Tuesday, April 20, 2010

Los Angeles and Sacramento

My kid, a boy, was born in January of 1994. I will call him Conrad, after the main character in Judith Guest's Ordinary People.

Conrad did not want to leave the womb: twenty six hours of labor, half of that hard back labor, then a Cesarean. A few days after coming home Gabbie's incision became infected which meant that I got to take care of her and the baby. Gabbie tried breastfeeding but "it didn't work." She found that it was better to bottle feed because then other people could help. Because of Gabbie's infection, I did all the night feedings which were two or three hours apart.

I had three weeks off from work and by then Gabbie was mostly healed. I expected her to take over the traditional duties of wife and mother while I was the traditional breadwinner.

Within two weeks Gabbie confessed that she felt like a failure as a mother. "All he does is cry."

I could never be home from work fast enough for her; as soon as I got home the baby was promptly handed to me. I continued to do the night feedings.

Basically, I was as much a mother as I was a father. As the years have passed, I've kept that dual role.

A few months after Conrad was born I left the bank and started a new job. Gabbie's mother, the real estate maven, told me that I if I wanted to make a lot of money I had to get a job that paid big commissions. I actually liked doing loans at the bank so I told her that I wanted to be a loan broker. She said that option was out because Gabbie's brother was planning to be a loan broker and there "couldn't be two in the family."

The job I took was a sink-or-swim program in finance. I started with nothing; I was expected to build a business myself. The products I had to sell were not especially interesting to me but I thought I'd try it anyway. Before I was hired, I was given several standardized aptitude tests and I did very well on them, except for one, the "Greed Test." That test was designed to measure how badly I wanted to get rich. Apparently I lacked the insatiable appetite for money that most successful salesmen had. The guy who hired me had me retake the test, but before I did so, he coached me on the appropriate answers. If he had submitted my original score to his boss I would not have been hired.

With the baby and the new job I had plenty on my mind and very little of it was sex. About 15 months later, in the Summer of 1995, that changed. Netscape introduced its Mosaic web browser at the end of 1994 and by June of 1995, that company and hundreds of local dial-up companies provided the first widely used access to the Internet. My dial-up company of choice was Hooked.net. It provided service at a flat monthly rate of $15 while AOL and Compuserv charged hourly rates. I signed up for the web service because I had read somewhere that there were Bulletin Boards where like-minded people could exchange messages electronically. I immediately thought about how cool it would be to talk to other guys in my situation.

When I actually signed on for the first time I didn't find anything about Bulletin Boards. It took me a few days but I discovered that Internet Relay Chat (IRC) was BETTER than a Bulletin Board because you could actually chat in a "room" to a group of people, or, have a private chat one-on-one. Let me say, on-line chat has not changed much in 15 years. IRC required a very basic knowledge of some command keystrokes but other than that, today's chat is very much the same.

IRC had over seven hundred channels one of which was "Married Men for Men" or something like that. Guys from all over the country would join the channel, although a large number at any one time would be about 40 individuals. I had to create a handle every time I logged on but I quickly learned to use the same name so that I could talk to the same people I had met on an earlier session. My preferred handle was "CABoy" --- although at 29, I'm not sure I was much of a boy.

Most of the public chat was G rated. The private chat could definitely be XXX but surprisingly, cyber sex didn't catch on that quickly. More guys preferred phone sex and wanted you to call them, long distance.

I made a number of friends on IRC but one guy I really fell for was Peter. He was 32, married, and lived in Los Angeles. He had two jobs. One job had something to do with totalling weekend box office sales for a movie company. His other job was as a free-lance writer for kids' cartoons. Apparently he had written a few episodes of Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles.

Peter was a really great guy. Very friendly, warm, and fun to talk to. After a few weeks of regularly chatting we figured out a way to exchange photographs. It turned out he was extremely good looking.

As I was now self-employed, I had a lot of freedom during the day. Peter did too. The two of us spent hours every day chatting back and forth. And the more we chatted, the more obsessed with him I became. He seemed to like me too. After about two months of really getting to know each other, we agreed that we had to figure out a way to meet.

It was an impulsive thing to do, but I bought a one-day plane ticket to LA.

I had no reason to go to LA so the trip had to be secret; I had to keep my regular schedule with Gabbie so that she wouldn't know. This meant that I had to leave on a 10am flight to LA. By the time Peter picked me up at the Burbank airport it was 11:40am.

I don't think either of us had spent much time thinking about what we would actually do while we were together, other than hang out. Although we constantly flirted with each other on IRC, our meeting was not a booty call; we just wanted to see if our virtual friendship was something real.

Peter was waiting for me as I exited the corridor from the plane. As soon as our eyes met, I felt a spark. But I wasn't sure how Peter felt about me. He knew I liked him, I had already told him so, even before I saw his picture. Yet he had never flat out said that he liked me. For that reason, I came to LA with no expectations.

We gave each other a warm hug hello and then began a fun, lively chat as we walked through the airport and eventually arrived at his house in Woodland Hills.

Peter gave me a tour of the house, which was very nice but not luxurious. After the tour we talked in the kitchen for a few minutes.

Before long Peter observed, "Oh look, it's after 1 already. Are you hungry? Should I make us some sandwiches?"

After lunch we went up to his home office, which also served as a spare bedroom. "Here's where I sit and talk to you on IRC," he said, waving at the computer. We each settled into a chair while Peter dialed in and signed on for a minute, just to show me.

Now comfortably seated, we continued our conversation. We talked about ourselves, our wives, men, and trying to find a balance between them all.

Talking to Peter in person was so much better than typing back and forth. I was enjoying every minute with him.

But I also knew our time together was limited. I had a 5:20 flight and Peter had to pick-up his daughter from daycare by 5:30. As the minutes ticked by, I was glad that I hadn't come expecting sex. Yes, I liked Peter. Yes, he was extremely good looking. But making the personal connection was more important to me than both of those things.

With only twenty minutes left before we had to leave for the airport, Peter surprised me: "I hope you didn't come all this way just to talk. Do you wanna, you know, mess around a little?"

Um, fuck ya.

Sadly, twenty minutes of rushed blow jobs was all we had time for.

As soon we were in the car on the way to the airport, I was kicking myself. We could have spent most of the day in bed! I had no idea why Peter waited so long to say anything. I guess he was waiting for me to make the first move and I was waiting for a clue that he was interested. Damn, damn, damn.

The blow jobs weren't the end of the rushing. We left the house later than we should have and the traffic was worse than Peter expected. We were so late, and he got so panicked about picking up his daughter, that I let him drop me on the street outside the entrance to the airport. Because of the long walk to the terminal, I missed my flight.

I got bumped to the next flight, which was an hour later. I really had no choice about the flight but the delay meant that I was going to be later than what I told Gabbie. I always did Conrad's daycare drop-off and pick-up, but I had told Gabbie that I had a client meeting so I couldn't do the pick-up that day. It was a very unusual request; Gabbie did not like having her freedom impinged upon.

Now that I was going to be more delayed than what I had told her, I had visions of a repeat of the night I came home late after being with Jim. I really thought Gabbie was going to freak.

While I waited for the next flight I called her and explained that I was going to be late. I was certain she was going to hear the airport announcements in the background, so I looked for the most out-of-the-way payphone I could find. Thank God she didn't have caller ID at work. Can you imagine? Why are you calling me from an airport in Los Angeles????

By the time I finally opened the front door to greet my family, I was a nervous wreck. I really thought Gabbie was going to be furious and that she was going to grill me with question after question. Then she'd give me that look and know I was lying.

But my fears were unfounded. Instead of berating me for being late, she gave me a kiss and asked, "How did the meeting go?"

I grinned like a fool.

"It went well. Really well. It was worth staying late."

As the words came out of my mouth, I felt my stomach twist into a deep, hard knot.

I had always been sneaky about chatting on IRC. And I lied in order to meet Peter. But it wasn't until I started to gloat that I felt bad about what I had done.

I had re-committed to Gabbie. We had a child together. Yet I had cheated.

I hadn't gone to LA for the purpose of having sex with Peter. So my motives were somewhat pure. But when the opportunity for sex came, I didn't hesitate. Knowing that and looking at Gabbie and Conrad, I felt very guilty.

The guilt was sharp and painful, but it was short-lived. When I thought more about it, I decided that I had actually demonstrated a lot of self-control. After all, I had gone for more than three years without doing anything with a guy. That was the longest period I had ever gone since puberty. So although I was a liar and a cheater, I decided that I deserved some kudos for restraint...

Within a few weeks of my visit with Peter, he took a regular job and his ability to chat on IRC dropped significantly. We slowly disengaged from each other. I think we both knew that a long-distance relationship just wasn't feasible. We never said goodbye to each other, we just drifted apart. It's too bad because he was a really neat guy.

The guilt I felt about cheating also faded in time. But the transgression had happened and whatever moral high ground I thought I had before meeting Peter was gone. Actually, the thought that there were other married guys out there who I could find and connect with was even more exciting. I knew I didn't want to leave Gabbie but I also knew that I couldn't deny myself sexual contact with men.

For more than a year I used a variety of methods to find men. I placed a MWM seeks MWM ad in a county-wide alternative newspaper. I cruised bathrooms at the community college. And I continued to chat on IRC. Through these methods I met, and had sex with, a variety of men. Most of what is memorable about the experiences is how I met them, or just that I met them. The sex was not especially memorable. Nor were the emotional connections---of which there were none. But the hunt and the possibility that I might meet someone really great kept me motivated to continue trying.

During this time, I did have one sexual experience that was especially memorable.

There's a certain building at the California State University of Sacramento that has bathrooms in it that were deliberately built for the purpose of comfortably sucking cock.

Not only are the stalls invisible from the sinks and the door, but, the stall partitions are so high that you can practically limbo under them; the bottom of the partitions end at the top of the toilet rims. This leaves plenty of room to comfortably sit on the floor and swallow your neighbor's dick.

On a weekday afternoon in 1996 I grabbed one of the four stalls on the third floor of this glorious building. I took the end-stall nearest the door and was surprised to see that two of the other three stalls were already filled.

As in any Tea Room, when someone enters, all sexual activity stops until the new arrival makes clear his reason for being in the bathroom. Because I hadn't come to actually use the bathroom, it wasn't long before a young Filipino guy in the stall farthest from me dropped to his knees and showed his hard, thin cock under the partition. A moment later the guy in the stall next to him, a tall kid with short reddish-blond hair and muscular arms, was kneeling on the floor furiously sucking the Filipino's cock.

Most of the sex I had seen in Tea Rooms was quick, quiet and cautious. Not in this place. Both the sucker and the suckee were loud and verbal. It was like watching live porn, only a few feet away.

Before long another guy entered the bathroom and took the last open stall, the one next to mine. From what I could tell, he was young and athletic; he had muscular calves and nice Nike tennis shoes.

After the new guy settled in, the action between the strawberry blond and the Filipino resumed. The Filipino stripped off his shorts and his underwear. Now half-naked, he slid the lower half of his body into the blond's stall. The tall blond responded by deep throating him in a single motion.

It didn't take long for the jock next to me to whip out his cock and stroke it as he watched the action next to him. From what I could tell, the jock was really hot. I had never been aggressive in a Tea Room before but the opportunity was too tempting. I signaled the jock that I wanted to suck him. My attempt was ill-timed, however, because the bathroom door opened and yet another guy entered.

The new guy walked to where the stalls were and stood in front of all four occupied stalls. He paused for a few seconds. Then he got down on his knees and looked under the stalls. The Filipino accepted this action as a sign that he was not a cop. Eager to resume his blow job, the Filipino shoved his bright red cock under the partition, toward the waiting blond.

After two or three minutes of loud face-fucking, the Filipino groaned as he shot his load into the strawberry blond's mouth.

The Filipino quickly fled the bathroom and the guy who had been crouched outside the stalls took his spot. That guy was Hispanic, maybe mid-30s, and looked like a stereotypical Mexican day-laborer. He wasn't especially attractive, but he sure knew what he wanted. He was on his knees presenting his fat, hairy cock to the blond within seconds. The tall blond quickly went down on him; he seemed to be really turned on by the guy's attitude and thick dick. It was only a few minutes before the Mexican moaned and drained his cock down the tall guy's throat.

Before the Mexican was out the door, the jock in the stall next to me dropped to his knees and pushed his long, hard veiny cock toward the muscled blond. He had a load he wanted to deliver too.

My view of the third blow job was unlike the prior two. The first two were dick-forward to me whereas the third was ass-forward. The jock had a nice, firm, muscular ass so I appreciated that. But I was frustrated because I couldn't see more of his dick getting sucked. It was hot to watch his ass muscles flex as he fucked the blond's face. The two guys were pretty sexy so I was expecting a great show but after only a few minutes yet another guy came in and took the one open stall. Holy shit, this place is like Cock Central Station.

Once the newest guy showed his cock, the action resumed. But not according to normal Tea Room protocol (there's rules for this shit!) Instead of waiting for the jock to kneel and present his dick, the blond started blowing the newest guy. And honestly, I don't know why. The guy was older, overweight and not at all attractive. But he had a dick that needed attention and the strawberry blond apparently was not going to turn down any dick that needed sucking. The jock was probably thinking "what the fuck" because he kneeled down too and waved his hard cock at the blond. As he did that I was thinking "what the fuck -- why can't I suck your studly jock cock??"

The tall blond was a greedy bastard. He switched from the fat guy to the jock, then back again. Once he was on the fat guy again he jacked him frantically and then I understood. He wanted Mr. Ugly to cum quickly and leave. And that's what happened.

The blond licked every bit of cum off the fat guy's dick, smacked his lips and turned back to the waiting jock. Damn, I really wanted a good view of those two. Unfortunately I had to settle for the rhythmic undulations of the jock's sculpted ass muscles. The blond was a good moaner, which is something I appreciate in a cocksucker. But the jock was silent. I couldn't see much other than a nice ass but I knew when the jock came because I heard two big wads of cum drip from the tall blond's mouth and softly splatter on the tile floor.

The jock cleaned up and exited. Now it was just me and the perverted serial cocksucker left in the bathroom. I didn't know what to do next. My dick was thoroughly lathered in pre-cum and after watching four blow jobs in a row, I was so horned up that I knew I wouldn't last long in the muscled blond's skilled mouth. I really hoped I could blow him; I was sure he was ready.

I waited a minute to see what the blond did next.

My lack of movement must have made the blond think I was either shy (true) or only interested in receiving. In either case, he decided he wanted to keep the action going so he moved to the stall next to mine and motioned for me to show him my goods.
I really wanted to blow him and then jack-off but the strawberry blond was not interested. He wanted my dick down his throat. How could I refuse?

Oh fuck, the guy was good.

Between his powerful mouth and the thought that he was such a needy dick-whore, my eyes were rolling to the back of my head in no time. I loved the way he moaned as he sucked. I loved the feel of his short curly hair as I cupped both hands around the back of his head. I loved that he was a total slut and I got to be the last of five dudes to ram by dick down his throat in quick succession.

I fucked his face as long as I could but after watching all the previous action I was really primed to cum. After two or three long minutes of exquisite agony I lunged deep into his mouth and shot my seed straight down his throat.

It was such a good cum that I couldn't move for a while.

When I recovered, I wanted to get the guy off. But as I checked the time I realized that I had been there for nearly an hour and I really had to go.

I have the guy a thumbs up under the partition and whispered, "Sorry dude, have to go."

"No problem."

I jogged back to my car and drove an hour and a half back home, feeling very satisfied.

It was at least a half-day commitment to drive to Sacramento and back but with action like that, I knew I would return soon.

It turns out, I was wrong. I never went back.


  1. Do you have the address for that building at CSU Sacramento?


  2. Great post Cameron. The guilt thing is interesting. Guilt is somkething I have never felt after my contacts with men. What kept me away from tearooms and other similar situations was fear but when I did get up my nerve to venture forth, I never suffered from guilt or even momentary remorse.

  3. Another great post.. can't wait for the next one and still loving that writing style! Excellent blog.

  4. I just happened upon your blog, and after reading this post am eager to read the rest. I love the way your writing style includes such a range of experiences - from a sensitive exploration of feelings, desires, guilt, and emotional connection in the first part of the post, to out-and-out hot sex in the second part. Thanks for writing...

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