The Talon Bar in New Orleans’ French Quarter was exceptionally dark; so, at first, Jeremy could not really make out what was going on, but he knew from the jostling and the loud chatter that the place was packed. Slowly, his eyes adjusted, and he made his way to the bar, where he sat down and ordered a beer. He usually drank Coors, but he figured that he might as well try the local beer, so at the suggestion of the bartender, he opted for an Abita.
After a few sips of the brew, he swiveled around on the bar stool and saw that the room, like the streets he had just surveyed, was filled with men groping and slobbering all over one another. Suddenly, it hit him that he had sought refuge in a gay bar. He decided to finish his drink and leave, but having groped through the dark to find his way in and been jostled at every turn, he had become disoriented and now found himself not at the exit, but at the back of the very large barroom. He aimed for a faint light, but instead of being an exit, it turned out to be the restroom. There was no door—only a couple of fully exposed toilets and a urinal trough. A mirror propitiously placed above at just the right angle allowed anyone at the trough to get a good look at a neighbor’s business.
OK. I need to take a leak anyway, so I’ll just take care of my business and get the hell out of here.
At the urinal, he drew even more attention than he had before: gasps, whistles, and the most vulgar propositions he had ever heard in his life. Finishing his task, he quickly zipped up and resumed his search for the exit.
On his way out of the restroom, he passed a door that he had not noticed before. Maybe this is the exit. He watched another man open the door and pass through, so he followed suit, but it was not the exit. It was another dark room packed wall to wall with men fondling one another in obscene ways. He started to back away, but several more men crammed in behind him and blocked his retreat. Before he knew it, one man was giving him a lap dance and another was reaching around from behind to unbutton his shirt the rest of the way and massage his solid pecs and ripped abs. Another began licking at his neck, and a third groped his crotch. He tried to scream, but some deep, dark part of him strangely enjoyed the attention and wanted to experience the perverse adventure, and he doubted that his voice would have been heard over the noise anyway.
All of a sudden, his cock was freed from his pants, and a hot, wet mouth swallowed it whole. Jeremy jerked in shock, but his reaction only excited his captors all the more, and they went to work even more feverishly. Soon, he felt even more hands roaming all over his body, and tongues were now licking and sucking each of his nipples. His head told him that he ought to fight his way out of the room and out of the bar—it would not have been the first time he had been in a barroom brawl (but that’s another story). However, his dick, now swollen to its full hardness, told him to stay put and enjoy the ride. It did feel damn good. Of course, he had had blow jobs before, but never like this. Whatever else he might think of gay men, he had to admit that they knew how to suck cock.
He tried to forewarn the man on his knees that he was about to blow, but whether the man didn’t hear him or just didn’t care, he continued to suck like a Hoover, and in no time at all, Jeremy shot his load down the man’s throat. What the man could not swallow dribbled down onto the face of another man who had been working his balls. Those two men kissed, swapping Jeremy's cum between them. Then, the one who had sucked him off rose up and kissed Jeremy on the lips. Jeremy gasped in shock, and the man's tongue darted into Jeremy's mouth, bathing his tongue in his own cum. That was more than Jeremy could take. He shoved the man aside and charged out of the room like a bull at a rodeo.
Pulling up his pants and underwear as he exited, Jeremy, with his cock still mostly stiff, drew more whistles and gropes from other men standing just outside the door. He turned, again hoping to find the exit, but instead, he found himself on the other side of the large barroom, bumping against a pool table and ending up at a bench against a long wall.
His eyes again adjusted to the darkness, and he could see men all around him in flagrante. Some sat or reclined on the bench, others just leaned against the wall, and a couple even stretched out on the floor. One large man flung himself up on the pool table in front of Jeremy while another lunged on top of him, and a third squatted over his face. Dozens of men stood around, some watching quietly, others cheering on the eager participants. To Jeremy, they looked like the rutting animals he had seen on his ranch—thoroughly disgusting, but strangely intriguing at the same time. Just as he had stood mesmerized at the two men between the parked cars, he now could not take his eyes off of the three men on the table or those surrounding him.
Consequently, he barely noticed the two young men approaching him or the two men on either side of him sliding over to make room for the newcomers. One squeezed next to Jeremy’s right arm and the other to his left. In the crowded room, they pressed their hot bodies against his. Why would two men give up their positions to the other two? Did they have some special influence in this place?
The best Jeremy could tell in the dim light, the two men were both slightly younger than he was, early 20s. They were just as handsome in their own ways as Jeremy, and their tank tops showed off their conspicuous muscles. Obviously, they both worked out.
“Enjoying the show?” asked the one with the dark hair and piercing black walnut eyes. Jeremy just stammered and went back to watching.
“Your first Southern Decadence Weekend?” asked the one with the red hair and green eyes.
“Uh, yeah,” Jeremy managed to squeak.
“Whaddya think?”
“Uh, I dunno. I’ve never seen anything like this before. I really oughta be going, but I can’t seem to find the exit.”
“Oh, what’s your hurry? This place is just warming up. About an hour from now, it’ll really be rockin’.”
Jeremy’s eyes glazed over. He could not imagine how much more decadent the place could become.
“Here, have a drink,” said the one with the dark hair, handing Jeremy a bottle of beer. “Name’s Brad. This here’s Francis, but ever’body calls him Red.” Brad stared into Jeremy’s eyes, waiting for him to introduce himself.
“Oh, uh...J....” Maybe I shouldn’t give my real name, just to be on the safe side. “Jack. I’m Jack.”
“Well, hey, Jack. Pleased to meetchya,” said Brad, amiably extending his hand. Jeremy (a.k.a. Jack) offered his in return and felt Brad’s firm, but friendly, grip. Red’s handshake was slightly less firm, but no less friendly.
Brad and Red paused for a few minutes to let Jeremy soak up the spectacle on the pool table.
“Oh, God, man. Fuck!” screamed the man lying on his back on the pool table with his legs up over his assailant’s shoulders. A chorus of grunts began to rumble through the crowd and crescendo with each pelvic thrust.
“Fuck him, dude! Ram that fuckin' rod up his hungry ass,” shouted someone from the audience.
“Fuck him! Fuck him hard, man! Fuck that bitch!”
“Oh, God, yes! Fuck me! Harder! Faster! Fuck me!”
“I'm gonna cum,” squealed one of the men, but it was not the one doing the fucking; it was the man on bottom. Jeremy stared in disbelief as he shot rope after rope over his own shoulder and onto the body of the man leaning forward with his dick in the shooter's mouth.
“Holy shit! How did he do that?” Jeremy asked, not even realizing that he had spoken out loud. Brad and Red just smiled. Brad put his arm around Jeremy's shoulder and leaned to his ear. “I'll explain later. Right now, let's just watch the rest of the show.”
As they did, Red made his way to the bar, and by the time he had returned with another round of beers, the man on top started to gasp, “I'm cummin'! I'm cummin'!”
“Show us, man. Show us whatcha got!”
With that, the fucker pulled out and shot his man juice all over the man on bottom. Immediately, one man on each side of the pool table rushed forward and began to lick the baby pudding off the cum-and-sweat-coated bodies. Jeremy's jaw dropped, and his eyes nearly popped out of his head.
“Now whaddya think of Southern Decadence?” asked Red, grinning from ear to ear.
“I can’t believe that people actually do that—not even in private, but especially not in public.”
“Well, it must not have bothered you too much,” responded Brad. “You could have walked away, or at least turned your head, but you didn’t.”
“To be honest, all of this goes against everything I have ever believed,” Jeremy insisted. I’m strictly a pussy man. Shit, I’ve never even been in a gay bar in my life.” He started to explain that he had only stumbled into the bar to get away from the two men outside, but then he realized that this was more information than he really needed to share.
“Well, we saw you coming out of the Clown Car,” said Red. “You must have seen some action in there.”
“Clown Car?”
“Yeah, that’s what we call that little room—cuz it reminds us of that little car in the circus that’s crammed with all those clowns. Hey, I’m not sayin’ you’re a clown,” Red quickly added, seeing the look on Jeremy’s face. “Fuck, we all go in there from time to time.”
“I take it then that you’re both gay.”
“Red here’s as gay as they come,” said Brad. “Me? I just like gittin’ my rocks off. I’m like you; I love pussy, but if there’s none handy, I’ll take it where I can get it.”
Suddenly, Jeremy remembered that Brad’s arm was still wrapped around his shoulder. He was tempted to run, but he was also still very curious. Besides, from the moment they met, quite a few other men had sized Jeremy up, but Red and Brad had fended them off, so Jeremy felt strangely safe with his new sidekicks.
“So, did ya or didn’t ya?” asked Red.
“Did I what?” asked Jeremy.
“Did you see any action in the Clown Car?”
Jeremy stood silent, but the faintest twitch of his lip and the twinkle in his eye gave him away.
“You did! You son of a bitch,” chuckled Brad as he patted his new friend on the chest. “OK, come on, out with it. What happened?” The fact that the plea sounded like a teenager begging his best friend for the saucy details of his latest hot date melted Jeremy’s defenses.
With a touch of false modesty, Jeremy snickered, “Yeah, I got a blow job.” It was part confession and part boast.
“OK, spill,” giggled Red. “Details, and don’t leave out a single thing.”
Jeremy chugged on his second beer and told Brad and Red all the sordid details of his ride in the Clown Car. The two young men poked Jeremy and teased him at key points in the story. When he was finished, Jeremy sighed and smiled, indicating that he had just made a major conquest. As if to congratulate himself, he finished off his beer in one long gulp. The three men enjoyed a nice, long laugh, and for the first time since setting foot in the French Quarter, Jeremy finally began to feel somewhat at ease.
After a couple of minutes of light banter, Jeremy paused. “You were gonna explain to me how that guy on the pool table was able to get off without even rubbing his dick.”
“Oh, sure,” said Red.
“Wait,” interrupted Brad. “Why don't we go over to the bar and have another round.”
The three men found only one vacant stool at the bar, so Jeremy sat while Brad and Red each leaned on one of his strong shoulders.
“It’s the prostate,” explained Red, responding to a question from Jeremy about the exhibit on the pool table. “Just above your rectum, there’s a gland called the prostate.” Seeing the look on Jeremy’s face that proclaimed, “I know what the prostate is, dickhead! Do you think I’m some sort of idiot?” Red quickly added, “OK, I know you know about the prostate, but did you know that it’s extra sensitive? The prostate is to a man what the clit is to a woman, and when a dick (or any object for that matter) rubs up against it, it can bring a man to a climax. That’s what happened to Kenny. Oh, that’s the guy on the pool table, by the way. Kenny.”
“Holy shit! It can really do that?”
“Fuck yeah! Want me to show you?”
Jeremy froze...until Red and Brad broke out in laughter, and then Jeremy followed suit. As if to prove that he was no threat, Red slid away from Jeremy and settled on the other side of Brad, who carried on his small talk with Jeremy.
Brad mostly asked about Jeremy, but Jeremy remained dubious about revealing too much about himself, so mostly he hedged the truth without actually lying. He said that he was from California, which was technically true since he had been born there and moved with his parents to Wyoming when he was only a year old. He said that he was the sales manager in a small company, which was partly true because he did manage a ranch that bought and sold cattle. He said that he was in town on vacation, which was true, at least until the day of the wedding reception. He said that he did not currently have a girlfriend, which he rationalized as the truth by telling himself that Amy was his fiancée, not just his girlfriend. The only actual lie that he told was to give his name as Jack instead of Jeremy, and he surely couldn’t be faulted for that since it was for self-preservation.
Red and Brad told Jeremy that they were both natives of New Orleans and had grown up together. Red revealed that he worked as a trainer at a local gym, and Brad, though he seemed reluctant to talk much about himself, identified himself as a student taking courses in criminal justice. “Oh, my future brother-in-law is a New Orleans cop,” Jeremy started to blurt out, but he caught himself in time, deciding it might be best to withhold that bit of information. Red said that he and Brad were not really a couple, just “friends with benefits.”
“I really should be going,” repeated Jeremy, rising from the stool.
“Ah, don’t be a party pooper,” said Brad as he lowered Jeremy back down with a strong hand. “The night is still young, and we’re just getting to know each other.”
By the time Jeremy resettled on the stool, the bartender had produced another round of drinks.
Brad already had one arm firmly wrapped around Jeremy’s shoulders, and now, as he engaged Jeremy in conversation about sports and cars, he slowly moved his other hand up and down the cowboy’s thigh. Brad paused in the conversation and gazed into Jeremy’s eyes...in much the same way that Amy looked at him when she was ready to make love. Jeremy sat transfixed.
Slowly, Brad leaned forward and whispered in Jeremy’s ear: “Feels good, doesn’t it?” Brad pulled back and watched for Jeremy’s response, but Jeremy remained silent and immobilized. Brad again slowly leaned forward as if to whisper in Jeremy’s ear, but this time, he gently rubbed his cheek against Jeremy’s. His words were replaced by his hot breath against Jeremy’s fair skin. He nibbled on Jeremy’s ear and then planted butterfly kisses on his cheek, working his way gradually toward his succulent lips. He again pulled back to gauge Jeremy’s reaction. The message he read on Jeremy’s face was this: I can’t believe I’m letting you do this, but I can’t seem to fight it either. So, Brad gave Jeremy a faint, loving smile, ran his hand slowly through his hair, and gently pulled him close. Their lips met in a soft, warm kiss.
