Six Hours at a Sex Club

When I lived in Florida, there was a sex club, called just The Club II, a few blocks away, so I went regularly, at least once a week.  I exercised, hung out in the sauna, and wandered around until I had sex with at least five guys.  It typically took about two hours, maybe three if the place wasn't crowded.

I always choose vacation spots based on museums and penises, so I've been to saunas or sex clubs across Europe, plus in Chicago, Cleveland, Philadelphia, and New York, and I never spend more than two hours, three at the most.  You can spend only so much time walking down narrow hallways in a towel while loud disco movies throbs in your ear.

But last weekend, I spent six hours at the Works, a sex club in Indianapolis, and had sex with so many guys that I lost track after the first ten minutes.

It was a Monday, and all of the museums were closed, so there was nothing else to do, so we drove out after lunch, and stayed until rush hour traffic was over, 1:00 pm to 7:00 pm.

The Works has four floors.
1. Basement.  
Lockers
Dry sauna: two guys at once, both older. I asked if they were partners, and they said "We are now."

Steam room: two guys at different times, one older and not very hung, one younger and hung.

Gym equipment squished together so it's impossible to actually use

Glory hole booth: very hard, very large cock, could never figure out who it belonged to.

Leather chairs facing tvs with both gay and straight porn: muscular Asian guy who wanted to kiss.  There was a muscular Hispanic guy beating off furiously to straight porn, but I was afraid to approach him, since he looked like he was ready to finish.










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2. Ground floor
Lounge with soda machines, one of which stole my dollar.

Video room playing regular tv.

3. Second floor
TV lounge playing 13 channels of porn  Here's where I lost track: I started with a guy lying there who called me "honey," then went out and came back, went down on a bear with big balls but a small penis, then a weird guy who looked like Tom Selleck, then the Hispanic guy who had been beating off downstairs.

I returned again and again, and there were always new guys, maybe five in all.  The only one who rejected me was a younger black guy who just wanted to talk about mass shootings.

Room with leather floors and porn playing.  Two guys at different times.

Sling room.  I went down on an older guy.

Private rooms.  I got one to retreat for rest: a gigantic bed shoved against both walls.  Only one guy, the Tom Selleck before, came in and mounted me from above.

I also had a conversation with the second guy who rejected me:
"Hi, Darlin', let me see that big cock of yours."
"I'm into giving, not getting."
"Me, too, darlin.  That makes us sisters."

Then back to the tv room, or down to the lockers.  In West Hollywood, parties sometimes featured "entertainment," guys who would strip , masturbate, or go down on the guests.   It was not especially honored, but it wasn't deviant, either.

I think I was the "entertainment," going down on anyone I wanted (with those two exceptions).  In the end I didn't even wait for a signal, I just knelt in front of the guy, or reached over and fondled.  No one ever brushed me away, except for the two or three black guys at the club, who never did anything with anybody.

Finally at 7:00 pm, we figured that the rush hour traffic was over, and went to get dinner.

"How did you do?" I asked Bob.

"Six guys, four oral, two anal," he said.  "What about you."

"I lost track a long time ago.  But, you know what -- I'm still not happy."

He blinked.  "But...your goal is five.  You must have been with more than that."

"A lot more.  But only one wanted to kiss, only one actually finished, and the others -- one Asian, one Hispanic, one twink.  The others were all over 50, white, hairy chested.  It was like going down on the same guy over and over."

I have a new rule -- five guys, and they have to differ in age, race, body build, or some other factor, and they have to kiss.