departed with a smile.
When I stood sipping my beer once I had returned to the counter, a strange looking guy entered the bar. He looked like a straight man that had inadvertently entered a gay establishment. He had a sloppy gait as he approached the counter. It was the body language of a rebellious hetero male with a, ‘so what the fuck bro’ attitude. He wore black jeans, a black t-shirt, with an unbuttoned black and red plaid shirt. The black beanie on his head manifested protruding curly hair, and his entire demeanour seemed completely ‘un-gay.’
As he ordered his drink he scratched his head, then under his left armpit. After two gulps, he placed his beer bottle back on the counter, far harder than a typical gay man.
‘Oh fuck,’ I thought somewhat bemused, ‘wait till he finds out he’s in a gay club.’
Appealing and handsome as he was, I wasn’t about to waste my time on a fish out of the water.
When my feet again began to itch, however, unperturbed I moved back onto the dance floor and began to boogie once more. I was, as always, lost in my own world. Occasionally glancing in his direction as I danced, I observed him staring at me.
At one point as I turned my body, with my back towards the bar counter, unseen he moved onto the dance floor and stood behind me. When I again turned the other way his arms were outstretched in a macho, ‘do you mind’ gesture. I just shrugged before he began moving to the music. He had a somewhat lazy dancing style but swayed very rhythmically. After a short time, he neared me and introduced himself as Blaine.
After twenty minutes of rhythmic pulsation, we moved back to the bar counter.
Once there, he asked, “Where do you live?”
“Around the corner,” I responded.
“Can I go home with you later?” he then asked.
Perplexed and with trepidation, I hesitantly replied, “Okay, sure, if you like.”
“Do you still want to dance some more?” he then asked.
“Nah… I’m done.” I countered, still rather guarded.
On the brief walk home, we barely spoke and my mind was in a total quandary. After we got to my place we were soon sitting in my lounge, with beers in hand.