Friday, August 19, 2016

I Go Down on Every Guy at a Bath House in Western Illinois

Plains, August 2016

On the way back from a visit to my parents in Indiana, I saw a listing for a bath house called The Hole in the Wall, in the countryside outside of Galesburg, Illinois.

I've been to bath houses all over Europe and the United States, but always in big cities.  In the cornfields outside a small town in western Illinois?  Unique.

At $25 for a day pass, it was a little pricey, but I was intrigued.  Who would come to a bath house in such an isolated location?  Truckers driving north from Cincinnati?

I wouldn't mind going down on a few truckers....

It would ordinarily be easy to get to the Hole in the Wall, but today there was a massive construction project with flagmen directing traffic -- sure to scare away the closeted.

Then you had to drive behind a gigantic liquor store with redneck pick-up trucks in the parking lot -- sure to rouse fears of homophobia and scare away the skittish.

Jimmy Eat World

The front desk clerk introduced himself as Mike: in his 20s, tall, slim, with a round face, a short beard, and thick brown hair.  He was wearing a "Jimmy Eat World" T-shirt and very tight jeans.

I wouldn't mind eating Jimmy Eat World, I thought.  But I've never seen a bath house employee having sex with a customer.  

"We're busiest from 12 to 2," he said, "All the businessmen come in during lunch hours.  Then it's kind of dead until 3, when we get the students from Knox College."

I checked the clock on the wall.  3:00 pm sharp.  College boys, here I come!

"How about if I give you the grand tour?" he said with a grin.

"Can you take time away from your desk?"

"I can do whatever I want --  I own the place.  It's my third moneymaking business in town -- I also run that liquor store up front, and I inherited a restaurant from my parents.  But I give this place my personal attention, if you know what I mean."  He touched my shoulder.

Inside was a big lounge area with tables and chairs, a bar, a menu board offering hamburgers and pizzas, a row of arcade games, and a rack of DVD porn.  Deserted.

A locker room.  Deserted.  Mike chatted with me while I undressed and put on a towel.

"I can't wait to work out at your gym," I said.

"Oh, we don't have a gym here.  All we have are two hot tubs."

No gym facilities!

Next Mike showed me the outdoor lounge area -- deserted.
Corridors of private rooms -- deserted.
A room with two hot tubs -- deserted.

"Am I the only guy here?" I asked.

"Well, the construction outside has decreased the crowds a little."

A little?

A very nice bondage room with a rack, a pillory, and some leather equipment.

A playroom with beds and video porn playing.

A glory hole room.

"No gym facilities, and the place is completely empty," I said angrily.  "You could have warned me in advance."

"Sorry.  I figured you knew, since there were no cars in the parking lot but mine."  He touched my shoulder again.  "But if you want, I'll keep you company while you're waiting for the Knox College crowd."

We started kissing.  I felt under Mike's shirt -- a thin, sallow chest.  Skinny arms.  And cupped his bulge -- what there was of it.  Princess Teeny-Tiny.

Well, he was cute anyway.  We fell onto one of the beds for 69 until he finished with a groan.  Then I moved into interfemoral, but at that moment the buzzer rang.

"Whoops, that's my cue.  I'm ready for my close up, Mr. DeMille!"  He pulled his pants and t-shirt on and ran down the stairs.

Sex with a bath house attendant wasn't as great as I expected.  But the Knox College crowds were on their way!

I hung out in the video room for awhile, waiting for the crowd of college boys to pay and undress.  No one appeared.

The Geezer

I went downstairs and walked around the locker rooms, the outside patio, the lounge.  Deserted, still!  Not even Mike at the front desk -- he must have gone to the liquor store.

I checked the time.  3:35.  Where were those 3:00 crowds?  Where was anybody?

Then I saw a guy in one of the private rooms, lying on the bed, watching a porn movie.  Tall, white-haired, ancient, with creaking limbs, white skin in wrinkly folds, and a grinning deaths-head face.  His penis was aroused.

He was at least 20 years older than me, doddering, decrepit, sagging.  At any other time, I would reject him instantly.

If I would reject him in a full club, why shouldn't I reject him in an empty club?  I asked myself.

Because you make do with what's available.

Feeling very much like a hypocrite, I walked over, knelt, and went down on the Geezer.  It was average sized, with a nice head, and that little sharp edge that you get with viagra.    I continued to work, stopping only when he said something.  "Getting close" and "Not much longer now."  He groaned and shook when he finished.  Nothing came out, but he jerked back.

"That was nice.  I haven't had one like that in years."

"Thanks."  I left and wandered around again.  4:00 pm.

I think Mike was pulling my leg about the Knox College crowd.

I went to the lounge area and leafed through some porn magazines from the 1980s.  Eventually the buzzer rang again.


This guy was young, but no college boy.  Short, squat, rather ugly, with a long, narrow face.  He was wearing a dirty feed store cap and a dirty Metallica t-shirt, damp under the arms.

"Hot out there," I said.

He passed me with an evil grin.

At any other time, I would reject him instantly, but he was the only guy in the club except for the Geezer.  So I waited a few minutes for him to undress, and then went looking.

Not in any of the private rooms.  Not in the outdoor area.  Not in the leather room.  Not in the video room.

Metallica was in the glory hole room!  A grinning shadow, not even undressed.  Did he really think I didn't know who he was?

Sighing, I knelt in front of a glory hole.  Soon a thick, heavy Kielbasa, uncut, came through.  I went down on it, working quickly while he groaned and thrust his hips.

Metallica finished with a very big load, then pulled out, zipped up, and walked away without saying a word.

A big one, but still, less than satisfactory.

4:15 pm.  Metallica only took five minutes!

Oh, well.  Maybe small-but-cute Mike would be interested in another round.

Nope -- he was gone again.

I waited -- I never leave a bath house until I have kissed, fondled, or gone down on at least five guys.  But the Hole in the Wall remained deserted.

4:45 pm.  Enough is enough!

I dressed, deposited my towel in the basket, and went to retrieve my id.

As I walked out to my car, I passed two college boys.

I wanted to say "Don't bother -- it's dead in there," but decided to let them figure it out for themselves.

Another car pulled up just as I pulled out. Four college boys!

A third car passed me at the entrance.

I kicked myself all the way to Rock Island.  If only I had waited a few more minutes....

At least I can tell all my friends that I went down on every guy at a bath house.

See also: The Shy Boy at the Bath House 

Wednesday, August 17, 2016

I Become Jameer's Boy Toy

Plains, August 2014

I love the first day of class: new classes, new opportunities, and acres of new beefcake to scope out: collegiate jocks in tight t-shirts, nervous freshmen, cute nerds, chubby mid-life students with chest hair peeping out over their shirts.

I see Jameer in all three of my classes, front row center.

He's hard to miss: not a lot of black guys on campus, especially black guys in "midlife," returning to college after several years away, typically in their late 20s or 30s.  He is taller than me, broad-shouldered, and extraordinarily handsome, with a broad flat face, dark eyes, and thin-cropped furry hair.

"You can't be in the advanced class without taking the intro class first," I tell him.

"Oh, I want to finish my second degree in a year," he says, flashing a dazzling smile that has probably been getting him exceptions to rules his whole life.  "I'll work hard, I  promise."

"Won't you get sick of looking at me three hours a day?"

He smiles again.  "No, not at all."

Jameer turns out to be one of those guys who answers every question, comments to everything, and stays after class to ask my advice on everything from how to deal with a crazy roommate to what career he should prepare for.  But after three weeks he suddenly drops every class.  No warning, no nothing -- he just vanishes.

I feel hurt.  Did I offend him somehow?

October 2014

I run into Jameer in the Mexican restaurant near the campus.  He's elegantly dressed in a business suit.

"Hey, Professor, sorry to cut out on you," he says.  "But they offered me a managerial job for like ten times the salary I had before, so I had no choice but  to take it.  Can I make it up to you by buying you dinner?"

I agree, expecting a free dinner at the Mexican restaurant.  Instead he says "Great, how about Whiskey River?  I'll pick you up at 7:00 pm tomorrow night."

Whiskey River is one of the more expensive restaurants in towns, usually reserved for birthdays and anniversaries.  I plan to order just a salad, but Jameer insists that we have appetizers, drinks, expensive entrees, and dessert, for a tab of nearly $100 -- which, true to his word, he pays for.  "Hey, nobody goes hungry on my watch."

We tell our coming out stories.  Jameer talks about growing up black and gay in a small town in South Dakota, his first experience -- with his high school swimming coach -- and his first degree, in psychology. A job in social services that he hated.  A series of office jobs.  A sudden midlife urge to return to academe, forestalled by an offer of a managerial job.

Sounds like my life, English and modern languages forestalled, a midlife urge to return to academe.  Except I completed my second degree rather than being lured by high salaries.

After dinner we go back to Jameer's house near the campus, an older Queen Anne style with hardwood floors and parquet ceilings.  We sit on a leather couch, surrounded by African art -- he shows me several statues of gods and chiefs of the Igbo tribe -- and kiss and grope.

Then we go into the bedroom.  Jameer has a tight, firm physique, smooth except for a little hair around his belly, and a cut Mortadella+, which he lets me go down on a little, but he's not really into it.  He prefers to go down on me, and finishes with his penis between my legs while we're kissing.

Sounds perfect so far, except I'd like a little more alone time with his Mortadella+.

He shows up for our second date with presents: an expensive silk shirt and tie.  "Hey, I like my boys to be dressed properly."

Boys?  I'm twenty years older than you.

A silk shirt and tie seems a little much for karaoke night at the gay-friendly coffee house, but I change.  Then he says: "No two-bit karaoke for my boy.  We're going to see John Legend."


He laughs.  "I love Midwestern farm boys.  You're so sheltered!"

Ok, I never lived on a farm, and I've walked down Hollywood Boulevard at Highland at 2:00 in the morning.  Sheltered?  And about that "boy" stuff -- is it some sort of African-American slang?

Turns out that John Legend is a famous R&B singer and songwriter, who's won 10 Grammy awards, a Golden Globe, and an Oscar.

He looks good shirtless, too.

We go back to my apartment to spend the night.  In the morning I make breakfast.

"That's the way I like to see my boys," Jameer says.  "Hot, naked and in the kitchen."

Our next date will be #3, when all of his friends get to meet you and judge your potential.  Jameer shows up at my apartment with another gift, a very expensive gold chain.

"I'm not much for jewelry," I tell him.

"I want my man to look good," he says.  At least that's a step up from "boy."  "Besides, how am I going to impress my friends with you unless you are looking super foxy?  You could go in naked."

So I wear the chain.  We drive an hour south to the nearest big city.  Jameer introduces me to five friends, three African-American, two white, all in their 30s and 40s.  We have  a very campy, double-entendre laden dinner at a Chinese restaurant, and then go back to someone's apartment for dessert and more double-entendres.

"If you're lucky," Jameer says, "My boy will do a little strip show for you, show off his cute butt and basket."

He wants me to be the entertainment?  

"Does his mouth come with the show?"  one of his friends asks with a leer.

"If I tell him to, it does."

Ordinarily I would have no objections to going down on a boyfriend's friend, but the way he describes it makes me sound like a sex slave.

"I feel a cold coming on," I say curtly.  "I'd better not."

Jameer looks surprised, but says "That's fine, that's fine.  I just thought you might like going down on some of these very well-hung gentlemen.  You can't give anybody your cold that way."

After a few more double entendres, we leave.  On the drive home, I ask Jameer, "Do you think they liked me?"

"Sure, sure.  They would have liked you more if you showed them some of your fine mouth action, but there's plenty of time for that later.  I like to share my boys."

"I'm all for sharing, but I think..."

He reaches over and caresses my knee.  "My boy don't have to think.  He just has to sit there and look hot, and make my friends go green with envy."

I'm 20 years older than you, two inches shorter, and two inches smaller beneath the belt, but I'm your boy toy!  You're dating me solely for my face and physique, and I'm dating you for

I ask Jameer to take me home rather than spending the night.  The next day when he calls to ask me for Date #4, I say "I think I'm going to be busy for awhile."  Translation: Get lost!

A few days later, there's a package in my mailbox on campus, with a note from Jameer.

"Sorry I made you mad.  Hope we can be friends."

Inside the box was a heavy gold bracelet.

Jameer likes his friends to look good, too.

See also: 15 Boy Toys, Hustlers, and Boyfriends for Pay


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