At a Philly Hotel
I was travelling to Philadelphia on business from time to time in the 1970s and had become quite familiar with the gay bars there. During each trip I almost always stopped in on one particular upscale one that I liked.
This particular time that I am recalling, I'm standing at the bar and the usual assortment of white collar gay Philadelphians are gathered. Contact is discrete and behavior is low key. It is a hotel bar, and mixed, especially the portion of the room with tables.
As the evening wears on, and the hotel guests drift off to dinner, the gay patrons become a bit more relaxed. Gay jokes and courting become commonplace since virtually everyone left is safe. People are getting more than a little drunk, and that helps too.
I'm feeling no pain, and am enjoying flirting with not one but two guys at the bar. The guys are seated on two adjacent stools and I am standing between them. One of them, the older, is seated to my left and is chatting me up, obviously interested. He is a reporter/editor, he says, for a scientific journal. I am very interested in what he does, and we mine that topic for awhile. From time to time the guy on the right, dark-haired, nice looking, beefy guy in his mid to late twenties, jumps into the conversation. I encourage it although the other man, who is somewhere between forty five and fifty, looks somewhat annoyed. But I manage to entertain both of them for a while, and they even exchange some words with each other. They have determined that they are both local and that I am a visiting businessman, and therefore a new face in town.
When the younger guy goes to the men's room, the older one makes his move. He asks me some leading sexual questions, and receiving less than encouraging replies, he wonders aloud if I'm married. I admit to this, but still let it be known that I like him and "am interested." Feeling more encouraged, the editor discretely drops his hand next to his stool and gropes me. I don't move away, enjoying the contact. After the other guy returns, I continue to pay equal attention to both, and continue discrete touching with the older man.
As the alcohol emboldens me, I place both hands at the sides of the stools and start to rub my hands next to the flanks and eventually the butts of both men. They don't acknowledge the touching, but their manner encourages its continuation. They don't seem to realize that I am feeling them both up at the same time, which they actually may not know, owing to alcohol consumption, my body blocking their view of the other, as well as to my care in carrying out the maneuver. I am enjoying all of this immensely. I feel desirable.
The editor drops his hand down again and gropes me quite firmly and then comments in a low voice that I seem hard. It's difficult to tell for sure since I'm wearing tight briefs. I smile non-commitally at the remark, and the guy is beginning to grow impatient. If he's not going to get laid, he wants to go home to eat and sleep. After some continued parrying back and forth, he declares his belief that I will be going back to my hotel room alone. In other words he is calling me a tease. Not offended, I smile and say yes, that is probably what will happen. Taking that as a decision, the editor sighs, pays up his bar bill, stuffs his change into his pocket, and bids me good night.
The young man correctly interprets this as good news for him. As the youngest of the trio had become friendlier, I had succumbed to the charms of youth and had indeed dismissed the older man, hoping to become more friendly with the other. It didn't take long. The young man, who it develops is also a writer, but an unsuccessful one thus far, and working in some other undisclosed capacity at present, soon asks if I am staying in that hotel. I say that I am, and without finishing our drinks, we're on our way to the elevator.
Up in the room, we chat a bit, we kiss a bit and then off come the clothes. The guest, Jimmy, becomes strangely quiet and uncomfortable looking when he's down to his undershorts.
"I, uh, I hope you're not into big dicks or anything, cause I, uhmm, I'm not really big or anything."
"No problem," I cheerfully assure him. "I think you're great. I don't care how big your dick is."
Relief floods his face, as Jimmy strips off his briefs. I look. It is really small. [I'm not a size queen but this guy really is small. Don't let my face betray surprise or disappointment which will belie my words. What's the big deal? But who would have thought it looking at those football player shoulders in the bar?]
We kiss some more. And touch. And rub. And so on.
"What do you like?" I wonder aloud.
Jimmy reacts surprisingly sharply. "Why do guys always ask that? What do you like? I hate that. I like everything. Nothing special."
"Uh, OK," I say, somewhat taken aback at this unexpected outburst.
So we begin to kiss some more and stroke dicks, and then Jimmy slides down the bed and starts to suck. After a while I lick and suck on Jimmy's little dick, and discover that you can really experiment with a small tool. There is somehow a different feel to it. Rather than focusing on stuff like how much you can fit into your mouth, or whether you should lick the head or concentrate more on suction action on the staff, or maybe licking up the sides and working up to the top, you can do all that more easily, sometimes simultaneously, and try some new stuff too. Like taking the whole penis in the mouth, along with the balls, and wagging your head back and forth from side to side like a puppy does with a towel or a favorite toy. You can polish the head and apply sucking action at the same time with hardly a worry about your teeth getting in the way and scraping your partner.
As my mouth begins to tire, I move up and lie on top of Jimmy, both of us rubbing up a storm and then rolling back and forth and all around the bed. I ask the younger man to turn over so I can feel his ass.
"Don't worry, I won't fool around with it. I just want to see it and touch it."
"Okay," says Jimmy amiably, flipping over on his belly.
I look and feel, and then say, "Can I fool around a little?" We both understand this to mean fucking.
"Alright," agrees Jimmy right away. "Do you have something? I mean like something to help you get in?" (This being the 70s, condoms were not an issue.)
"Oh, no, I don't think so, I admit. I get up and pad around the room in search of my kit of toiletries. Finding it, I look through hoping to locate a tube of vaseline or something equally helpful. But, no luck. There is nothing in there designed to lubricate. Jimmy has joined me and is looking over my shoulder. We must make a funny picture, two nude young men, hardons waving, engaged in a treasure hunt. I pick up a can of Foamy shaving cream. It happens to be a specialty item called "The Hot One" because when the can is shook the foam is warmed. I look inquiringly at Jimmy. Jimmy laughs and says boy that would be a hot fuck. I take that as a no and ask about soap. Jimmy, apparently more experienced in these matters, says "Well, soap would be okay, but it might burn."
"It would hurt you?" I ask.
"No, no, it would be fine for me, but it might get into your cock, and burn the next time you piss," explains Jimmy.
"Oh, then let's use it."
We return to the bed. The dicks have softened a bit, and need some new attention. That done, we get in place, Jimmy on his knees and elbows, and me above and behind him, gently inserting a finger, and then the head of my cock. But I am too timid and afraid of hurting the young man under me. An early, disappointing experience of fucking a young friend comes back to me. It's a little bit of a turn-off. I enter this young man very gingerly, hesitant to thrust hard. I look down to see if I broke anything. Satisfied that we're both okay, I start slow fucking motions. Feels nice, but I'm a bit too cautious and silent for it to be classified as a grade A fuck.
After a while of this, Jimmy is probably thinking that I need some help. He takes the lead, turning over and instructing me to lie flat on the bed. I obey and the younger man deftly positions himself on top, grabbing my cock and aiming it at his asshole. Satisfied with this turn of events, I lie back and smile, looking forward to this new position. Jimmy gets the cock inside of him and slowly sits on it and then starts to pick up the pace. Pretty soon he is almost bouncing. I decide to help out, and start to match his down stroke with an upstroke. After a while, we start to get pretty good at this.
After ten minutes or so, Jimmy has had enough of these athletics. He moves forward, allowing the cock to slip out. He moves next to me, kisses me and starts to jerk me off. He whispers a request for me to play with his nipples. As I start to do so, Jimmy gets really, really excited for the first time. He is moaning, his little dick is twitching and dripping and he is caressing me in a most grateful way.
Ah, so, I think. This is what he's into. Why didn't he say so? What was all that bullshit about his not having any preferences and liking everything. Well, I guess he was embarrassed to admit to being a nipple freak. I bite Jimmy's nipples with my lips, tongue them, tweak them with my fingers, and rub the palms of my hands around them with increasing speed and friction. That does it. Jimmy, masturbating himself as this was going on, spurts five nice jets of cum all over both of us.
And now Jimmy lies back on the pillow, perspiring and smiling. Remembering his manners after a minute or two, he begins to caress my nipples to help me to get off too. I try to look appreciative, but after a few minutes I gently direct one of his hands to my cock, since I really prefer genital stimulation. Jimmy gets the idea, and whacks me off with lightning speed, almost alarming me with the vigor he uses on this assignment. I find that guys who are cut are often unaware of the limits to which you can stretch a foreskin without pain. "Not so hard," I say softly, placing my hand over Jimmy's. The younger guy slows down and hits a very nice pace and rhythm, not overextending the movement on the downstroke as he had been. In a very few minutes, my semen is puddling on my stomach, joining the sticky remains of Jimmy's.
We rest a bit; Jimmy washes up, and then pulls on his clothes. He says that he will write about this experience when he gets home.
"Are you writing a sex book?" I inquire.
"No, I write in a journal each and every night, regardless of how tired or busy or late I am," explains the budding writer.
I am pleased to learn this and say so. I ask him to be kind in the retelling, only half-kidding. We kiss goodbye. Still basking in a post coital glow, I try to delay the parting with small talk.
"I'm in town every once in a while. I hope to see you again. Look for me in the bar, okay?"
"Yeah, sure," promises Jimmy, smiling with his hand on the door.
"I mean, really," I insist. "Look for me. I want to see you again."
Jimmy laughs. "Okay, I'll be back in a couple of hours. Listen for my knock."