Thursday, October 22, 2015

In the Darkness of the Cellar

Toronto—September, 2015

I have been going to Canada at the end of summer for years.  It is a relaxing way to end a season of stressful work.  While I end up at one of the art festivals, I always make time to spend a couple of nights in Toronto.  The hot muscle boy I had christened Canadian Kevin in this blog, wanted to meet up at Steamworks again on a Saturday night.  I was more than eager to play with him for a third time.  (If you need a visual reminder of him—click here.)

I arrived on Friday.  I wanted some fun, but lower key, so I would be more than ready for Kevin.  I went to the Cellar. 

You have to know where it is…there is no sign—just the street number on the door.  Down the stairs.  It’s already dark, as I check in.  And it only gets darker as I try to find my room.  I’m in the farthest corridor from the office.  I locate my room by the illuminated letter above the door and get the key in the door by feel, not sight.  I turn on a dim light over the bed and open the grill in the door, so men can see into my room, even with the door closed.  I undress to my once white jock and lock my clothes in the locker.  I put my boots back on and head out to see who I can find.

I walk through the much brighter video era.  They are showing some mid 90’s pretty boy condomed flick so I don’t linger.  I move into the gloryhole area, where open framed cubicles sport holes to all sides.  There are a few men here—but I’m still taking the tour.  I pass the showers and take a piss in the bathroom.  A man on the toilet, the doors wide open, watches my every move—but he does not seem to truly want my piss.

I make the circuit past all the rooms.  There is only one man ass up and waiting.  But it’s early.  And I know where the men are congregated.  I turn the corner—and I’m there: the back corridor.  It is pitch black.  I can’t see to move.  I inch forward.  Hands are instantly on me.  Some come from men kneeling, guiding me to their open mouths.  Others are standing against the wall and brushing, kneading and squeezing at my pouched cock and bare ass.  A pair of impatient hands can’t get my swelling cock out of the jock.  I pull the face of this anonymous man into it, making him tongue the stained cloth.  His spit reactivates the smell of the last ass it was pressed into while I fucked.  This new cock sucker, recognizing what he’s tasting, groans and makes the fabric sopping wet with his spit.

I get my cock out.  Instantly, he takes me to the root.  His mouth is wet and velvety—the perfect way to get me fully hard for a few hours of play.  I fuck his face.  Long strokes, in and out.  I bat away a finger trying to get up my ass.  Someone next to my unknown sucker is impatient.  He pulls me out of the first mouth and swallows me down.  The difference in mouths is frighteningly pronounced—this guy is all teeth.  It feels like he is lacerating my dick.  I stop him, turn around and make my way to out of the blackness.

I inspect my cock.  No damage, but it’s very red.

I decide to give it a rest for a moment and do some sucking myself in the glory hole area.  I hunker down in the cubicle at the end of the row.  Guys mill around me.  And a biggish uncut dick in pushed through the hole.  I swallow it down.  I work my tongue deep into his foreskin.  This elicits a vocal response from the other side of the plywood wall.  And makes him drip pre-cum.  I swallow and grunt my appreciation.  And he pulls out.  I fall back on my heels, disappointed.

Instantly, he’s around the wall and I am sucking him in person.  He’s nicely defined and I love the way his fingers brush the stubble on my shaved head.  In no time, I have his load.  There’s a lot of it.  I won’t let him pull out of my mouth again until his cock head is completely cum free…


I suck off a barrel chested man, an onlooker from the previous encounter,  in the middle of a dimly lit hallway leading to the glory holes.

I stand up when I’m finished and a hot, late 20’s Black man sinks to his knees and sucks me down.  Ah, it’s my first cocksucker from the dark hallway.  We break, with a promise to return.

I fuck a French Canadian trucker type who is not as deep cleaned as he claims.

A cute young man, the youngest there—likely just 18—takes me to his room and gives me the most indifferent head I’ve ever gotten.  I finally excuse myself and go back to find the Black man with his great skills.

I find the all teeth guy again, too, this time in the lit corridor.  I don’t let him get anymore than my head in his mouth this time.

In my room, resting for a moment, a thin man comes in and asks if he can lick me.  I uncover my dick.  “No, Sir.  Your ass.”  I look at him and roll over, getting on all fours.  He kneels on the floor and eats me out until he shoots all over the cracked linoleum.  

The young Black man pushes into my room as the rimmer leaves.  I start to turn over, thinking he wants to suck my cock again.  “I bet you could use a back rub—you look tense.”

I agree and lie down flat.  He straddles my ass, a cock every bit as big as mine, flops onto my ass crack.  His hands are as wonderful as his mouth.  He kneads my shoulders, my back, my ass cheeks, my thighs.  I melt.  He gets off me, so I can turn over.  Only then do I see how hard his dick has gotten.  It looks exactly like mine, but in ebony—the big head, the perfectly straight shaft, the big balls—oh, not quite the same—he has a foreskin.  I want it in my mouth—but he isn’t done with me.  He works my chest, my biceps and only then does he give me the blowjob I’ve been expecting for the last 30 minutes.  It’s sheer heaven.

I move around and we sixty-nine for a moment.  I work his big dick, his balls and keep going to his hole.  His butt is a perfect bubble and I have to hold the cheeks apart and it is awkward being under him.  I get him on all fours.   I pull his cheeks apart and spend forever licking and spitting into his ass.  He jerks—edging himself.  I rise up and run my cock up and down his crack.

“You’d split me wide open,” he whimpers.  “I could never take that.  Please let me get off as you tongue my hole.”

I am fine with that.  He gets on his back and puts his legs in the air.  I dive into those mounds of black ass flesh.  Swiftly, he brings himself off—spattering his cum load all over his abs and chest—the pearly white liquid looking twice as white against his black skin.

I taste it—and think about jerking myself off all over him.  But I don’t.  I decide to save the load for Kevin the next night. 

I close my door after we kiss goodbye.  I know I won’t find anything better—and the back rub has made sure that I’ll sleep even in a bathhouse.  I have just enough energy to set the alarm in my phone and push in my ear plugs before I fall asleep in the Cellar.


  1. The Cellar sounds awesome and it seems you were the star of the show Stud!

    1. I don't know about the star of the show--but I was certainly the new meat in the room...