When I first moved to London from my closeted life in the Isle of Wight, I doubled up on jobs in order to afford me a decent apartment. Somewhere to take my indecent tricks to. No sordid room in Chelsea for me. That was for the birds, and Sally Bowles. As luck – and fuck – would have it I was hardly ever there and got most of my jollies in the room above the bar where I worked. Either there or in the back-alley where we stacked the beer crates. The proprietor had called it Bar-O which was as ambiguous as the people who frequented the place. He pronounced it ‘Bar None’ as he said all were welcome although he might just as well have called it ‘Bar Nothing’ as it was very popular and absolutely jumping. In fact when we opened and he applied for a liquor licence the inspectors said there was too much license upstairs and not enough downstairs. The clientèle was either gay or pending plus a lot of curious girl-friends determined to keep the pending on the straight and narrow. Of course most of them failed dismally. I’m going to tell you about one or two guys that got away.
The first one who made any impression on me was called Edward. Not Ted or Ed or even Eddie. Edward. The first time I saw him he was wearing what I can only describe as a ‘serious shirt’. You know, the kind your mother sends you to Sunday School in and he was as square and green as the checks in the cotton material. All he lacked was a pair of horn-rimmed spectacles and he would have been the perfect nerd. He had long dark hair which was slicked down with thick brilliantine or something. Not gel. Brilliantine. And he had big, dark eyes with absolutely no expression in them. I mean a dead fish probably has more expression.
The bar’s equipped with a juke-box and there’s a handkerchief of a dance floor between the tables for those who want to grind their groins to music. Recently the place was declared a potential fire hazard so there are an unnecessary number of fire exits with push down handles like in the cinema. One door has ‘For Emergency Only’ written on it in big red letters. Paradoxically this is the door most used as it leads to the courtyard outside and is usually filled with coupling couples of every race and kind. We bar boys use it sometimes too as it’s very convenient for a quick feel and fumble with whoever we happen to fancy. Again paradoxically, our boss actually encourages what he calls hobnobbing with the public. Otherwise known as pubic relations. He says it’s good for business.
Anyway back to Edward the Nerd. He obviously wanted to be off dancing with the boys but his girl-friend had her hooks in him and wouldn’t let him out of her sight. As I weaved my way through the tables collecting empty glasses his eyes latched on to mine. His boring girl-friend was chattering on about something but his concentration was elsewhere. On my ass it seemed to me. He may have been the fish but he’d fallen for me hook, line and sinker. I gave him the hint of a smile just to let him know that I appreciated his interest. I’m such a slut sometimes. Most of the time actually. And love to be admired. Anyway despite his nerdiness there was something about him which appealed to me. His half open mouth seemed to want to tell me something and that combined with the dead fish eyes like dark pools in the middle of his face gave him the appearance of a flounder washed up on the seashore, desperate to be rescued. Sensitive soul that I am, my heart went out to him.
I wanted to throw him a safety net but wasn’t sure how I was going to do it. Then intuition came to the rescue. It usually does. I knew sooner or later that his lady love would have to pee. Girls always do. At least three or four times more than men. Sure enough she headed off to the ladies. I pointedly made my way to the emergency exit and pointedly looked over my shoulder in his direction. Then I pressed the iron bar down with a flourish just to show him I meant business and also to let him get a good look at the muscles rippling up my arm to join the band of biceps at the top. If he doesn’t get the message I thought then he doesn’t deserve to be saved. Sure enough he followed me outside.
I didn’t waste time on words but filled his half-open mouth with my probing tongue and grabbed him between the legs just to see if he was worth further investigation. He was. He may have seemed like a frozen fish but an electric eel popped out of his pants and almost burned my fingers. Forget the horn-rimmed spectacles. This was a horn of a completely different nature. A horn of plenty. And one that definitely needed to be rimmed.
“Ditch your girl-friend and come back just before closing time,” I said.
I left him dangling like a fish on a hook. But this time my hook. And went back to the bar. If I’m one thing I’m quick. Quick and determined.
He came back in flushed and flustered and staggered to his seat just before his girl friend’s return. I thought of all that dick wasted on her and hoped he’d take me up on my offer. You can never tell with twinks they get carried away by the heat of the moment – and their dicks – and then cool off later. I usually strike while the iron is hot but this time circumstances were not propitious. Isn’t that a great word! I just looked it up in the dictionary. Trouble is it took me a while to locate it. With a dictionary you need to know how to spell a word before you can find it. It’s a bit of a vicious circle or Catch 22 situation. Like how I felt with Edward. I mean I didn’t know for sure that he’d be back before closing time. Although somehow I did. I mean how could he resist a twink like me.
I needn’t have worried. He turned up at 2 in the morning. Bright eyed and bushy tailed. I took him to the little room upstairs. Said I had to change but actually I wanted to inspect the goods before I took them home. Wanted to unwrap him and find out if his body was as promising as his dick. It was. Sheer silk man, under all that cotton. So smooth and sexy without his Sunday School shirt. And I knew that his hair would be long and flowing after I’d got him under the shower.
Actually he was the first visitor to my palatial home and was very impressed. As was I when I had him naked before me. I mean some people should never wear clothes and he was one of them. I watched his enthusiasm grow as first my eyes and then my mouth drank him all in. I couldn’t wait to have his full grown trout swimming upstream in my mouth so I could savour its salty tang. We had a shower and as I had foretold his hair was a veritable cascade. I let him whip me with it for a bit and then grabbed his perfect butt. It was like a smooth silk purse, custom-built for my penis. He was a real satin doll and he fucked like a dream. How could I ever have thought he was a nerd!
It’s difficult to describe the perfect fuck. I mean at least for me it is. I mean when you’re mid-coitus you aren’t exactly taking notes. All I can say is he looked so gorgeous with his hair spread out all over the pillow, his arms outstretched in what they call the missionary position and his legs halfway to the ceiling. I shunted in and out of him, and up and down him, faster and faster, like an express train tearing down his tunnel until he felt like an extension of my dick. I gazed into those dead eyes of his determined to put some life into them but they kind of glazed over and reminded me of the paintings and statues I’d seen of saints being martyred. Exactly the same expressions. Weird. Then when they were tightly closed, as he lay back in exquisite pain and groaned his approval he seemed to have ‘I’m yours’ written across his eyelids. Those were my impressions anyway. Hope I haven’t disappointed you. Oh, by the way, I got a kind of savage thrill yanking at his hair as we came. A bit like the way you grab a horse’s mane when you’re crossing the finishing line.Awesome. He erupted like a geyser all over my face and chest. I leant over and let it dribble back down on him. I kissed him, then made him lick me clean. First he resisted. He turned his head from side to side like a baby refusing its bottle but eventually – after a few more hair yanks -- he gave in and ‘suck-cummed.’
We saw quite a lot of each other over the next few weeks and then the gilt wore off the gingerbread -- or whatever the expression is -- and we moved on. Inevitably. Then it was the turn of Toby.
Toby was something else. Blond hair which he had spiked into a horny cockatoo and a small ring in the side of his nose. I discovered early on in our relationship that he seemed to have a cock or two between his legs too. He was the complete opposite of Edward. Absolutely uninhibited and with a keen eye on fashion. As you know I’m not really into clothes. I’m much more interested in getting my tricks out of them. But I have to admit he knew how to dress. And undress of course. The night he leant over the bar and kissed me he was wearing a black t-shirt which clung to the front of him and had fishnet flanks. Sorry we’re back to fish again. His abs rippled through the flimsy material like waves on an evening shore and his pointed nipples stood out like two horny punctuation marks.
“What’s a big dick like that doing on a slim guy like you?” I asked him on our first meeting.
“I’m generous,” he said. “I like to spread it around.”
“I’m generous too,” I quipped. “I’ll spread my legs for you any time.”
“How about right now?” he said.
Not a very refined conversation but he was a guy that got right to the point. And right to my prostate too.
I took him to the little room upstairs and there was a gnashing of teeth and splashing of saliva as we battled for dominance. We used our tongues as a dress rehearsal for the fully mounted show to cum. I let him take off his own t-shirt. I didn’t want to rip the beautiful thing off his back. There was that magic moment – just like in the theatre – when the curtain went up and the shirt momentarily got caught as he was getting it over his head. I was able to sit back in my front row seat and take in his terrific torso. Nipples to die for. Always my weakness. And slabs for abs. I licked my way up to his chin to show my appreciation -- I think it’s called audience participation -- and met his tongue again when he finally got his shirt off. He didn’t have any qualms about ripping my own shirt off my back but then I had a few spare ones in my locker, didn’t I, so a few missing buttons didn’t really matter.
Pants and panting came next as we unlocked each other’s belts and unzipped our way to paradise. We both had dicks to be proud of and our mouths were soon expressing their mutual admiration. I’m pretty well-endowed in that department myself but he won hands down for size and girth. It was the girth that really worried me. I didn’t see how I was going to get all that in me or indeed whether I had it in me to stay the course. We used a combination of lube and our own natural products to oil up his machinery which I can only describe as a winch. After the initial winching and wincing as he worked his way inside me, I heaved a sigh which was a mixture of horny rapture, terror and relief. His dick was unforgiving and was soon scraping my guts. The incessant rhythm of the juke-box downstairs was a fitting accompaniment as he pounded and pummelled me. It also covered my cries as I moaned to the moon even though there was none in sight that night.
I wish I could find the right words to describe my sensations but he left me wordless and boneless. Actually I did think of looking at one of my erotic story books and stealing a phrase or two from far more expert writers than me. Those who had been – or cum – there before me but I was told that’s plagiarism – pronounced ‘play-jar-ism’ – so decided against it.
I looked that word up in the dictionary too. It was more difficult to find than propitious. It means stealing another writer’s work and is a criminal offence. I sure got a kick out of that word though. I mean it was just a hop, skip and a jump away from play-jar-jism. Thought that would be a great jerk off game to play. It would make a refreshing change from Trivial Pursuit. I’ll have to patent it. And nobody could accuse me of stealing that. It’s my very own idea.
Anyway I’ll leave you to fill in the blanks. Not that Toby left any in my butt. His was one powerful prong. Stored up a lot of jizz too. I mean we could have played Jar Jism right there. There was enough of it to fill several jars and I kid you not. Of course I got my own back several days later and we were a hot item for quite some time. But he too moved on. There’s such a turnover of twinks in London.
So those were my experiences as a Bar-O boy. In my case you could pronounce it oh-oh-oh.
Hope you enjoyed hearing about them and are having a few of your own.
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The Badpuppy.com model in these pictures is Jaque
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