Where Is He?

Missing Him

A Weekly Rendezvous Gone Askew

He's not coming! I can't believe he's not coming!

Micah's buzz - that anxious, nervous, over-horny, undersexed feeling of well, everything, quickly began to give way to reality.

He's not here!

It slowly began to dawn on Micah. There he was, standing deep inside a seedy, dimly lit Manhattan gay bar... the smell of spilled beer, sex, and, yeah that was shit - beginning to act like smelling salts. Snapping him out of his heat.

I wonder where he is? Did something happen to him? Is he okay?

A man walked by Micah, slowing down to look straight at him, look into his eyes. Micah wasn't interested, quickly breaking contact and pretending to scan the room.

It's like three Fridays in a row now... I guess this might be over.

Just then a loud groan caught Micah's attention. He peered through the darkness across the room, to an alcove cut into the brick wall across what passed for a dance floor. A young man wearing nothing but a jock strap was kneeling on the brick as a larger man in a chest harness began to saw into him.

Micah smiled, sharing the boy's bliss.

That should be me right now. Where is he? Has he found someone else?

Sighing, Micah began to slowly pull up the back of his jeans. He had let them drape, as he always did, down below the orbs of his ass - revealing the back of the jock he wore underneath, and his smooth, eager bottom below it. He put his jar of poppers into the fanny pack he wore on his chest next to his still-warm silicone buttplug, the bag slung around one shoulder, and took out his vape to sneak a puff.

What am I even doing here? How desperate am I? This is my Friday night? My Friday NIGHTS?

Micah began to wonder, and something of an old high school-style math word problem began to form in his mind. Well, his kind of high school math problem.

He had first begun coming here to The Rooster, about 3-and-a-half years ago - only on Fridays. And not every Friday. His next thought brought both a sigh - and a smile.

First time he fucked me was... maybe my fourth time here. After that, it's been let's say three times a month on average for three years... Three times a month is 36 times a year... times three years... that's 98? No, shit - didn't carry the one - 108 times? 108 times! Maybe more!

Well, maybe less since it's been so long now...

Micah's self-doubt returned. Over those 3-plus years, he'd tried to invest in a "more normal" social life. He'd been out on some dates, and he knew some of the men and woman, trans and cis, were interested in him. He just hadn't felt the same way.

I wonder if this is why. I keep coming here to give away a cheap fuck, and it drains me of the drive to do what normal people do - only fuck the people they date!

But it wasn't Micah's sex drive that was the problem. He got a reminder of that a moment later when a haggard looking man in his sixties - hell, he could have been anywhere from forty to eighty, but with that much fat and that little hair, who could tell? - walked past Micah, making sure to brush his ass against Micah's groin as he did.

Idiot. He's even smiling. He thinks I'm packing!

Micah nearly strained his eyes rolling them at the thought. No, what Barney (why not give him a 'Simpsons' inspired name?) thought was Micah's hard dick was actually his one-inch nano Holy Trainer underneath the stretchy denim.

But... Micah paused as the realization hit him.

The cage proved it wasn't a sex drive issue. Micah was always horny with the cage on, and he had been self-caging more often than not these past years, even before, during, and after those dates. Of course, he was wearing it tonight, and reached down to readjust it, when he heard actual voices.

"Heads Up!" "Time Out!" "Hall Monitor!"

Micah laughed knowing he was fully covered up. He loved the attitude at The Rooster. Public sex is, of course, illegal in New York City, and bars could lose their liquor licenses with repeated offenses. So, places like this one hire security, and from time to time, they "check" to see if anyone is breaking that rule (if they do, they politely ask them to stop - it seems like you have to either put on a show directly in front of them - or try to fuck them - before they'd kick anyone out).

But The Rooster being The Rooster, that prison-movie whispered warning system seems to do the trick, and the second the guard walked back upstairs, Micah could swear he heard 4 or 5 guys moaning from being penetrated at the same time.

He began to scan the room in search of his man, then stopped dead in his tracks.

What the fuck am I doing? Who the fuck am I looking for? I don't... I don't have any idea what this guy looks like!!

It was true. Even after 100-plus fucks at The Rooster, Micah couldn't pick his stud out of a lineup.

Oh, sure, Micah had some general ideas after all this time. His man was taller than his own 6'3", had a strong upper torso and strong arms - he could keep Micah pinned on his cock when he'd occasionally try to squirm off the fuck.

And he's white. Or maybe he's white. He sounded white in his groans, Micah guessed?

And he knew he had a huge fucking cock. Was it ten inches? It felt like ten inches.

Unnnnnhhhhhhh, Micah groaned thinking back to their first time.

Fuck it was big! It was like being fucked by a highway lamppost! Even after popping out my plug just before, and breathing in more poppers than air, it felt like it was gonna split me in half!

Micah turned red remembering how he had pulled off the cock, and run out of the bar in embarrassment after that first fuck. Or, first almost fuck.

He got redder still remembering when he later pledging to stretch his ass further, more diligently, to make that man fit next time. If there was a next time.

He would do what it took to take that cock.

And hopefully, to take it again - and again - and again.

I wonder if that's him over there?

He heard the man he was thinking of shouting at someone else. Is that what his man's voice sounded like?

He didn't know, because the two had never spoken a word to each other.

It had been the same almost every Friday. Micah would stand in that spot, his back maybe four feet from the wall, facing the rest of the room. He'd shift the contents of his pockets into his pack, then ease down the back of his jeans down, and pop out the plug, adding it to the bag. He'd take a hit of the poppers. And wait.

His man would walk up behind him, and firmly squeeze one of Micah's cheeks, then the other. A finger would graze his bud, usually met with a moan from Micah. And then...

Ohh, fuck me... Micah cooed to his memory.

The fucks at first had been awkward, down and dirty. Just his stud making sure he could finish without getting caught, Micah guessed. But as the weeks passed, they got comfortable. Sometimes Micah would be on his rod for an hour or more, until closing time at a quarter-to-four. They'd dance/fuck to the music, his man's hands caressing Micah's chest or neck or cage - he always groaned when he felt the cage.

Other times it was more primal. Micah was just a bitch for the male to mount. One night, his man even lifted Micah and his 210 pounds clean off the ground, slamming him down onto his massive slab, in what Micah guessed was him making up for a missed arm day at the gym.

But Micah never, ever turned around to look at him. And the man never stopped to look at Micah. At least he couldn't remember his Friday fucker looking at his face

And each week, as Micah came to through his post-fuck haze high, his man would disappear into the crowd.

Micah was snapped back into the moment as he felt the buzz from the phone in his bag.

Well, I know it won't be him...

Of course they had never traded numbers. Micah laughed when he looked inside.

Like I'm gonna answer a company email at 3:45 am on a Friday night. If those fucking tight-asses ever knew...

"Tight asses" also got a juvenile chuckle out of him. Micah paused to note the contradictions his life included these days.

I'm a... sigh. I'm over fifty, decent shape - all my hair. A professional with a career, and successful enough - at least to live in New York and still save something for down the road.

I can get to, and fit in, at Broadway, the opera, even those shitty socialite parties on the Upper East Side.

I wonder how many of them also get off on anonymous sex? I'll take the under at 0.5...

It had begun for Micah after his divorce. He pledged to plunge back into his bisexual and kinky past, and had done so with a vengeance. But he turned into a wallflower at bars, couldn't bring himself to trust anyone else enough at BSDM play parties to participate, and refused to hire a sex worker - on both principle and financial reasons.

Then Micah heard about bathhouses. He went to the two in Manhattan; they were sterile and uncomfortable, with security guards preventing any fun in public. Micah vowed never to go back.

A google search led to bathhouses in Philadelphia, Providence, and Montreal. He made the drive to Philly, but even there, he still couldn't bring himself to walk up to a strange man.

What, you're supposed to just walk up to someone and pick up their dick out of the blue? Say, "excuse me sir, but I'd very much like you to fuck my ass with that dick there"?

Standing at The Rooster, Micah shuddered at both the idea, and the stupid dialogue he had crafted in his head.

But later that night in Philly, Micah walked into a dark area way upstairs at the bathhouse. There were phone booth size spaces cut out of plywood, and - were those holes in the wood?

As Micah leaned down to check in the darkness, he felt it. A hand. A man's hand. On his right cheek. Firm, and squeezing.

Mmmmmmmm.... Micah moaned both in his memory, and inside The Rooster.

Then that hand eased over to his hole, and began to massage it.

Ohhh... this is exactly what I was hoping for!

And once the man's modest-sized cock (larger than Micah's!) was comfortably in Micah's ass... once the poppers hit and helped Micah stop clenching... once the man began to piston into Micah, pinning his knees against the plywood in machine-like fashion... once Micah's brain stopped braining and just leaned into the fuck... that's when Micah knew.

He was gonna need more of this. A lot more.

That memory brought comfort to Micah as he snapped back and rejoined the rest of the basement at The Rooster. He had gotten a lot more since then, and learned a lot about himself in the process.

Well fuck, everyone has moments of doubt now and then!

With a smile, he scanned the room again one final time.

Wherever you are, my stud, I hope you're happy - and hard!

Micah took in the sights and sounds of men fucking one another in the modern, urban, dim, run-down bacchanalia. Somehow the scents of beer, sex, and shit didn't bother him so much this time.

He reached into his pack, and took a quick hit off the poppers. When his synapses allowed, he slowly lowered the back of his jeans down below his ass, and waited.

Wha??

Micah's eyes jumped open as he felt a hand on one cheek, then the other. A finger grazed over his bud...

Unnnnnhhhhhhhhh-eeeeeeeee!!!! Micah's groans devolved into squeaks of excitement.

And then...

SMACK!!

A spank on his right cheek?

SMACK!!

Another on his left? This wasn't...

UHHHH!!!!!

Micah's air left him all at once as he felt a finger jam up his bum. Thank god he had lubed! But...

This isn't him!!! This isn't my stud!!!

Who the fuck is this guy?

At that moment, a cock even larger than Micah's regular Friday night fucker's slammed into his ass. Micah scrambled for his poppers, and took his first gasp for air straight from the bottle.

This thing is like a Sequoia! Like a fucking NASA rocket! It's gonna split me in half!

And then the poppers hit. Micah's ass relaxed and accepted its new friend. The man behind him began to piston in and out, causing Micah to leak from his cage, coating the inside of his jeans.

Oh, fuck! Oh, fuck! So! Fucking! Good!

At that moment, Micah's brain began to stop braining. He forgot about the basement and its smells, about the other men in the room, about the man he had been waiting for.

Fuuuuck Meeeee!!!!!!

As the stranger increased his speed, he reached a hand around to Micah's dick, only to find the cage instead. A sinister laugh groaned out of him, causing Micah to tighten his muscles ever so slightly. That put an extra squeeze on the stranger's cock and he began to speed his thrusts even faster.

Wha???

Micah was caught off-guard when the man put his hand into the back of his hair, and pushed - causing Micah to slowly bend at the waist. His hand grabbed Micah's jock, and began to tug, using the elastic to turn him into what Micah envisioned himself as a human sex yo-yo, bouncing him onto the meaty stick without control.

Rrrrrrrrrrr... both Micah and the man were growling now, blinded to all else by the fuck.

Suddenly, Micah was pulled backwards, until almost his entire weight was on the man - and his cock was poking at Micah's colon. Or intestines. Or his brain. He didn't know what was happening - was the guy leaning against the wall? Was someone holding him up?

But when the man dialed himself up to human fuck machine speed, those questions stopped. Everything did. Until Micah felt an uncapped fire hydrant quench the fire in his ass - at the same time his own tethered hose was releasing as well.

After he finished, and left his load deep in Micah's womb, the man paused, and somehow stood them both up. He grabbed Micah by the chest and pulled his torso back into his. He snuggled his face near Micah's ear, and lovingly growled into it, before pulling out and walking off into the crowd.

And once Micah came down from his post-fuck haze high, once he began to feel like Micah again - and not just "fuck toy," once he had pulled his jeans - now damp in front and back - back into place, once his heart rate returned to normal... that's when Micah knew.

Knew four things, actually.

I think I'm over that other stud!

I'll be back here at The Rooster next Friday night!

I never got a look at this new guy, either!

And... I hope I never do!