Black Party, Back Room

Four AM at New York’s Black Party.  Thousands of men swarming through the Roseland Ballroom for hours on end and at one point or another each of them makes his way up to the back room. Off of the mezzanine, it’s a hallway with another hallway branching off of it. The first hallway is about fifty feet long and fifteen wide, the branch thirty by eight.  Men pile up at the entrance, packed together, trying to get insde these halls. Both are dead ends.  Once you reach the end your only option is to circle back. Inside is blackness, illumated in flashes from a stuttering wall sconce and the occasional hand held flashlight.  I push my way down one hall and take up position against the wall.  It’s the only way to stay upright. I circle back and the capliary action of all thses bodies moves me into the tighter hallway. Again I come to rest against a wall. The air is thick and low. The motion is endless and yet for all the shoving there’s very little yelling or anger.  Little talking at all, just the hard desiring eyes, the hand sreaching out.  When one person moves, everyone moves and at one point the sensation is so unbearably constricting that I think “we’re all going to die here”.  I fight my way out.

Half an hour later I’m back inside again, obeying a hunger I never knew I had.  In all that heat and closeness my individuality slips away and I become one more set of organs attached to the sweating beast that is fucking itself in those rooms.  Ten feet from me I glimpse a man in his sixties with  another on his knees in front of him.  It takes me ten minutes to fight my way to him but when I do my mouth consumes his and my hand reaches down to  force his kneeling partner’s mouth futher down on his dick.

Men are pushing forward , pushing back out, slowed to a lurching shuffle by their proximity They suddenly look like the living dead. It’s that inexorable stagger of singleminded desire.  The hunger to fuck has become some sort hunger to swarm, to pack together as tightly as possible.  I think of the shaved headed guys pushing up against and past me as sexzombies, an undead army with a single hunger and purpose and as the thought settles into my mind I greet it with, yeah, that’s hot and my cock is in my hand and  my cock is being brushed by many hands and I’m feeling asses, lower backs, smooth, furred.  My hand finds a fleshy uncut dick and I give it a couple of tugs before it’s already out of reach.  The guy on his knees switches to sucking my dick.  I grab the older man’s cock, still slick with spit.  A few jerks and he throws his head back and groans shooting on the back of the head of the guy who’s blowing me – I’m rubbing warm cum into his bristly skull, bucking my dick into his mouth over and over.  No one looks down, only ahead.  The light comes and goes.  On the other side of the room someone points their flashlight at three guys urging a fourth to his knees. I’m fucking the face in front of me faster.  I go to pull out and hegrbs my ass and pulls me in even deeper.  That’s it.  I’m shooting down his throat, gasping. Someone leans their hands on my shoulders for support. Looking back I can see that he’s getting fucked.  His mouth hangs open and his eyes are looking through me.  The smell in the air is rank and sweet, less poppers than an impossible mingling of sweats, jizm.  The guy infront of me gets up and I kiss him , tasting the remains of my load in him mouth.  I set off down the hallway, edging along. I’m almost at the entrance. When a tall, muscular black guy reaches across the heads of several other men and  jams his fingers into my armpit.  He pulls them out and sniffs them deeply.  I watch his eyes widen.  I know I’ve got good pits, so I stop, reach back and pull his head under my left arm.  He snorts and laps at the pit, but the crowd is forcing us apart and seconds later  all I have is my fingers’ memory of the feel of his warm skull, and the cooling saliva under my arm.

Later that night I’m complimented on my cocksucking technique by a guy with a salt and pepper flattop and a firm belly that presses against my .head every time I pull his prick down my throat.  Because of course I had to be back in those rooms again.

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