This story has been edited by 'RedGirl'.
It had been several weeks since I had tasted the taut flesh of an erect penis and I could think of nothing else but satisfying my sexual hunger. When I get in these cock-obsessed moods (which is quite often), there are generally two ways I search for potential partners. The internet is perhaps the most convenient way of finding other men who share my interests. Gay and bisexual chat rooms are plentiful and a potential mate can be found, literally, in minutes. But people’s descriptions and pictures lie, and I’ve met my share of misrepresented, crazy and bizarre men. I much prefer to cruise a bathhouse.
For the uninitiated, men’s bathhouses are a sexual haven for men who enjoy the company of other men. They exist all over the country and most major cities have at least two or three of them. They are a kind of mini sex motel with private cubicle-type rooms for rent. Generally, there are also showers, saunas, steam rooms, and a gym. While there are times I have simply gone to relax in a sauna, my primary motivation is sex, as it is for most men. It’s an efficient sexual playground as men cruise the halls with towels wrapped around their waists, or often nude, their assets honestly on display.
I decided to begin my search for oral pleasure at the well-established East Side Club. It is perhaps the best known men’s bathhouse in New York and I’d always found it cleaner than the other baths in town, and the clientele is generally a bit older, which I preferred. For some reason, men my own age have never appealed to me--give me masculine, mature men with thick cocks to feed me and I’m in heaven.
Usually, I have no trouble attracting such men. I’m twenty eight years old, but could easily pass for twenty. I have a boyish clean shaven face and keep my dark, 5’7" body slim and toned with swimming and yoga. My eyes, also dark, are large and deep with long feminine eyelashes. My lips are full and very soft – ideally suited to perform expert fellatio. My cock, while only average in size, is smooth, shaved, and uncut.
This evening, however, the East Side Club wasn’t the plentiful source of sexual adventure it usually is. There was only a handful of men walking around and there was no mutual attraction to be found. I spent the next couple of hours in a typical bathhouse funk – walking around aimlessly, watching television, hoping someone new and exciting would save me from the boredom. It wasn’t meant to be, and later that evening I found myself standing on the subway platform waiting to go home – disappointed, bored, and still abundantly horny.
As the subway approached my stop, I decided to salvage something for the evening’s efforts and treated myself to dessert (not the kind of ‘dessert’ I was hoping for, but dessert nonetheless). I stopped at a nearby coffee shop and splurged on a simple, but decadent vanilla ice cream shake.
This was really more of a café – too elegant to simply be a coffee shop. It was small, but stylish with its natural wood accents and soft color schemes. There were a few tables and booths and a raised, bar-like counter.
On this night, the café was practically empty – just me, sitting alone at the counter, sipping my shake through a straw, and the guy working there. It was quiet at first; as I silently worked on my shake, he was busy doing chores, presumably getting ready to close up shop.
Perhaps it was my evening’s sexual disappointment, but I couldn’t help but notice this man as a potential sexual partner. He was certainly my type. He was handsome and looked to be about mid-forties. He was slim, but not overly so, and had thinning salt and pepper hair. His clean-shaven face, along with his thin round glasses, were appropriate to his tall frame and gave him a kind demeanor.
I had never considered cruising in a place as public as this. My gay sex life had been limited to near-anonymous trysts in bathhouses, compartmentalized to a point of not considering men sexually outside the safe parameters of a bathhouse or sex club. My ‘normal’ life was hopelessly straight--my extensive sexual repertoire a well-kept secret. I had no idea if this man would even be interested.
He started turning over all the chairs up onto the tables and flipped the ‘OPEN’ sign in the front door to ‘CLOSED’. I figured that was my cue to leave, but he assured me there was no rush and insisted I stay and finish my milkshake. This was a good sign, I thought.
I introduced myself as Max and after some awkward silences, we made conversation. His name, I found out, was Alan and he owned this café. It was pleasant to talk to him – he had an easy, relaxed smile. His clothes, like mine, were tight, but comfortable-looking: A clean t-shirt and a snug pair of jeans. His legs and torso looked healthy and strong in his clothes, so I tried to steal a few glances at his crotch, which, at least through his jeans, looked impressive.
Our small talk continued, interspersed with many silences. It felt as if there was a clumsy, yet mutual attraction, but neither of us made any overt gestures. I kept taking quick glances at his crotch, each glance getting longer.
On one such glance, Alan brushed his hand over his crotch--quickly, but not too quickly, making it ambiguous whether it was an innocent movement or an overt sexual gesture.
I don’t know what gave me the courage to do this, but my libido must have taken over. I pulled out the straw from my milkshake, scooping out the remaining bits of half-melted ice cream. I looked at Alan and with ice cream on the top end of the straw and slowly licked the straw from bottom to top like a Popsicle. Maintaining eye contact, I licked up the ice cream, catching most of it before it fell off. A few drops fell onto my chin, however--a delicious precursor of things to cum.
For a moment, Alan seemed stunned, but his momentary shock turned into a broad warm smile. With his right hand, he gently wiped the ice cream from my face, which was now dribbling down my chin. His left hand was on his crotch and this time, there was no mistake what his intention was. He stood up on a step-stool behind the counter; his cock level with my face as he rubbed the growing bulge in his crotch.
I reached over the counter and grabbed his crotch, excited by the large outline of his cock that was now straining through his jeans. He quickly unbuttoned and unzipped his pants to reveal a beautiful specimen of manhood – a gorgeous, erect, uncircumcised penis that, by my experienced eye, measured a good seven and a half inches long and was thick enough to stretch my eager mouth.
All my restraint had been exhausted, and I practically lunged for his cock with my mouth. I leaned over the counter and devoured his erection with my lips, my tongue dancing on the underside of his shaft. Alan was vocal in his appreciation and moaned in sexual satisfaction as he braced himself against the counter.
As I continued fellating my new friend, I took off my shoes and unbuttoned and unzipped my jeans, freeing my member from its constraints. As I reached for his considerable ball-sac, Alan took off his shirt, revealing a masculine, mildly hairy chest. I followed suit, and took a momentary break from my frantic fellatio to take off my shirt. We were quite a site, I’m sure--Alan standing on a step-stool behind the counter, naked except for the jeans around his ankles, getting head from me, bent over the other side of the counter, now completely naked.
I wanted better access to his cock, and was about to crawl onto the counter, but Alan had a better idea. He took his jeans off completely and sat up on the counter facing me – his legs on either side of me, his big beautiful cock inches from my lips – served to me perfectly.
I was in cock-sucking heaven. I embraced every inch of his manhood with my tongue--licking from the bottom of his scrotum to the tip of his cock in slow luxurious strokes, and then bobbing my head up and down, begging for his cum.
Alan held onto my shoulders and braced himself as he came – his first burst hitting the back of my throat. I swallowed as much as I could, but gagged a bit, letting beads of cum fall out of my mouth. His second and third bursts coated my lips and chin.
He gently rubbed his softening cock across my face as a few drops of remaining cum added to the mess on my face. I looked up at him smiling – cum dripping down my chin and my desire momentarily satisfied. We sat there for some time, Alan recovering from his powerful orgasm, and me savoring the taste and texture of his ejaculate.
I knew I’d be back soon--Alan’s exquisite cock was too satisfying not to return. And Alan assured me that the Fellatio Café is always open for business.