Weekend at the Vault 139, Part 2

Vault 139

I went on a date on Valentine’s Day – a first for me. He claimed on Scruff to be a Dom Top. On paper, he seemed perfect: tall, into the same music as me, funny, older, ginger beard, big boned, big boner. But the guy I met in a gay pub downtown was the complete opposite: soft-spoken, chronically shy and chronically ill. Lovely, lovely person, but I felt zero attraction to him. I think it was his timidity that turned me off.

I was left with two choices: leave my freshly bought pint behind and run away, or chat with him and try to make the most of the evening. So I stayed and we ended up getting along, like new friends, and I even snogged him (he did smell nice and was cuddly in his own gentle way). However, I promised myself on my walk home that I wouldn’t use hook up apps anymore. Guys invariably turned out to be completely different from what they portrayed online.

I spent the day after my first visit to Vault 139 lying around the flat, reflecting on that adventure, feeling too lazy to brave the cold outside. My boyfriend was spending the weekend with his new lover and I was all alone. Before I knew it, I was back on the apps, chatting to guys.

One Australian guy based in West London woofed at me on Scruff. We were both horny and up for meeting up in the evening. We talked about going somewhere first for a beer, then heading to XXL club together (a place I’d never been to but would be keen to check out.) I told him I’d been to the Vault the night before and he suggested we meet there first and go from there. We agreed we’d meet by the bar at 8.30pm.

I took a long, relaxing bath and meditated. I sent out good vibes to everyone in the Vault – I wanted to return to that cruise bar with a different set of eyes, give it a second chance, and not feel judgement towards anyone in there. I then douched and took my PrEP.

As I was temporarily staying in King’s Cross, I decided to swing by the gay pub Central Station on my way to the Vault, to check how busy it was. As I walked the streets, I felt free in a way I hadn’t felt before in a long time. It was the kind of freedom that some people feel when they go to the cinema by themselves, where they populate their time with enjoyable things just for themselves – where they are not afraid of being alone. Here I was, open to the night ahead, with no fixed time on when I had to be home.

Central Station was empty, so I kept walking. Just before I walked down the Vault’s steps, I checked Scruff. The Australian guy was showing as 5km away. I went in and sat by the bar, sipping on a can of beer, watching the guys, watching the porn, and waiting for him to arrive.

The vibe in the bar was completely different from the night before. There were more guys around, and better looking ones too. A DJ played more fun music – Madonna and Lady Gaga remixes. I went to the bathroom and took a piss. A skinhead chatted to me by the urinals and later kept looking at me at the bar. Then a tall, skinny guy in his 20s sat nearby and caught my attention. Tousled black hair, baggy trousers and T-shirt: he looked like a straight guy who had wandered in by mistake. He was fidgety and soon went off to cruise the corridors.

Half-an-hour went by and the Australian didn’t show up. I decided he’d stood me up and there was no harm in me going to check out the action. I saw a short rugby player type with a handsome face, trying to join the action in the main play area; I saw a tall, big black guy with a baseball cap, who I’m sure I’ve seen before in the Carnaby Street toilets; I saw muscular guys in their 30s hooking up; I saw a guy in his 80s, shuffling around in a very delicate manner; I saw the usual types of guys you see in cruisy toilets.

Near the end of the corridor with all the salon-style alcoves, I spotted the young Tousled Black Hair guy from the bar with another guy in his 20s, also quite fit, with short dark hair and a handsome face, in a white T-shirt. They briefly kissed and Tousled Black Hair gestured for them to go inside the last salon-style alcove. As the salon-style doors offer no privacy, it was easy for me to stand just outside, looking in at them. I watched them kiss, then the young guy in the white T-shirt suck Tousled Black Hair’s cock. Very quickly, he turned around and bent over so Tousled Black Hair could slide inside his ass.

Very suddenly, Tousled Black Hair pulled out, pulled up his baggy trousers and left. White T-shirt boy dressed up quickly and followed him, maybe just as disconcerted as us the audience as to why it had suddenly stopped. When White T-shirt boy returned, I brazenly went up to him and asked if he’d let me suck his cock. “No,” he replied.

I moved away quickly, back into the main orgy space, and focused my attention on what was happening there (which was similar to the night before, with a mixture of guys sucking or getting sucked, and others watching.) After a while, I was back outside the last alcove, watching the porn on the TV just above it. A tall, fit daddy with cropped silver hair and a smooth face then joined me by the TV. He was in his fifties but I could see he had a jock’s body. I smiled at him and he smiled back, and so I gestured at the alcove. He agreed and we went inside together.

I went straight down on my knees as he unzipped and pulled down his trousers. His cock was already hard, lying sideways in his y-fronts. A juicy, thick cock, about 8 inches long. I started licking and sucking it through the fabric until he pulled it out and fed it to me. It was a thing of beauty and I was suddenly in heaven sucking it, licking it, and running my tongue around his shaved balls.

He lay down on the leather bed as I continued to suck him. I then started noticing tons of pre-cum coming out. I told him so and he smiled: “yeah, there’s lots of pre-cum for you.” He pulled forward the foreskin and made me lick it, play with it, suck the pre-cum that kept coming. But then, all too quickly, he stood up and pulled his trousers up.

“Thanks for that,” he said. I stood up as well and sat on the bed, and then patted his ass as he left. I instinctively knew he had just arrived at the venue and wasn’t ready to blow his load (later, it again made me think how “taking a load” in these places is a sort of badge of honour, because it means you got the load that other guys worked for, like me, but didn’t get to enjoy.)

There were two guys standing outside who had been watching me suck the daddy’s dick. One of them was Tousled Black Hair. I gestured with my finger for him to come in, and he did. He unzipped his trousers and pulled a flaccid monster from his boxer shorts. I took his cock and started sucking… and I tasted White T-shirt boy’s ass! (Later, I would also savour this irony that I had tasted his ass even if I hadn’t been allowed to taste his cock.)

As I worked on Tousled Black Hair’s cock and tried to get it hard, I ran one of my hands up his smooth, flat chest. He was all limbs and smooth skin, like a giant boy. As his cock started to grow in my mouth (and it would grow into an impressive 9 inch monster), he pulled a little bottle out of his trousers and sniffed it.

“Do you want some?” he offered, and I took the bottle of poppers.

I’d only done poppers once before, when I was sitting with friends in a bar in Brazil, and one of them offered for me to try it with him. The high had been impressive, but quick.

I sniffed from his bottle, returned it to him and went back to sucking his cock. Suddenly, nothing else existed in the universe except his body and mine. My mouth on his cock. Him fucking my face. The intensity between us. My hand running across his warm stomach. The music outside. The taste, the smell of him. It was an amazing experience, a full bones and meat connection.

Then it was over, his cock was hard in my mouth, and he was pulling it out, slapping my face and my lips with it, grabbing my head. Then, like the daddy before him, he suddenly pulled his trousers up. Now he was going to go off and find others to play with – until someone eventually “won the load”.

“You have an amazing cock,” I said.

“And you are an amazing cocksucker,” he replied before disappearing down the corridor.

Feeling more relaxed with the environment, I now wandered easily past the guys and casually watched what they were up to. White T-shirt boy and Tousled Black Hair got back together in the main orgy room, then separated; then later I spotted them together again, then separated… it was a dance they played while I was there, to the point that White T-shirt boy wouldn’t bother putting his cock inside his trousers – he walked everywhere with his erection sticking out and with a longing look on his face… a longing for Tousled Black Hair, I think.

Meanwhile, the fit daddy was in the middle of an orgy in the main room, with different guys taking turns on his cock. I noticed a guy come in and join us, slightly shorter than me, t-shirt that showed some muscles and a slight beer gut. He looked back at me and I could tell in the semi-darkness he had a nice beard and handsome face.

A bit later, back at the last alcove under the TV porn, leaning against the wall, I was joined by someone: it was the recently-arrived bear. Again, I gestured with my head at the alcove. Again, I received a smile and a consenting nod.

This time, it was a case of grabbing each other and kissing. Of pulling each other’s T-shirts off, licking each other’s nipples, grabbing each other’s asses and cocks through trousers – then the trousers coming off and each taking turns to lean down and swallow the other’s cocks (his was just slightly larger than mine, about 6 inches.)

“What’s your name? Where are you from?” he asked.  I told him and he said his name was Andy and he lived just outside London. He was not only fun to play with, he also seemed like a nice guy.

Meanwhile, a little audience had grown outside. One of the guys watching was Tousled Black Hair.

Andy and I stood naked, side by side, in full view of these voyeurs. Andy went to town on my cock until the point when I warned him I was about to cum.  He worked harder on my cock until a massive orgasm ran through me. I couldn’t help but grunt loudly as I shot all my cum down his throat.

“That was a massive load,” Andy said, slightly in awe. I was now completely drained and relaxed. I gave him a kiss and we put our clothes back on. There was no need for me to deal with Andy’s load; it was silently acknowledged that he’d go back out there and find someone to take care of him.

And indeed he did, not much longer, in the orgy room. I watched him from afar get a blowjob; when he saw me looking, he smiled and poked his tongue out. I reciprocated. (Thinking back, I should have probably gone up to him and kissed him while he received his blowjob… next time.)

Only an hour and a half had passed by the time I left the Vault.  It felt like longer.  I went by Central Station again on my way home and this time there was disco music, people on the dance floor, people playing pool in the back, people outside having a cigarette. I popped inside for a nightcap pint and stood by the bar, revelling in the pub’s party vibes, revelling on the nice adventure I’d just had.

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Weekend at the Vault 139, Part 1

The Vault 139

After many years of curiosity, I finally visited the cruise bar Vault 139 this weekend. Not only once, but twice!

My first visit happened Friday night, after some drinks with work colleagues. The drinks had been a bit tense because of awkwardness amongst colleagues – so by the time I left them, I was not only a bit tipsy but in a slightly negative state of mind.

I stopped at Sainsbury’s for some juice, and feeling a bit more fortified decided to bite the bullet and visit the joint. What was the worst that could happen? £9 to get in, which included a free drink; and I could just look around and leave if I didn’t feel comfortable.

Going down the entrance stairs, I could hear club music from behind the entrance door. Inside, a red bar ran across the left-side corner, with porn on screens, stools for drinkers, and beaded curtains to part and walk through to rooms and corridors beyond. To my right, a young fella stood behind a window where you handed in your belongings (placed in a crate) so you could wander around with ease (they sensibly encouraged me to check in my phone and wallet.) Past the coat check I could see a wide play area where guys stood in small groups, tentatively trying to start something.

I got myself a can of Kronebeurg and asked the bartender if I could wander around with it, which he said was fine. There was an odd mixture of guys about – some by the bar like myself, some sitting on sofas looking at their phones, some standing in corridors checking who was going past, some waiting to go into one of the four glory hole cabins, some already fucking or getting fucked inside the not-private-at-all alcoves underneath arches, and some in the play areas (either side of the bar). Young guys stood out as unusual in the space: most guys were average sized or slightly overweight, and over 40. There were definitely no muscle marys hanging around. There was maybe a total of 30 guys, and the space wasn’t too big – you got the lay of it very quickly.

The first guy who called my attention was a fit, shirtless daddy standing in the corner of the largest playroom, stroking his cock. Later, I saw him on his knees, working hard on someone’s cock. Half an hour later, at the bar, he bragged in an American accent to someone else that he usually took at least 8 loads on Naked Night (Thursday’s). I would come to infer that taking a load is a sign of pride in this club – most guys don’t want to shoot too soon, so you may work hard on their cocks only for them to suddenly pull away and move on to the next dude. So, if you get a load, you must have done something really good!

Like the fit daddy, many of the guys seemed like regulars. And like all gay saunas, they wandered around aimlessly, silently, hoping to catch that special someone who would get them off. (Waiting for Chris Pratt to arrive, as someone perceptively wrote in an online forum.) It was really only in the play areas that people seemed to lose their inhibitions, going down on their knees and sucking whatever cock was offered to them, or bending over and taking anonymous cock. I found it all strangely unsexy, mechanical – I just couldn’t get hard. But I did appreciate that they could let themselves go so completely, without any judgement, and accept whoever came along. Anything went for them.

Some guys would brush against me, or follow me for a bit, but I was not relaxed enough to completely accept an encounter with them. And some just didn’t do it for me, though one young black guy in particular, quite fit, would have been a great hook up, and I’m sort of kicking myself now for not responding to his interest.

I did see a shortish, bald guy with a nice rugby player body and followed him for a bit. Outside the glory holes, I stood by him and gently brushed my arm against his arm. He squeezed his cock and lifted his arm, as if to show me his guns and armpits, but at the same time he seemed completely uninterested. He suddenly moved to chat with an acquaintance and I was left with nothing better to do than go hunting again.

I was at the end of my second can of beer and just about to leave when a guy came out of one of the glory hole cabins and stopped right in front of me.

“Hey,” he smiled and leaned in for a kiss. His mouth tasted of cum. I smiled back at him and he pressed his body closer. His tongue went hard into my mouth again and I got a familiar feeling of doubt: should I sneak away and leave or could I play a little bit with him, see where things went?

He had a wide face, grey stubble and dark short hair. He was a few inches taller than me and strong, with a nice firm ass and natural muscles all over his body. We told each other our names and he told me he was originally from Johannesburg, South Africa, but that he lived outside London. His accent was quite thick. A few minutes later he asked, again, for my name.

He said he wanted some time alone with me but there was a line up for the private cabins, so he took my hand and led me to one of the semi-private alcoves (they are only private in that there’s no light in them, but their doors are saloon-style and very easy to open by the curious – you can see nearly everything that happens in them.)

We started making out and exploring each others bodies. I got out of my shoes and trousers and lay down on the black vinyl bed, my cock hard in his mouth. His, on the other hand, remained limp.

“I’m sorry,” he kept saying. “I don’t usually do this. I don’t like to be watched.”

But I’d already guessed that he’d just shot his load in the glory hole and hadn’t recovered yet. I told him not to worry, I was enjoying the body contact and kissing. He had a nice salt and pepper hairy chest and lovely fuzz down his asscheeks. He went back to sucking my cock and slid a finger into my hole. “I really want to fuck you,” he said. “But not here.”

“I’d like that,” I said, and I meant it. “Do you like toys?” he asked. “I’d love to use some toys on you.” I told him he could use anything on me, and that once we were alone in a bedroom, he’d be in charge. That made him very happy.

“This is what I’ll do to you,” he said and he stuck his tongue in my ass and rimmed me. “Before I fuck you. I don’t usually rim guys. But your ass tastes so good,” and he offered me his finger for me to smell (which I noticed he cheekily then wiped on my t-shirt when we went back to kissing.)

I was starting to really enjoy myself. But he returned to his apologies as his cock remained limp, so we put on our clothes again and went back to the bar.

“I want your number. What’s your name again? You are not going to give me a fake number, are you?” His hair had gone really sweaty though the rest of his body remained dry. There was something wild-eyed about his stare. “How old are you?” he asked. Forty-two, I said. And you? “35,” he replied. He didn’t look a day younger than 45, which wasn’t a problem for me, but it made me a bit sad he felt the need to lie. He also wouldn’t believe me when I said he was sexy and handsome.

When he turned to the bar to ask for pen and paper, I pressed myself against his back and felt his chest muscles over his t-shirt. I loved the feeling of being with a guy taller and bigger than me. We kissed some more by the bar and swapped candy with our tongues (free candy provided by the bar, for you to get that cock taste out of your mouth.) He then said he needed a slash. He was surprised to find me still standing by the bar when he returned; he pulled out a cigarette and said he now needed a smoke.

Feeling a bit more horny and relaxed, I decided to go for another walk by myself around the area. But it was just more of the same: guys standing around, guys engaging in some jerking off, guys sucking cock – guys that weren’t really doing it for me. Then, who do I spot snogging someone by one of the alcove rooms? My South African guy!

I realised it was a good time to leave, and that the chances of him remembering who I was, or using my mobile number, were practically nil. On the walk home, I contemplated the evening: I felt proud of myself for having the courage to visit the bar, but I concluded it was not the kind of envirnoment for me and I would probably never visit it again.


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Upcoming posts

Posts I need to update this blog with:

  • The affair with the Lithuanian boy
  • The hot and sexy half-Turkish, half-French guy who gave me an STD
  • The Romanian builder I picked up at Hyde Park
  • The guy with a 10-inch cock who I hooked up with on Squirt
  • The builder I met in a Brazilian metro toilet
  • The two sauna visits in São Paulo, Brazil – 269 Chilli Pepper and Wild Thermas Club

All of the above happened last year and has been written down in notebooks. I just need to put my ass down and type them out.

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Blowjob Hungry

Last week, I visited G.A.Y. Late for the first time, with a Lithuanian boy I’ve been dating for the past 10 months, plus some of his friends. I had already been drinking with some co-workers before joining them; by the time I got there, I was happy, horny and a bit high on life.

There was a nice mixture of people in the club, the music was fun, and it felt easy to chat to random people (mostly when waiting for my turn at the bar). The Lithuanian boy had his sister with him, so I couldn’t exactly grab him in full view, but I kept sneaking kisses whenever nobody was looking. He enjoyed it a lot.

I walked home alone around 4 in the morning, past other drunks, on the way to the flat in King’s Cross I’m currently subletting. I was so horny I started eyeing solitary guys walking past me and messaging random guys on Grindr, asking if they’d like a blowjob.

A few said yes but then the chats didn’t progress (which always seems to be the case with hook up apps.) One guy, however, in his 20s, bearded, told me to come over to his place. He was going to leave the door open, the lights off. He wanted to get blown in the dark.  What did I do? Sent him a pic of my body… and burst his fantasy bubble. He messaged back, disappointed. He hadn’t asked to see any photos. He wanted the surprise of who would show up.

I ended up going to sleep unsatisfied.

Last night, my boyfriend went out drinking with friends and never came home. Apparently, he ended up going home with a hot spanish guy he’s fancied for ages. Really hope they hooked up! 🙂

I’ve douched, showered, taken my PrEP and I’ll be leaving the house soon for lunch with friends.  I’m determined that today is the day I’ll visit my first London sauna.  I’m going to Pleasuredrome, a sauna I’ve wondered about for so very long. Today, I’m finally going past those front doors and spending some good hours with other Londoners.

Edit. Just heard back from boyfriend. They did hook up! Very happy and pleased for him. 🙂

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Public Toilet Sex and Shame

Photo of men cruising a Berlin public toilet, copyright Marc Martin

Photo of men cruising a Berlin public toilet, copyright Marc Martin

A few months ago, a reader left a comment: “can I email you?” I replied with a “what’s up” and he explained his therapist had encouraged him to drop me a line (which he thought was funny as he rarely did what his therapist told him to do.)

He talked about being stuck in boring presentations at work, his mind on which toilets he could cruise afterwards. But also of feeling ashamed and dirty, hoping he could speak to someone who did the same as him. About feeling “so fucking alien and abhorrent all the time”.

And he asked a question which I extend to all readers of this blog: do you wonder whether you are the only one who feels shame when cruising? That the other guys are “happy go lucky, cock swinging, cum swallowing free spirits?”

I’ve been thinking about a blog post on this subject since then. Him and I have chatted over email in the meantime and I have to apologise A. for taking so long to reply to you! But I think I finally found your answer, and it’s thanks to an exhibition currently taking place in Berlin.

A new exhibition at Berlin’s Schwules* Museum explores the history of toilet cruising through photos, historical objects, and oral histories. The exhibition Fenster Zum Klo [Window to the Toilet]: Public Toilets, Private Affairs is by the French photographer Marc Martin.

The exhibition’s page talks about how “such activities are, even today, more synonymous with shame than with gay pride. And yet, these public toilets, whose history is intertwined with the lives and adventures of many gays, trans people, escorts, libertines, are also unlikely bastions of freedom.”

I haven’t seen the exhibition so can’t comment on it specifically, but the images I’ve seen online as well as reviews in some websites seem positive. Marc Martin’s point seems to be that these places, far from being focal points for shame, were the places where men met when they couldn’t go anywhere else, when paper ads and hook up apps didn’t exist. In a way, gay cruising is part of the process in the 20th century of bringing out into the open gay men’s sexuality, even if it was a (not always) secretive act.

VICE has two articles on the exhibition. The first is an interview with Marc Martin. Marc talks about how “these so-called squalid, gloomy and stinking places were incredible places of social mixing: gays and straights of all social strata, men of all ages, cultural and religious backgrounds came together there.”

One interesting point from the interview is that there’s a whole history of lesbians using public toilets also for  hookups, which is still  unknown to the greater culture.

The other VICE article is by Jeff Leavell, who talks about the freedom and beauty he found cruising for sex. It’s interesting to hear his first experiences as a teenager in New York, and I agree with him when he says that “cruising can bring together people from wildly different paths in life, and that’s part of its magic.” I can relate to this – I’ve hooked up and met guys from so many different cultures, ages and backgrounds – as has been documented in this blog!

Some people think cruising is dying (public toilets are certainly shutting down) and this might be the result of gay hookup apps. But I disagree there’s no longer an interest. I think there’s something in the mystery of “who am I gonna find there?” of cruising that’s more appealing than looking at photos on your mobile phone. The cruising spots that are still open in London are so filled with guys you sometimes can’t even move.

Some guys like the element of risk, or the chance of running into a straight guy who wants to experiment. For many gay guys, this is their first encounter with other gay men. It’s all valid, and all good in my opinion. But to answer the reader’s original questions, I think there are guys who feel shameful and dirty about cruising in toilets – Marc Martin talks about in his interview about an older man who cried at the exhibition as nobody knew he’d met his long term partner (who had recently passed away) in a cruisy toilet. They were too ashamed to tell others.

I wish I could visit Marc Martin’s exhibition before it closes in February 2018. Here’s to hoping it’s a great success and ends up travelling to Britain. 😉

Please share your thoughts in the comments section.  Would love to hear about your first time in a toilet, or maybe why you’ve never cruised one.  Let’s share more, let’s learn more from each other and, above all else, let’s not feel ashamed of ourselves. I personally feel really lucky to be a gay guy, to be part of this group of men in the world that are so diverse and beautiful, and I hope you feel the same (or are on your way to feeling it.)

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The Blue Room


A week ago, my boyfriend and I travelled to the South Bank to meet some friends for dinner.

Outside Embankment station, my boyfriend said he needed to buy a toothbrush and would go look for it on Charing Cross. I told him I’d meet him at the restaurant and immediately thought of the Royal Festival Hall’s toilets, and of quickly dropping by to check them out.

First stop was the 1st floor toilet – the one right at the back, near the stage for free concerts. Usually there’s one or two guys hanging around those urinals (sometimes they even give the impression of having been standing there for hours!) There was just one guy washing his hands, a middle-aged Indian man, on his way out.

Tried the ground floor toilet next. An older man with glasses and white hair, carrying a plastic bag (real air of professor about him), followed me down the stairs. But when he saw me try to open the door and find it locked, he spun around and went back up. I took the side exit door and left the building.

I’d read online about the 4th floor blue toilet, so decided it was worth a quick visit to it before I joined my friends and boyfriend. I walked around the Festival Hall, went back in and took the elevator up to the 4th floor. The area was deserted. I went up a short flight of stairs and found the toilets to my left, tucked in a corner.

There was just one guy standing by the urinals, clearly cruising. He was short, bald, with a salt-and-pepper beard, a protruding belly and muscular tits. He reminded me of one of those muscular dwarves from the Lord of the Rings films.

After a few moments of tugging, we turned to each other and showed our cocks. His was about the same size as mine, 5.5 inches, but thicker, and with a big bush. He gestured for me to join him by his other side, away from the opening doors.  I did so.

Very soon we had our hands on each other’s cocks. He slid his hand under my balls, looking for my asshole. I moved closer to give him easier access. Then he slid his hand to my back and cupped my ass. I worked his shaft with my hand then leaned down and took him into my mouth. With his other hand he held my head and facefucked me. When I got up again, he opened his shirt and unbuckled his trousers. Then he started working on my belt.

I ran my hand through his thick chest hair. It was moist and smelt of cologne. I found one of his hard nipples and leaned down to chew it, but he whispered: ” no chewing, no chewing.” When I started licking and sucking it instead, he groaned “good boy”.

Suddenly the door opened and we fumbled back towards the urinals, pulling our trousers up. It was the professor type with his plastic bag. He went into the bathroom’s sole cubicle and shut the door. We went back to playing with each other. I sucked his cock a little more, and when I came up for air he slid his hand up my stomach to my chest, then back to my ass.

I felt too coscious about the noise we were making, with the other guy inside the cubicle. There were also my friends and boyfriend waiting for me. So I zipped up, patted his ass as a goodbye, and headed for the restaurant.

They were all sitting together, drinks already in front of them. “Where have you been?” my boyfriend asked with a humorous smile. He had guessed what I’d been up to.  I sat down and shared a private smile with him. And I hoped my friends wouldn’t smell cock on me as I leaned in for a cheek kiss.

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I’ve been fascinated for some time now with bisexual men. Do they really exist? Are they closeted gay men who can’t/won’t make the full transition to gay? How do they manage their desires? Do they like men and women equally, or does it vary down a scale? Not necessarily original questions, I know – I think the world has been asking itself the same questions for a long time now.

My curiosity may have been born when I was a teenager and fell in love with my best friend – a straight guy popular with the girls. I held the hope he would turn out to be gay, or bisexual, and fall back in love with me… but it wasn’t meant to be. He loved me and showed a lot of affection, but it was purely as a best friend – as a brother – but to my young, naive self, it was very confusing, and ultimately painful.

Five years ago, I visited a gay sauna for the first time and shagged a guy who claimed to have a girlfriend waiting for him at home. Then last year, I shagged a married guy with two kids. I didn’t get a chance to ask them about their sexuality – I wish I had.

I’m a firm believer in hearing each person out, letting each individual story speak for itself. What fits one person doesn’t necessarily fit anybody else. I asked recently a reader of this blog, HungMark, a guy who identifies himself as bisexual, how it was for him, and he gave me an insightful answer. But then I thought – why not extend the question to all readers of this blog?

So if there are any bisexual men reading this, I would love to hear from you. How did you discover you were bisexual? How does it work in your relationships? In your attraction to others? Does it perfectly describe how you feel? Or perhaps you don’t even think of yourself as bisexual, but as queer? (In the sense that you are attracted by the person and not by their gender or sexuality?)

Feel free to pose back any questions to me if you wish, or even challenge my views.

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