I was thinking about dance parties, as I strolled passed Fed Square, not really sure why. Maybe it was the heat, maybe it was the cute boys in the city - walking home after seeing Tomfoolery, which was very good, funny and satirical. How cute is Burt Labonte? (middle, picture below) For a moment there, I daydreamed about how he would look in my bed in the mornings, with sleepy eyes, as my boyfriend - maybe it was the sense of fun that the play produced, maybe just because it was Saturday night and I was heading home... and not heading out.
I've realised, just lately, that I've become a terrible crotch watcher. I'm not sure when this particular new turn started? But I have. I'm wondering if men's jeans/pants are cut differently to how they once were, as I never used to be like this, in the past. This is a new revelation. But men now a days seem to have much fuller crotches than they once did, or that I remember. The interesting thing is that blokes pick up on it, where I was once of the opinion that men only noticed women, they didn't notice what other men were doing. But they do - I guess there is greater emphasis place on the size of the bulge than there once was. They react in interesting ways - mostly I find they smile, more of a quizzical grin than a smile of recognition, but a smile none the less - pleased that their manhood is getting the recognition that it so rightly deserves. My personal favourite is the ones who look down just to check how impressive their bulge actually is. Some guys stare back, in a kind of wanton, I love it when some one looks at my cock, kind of way. Men are very cock-centric, straight or gay.
But I digress... dance parties?
A guy I knew, Neil, I'm not really sure what to call him - really an acquaintance, the boyfriend of a great friend - wore a T-shirt to one dance party that said, Good girls deserve rape. The evil, rat-faced little bitch, who deservedly died of AIDS some years later, wondered why, late in the night, he was held by one boyfriend, in a dark corner of the dance floor, while the other boyfriend shoved his finger, forcibly, up his arse.
Shane wore a T-shirt to another dance party that said, Bob a head-job, he found that guys were making him suck their cocks all night. He said to me at the end of that particular night, that he was on a personal best for how many cocks he got in his mouth for the night.
But the outfit that I wore to another dance party, sure opened my eyes. My mate Andrew and I went to one Red Raw in matching, private boy's school uniforms. Andrew and I looked very similar, both with dark hair and green eyes, like we could have been brothers, people used to all comment on the fact. (In fact, we introduced each other as brothers there for a time) Dressed in identical outfits and being particularly baby-faced (at the time) and, even if I say so myself, both quite handsome, we caused quite a stir, let me tell you. (Because of the outfits, you understand) I have to say that there are a lot of men, out there, in all age groups, who have really serious school boy fantasies.
Not only were we propositioned by many, many men, we were proposition in the filthiest way you can possibly imagine. These guys not only hit on us, they gave us lurid detail of what exactly they wanted to do to us and what they wanted us to do to each other. At times it was a feeding frenzy, I kid you not. I'm really not exaggerating. I have my fare share of propositions when I've been out, but I can't imagine that it is in any greater number than any other boy about the place, but that night... jasus!
The other thing that also got a lot of these guys going was when we told them we were actually brothers - a little trick that Andrew and I played on more than one occasion - and then pashed each other, or slipped our hands down each other's pants, that little show always made the punter's tails wag, let me tell you. Gay men have serious brother fantasies too, don't be mistaken.
One gorgeous guy, dressed only in Calvin Klein's, with muscles to spare, who was particularly smitten with us - he told us that it was love at first sight and that he'd do any thing to get us into his bed (I think he even offered us money) - practically spoofed in his pants when we told him we were, actually, brothers and then made out in front of him. At the risk of being a little too tacky with the detail, as I kissed Andrew, I slid my finger up his arse, which made him moan (and go all floppy) in that hot way he always did. Calvin Klein man slipped his hand down Andrew's pants too, just to be sure that my finger was truly inserted. The bar in his jocks, after that performance, was saturating his white underwear with pre-cum, by the time we had finished.
Andrew and I ran away to dance, after that, leaving him begging us not to leave him.
We took each other home, in the morning, not taking up any of the many offers that came our way... and... I'm sure you can guess what we did all day.
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