Curiouser and curiouser

The Friday before I went to New York, Joe and I agreed to be boyfriends (see Everything is illuminated). A few days later, the evening before I left, he suddenly changed his mind: he told me that I was probably going to sleep with many guys in New York, and to make it easier for me, he said we should be boyfriends starting from the Sunday that I got back from New York. I insisted that I was not going to sleep with anyone, that I couldn't even if I wanted to because I would be with my mother around the clock. I accepted his suggestion if it worked for him nonetheless, but for me he was already my boyfriend.

New York

The first evening in New York I brought Rick a short surprise visit. He then gave me an architectural guide to the city, which I returned on Friday night. When I did that, I mentioned to Rick that I was curious about what the gay night life in New York was like and he pointed out a gay bar that was around the corner. He said that according to some web site it was a bit sleazy, but I didn't mind. I finished my second vodka and coke and said goodbye.

It was past midnight already when they asked me for my identification at the entrance of the bar. I had none on me, but stating my age and date of birth -- together with my accent and ten dollars -- got me in. As soon as I set foot inside I regretted wasting those ten dollars: there were hardly any people inside and none of them was even remotely attractive. I ordered an alcoholic drink and although it had become slightly more crowded before I finished it, I decided to go the bar next door.

There were no entrance fees here, and again my stating in my foreign accent that I was 34 was enough identification to get in. There were only few people inside, but I decided to stick around for a bit and ordered another drink. Then a blond guy walked up to me and we had a nice conversation. He was a 24-year-old musician. He introduced me to a few friends and we talked a bit more... and ended up kissing. He was a very good kisser.

Officially I wasn't cheating, because Joe told me that we'd be boyfriends starting Sunday. Moreover, increasingly something wasn't feeling right with Joe, even apart from the fact that we didn't have sex. Nevertheless, whatever excuses I made up in my head, I knew I was cheating on Joe, and I did feel guilty.

The musician and his friends were leaving for a party twenty minutes away and asked me to join them, but I refused. Instead, I went to the third gay bar in the row and then back to the place where I had started, which was now far more crowded. There was a lot of groping going on. In the middle of the room I made eye contact with about the only guy there that looked cute. While we kissed, he reached into my already open fly and pulled out my cock. I did the same with his right in the middle of the room -- we were not the only ones. Then he asked me, "Are you clean?" I confirmed, wondering why he had asked. Apart from my fly being open I was fully clothed, and I was certainly not going with anywhere with anyone. Then, before I knew it, he went down on his knees, giving me a public blowjob. It was good; it was very good. People were watching, but I didn't care. In fact, that actually made it more exciting.

I came back at the hotel at about 5 a.m. and my mother was still awake in bed. I told her that Rick's two youngest kids had wanted to show me the night life in New York.


Back home

In January 2008 I had spent three days working in a foreign city. It was one day after I had officially broken up with Matthew (see Love in the fast lane [2 of 2]) and using the internet, I had arranged a date for the evening. In a bar close to my hotel there would be a sex party on my second night in town which I was also planning to go to. Partly, I was curious never having come close to an orgy, but, mostly, I wanted to make a statement to myself: "I'm single now and I can do anything I want." However, as it turned out the date on night number one was so nice that we decided to meet again the next evening and I never made it to the party (see The Indian doctor).

Back home I wondered if there were sex parties in my town too. I found out they were held on a regular basis, but I never found the time or courage to go to one. Then, last Friday after I had decided that Joe was playing games with me and that I should break up with him I decided to make another statement to myself and make sure that I couldn't possibly face him as a boyfriend anymore. On Sunday I went to the local gay sex party; statements aside, I was also still curious.

It turned out not to be my thing. The dress code was 'shoes only' and men were having sex everywhere I looked. I couldn't get hard, nor did I want to. The fact that all the sex was supposed to be in the open stripped away all the eroticism for me. I think everyone is a voyeur and an exhibitionist to some degree -- the latter more than the first in my case -- but the sense of secrecy in watching or being watched makes all the difference.

I continuously removed all the hands that were trying to touch my cock, until finally the one guy there I found attractive reached out for it. We briefly petted each other's organs and walked on. I couldn't have sex here: the men, the location, the atmosphere, it was all too sleazy. I went home, glad to have the experience, but never to return again.