Some Men Love Cock

I went back to the Waterloo sauna a couple of days ago. It was the beginning of what really feels like spring in London. The sun was out and it was almost warm; you could only feel the slight chill in the air if you were on your bike, and I was on my bike. I stopped off at the Southbank for some soup and a sandwich and sat outside with my face to the sun, feeling lucky. Blessed, I think is the word. I’d read earlier that day something that Hemingway had said, something from his Nobel Prize speech, the speech someone else read out for him at the ceremony. What stayed with me was the importance of being lonely, of being alone and bearing/baring that loneliness, that in order to write you have to face the big unknown (he calls it eternity, or the lack thereof) on a daily basis, and if you don’t, well, your writing will suffer. Recognition will dilute your work. I feel most myself when I am alone. My desires and actions very rarely feel genuine when I’m in a couple. But… I’m on my way to the sauna.

There are days when you go to the sauna or the sex club or to bed with your lover and you feel sexy, you feel horny and open and confident. You can tell you’re going to have a good time and that you’re going to get the kind of sex you want. And you usually do. There are days when you go to the sauna because you’re desperate to be touched or loved or validated, or just to have someone talk to you in this strange city where you can go for days without having a conversation with someone who’ll hold you, too. On days like that it can go either way, depending on your luck, or how strong the smell of your desperation is. And there are days when you go to the sauna because you want to sit in a hot room with other men, naked. You want a men-only space where you don’t have to talk and you don’t feel judged. You go to the sauna because you can and because it’s there. That was how I was feeling three days ago – not overly horny, not in need of validation, but really just wanting to be there, to take off my clothes and to look at and be seen by other men, and, yes, it would be nice to have my cock sucked, to have a long, slow kissing session with someone. That sort of thing.

My theory is that if you go to these places with a clear idea in mind of what you want and what your motivation is, then you’re likely, more often than not, to get what you want. Three days ago I kind of got what I wanted. I got my cock sucked. I had a chat with someone I’d probably never meet in other circumstances. And I got propositioned by several men. I like to be chatted up by men. I like it when guys come up to me and tell me they want to have sex with me. I like being looked at. I like being wanted. It happens to me quite a bit. It’s taken me years to notice this, or at least to enjoy it. At the sex club today it happened two or three times. But there are still a few things I want to say about the sauna.

He was the cutest guy at the sauna that day. He was a bit shorter than me, darker – some sort of mix, maybe Brazilian, or just Spanish, or an English mixed-race guy – but his skin was a nice brown (no, I’m not going to do all the coffee/chocolate similes) and he was smooth. I like smooth men. I like smooth men with slim, firm bodies. He was all that. At first he didn’t show much interest. I was standing at one end of the cruising area upstairs, near the cleaning closet (where I had sex a few months ago with one of the employees) and I caught his eye, but he walked past without that lingering look that is a yes. A couple of minutes later when I was walking around and we crossed paths again, I could see that he was suddenly interested, and that that interest had something to do with me being bigger than him – in height and bulk, not in cock-size, as I was soon to find out.

Some men love cock. A lot of men love cock. My cock is an average kind of cock, though it might be a bit thicker than average, and judging from cocks I have come across that are similar, it is the kind of cock that fits well into a mouth. That was what this guy wanted. We were in a cubicle, we closed the door, and he was on his knees. No small-talk, no foreplay. There are times when I like that approach, when there really is nothing to say or do but suck, or give your cock over to being sucked. That was one of those times. He was hungry. He had that amazing suction thing going in his mouth that can make you feel both extremely turned on and a little anxious that your cock isn’t big enough, that he can actually suck it the way you can suck your thumb. He was good at what he did and I didn’t have to worry too much about making him choke or gag when I fucked his face. I have recently started doing this thing that when a guy is on his knees sucking my cock, I will put one hand at the back of his neck and the other hand around his throat and pull his head onto my cock. I like to play with strangulation. It’s about the breath, more than breath control. I am new to¬† circular breathing, and feel an immediate kinship with other men who know how to do it, to take my breath into their lungs and to breath their air back into me.

Now that I’ve told you about the guy in the sauna, I’m not sure there’s much more to say about the guys in the sex club. There is a lot to say about the sex club itself, and yes, about the guys, too. The guy with the cold mouth. The guy who feasted on my nipples and on my cock. The guy with the smooth arsehole that just opened up when I put my finger in it, in view of a gathering audience. When you see me tomorrow, remind me that there is still more to say.