I woke up that restless Sunday afternoon with my dick hard. I wanted to go to the bar. It was one o’clock on a Sunday afternoon. Jonathan and I had gotten away from Texas and school exams to party it up in New Orleans. Jonathan tried to ignore my sharp punches to his back. He had just gotten back to the hotel at nine o’clock that morning with some trick. I really didn’t get to see his face, just his youthful naked body walking across the room frantically searching for his shirt. I watched him, dick hard put on his pants, no underwear, and his dick half full like he wanted more or got off on me peeking from under the covers. I wanted to touch it. I was frustrated. An entire weekend and I still hadn’t gotten off. It wasn’t that I didn’t have many chances. I often found myself playing the role of logical chaperon with my friends. I guess it was my forced biblical upbringing. I had too many rules. I wanted to lose them all. I woke up that morning and decided pretended innocence was dead. I was going to fuck. I didn’t care where, it was New Orleans, and they sold liquor at church.
I hit Jonathan again, but he wasn’t budging. I teased him he probably needed to rest his ass considering his trick’s dick looked exhausting. He laughed and pulled the covers back over his head. I decided no witnesses.
How does one-- get off, on a Sunday at two in the evening was the challenge. I didn’t have enough money for the bathhouse. Beside, it was too obvious. I decided to head to the bar “Raw.” I was there the first night. A very seedy, dirty bar. The men stacked up on each other in the backroom with their dicks out. It was like I imagined the 70s truck stop bathrooms to be.
I got dressed. I yelled at Jonathan I was going to get lunch. He flipped me off. The bar wasn’t far from the hotel. I walked into the bar that suddenly looked like nighttime when the door closed. I knew I had the right place.
I told myself to make eye contact. No time to be shy. I ordered my mandatory rum and coke --especially forced with blacks. Sipped fast to get a quick buzz. I decided two tequila shots would probably do the job better. I was suddenly nervous. And then I saw him when I slammed the second tequila shot glass on the bar. He was watching me.
I grabbed my frustrated dick. Looked for a pocket for sleazing. Was anyone in the bathroom? I kept watching him. I’d never cruised before but figured it was probably like that time my uncle’s lifetime roommate took me fishing when I was sixteen years old. He kept watching me. I never had such a hard dick. I figured it was just patience. I got like three fish that awkward Saturday morning. It was about how much I wanted to get off with him. But he never touched me.
I wanted to be touched so I didn’t lose eye contact. I tried to pretend like I was older, Like I cruised all the time but I was only in my junior year in college, barely twenty one. He didn’t seem too much older than me but more confident. I imagined he also woke up frustrated. IT was the last day until reality and responsibility wouldn’t be ignored any longer.
I saw him walk closer to the bathroom. It was free. It was perfect. It was private, no bathtub urinals. It had a door that locked. It was perfect.
I ordered another weak rum and coke and walked over towards the bathroom. I didn’t have time for games. The look in my eyes were demanding, “or we fucking or not?”
Circled. We circled. Picked up his scent. Lifted up my shirt. Grabbed my frustrated dick. He grabbed his frustrated dick. I smiled. I nodded. He walked into the bathroom. I followed. No words. No names. No back stories. No who the fuck are you or what you do for a living. No I want to see you tomorrow. No, nothing.
Against the stained wall he unbuttoned his pants and took out his dick. Grabbed, I did first. It was that leopard underwear. He was wearing leopard underwear. The clash of a hard dick sticking out of a leopard bikini was so trashy I could have never imagined it.
********
Fucking is like hunger --a prisoner banging on the heart making it race cuz the dick wants what it wants and is a clever bastard. We didn’t even kiss. Didn’t think about it. He unzipped, displayed his dick, I sat my rum and coke on the sink and lowered myself to the floor to pray with my mouth opened. It was Sunday. I don’t usually suck dick. Never really cared for it, but some dicks deserve attention. I like that he was tall. I liked that his body was exercised. But the hotness in my stomach and head blinded the need to capture the moment. I just reacted. I don’t know how my pants got around my knees. I don’t remember pressing my stomach on that cheap wall. I don’t remember sticking my ass out. I do remember the penetration. Smooth and fluid. His dick was a considerable size. I do remember him kneeling and opening my cheeks. I do remember him spreading them with his warm hands and his watch scrapping my right cheek. He filled his mouth with as much spit as possible and flooded my insides. I liked how the mucus felt blended in with my sweat-- the heat of my lust opening the door to host. I do remember the penetration. I do remember wanting it. I didn’t fight. I was relaxed. Maybe it was the newness of the tequila shots working its magic.
So in that bathroom, against that cheap role, I arched my back and he fucked me. No pretty way to put it. It was the repetition of moans and an eager dick trying to calm that monster in him. It was that act of stubborn baby that need exhaustion by rocking it seductively until it spit up the milk.
*********
“Are you okay?” I was more than okay. I was liberated. I needed a moment to figure out where I wandered. It wasn’t like I didn’t follow him.
“I think I spilled my drink.” I laughed. He looked at the floor of the white plastic cup tipped over on the floor that used to cradle rum and coke. His pants were around his ankles.
“That’s not all you spilled.” The stranger said firmly like teasing an ex-lover. I turned from the wall. I glanced down what seemed like his casual dick hanging like a tree branch that got a plastic bag caught covering its mouth. The black tuxedo condom they were handing out on bourbon street found it use.
“Can I have you underwear?” I asked before I thought about the question
“How old are you?” I tried not to look like that was a stupid question to ask after the fact.
“I’m old enough.” I guess that was two fucks from being a virgin.
“You can have them, only because you are so damn cute.” The stranger pulled the underwear that had been pulled down beneath his knees to his ankles, toward his pants, taking his shoes off, and then pulled passed his feet until he was completely naked except his black socks. No shirt, no underwear, just socks. I wanted to fuck again.
“I want you to put them on.” The stranger held the leopard underwear above my head. like dangling meat over a dog, waiting him to beg for it.
“Okay, what do I do with my underwear?”
“Leave them on the ground. Let someone know you were here.”
