History: Man's Country 1991

 It’s time for another stroll down my personal sexual history.

 

1991

“I better get some fun in now as no one will want me once I hit 40!”  To think that I believed that at 35.  But it is exactly what so many gay men thought in 1991.  Little did I know how good my 40’s, 50’s and 60’s would be.

I remembered the name of Man’s Country as the bathhouse my brother loved to visit.  I didn’t really want to tell him I wanted to go.  So where was it located?   No quick internet search available. And Chicago was huge.

Somewhere along the way I had seen an ad in in one of the glossy gay mags for Bob Damron’s Address Book.  I made a special trip to Border’s Books in Ann Arbor, knowing they had a miniscule gay/lesbian section, to see if it was there.  It was.  It became my reference book for everything gay in whatever city I visited.  They listed, bars, bathhouses, men’s health services, adult entertainment, bookstores and cruisy areas.  All reported by gay men for gay men.  The book got tucked under the front seat of my car and stayed there, only moving each time I got a new vehicle.

I found Man’s Country fairly easily.  (I’d always been good with maps.)  I sat in my car, parked on a tiny, dark side street and took a deep breath.  I went in.  The guy at the window could not have been nicer.  He issued my membership card with a smile.  I knew I wanted a small room, so I could lock myself away if I felt like it.  I think it was an eight-hour time limit.  I was arriving at 10pm.  Perfect.   He told me how to find my room amongst the warren of corridors and doors.

I found it, stripped and with my towel tightly tucked in and my key on my wrist, I went to explore.  I carried a small shaving kit packed with lube, condoms and poppers.  I went back to the locker room.  I really stopped and looked at the murals by Etienne.  I had never seen anything like them.  Gorgeous.  I found the stairs and went down to the wet area.  More rooms were down there, too.  I sat in the dry sauna.  Two guys came in.  They instantly began to take turns sucking the other’s cock.  I was mesmerized.  I tented my towel.  Soon, I was openly stroking to them.  One of them looked over at me and smiled.  I suddenly felt more at ease.  One got the other off.  They left, giving me an approving nod.

Heartened, I found the huge dance floor and stage.  It seemed to be more about guys chatting and napping than dancing.  I learned there were weekly strip shows there.

I walked the endless maze of rooms.  Some with doors open.  Many closed with sex obviously happening behind them.  I quickly figured out guy’s ass up vs lying on their back and stroking their dick.  I was invited in to a number of rooms, but I wasn’t quite there yet.

There was a dark room.  I hung out near the opening, in the room but still in some light.  I ditched the towel and openly stroked as I saw countless men disappear into the pitch black.  Delicious sounds of moans and groans came from within, but I didn’t go in any farther.  Not tonight. 

Music blared from the dance hall.  I went up and watched three men strip.  They were hot, but stripping for men who were all but naked themselves made me shake my head.

I went back to my room and sat on the hard wooden box with the wafer-thin mattress they called a bed.  What was I going to do?   The jury was still out on the safety of oral sex.  I really wanted to fuck anyway.  I went down to the basement.  All the rooms were taken now.  And here, almost all the men were on all fours, asses pointed right at the door.  I made the circuit twice.  I couldn’t believe that most of these guys never looked over their shoulder to see who stepped into the room to fuck them.  At the end of the hall, was a man with very hairy ass, likely in his thirties.  His ass was perfection.  A gorgeous mound of flesh and fur.  I went in and closed the door.

“Fuck me,” he muttered.

I suited up and did just that.  It was great.  I stopped, just short of cumming.  He was moaning, egging me on.  He finally looked over his shoulder.  “That’s a lot of meat on such a skinny guy.”  I beamed as I left his room.

Even better, there was no shit on the condom.  I was thrilled.  I fucked another guy.  Same thing.  The age of cleaning out had happened and I didn’t even know.  (When I mentioned this later to my brother, he credited the porn guys of the 80’s when, in their countless interviews with In Touch, Blueboy, etc, they talked about how they cleaned for the skin flicks. And gay men everywhere took it to heart.)

I wanted more.  I made a tour of the guys upstairs, too.  Always with a new Magnum in place.  At least one guy asked me to ditch the latex.  I fled.

I napped in my room.  Not really sleeping as my head was full of the butts I’d stuffed.  Around 3:00am, I made another tour.  Many doors where now shut, but there were lots that were open—and many sported new recruits who’d checked in after the bars had closed.

I didn’t fuck any of them. 

I checked the dark room—and went in a little deeper.  A hand tried to pull the towel off me.  I had an inner freak out and left.

On the other side of a lounge near the dance hall was the lone sling room in Man’s Country.  The door was open.  I’d seen slings in videos but never used one.  A hot guy was in it.  He looked right at me and waved me in.  I got hard instantly at the shape of his ass and the obvious use of his hole which had very pronounced ass lips.  I suited up.

“Fuck me as hard as you can.”

I did.  For a long time. 

“Don’t cum in the condom.  Cum on me!” 

I was finally close.  I ripped the condom off and aimed for his ball sack.  The force of my shooting covered his abs instead.  He sighed contentedly.  He now instructed me to put a latex glove on my left hand.  I found the box on the small table next to him.  I did.  Curious. 

“Dip it in the tub of lube.”

I did.  I brought my hand close to him.

“Now use your fingers.”

I did.  One.  Two. 

“More.” 

Four went inside him.  Instinctively, my thumb went to my palm.  He reached down and pulled my hand forward.  It slid right into his ass, his sphincter snapping shut on my wrist.  I had never had a feeling like this before.  Not to mention the mind fuck that my hand was buried in his hot butt.  He instructed me to pull out and push in again.  I was tentative to do it, so he pulled me in a second time.

Then I got it.  I began to really fist him.  He shuddered, telling me to keep going.  That I was doing just what he needed.  He scooped up my load and licked his fingers—and suddenly his whole body convulsed as I witnessed my first assgasm…

*

I checked out with a new clerk.  Right on time.

“Your membership card.  Take it or leave it here?”

I opted to leave it there once he told me many men did that.  “One less thing in your wallet,” he smirked.

I went to my car elated.  I was suddenly tired and slept in the front seat until I felt I could get a late breakfast and head home…

*

Speaking of cards kept on file….

The next time I went back to Man’s Country, I told the attendant my membership was on file.

He pulled out the big recipe box they were stored in and asked my surname.

I told him.

“Here you are,” he said, lifting out a card.  He read the full name on it.

I blushed a deep red and said, no that was my brother.

His jaw dropped and then he began to laugh as he found my card and proceeded to check me in….