I was 22 years old and stationed on an aircraft carrier in Alameda, California; across the Bay from San Francisco. It was a Friday night and I was horny and fed up with the military attitude. I just wanted to get away and get a good fuck in the process. I hopped in my car and drove across the bridge to San Francisco, simply known as The City by those who love it.
I parked and walked a couple of blocks to The Stud, a popular dance club in the heart of The City. I could hear the dance tunes blasting out of the doorway a block away. I paid the $3 gate fee and proceeded straight to the bar and ordered a double Southern Comfort and Coke. I gulped half of it down and waited the few seconds for the liquid fire to subside and be replaced with a slight swimming in my head. I could feel the joints and muscles of my arms and legs relax and the headaches of military life melt away.
Now I was ready to be social. I then slammed the rest of my drink and ordered another. I turned away from the bar and looked around to see who and what had shown up tonight. It was busy, but nowhere near as busy as it would get over the next 2 hours, as it was only about 9 p.m. I often suspected that the two huge leather-clad studs that worked the door had huge levers hidden somewhere to cram the guys in, like the Tokyo subway system has.
There were young guys and old daddies, leather studs and drag queens, guys playing pool and guys playing pocket pool. Around the corner at the end of the bar I could see two hot young studs sitting closely, one whose right hand was hidden below the level of the bar, but the rhythmic up and down motion of his bicep indicated that he was giving his partner a hand job. Every once in a while the guy getting jacked would tilt his head slightly back and suck in a deep breath, obviously enjoying a flash of electricity running through his throbbing cock.
I parked and walked a couple of blocks to The Stud, a popular dance club in the heart of The City. I could hear the dance tunes blasting out of the doorway a block away. I paid the $3 gate fee and proceeded straight to the bar and ordered a double Southern Comfort and Coke. I gulped half of it down and waited the few seconds for the liquid fire to subside and be replaced with a slight swimming in my head. I could feel the joints and muscles of my arms and legs relax and the headaches of military life melt away.
Now I was ready to be social. I then slammed the rest of my drink and ordered another. I turned away from the bar and looked around to see who and what had shown up tonight. It was busy, but nowhere near as busy as it would get over the next 2 hours, as it was only about 9 p.m. I often suspected that the two huge leather-clad studs that worked the door had huge levers hidden somewhere to cram the guys in, like the Tokyo subway system has.
There were young guys and old daddies, leather studs and drag queens, guys playing pool and guys playing pocket pool. Around the corner at the end of the bar I could see two hot young studs sitting closely, one whose right hand was hidden below the level of the bar, but the rhythmic up and down motion of his bicep indicated that he was giving his partner a hand job. Every once in a while the guy getting jacked would tilt his head slightly back and suck in a deep breath, obviously enjoying a flash of electricity running through his throbbing cock.