I walked into the club thinking it would be a one-time thing, just to prove I could handle it. I was straight, always had been, but after my buddy's bachelor party and too much whiskey, the dare stuck. "Go to the gay sex club downtown and stay an hour," he said. I laughed it off, but two nights later I was there, handing over my cover at the door and stepping into the heat and throb of the place.
The air smelled like sweat and poppers. Red lights washed over naked and half-naked bodies. Men grinding on a low stage, hands everywhere, cocks out and hard. I kept my shirt on and jeans buttoned, telling myself I was just watching. My heart hammered like I was about to get caught doing something wrong.
A guy in his thirties, short dark hair and a tight black tank, caught my eye from the bar. He walked straight over. "You look lost," he said, voice low. "First time?"
"Yeah," I admitted. "Just checking it out."
He smiled, not pushing. "Name's Mark. Buy you a drink?"
I took the beer. We talked for ten minutes about nothing, but his hand kept brushing my arm. Each touch sent a weird spark down my spine. I kept repeating in my head that I liked women, that this was just an experiment. Then he leaned in and said, "You can leave anytime. Or you can come with me to the back rooms and see what happens."
My mouth went dry. I nodded before I could stop myself.
The back hallway was darker, doors open to small rooms with mattresses and slings. Moans echoed from everywhere. Mark led me into an empty room with a padded bench. He shut the door halfway and turned to me.
"Take your shirt off," he said, not demanding, just stating it.
I did. His hands were on my chest right away, rough palms sliding down to my stomach. He popped my jeans open and reached in, wrapping his fingers around my cock. I was already half-hard, which surprised the hell out of me. He stroked slow and firm, thumb circling the head, and I felt my knees go weak.
"Fuck," I muttered.
Mark dropped to his knees and took me in his mouth. Hot, wet, no hesitation. His tongue worked the underside while he sucked me deeper. I grabbed the edge of the bench and tried not to thrust. Straight guys don't get sucked off by other men in clubs, but my hips started moving anyway. He took it all, throat relaxing, spit running down my balls. I came faster than I wanted to, groaning as I shot down his throat. He swallowed, licked me clean, then stood up with a grin.
"Still straight?" he asked.
I didn't answer. My head was spinning.
He pushed his own jeans down. His cock was thick and curved, already leaking. "Touch it," he said.
I reached out. It felt heavy in my hand, hot, the skin smooth. I stroked him the way I liked it done to me. Mark groaned and pulled me closer until our bodies pressed together. He kissed me hard, tongue pushing in, and I kissed back without thinking. It was rough and hungry.
He turned me around, bent me over the bench. "You can stop me," he said.
I didn't. He spat on his fingers and worked one into my ass, slow and careful. The stretch burned at first, then something else kicked in when he found the right spot. My cock started getting hard again against the bench. A second finger joined the first, scissoring, opening me up. I was breathing hard, pushing back on his hand without meaning to.
Then he lined up his cock and pressed in. The head popped past the ring and I gasped. He went slow, inch by inch, letting me adjust. It hurt and felt full and somehow right at the same time. When he bottomed out I was shaking. He started thrusting, long and steady, his hips slapping my ass. Every stroke dragged over that spot inside me and I moaned like I never had with any woman.
"Harder," I heard myself say.
Mark gripped my hips and gave it to me. The bench creaked. Sweat dripped off both of us. I reached down and jerked my own cock in time with his thrusts. Another guy opened the door a little, watched for a minute, then left. I didn't care. All I cared about was the cock pounding my ass and the way my balls were tightening again.
I came first this time, shooting onto the floor while Mark kept fucking me through it. He followed soon after, burying deep and pulsing hot inside me. When he pulled out I felt empty and sore and strangely satisfied.
We cleaned up with some towels from a stack in the corner.
Mark gave me his number on a scrap of paper. "Come back if you want more," he said.
I walked out into the night air an hour later, legs shaky, ass still slick. I told myself it was a one-off, that I was still straight. But two weeks later I was back at the door, handing over cover again, already hard in my jeans at the thought of what might happen inside.
I never told my buddies the real story. Some things you keep for yourself.
