I met C. for the first time on Friday 26 April at the East End gay pub The Glory. He was visiting the country with his boyfriend A. – also an American – staying with friends we had in common. It was C’s first time in London – a treat he had given to himself as a 30th celebration.
Short and muscular, with a big, round and tight ass (thanks to many hours spent on bikes, or maybe just his genes); blonde, with a spatter of fuzz across his cheeks and upper lips; blue eyed and with a white smile, plus that friendly demeanour that most Americans have; he was one of those guys you immediately felt an attraction for, a mixture of sexual appeal with desire to cherish and protect.
At one point of the night, on The Glory’s basement dance floor, he told me he would really like to visit a leather bar, maybe the Eagle in South London, during his holiday. Instead, our friends ended up taking him to Soho, to Ku Bar and then Heaven.
I had plans on either going to the Backstreet or the Vault on Saturday night – was going to toss a coin and let it decide my fate – but then my mood just wasn’t a match so I stayed home. But on Sunday I woke up feeling great, refreshed and well up for visiting the Backstreet for it’s “anything goes” Unzipped.
Then it dawned me: maybe C. would like to join me? I’d heard from our friends that he hadn’t gone to the Eagle and that his boyfriend A. was leaving a day earlier, flying back to San Francisco, but C. had one more night in London. And the Backstreet is the oldest leather bar in London…
So I proposed a plan: “meet me outside Mile End tube station and we’ll go in together. You can go naked, or wear your underwear, leather, Lycra, or a football kit. Anything fetish.”
“I don’t want to do anything that will make me uncomfortable,” he messaged back.
“Don’t worry, we’ll just have a beer and chat! It’s more for you to see the space – have the experience before you fly home.”
Our friends took a picture of him just before he left their flat. He was smiling in the photo, and they were as proud of him as parents sending their kid off to his first day of school.
Took me 20 minutes to walk to Mile End. He stood by some bike racks, looking slightly forlorn. We hugged and I gave him my disclaimer, again: “It’s a small bar, not crowded. But it’s friendly, feels like a NYC bar from the 70s.”
We paid our £8 to get in (which entitled us to one free drink) and joined three guys in the changing area getting naked. We stripped down to our underwear (baby pink for him, bottle green for me) and handed in our belongings to reception. A smile played on his face – a smile of incredulity and amusement, of doing something for the first time.
Inside, quite a few daddies already sat by the bar or wandered around – nearly all naked. We exchanged our tickets for pints of Boddingtons and I gave him a quick tour of the place, pointing out the Tom of Finland posters, the hanging boots, the cages, the barrels; then the smoking area at the back, and how amusing it was to only be a few feet away from Mile End Road’s sidewalk.
This being my fourth visit, I was not only feeling a bit like a regular, but also recognised many faces. There was D., who I’d chatted to twice before, and also R., the guy who I’d played with the last time. I felt slightly apart from these guys, not only because of my underwear, but because of chaperoning C., who confessed he had never been to a club like that (“I’ve never seen so many arses in my life!”)
We found a corner and stood around having a nice chat about our lives, our relationships, while also checking out the guys and reminiscing about gay clubs and pubs we had visited or heard about. He seemed nervous, he said his boyfriend was mad at him for coming and made him promise “no penetrative sex”. Staring into his eyes as he talked, I was suddenly struck by how similar he looked himself to a Tom of Finland character.
The first guy that stood out for me was a guy I hadn’t seen before, a dad in his seventies with a massive cock, white beard, baldhead and a leather strap on his left wrist. He took an interest in C. and we eventually ended up chatting to him.
His name was E. and he liked to stroke his massive cock as he chatted to us. He had a cheeky smile, was a musician and knew the bars of NYC and San Francisco well (he confirmed to us that the Backstreet looked very much like old school bars in America.) At one point, while C. and I sat on the benches facing the bar, he came to stand next to us with a skinhead in tow and proceeded to fuck him while trying to catch C.’s eye.
All guys were over 40, apart from a beautiful boy with dark hair, a muscular guy in his 30s who walked around non-stop, trying to find something or someone, but clearly not doing very well at it and, of course, C.
I pointed out the boy to C. as I’d learned that was his type, and his mood perked. Then more guys started to arrive, more action started to take place around us, and C. visibly relaxed. He suggested we move around, stand in different places. We even joked about the cages and I challenged him to go inside the main one – which he did when he found the door open, putting on a little dance routine inside (the skinhead who’d been fucked by E. stood beside me at this moment and joked that someone should lock him in there.)
The newcomers were younger, and good looking. Slim guys wearing baseball caps and jockstraps. “I like him,” he said, pointing to one of the tall guys. “I’m going to go say hello.”
While he struck up a conversation with the young ones, I sat beside D. and had a chat with him. He mentioned that the American had been there the night before and that he’d say hello from me next time he saw him. Then C. returned to my side and I introduced him to D. It now felt like we were chatting to quite a few people in the venue, reaffirming my feeling of the place being extremely non-attitude.
C. and I took our drinks into the main area and stood by some barrels, watching one of his new friends, a baseball cap-wearing stud, kneel down and take a daddy cock into his mouth. C. told me that this guy and his friend, both in their 20s, were Polish. Behind us, in the shadows, stood the muscular guy who’d been walking back and forth throughout the night, searching but not finding anything, also watching proceedings. When C. rejoined his Polish friends, I stayed behind, eyeing with more interest the muscle guy.
To my delight he stared back at me and so I squeezed my cock through the fabric of my underwear. He continued to stare so I moved closer. His cock was semi-hard. We squeezed each other’s nipples and ran our hands down each other’s bodies. I kneeled down and took him in my mouth, conscious that C. might suddenly return and find me giving this guy a blowjob. I was feeling done with the chaperoning.
I got his cock nice and hard, deep throating while holding on to his muscular legs, also giving some tongue attention to his shaved balls. He lifted his ass more and more, urging my tongue to slide further down, then suddenly turned around and offered me his whole ass. I slurped at his hole, which was nice and clean, but also pretty well used (from being fucked earlier in the night? Or often throughout his life?)
When I stood up, he kept himself bent forward and guided my cock to his ass after I’d fingered him for a little bit. I hugged him from behind and revelled in running my hands all over his muscles and squeezing his nipples while my crotch rubbed against his ass. My pint of beer stood unmolested on the barrel to our left; a few guys stood next to it watching us, with many more engaged in their own activities further away.
I thrust my cock harder and harder between his legs, giving his ass some nice slaps, but also massaging his back and holding his shoulders. He jerked off to my thrusts for a bit, then slowed down to grab my cock and guide it to his hole. Without any PreP, without a condom… I pushed in.
I could see C. chatting to the Polish boys on the other side of the space, maybe oblivious of what I was up to. I enjoyed the feeling of my cock inside this stranger – but it didn’t last long. I warned him I was going to cum and he said so was he. I blew my load inside him and we slowed down. He shot his load on the floor then turned around, sighed and gave me a quick kiss before moving off.
I leaned against the wall and grabbed my pint for a refreshing drink. It was the first time I’d shot my cum inside a guy’s ass. Totally irresponsible… unsafe. But I hadn’t been able to stop myself in that moment.
As I stood there enjoying my buzz, a dad stopped by me and grabbed my cock.
“I just came,” I told him. He smiled and leaned down, taking my cock in his mouth. He slurped and licked, sucked all remaining cum, plus gave my cock a complete tongue wash. I massaged his head and drank my beer while he worked on me. “Thanks mate,” I said when he stood up again. “No problem,” he smiled.
The night began to unwind, it was close to 10pm. C. brought me to the Polish boys and introduced me to them. They were gorgeous and sexy, and seemed to enjoy C. a lot. We joked around for a bit, imagined what it would be like if we did a marketing campaign to bring more young guys to the Backstreet (“You’ll be my poster boys!” I told them.) We decided to leave together and then decide outside what to do next. The remaining daddies who were sat at the bar waved us a cheerful goodnight.
All dressed up, walking up Grove Road, I told them I was calling it a night. The three of them decided to grab some drinks at the nearby Co-op and continue their acquaintanceship at the Polish boys flat, with the promise of safely putting C. in a bus afterwards so he could return to our friends’.
The next morning, I found out from C. that he was “in the doghouse” with his boyfriend as the hours spent with the Polish boys (as I imagined!) turned out to be very passionate and sexy…