To coincide with DC’s annual gay pride in June, a “Dungeon Dance” was being held at the WUST building at the corner of 9th and V Streets. I’d been to Dungeon Dances before and decided to go once again wondering if, unlike at previous Dungeon Dances, there was any luck (read: sex) to be had, either there or by picking up someone to go home with.
It was around 11 p.m. when I got to WUST and the place was already hopping, the front entry brightly lit like a Hollywood movie premier and swarming with dozens of people in leather greeting others in leather. I didn’t own any leather clothing, so I did my best in blue jeans and an old flannel shirt that I had (floozy!) ripped off most of the buttons.
Inside, the cavernous auditorium was mostly dark and filled with the familiar trappings of sweaty black leather, cigarette smoke, laser lights, and very loud, pounding New York-style club music. There was a lit stage at one end with people setting up a giant cross shaped like an X and other stuff I couldn’t really see. The main WUST floor was ringed by a dark balcony lined with men staring down at us on the main floor, or groups in various stages of anonymous groping.
I fell into the usual routine of standing in line to get a plastic cup of beer, standing in line to pee, or slowly working my way through a sea of warm, seminude male bodies. As I went, I said hello to a few acquaintances or watched the demonstrations of various sadomasochisms on the stage.
At one point I was both amused and repelled by the appearance on stage of a short-haired woman who looked uncomfortably like one of my former housemates, except this woman was naked, tied to the X cross, and getting whipped by another woman. (My former housemate would never have done this, I carefully reminded myself.)
But after a couple of hours slowly wandering in circles with my plastic cup, I wasn’t having much luck making eye contact with men I thought were good looking enough to try to pick up. I’d just about had enough of drowning in the men and loud music when I decided my best chance for fun would be to join the concupiscenti up on the balcony and find a busy corner where I could get my dick played with.
I found the staircase in a corner of the building and went up, taking my shirt off and tucking it into the back of my belt. It was much darker up on the balcony, the only illumination was coming up from the main floor. I made my way toward a crowd of a dozen or so men in a corner, mostly twisted around each other, a few turning to eye me. I reached up to give a friendly scratch to the bare chest of a man in front of me. He looked around at me, looked away again, then put one arm around me.
But I wanted to get deeper into it and moved on, gently shouldering my way through the dark knot of men, hoping to find someone hot-looking enough to bother with.
Someone bumped me hard from behind which pressed me up against the side of a good-looking, young, shirtless guy with a goatee who was making out with another good-looking, young, shirtless guy. Goatee paused in his making-out and looked around at me, leaving his friend to stare blankly into space. The music coming up from the dance floor below was too loud to talk or hear, so I just mouthed Sorry! but not feeling at all sorry for bumping into a hottie.
But before I could intrude further on Goatee and his space friend, Hands from Nowhere began fumbling with my belt and zipper, yanking my pants open and pulling out my half-hard dick. It was pretty dark but when I looked down, I could just barely make out a fat guy on his knees, naked except for his briefs, slurping away at my cock while he held the also-springy cocks of Goatee and friend.
I looked back at Goatee, and as I pushed my face nearer to his, he leaned forward and gave me a quick kiss, politely keeping his tongue in his mouth. I kissed him back, then rubbed my beard across his neck, smelling his warm skin, and ran my fingers across his chest and into his armpits, damp from sweat.
While Slurper was having his way with our cocks, Goatee turned back to his friend. However, I stole Goatee’s attention once more. (Jesus Christ, dude!) I took his hand and moved it down to my cock, which I had pulled out of the Slurper’s mouth, moving Goatee’s arm until he (duh) got the idea and began jerking me off.
It was all working just fine until Slurper ruined everything again by knocking Goatee’s hand away and stuffing me back into his mouth. I was close to cumming by now and turned away from the Slurper, jerking myself off while I leaned against Goatee who thoughtfully bit my shoulder.
I put my mouth to Goatee’s ear and asked what his name was, but the music was too loud to hear what he said. He turned away and resolutely buried himself in his friend.
So that being that, I stuffed my half-hard, saliva-cummy wet dick into my pants, zipped up, and disentangled myself from Goatee, Slurper, and the rest of the dark, heaving man-mass. On my way out, just for the fun of it, I picked the cutest bear I could find to ask the time, put my shirt back on, and walked out through the cool night air to the car.
I would not have known Goatee if I saw him on the street the next day.