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Friday Fuck Fun: Cheap Thrills Gets Your Rocks Off with UK’s Cum Pigs

Friday Fuck Fun: Cheap Thrills Gets Your Rocks Off with UK’s Cum Pigs

CT4-FRONT

Coming to you direct from the UK, Paul Morris & Treasure Island Media present the fourth fuckvid in the CHEAP THRILLS series, featuring a solid mix of London’s best fuck-pigs, in four cum-drenched scenes, this video is a guaranteed cheap ass way to get your rocks off again and again.

In CHEAP THRILLS 4, watch as notorious European ass destroyer, PETO COAST, exploits LEOMANN’s begging hole, FLORIAN MANN fancies an anonymous deep breeding from a furry, uncut fucker, ANTON DICKSON discretely breeds a sleeping flatmate’s insatiable ass, and TITCH JONES plows JAKE ASCOTT until they lay spent, filled with and covered in molten man juice.

 

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The Missing Post: The Death of My Mother

The Missing Post: The Death of My Mother

This entry isn’t sexy at all. You might want to skip it entirely.

I scolded someone today about missing a post regarding the death of my Mother and, when I went back to find it, realized it wasn’t there myself. I apologize to that reader since several places throughout my blog, I do refer to my Mother’s death but the recount of it seems to be missing.

I had debated writing about it when it happened in January of 2010. In fact, the gap of my posts seem almost invisible now looking back, covered up by Q&A posts that seemed popular at the time. Truth is, I probably did post something but along the way to this platform or in some cleaning frenzy, I deleted it as too overly sentimental or not sexy enough.

Yet that incident has significant bearing on two things in my reportour of posts these days: My extraordinary dislike of smoking Opens new window of a page on this blog and my intense disdain of catfish Open-New-Window-External.

By the way, the photo included here is actually a real photo I told of me holding my Mother’s hand one long and painful night and texted it to the catfish.

flower_white          flower_white          flower_white          flower_white

A Second Hospital Visit

My job at the time had me travel throughout December through March. I’d returned home in January after another string of visits and my uncle, who’d just left, suggested I go immediately to see my Mother, as she wasn’t feeling well.

About six years earlier, I’d moved back to Georgia from Washington, D.C., to help care for my elderly parents. My father had passed in 2005, all of us by his side. But he was at home in hospice care. I’d been his primary caretaker during his final two weeks, administering the painkilling medicine that eased his discomfort and helped him ultimately make the transition as easily as possible.

To be honest, his passing was almost one of a miracle, as we’d talked about a month before about his wishes at his funeral. As he breathed his last breath, all of the family around him, hugging him, crying and saying good-bye, the television began playing the one song he’d asked to be played at his funeral.

Compared the the gentle but stoic nature of my Father was the truly steel magnolia Machiavellian matriarch that was my Mother. I loved her dearly. But at 78 years old, she would ignore every doctor’s advice (and my orders) and do as she wished.

From almost 42 years of smoking, her chronic obstructed pulmonary disorder made the most simple tasks brutal. Yet she would insist on housework, fixing dinner, driving herself places, and more, her little portable oxygen tank in tow. And I’d drive her all over the family gatherings, with her often upset when I deviated from the old routes to take quicker, new highways.

I’d been travelling all over the country — three cities this last nine-day tour — and I wanted to sleep and rest because the next week I would be off for two more cities. But instead, I dragged my fat ass over to see Mom.

She’d been sleeping on the sofa across from the hospital bed I’d had in her home for the last six months but she refused to use because there wasn’t a lamp close enough to it.

More petite and frail, her hands and arms dotted with bruising from whenever she’d bump up against anything, she insisted “something was wrong.”

I struck a bargain with her: We’d go to the hospital but when she came home, she’d have to learn to do what I said. After all, I reminded her how she bossed around her Mother (my Grandmother) for 10 years before her passing. I told her she needed me let me get a little bossing in.

Now that I look back, she agreed too quickly.

It was the second time I took her to the hospital but the first time she would be admitted.

Nothing Out of the Ordinary

Mother had bronchitis. When I moved home, I went to the doctors with both of my parents and spent time with their primary care and any specialist, learning as much as I could about their chronic conditions. I also learned what to expect when the time would come.

For Mother, it would be a series of lung infections that would get steadily worse over time until essentially, she could not get enough oxygen and would suffocate.

“The process is beginning,” I told myself.

When I moved home, Mother’s lung capacity was at 23 percent of normal. Even though she’d quit smoking about five years before I came back to Georgia, her lungs would never heal. That’s one of the myths about smokers. If you quit, your lungs don’t get better. Actually, they continue to deteriorate — just at a much slower pace.

Each year, Mother would lose between 1 and 2 percent of capacity. She currently hovered around 17 percent.

She began making a rebound quickly with the antibiotics and everything seemed fine. But one afternoon, she told me something was wrong.

“What is it, Mom?”

“I don’t know,” she said. “Can you tell me what’s wrong?”

My Mother’s eyes contained sheer terror in them. I noticed the her oxygen saturation in her blood on the monitor suddenly dropping. I hit the nurse call button.

In the next 30 minutes, we were in the Intensive Care Unit. The doctors wanted to intubate my Mother — that is, put a tube into her lungs to breathe for her. And in her fear, my Mother consented. But I overruled her, pulling out my power of attorney. One of the healthcare directives she’s insisted upon in it was to never be intubated and the doctors agreed, saying if we did, she’d likely never be able to be taken off since her lungs would never be strong enough.

She was put onto a machine that strapped an oxygen mask onto her face so tight, it made bruises all over her face. It would force her to breath.

She cried through the night, hating that machine. I was there the whole time, holding her hand. She asked constantly for it to be taken off. But I asked her to bear with me just a little longer to see if it would help.

But in 24 hours, her condition didn’t improve.

My only companion other than some family and friends who would stop by was a words at the other end of texting. The person was comforting in so many ways. And I was at my most vulnerable, here, next to my dying Mother, feeling the most alone in the world.

The reassurance of his care and love for me seemingly helped. But later, I would discover it was all a lie. He didn’t exist. And I’ll be honest — what that person did, the betrayal just reaches so deep into places where I’m still scarred and hurting that I can’t even begin to explain or even discuss it. It’s actually easier to talk about my Mother.

Relief at Last

With no improvement and really no hope, I spoke to all the doctors the next day to assure that switching to palliative care would be the right choice. I wasn’t prepared for this decision so early. I’d expected to take Mother home and have a few more hospital visits before this event. But that wasn’t to be.

I then spoke to my sister and my aunt to make sure they agreed. Turns out I was the late one to the decision, but I had to be there. It was time for me to talk to Mother.

We turned that horrible machine off and took it away. My Mother was so relieved it wasn’t working on her now and she could breathe at whatever pace she wanted. I went and sat down, alone, next to her, put my hand in hers, feeling the warmth and the knotted knuckles from the arthritis. Her poor body was just so battered and bruised, but through it all I could see that beautiful woman who cared for me through all my years, kissed my boo-boos. She guided me kindly and occasionally spanked me. I pulled her hand to my lips and kissed it, feeling that rough skin that still contained a softness. I brushed back her gray hair from her bruised forehead and looked into the dimming brown eyes.

“Mother,” I said in a quiet tone, managing to keep it together.

“Yes,” she said.

“We had a choice and I want to know what you think,” I said. “I know you hate that machine but it’s your only hope of getting any better.”

I paused, as I could see the recognition come across her face.

“We can put you back on it and try to make you ask comfortable as possible,” I continued. “Or we can leave you off of it and you can go see Daddy.”

A single tear streamed down my left cheek.

She didn’t answer immediately. But she did finally speak.

“I think I’d rather go see Daddy. I really miss him.”

My Mother and Father were married 53 years before he passed away. Of course she missed him.

I hugged her.

The Rebound

Over the next few hours, Mom seemed to feel better than ever, visited with so many people. It’s one of those miraculous gifts we get before we die and we get to say goodbye. I have a precious video of her time with my nephew that just would tear anyone apart to watch.

She laughed so much. I was so glad to see that. I hadn’t seen her with that much joy in so long.

It was then I began to realize just how sick she’d been.

And if on schedule, as the final people left and the last prayers were uttered, she slipped into a silent, fitful sleep. With all the paperwork signed, I had the nurses begin to add morphine and other calming drugs to make her sleep more restful.

Just after midnight, she stopped breathing in this world. But she got a lung-full of air somewhere else.

I screamed, not in pain, but at the top of my lungs, “She can finally breathe!”

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Key West Postcard

Travel Diary: A Little Latin Spice to Make My Tropical Vacation Memorable

It’s funny how things don’t work out the way one plans.

I arrived in Key West on a Wednesday night. I expected a build up of ass to peak with a crescendo over the weekend and a tapering off until I left the following Wednesday.

Alas, that did not occur.

Not that I was hunting for hole. In a way, I expected it to find me. I had offers, but I decided to be a bit picky rather than accepting just any ass thrown my way. Interestingly, I think the whole relaxing and doing nothing actually calmed down my hormones and made me crave ass less. Plus I got my fill of naked boys and attention at clothing optional destinations including my B&B and the nightclubs I frequented.

After the weekend concluded and Monday inched along, that itch rose a bit and I realized I’d built a hefty load in my balls that needed to find a home — and soon.

Unfortunately, BarebackRT.com Link Opens in a New Window showed little sign of life, with Scruff and Grindr not too far behind and Jack’d so far netted me nothing. I posted on Craigslist using a generic top looking for bottom post and lucked up with a few potentials. I’d been posting on CL for a while — mostly my “top blogger coming to town and looking for bottom inspiration” ads with little luck (except for the hot guy who’d blown me off).

I got a mixture of responses, a few of which were legit among the flakes. One caught my eye and it wasn’t just the fact he was 20 years old Latino visiting the island. He’d offered his phone number early in the exchange and we began texting almost immediately after when he asked, out of the blue: “Are you the top blogger?”

“Blogger?”

“I figured you were,” he answered, without a confirmation. “It’s really cool if you are.”

“What are my chances if I am?” I wrote back.

“I’d say your chances are really good.”

Within a few minutes, we were meeting on Duval Street and headed back to my B&B.

In shorts, flip-flops and a Hollister t-shirt, he looked like the vision of someone from an advertisement. Smooth with very few specks to even call freckles dotting his face, he was perfectly tan and his wavy black hair just cropped perfectly against his scalp. His deep hazel eyes glanced me over as I took his broad hand into mine and we shook. He was warm — not as much in demeanor as in physically, like he’d just crawled out of a tanning bed.

Our chit chat seemed almost about nothing important as we compared our lodging choices. Soon we were walking through the gate and into the courtyard. I gave a little tour of the property and we ended up in my room. With the enthusiasm of his age, he soon removed all his clothes.

His body proved to be one of those not-an-ounce-of-extra-fat-or-flesh perfection. A mixture of tan and olive, his smooth skin was blemished rarely by a freckle. He didn’t contain any extra muscle either, so he didn’t pack on huge pectorals. His legs were almost hairless and he’d shaved his pubes off. His balls, drawn tight up into his cock, looked hairless as well.

I moved in closer but he pushed me away.

“I don’t really kiss,” he said.

I tried not to seem disappointed, but I was. His fat lips seemed too inviting for me not to lick just a little.

“You still suck, don’t you?” I motioned toward my cock.

He didn’t answer, instead moving toward my half hardness and  moving his mouth over its delicate skin.

He needed more practice but not bad. He kept his lips and mouth frozen while the bobbing of his head provided all the friction to bring me up to full mast. Still, I didn’t care. I played with the hair on the top of his head and then pulled him up and moved toward his cock. All the while I let my fingertips dance across his body until my mouth found the tip of his cock.

Yes, I sucked his cock and he inflated to an impressive 8 inches. Much larger than I dared reach. And fuck if he wasn’t thick with a slight bend to the left. The impressive size seemed even more humongous thanks to all the missing hair. Honestly, this boy wasn’t too hairy or had been shaving for a long while as I didn’t sense any prickly around his cock base.

I went for the balls — a little rougher, mind you, but still very smooth. Youth, it seems, can be so very tasty. As I began to lift his legs, he didn’t stop me and I went in search of his hole by taste.

My tongue found a crevice but it didn’t seem right. I pulled back.

What I saw happened to be among the most unique sights ever.

Most people have a ring around the rosie, so to speak. The external sphincter’s fleshtone appears a little darker or lighter, depending on the man. Sometimes it’s a few rings.

Not him. His skin maintained its perfectly olive bronzed tone up until his asshole, which appeared as nothing more than tiny folds like a quarter-inch crucifix. I’d never seen an ass like his. I wondered if he had any sensitivity in his ass.

As I returned my tongue to his ass, I soon discovered my answer.

His thick 8-incher had been hard but very pliable — like a dildo. But as I went to work and the cross-shaped pucker widened, his cock became more rigid — more similar to a vibrator. Soon it grew even thicker and longer. It stood in place, attention as the most dedicated soldier.

As with any 20-year-old, he hadn’t quite learned to share attention, used to the men who lathered upon him kudos on his good-looks and great body. But he took the subtle direction well as I reached for some Spunklube Link Opens in a New Window and began to spread it on his asshole and use my fingertips to tease that holy hole open just a bit more.

I righted myself, proceeding to poke my cockhead against the hole.

“Mind if I sit on it?” he asked.

“Works for me,” I said, rolling off and onto my back.

My cock too was rigid and pointing at my belly button. A string of precum dangled off in anticipation as he maneuvered in front and slowly lowered himself. But he did so without hesitation, with ease and sat down completely to the hilt within moments.

He was a natural bottom.

We’d never discussed condoms and, as he’d read this blog, knew I’d bareback. He seemed at ease with the fucking and enjoyed it, but didn’t vocalize a lot. Truth is, I’m not very loud either.

His chute adhered to my cock so smoothly, it was a fuck never to forget. Like a key sliding into a slot with just enough space for a perfect fit, his ass walls just seemed to fold into every skin fold of my cock. At first, he would move a lot to try to give me pleasure — something I found humorous since the movement seemed almost robotic, just like his sucking. However, thanks to his perfectly pliable ass, it didn’t feel robotic as the skin’s friction would give way just perfectly.

I soon found myself losing control of my own choice of when to cum.

I suggested he relax and let me do the fucking. Interestingly, he’d read my 11 Commandments for a True Bottom Opens a new window from this blog and attempted to adhere to at least some of them, even asking permission to play with his own cock.

“Just don’t cum first,” I said. “I want to be sure I get to cum.”

“Don’t worry,” he said. “The fucking isn’t over if I do cum.”

That made me want to test it out by having him cum on my cock then letting me fuck him with his cum, but I dare not risk not being able to load this boy up.

We settled into a leisurely pace and soon I put him on his stomach, staring at his hairless and smooth bubble butt before shoving my cock inside and mounting up for the breeding of his life. I snorted poppers and let myself lose control, asking him only once if he wanted it.

“Yes,” he said. “Give it to me.”

That one positive response was enough that I lost it in that perfect hole and began to flood it. And when I say flood, I mean flood. Since I hadn’t cum in about a week, I let loose a torrent out of my balls that soon lubricated that space between my cock and his ass walls. I pushed it in deeper.

“Just don’t cum inside me,” he said.

Oops, I’m thinking. It’s a little too late.

As I’d mentioned, we’d been fucking very quietly so I hadn’t really done the whole, “I’m cumming,” and grunting thing. I just generally don’t make a show of it. And here I am, pushing my cum deeper inside him and he’s asking me not to cum inside him.

I pretend like I’m having a build up to cum and I pull out and grunt, pretending to cum with my head on his back. As he knows about the truth now, he’s probably thinking “did I or did I not feel the splash of cum on my back?”

The funny thing: As I rolled off of him, he climbed right back into my cock and rode it until he squirted. And let me tell you, he squirted all over. Some went over my head, some landed on my cheek, my chest, etc. He looked away for a moment and I tasted it, just to sample some from the fountain of youth. He’d never know. After all, we weren’t kissing.

We chatted for a bit. Luckily he never put on his shirt until he left. I’d gladly have kept him there all night. But I sure as hell missed the kissing part. He asked if I would write about him and I expressed that I wanted to, knowing that I’d bred him and wondering if he’d really noticed.

He requested I withhold his home state and where he was staying as well as any photos he’d sent me, which I reluctantly agreed in order for you, dear reader, to read this. The rest is basically true, most especially the part about me breeding his ass when he asked me not to do so.

If he’d really been reading my blog, he’d know I always make a deposit. I don’t fuck with condoms and I don’t pull out. No matter how hot, how young or how great your ass is. As a matter of fact, the hotter, younger or better your ass, the more I can guarantee I’m going to breed it.

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Swinging Richards, An Atlanta Institution

Swinging Richards

1400 Northside Drive
Atlanta, GA 30318
@RichardsATL on Twitter

Swinging Richards also offers a Miami location at
17450 Biscayne Boulevard
North Miami, FL 33160
@RichardsFLA on Twitter

This review is of the Atlanta location and was updated in June since my last visit in May 2012. I’ll have to swing by the Florida location soon…

Swinging Richards: Where The Men Are Straight, The Drinks Are Stiff & The Bodies Are Hot, Hot, Hot!

I am told few stripper bars compare to Swinging Richards — at least between Miami and the Canadian border. Canada has a few stripper clubs considered better than Swinging Richards. I’ve not visited. I wouldn’t know. But I’ve talked to the dancers, who come from far and wide to work at this Atlanta institution. Arizona, Costa Rica, Florida, New Jersey and other states, territories you will find interesting.

Inside the door and after you pay your cover, the ample stage will offer some of the best beef available. While women will pass into the door, Swinging Richards is a Gay bar and it makes no bones about it.

Swinging Richards in AtlantaRecently I witnessed a group of women having a fit outside the bar because their money was being refused, as Swinging Richards plainly posts on its website at its entrance — no bachelorette or bachelor parties. To add insult to injury, one of the beefy dancers passed by as the head bitch asked if indeed the rumor was true that a majority of the dancers were straight.

He answered yes.

She asked whether he would prefer to dance for her and her pretty friends or “those fags over there,” as she pointed at a duo of average looking guys having a drink.

“Oh, I’d much rather dance for the guys,” the dancer replied, as the bitch’s jaw hit the floor. “Girls never tip well. Guys always take care of me.”

The two “fags” handed him a twenty and left with the straight dancer for a lap dance. The girls left the bar.

I love Swinging Richards.

Yes, many dancers are straight, bi, curious or heteroflexible. In fact, you’ll find so few Gay dancers here that it’s impossible. However, you won’t give a fuck. This bar isn’t a place for anything other than to get up close and personal with a fantasy. Many of the men here learn how to provide that fantasy — for a price.

The men are hot, hot and hot (and having traveled around of recent and visited several places, I can testify these men are hotter than any so-called “go-go” dancers at other clubs).

The men take good care of themselves (although far too many of them smoke). You will find all shapes, sizes (for a while, a nicely muscular little person worked here), ethnicities and cock sizes. Generally, the men start around 21 years old and go as old as late 30s. Many men are muscular from very beefy to rather tight and toned.

What I notice is each man tries to offer a “hook.” There’s something about them that pulls the customers in. If they don’t have a hook, they create one.

One guy, who isn’t from Russia, looks like he could be Russian. His stage name is “Dmitri.” Then there’s surfer dude “Collin” with his shaggy blond hair and his massive cock — two big draws. Baseball guy and his outfit is great but it’s his ass for days that always draws my attention (and I mean, this white boy has more junk in the trunk than I’ve ever seen).

Many of the men sport tattoos. Ink enhances the experience.

Cover on most nights is $10, although there’s no cover on Tuesday before midnight and Wednesday night is $5. Keep in mind that parking is always $3 but the lot is well lit and manned. Friday and Saturday nights are the obvious choice for the best nights when the most men are working. The place is generally well ventilated.

For a while, Wednesday offered smoke-free nights, for those of us wanting a little less fog and stench but it didn’t work out and they’re back to allowing smoking.

If you’re around Tuesday early, you might get a glimpse of the newest men on trial to see if they can make it to be a Swinging Richards dancer. Tuesday is also considered a difficult night to work since the cover is discounted.

The main room features a nice stage down the middle with two bars — one to the right as you enter and one at the very back. The drinks are expensive but generous. And what goes for top shelf other places is well here (for example, Smirnoff is the well vodka).

The bartenders and bar-backs can be equally hot as the dancers. If you’re lucky, head toward the back bar and look for the extremely hot Juan to serve you up a drink and tip him extra well. If you hang out long enough, his shirt comes off. It’s very worth the wait (and the tip). Of the men serving cocktails, look for Jonathan, an absolutely adorable Asian. Watching his ass in his tight jeans is almost as fun as watching many of the dancers.

The stage will support six dancers but depending on the number of dancers on shift and the crowd, as few as two might be on stage.

Dancers perform three songs. The first in their “outfit of choice.” Each dancer gives off a vibe. I mentioned the baseball guy. He and his beautiful ass comes in baseball gear constantly — even with black grease paint under his eyes. Another does the soccer get up. A New Jersey homeboy styles his beanie. And oddly enough, one Latin from Florida does boot-scooting stomping in leather cowboy boots and jeans. Others offer up normal, everyday clothing. Usually they’re all without shirts.

Upon the second song, the dancers shift positions and will remove their pants. Health code requires shoes at all times. Underwear choices tend to be fun to watch — from jocks to Diesel to Underoos to boxers.

The third song shifts dancers another position and, for bigger dicked boys and those with confidence in their bodies, the underwear comes off. If the dancers seem shy, they’re not. They’re waiting for more money.

At any point during the three songs, bring a dollar to the stage. Each dancer wears one or two armbands. Fold and tuck the dollar into the armband. Generally, the more money made the first two songs, the more likely a dancer will get naked on the third. Additionally, bringing money to them will give you a glimpse.

Going to see dancers multiple times during a set does wonders. If the dancer isn’t too stuck on themselves (and some are, as you might imagine) the dancer will notice you more. If it’s not too crowded on the main floor following the set, dancers usually hit the locker room to drop off their cash and then to come out and “thank” their tipping customers. You might be asked if you’d like a lap dance.

If you’re male, please consider going to the VIP Room for the lap dance.

The VIP Room isn’t the “champagne” room in straight bars. This is an area just outside the private rooms where dancers “hang out.” Women are not allowed here. Male customers pay $10 extra cover to come back here.

A lap dance on the main floor means hands at your side.

A lap dance in the VIP Room means you get to explore a little. You’re supposed to keep it above the waist, but we all know how guys are.

FYI, a lap dance is $20. It lasts a full song. Be careful if you engage a dancer. The less scrupulous will continue dancing and won’t alert you to the fact that you’re racking up $20 per song. After 10 minutes, you’ll owe $80.

That’s right. You’ll notice your favorite songs are a little shorter here. Songs run 2½ to 3 minutes.

The dancer will get completely naked. Don’t hesitate to ask for what you want. For example, you want to rub his chest and arms, go for it. But if you want to explore a little lower, you are supposed to do that in the VIP Room. Not allowed out front.

The back bar opens up to the VIP Room as well, so getting drinks here isn’t a problem. If you’re like me and stick with one bartender when you enter a club, you’ll want to work with a bartender from the back bar if you plan on visiting the VIP Room, which is a definite recommendation. On busier nights, cocktail waiters work. While the waiters have stations outside, they can serve you in the VIP Room as well.

The terrific part of the VIP Room is dancers do hang out here. Yes, you are hit up for lap and private dances. The good dancers will engage in a conversation first.

A vast majority of the people who work at Swinging Richards are very friendly. That said, some dancers can project attitude. There’s the one I call “Captain America.” He’s blond, muscular and a mega asshole — or at least that’s how he seems toward me. There’s another swarthy dancer who works the VIP Room with a tremendous body but will cheat you out of every dance he can get from you; he’ll start mid-song but charge you for the whole song. That’s the thing: These men do work for your money. But they also have their own taste and objectives. Captain America always seems to go after older men for short bursts and big payouts. Swarthy dancer just wants to use them then lose them.

Dancers will not kiss or get too intimate in the VIP Room. They will tease and imply a great deal prior to entering into the “private dance” spaces — these are cubbies without doors just off the VIP Room.

Private dances work like this. You pay a certain amount to the “house” (meaning Swinging Richards) and a certain amount to the dancer. Standard fees follow:

  • 15 minutes: $40 to the house, $100 to the dancer
  • 30 minutes: $65 to the house, $200 to the dancer
  • 60 minutes: $125 to the house, $400 to the dancer (comes with a bottle of champagne)

On many nights, especially if its slow, you’ll hear about “Two-for-One” VIP rooms. This applies only to the house charge. Therefore, you can get a 30-minute room for $40 or a 60-minute room for $65 (without the champagne). The dancer is full price. You’re not necessarily getting a bargain.

And the dancer also expects a tip beyond the fee.

Prior to going into the room, you need to determine what will happen and what the dancer will and will not do. Remember that you are purchasing private time with the dancer and that neither Swinging Richards nor the dancer offers sex in exchange for money.

For a bunch of bi, straight and curious guys, exactly what’s going to happen can be very strange.

  • Generally, fucking never happens — even for the rare girl who pays for private time. Dancers will not fuck on premises.
  • Many dancers struggle to get hard, even with pharmaceutical assistance. Be understanding and you’ll have a better experience.
  • Kissing varies from dancer to dancers. Several will not and it’s not negotiable. Some will.
  • Generally, dancers will allow you to suck their cocks, especially if you’ve paid for 30 minutes. Many of them prefer that’s what happens.
  • You may be able to service other parts of their body, like lick nipples, ass, ears, feet, balls, pits, pecs, etc. But ask first. Some have particular issues, especially with any ass play.
  • “Pop offs” or getting a dancer to shoot a load is possible, but only for 30 minutes or more (and promised a tip). If horny enough, dancers might jerk off their own cocks for you. If you suck well enough, dancers might shoot a load (even let you swallow).
  • Some dancers will touch your cock through your pants, even grind up against you.
  • Unless you pay for 30 minutes or more, your cock will never come out of your pants (and even then it’s unlikely). Again, discuss this with your dancer. Almost all dancers do not jerk you off (much less suck).
  • All this said, dancers are there to make sure you have a good time and they’ll let you know what’s going to happen. Be direct and honest.

For all that goes on here, Swinging Richards is not a sleazy destination really. It’s quite clean and upstanding. However, if you really want to feel fucked, understand when you leave, you will. You will be royally screwed in the wallet. You can have a good time here for $100 or a really good time here for $1,000.

I’ve been here enough (I don’t go often) to know what to expect. It’s my fantasy to walk in the door here with a few thousand to burn one night. I might still do it. Eventually.

In the meantime, don’t miss Swinging Richards.

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Q&A: Bathhouse Newbie

Q. Never been to a bathhouse: any tips for a first timer?

A. Absolutely. I couldn’t resist. So I put this together for you. These are my personal opinions based on my experiences. Google “gay bathhouse etiquette” to get other suggestions.

TIPS for a BATHHOUSE

I do not, under any circumstance, want to scare you away from going to your first bathhouse experience. They can be really fun. A few things to be aware of from the start. Most bathhouses tend to be in questionable parts of town, so precautions should always be taken. As with any such establishment, theft may occur so be cautious and take care of your belongings (when I first started myself, a thief licking my ass actually picked and chose which of my credit cards to steal).

Another thing, drug use occurs way too often and tweakers can be rampant. I personally think a bathhouse is the exact wrong place to indulge yourself in case the trip goes badly. I’ve seen weird shit go down too often. If things go wrong, the workers will usually just toss your ass out on the street. Tweakers can also be among the worst thieves, especially of cash, valuables, poppers and sex supplies.

Before you go…

1. Shower and clean up thoroughly
2. Clean and trim and be as neat as possible
3. If you’re a bottom or you’re thinking there’s even the most remote possibility you might bottom, douche, douche again, and douche extra deep. Then wait a couple of hours and repeat.

Things to bring with you…

1. Plenty of cash (to get in, snacks, drinks and a cab if you need it to get home or somewhere safe)
2. Driver’s license (yes, you will be required to show one to get in and some places even hold it up front until you leave)
3. A cell phone (some places say they’re not allowed, just hide it; you may need it later when you leave)
4. Poppers & lube (I recommend you bring two small bottles of poppers — because one will get stolen — and several pillow packs of lube)
5. Optionally, you may want to bring sandals if you’re concerned about a little athlete’s foot later (as if that’s the worst thing you could pick up in a bathhouse)

What not to bring…

1. Credit cards or any extra items in your wallet (again, it just puts them at risk to be stolen)
2. Expensive jewelry (target for thieves)
3. Condoms (no need because there’s always plenty of free ones available and around, even if you’re a nazi)
4. An attitude

Attitude deserves a special call out. Do not bring one with you to a bathhouse. While there will people you will not want to have sex with, there’s nothing less attractive on a man than the I-am-so-much-better-than-you-because-I-am-buff-beautiful-and-young attitude. Truth is, you’re a sex fiend and you are walking around in a towel looking for dick or ass or mouth or to be pissed on or whatever.

There’s a level of mutual respect in a bathhouse that usually happens and I’ve seen attitude queens get shunned because they’re rude to the trolls.

What to wear…

You are observed when you arrive. I prefer the casual jeans, t-shirt, hoodie, sneakers, etc. Again, nothing too expensive in case it gets lost. Oh, and I usually have an extra set of clothes in my car in case the set of clothes inside gets gone somehow.

When you arrive…

You will be asked for your photo ID (driver’s license) and will be required to “join” the private club or purchase a day pass (if they have one). It will be expensive — anywhere from $20 to $50. Then you will have a selection of a locker to different levels of rooms.

Lockers are just that. Just like a health club. All you get is a locker with a lock. You put your clothes and belongings inside it. You do not have a place to go to have sex. You will have sex in a public area or hope that the guy or guys you decide to hook up with have a room. Some bathhouses do not allow sex in public or open spaces, despite the fact they are a bathhouse.

I personally recommend a room for a first-timer. This will give you a retreat away from things. Most basic rooms just have a light-bulb with a small platform, a tiny cushion (not long enough to stretch out on), a pillow and a door that locks. It’s a tiny little room, basically the size of a closet. At the front desk, you are provided with a towel, some linens, a paper bag and a key to the room. Some places will allow you to lock items up front like your cell phone, keys and/or wallet.

(I personally never go cell-phone-less but I’ve never had a problem with the lock box.)

Room options including full size beds (which means if you’re going to spend a long time there, it might be easier to snooze), rooms with television (of course, playing gay porn), rooms with slings and other specialized rooms (massage, medical equipment, etc.). All of these options cost more money.

You are renting the locker or the room for a period of time — eight hours is normal.

If you choose to go with the buddy system and take a friend, you technically cannot “share” a room. To save the most money, one of you needs to buy a locker and the other can buy a room. But I recommend you both buy rooms and ask the host to give you rooms close to one another.

When you arrive, you are expected to go and find you room, remove all your clothing (yes, ALL of it, underwear included) and put the towel on. Then you are basically ready for sex.

A few suggestions…

1. Don’t get your feelings hurt when you’re refused or turned down. Everyone has their types.
2. Don’t be a bitch when a guy who turned you down earlier decides later to take you on.
3. You paid a lot of money to get into this place, so remember that it’s about the journey, not the destination. Don’t try to cum immediately. Just have fun. And if you cum, try to cum a few times before leaving.

Basics on a bathhouse

In general, barebacking is the norm at a bathhouse. Don’t scream at me. It’s true. In all my encounters at bathhouses, I’ve only had one man ever insist on a condom. I see condoms everywhere. In fact, almost every bottom I’ve ever fucked had condoms with him. Men love the appearance that they’re going to be safe. But the truth is men are pigs and that includes our sexual encounters.

If you want to have safe sex and you are a bottom, I recommend you take a spotter or buddy with you to make sure your top stays wrapped and keeps wrapped. I’ve never stealthed at a bathhouse (again, there’s no need to) but I imagine it would be easy.

You will encounter men of all shapes and sizes and races and ages. Believe me, someone for everyone exists at a decent bathhouse on a good night. You may not get your number one choice, but you sure as fuck can have a good time.

Don’t be afraid to step back from a bad experience and move on if you’re not enjoying yourself. It’s okay. If he can’t suck cock and he won’t let me fuck his ass, I move on. Not worth my time. Don’t worry about hurting his feelings. And try not to let yours get hurt. It’s just about the sex.

Different areas in a bathhouse

Of course, each bathhouse is different so it varies. I’ll just highlight a few that I know.

1. The steamroom. Since I wear glasses, this is a room I generally stay away from, but it’s the old fashioned steamed up, hot as hell room. Sex can happen or start here. It’s hard to see (even if you don’t have glasses).
2. The dry sauna. Same as the steamroom but without the steam, so you can see what you’re getting into. I’ve seen plenty of sucking and even a little fucking in the dry sauna. Sweat really lubes up the cock and ass in this space.
3. Showers. Generally, men go here to clean up between encounters or to show off their bodies and big cocks.
4. Exercise room. Really working on my gluts, man. I’ve seen a lot of rooms with equipment but never seen the rooms actually used for anything other than, well, the beginning of hook-ups.
5. Sunbathing area. For those sun-worshipers, it’s an outdoor space for getting a tan (and sometimes smoking). Nude sunbathing is the norm here and sex can start and even finish here, although I’ve only really seen oral.
6. Jacuzzi and/or pool. Come on get soaking wet with other men. Funny thing is I’ve seen more men get funky in the sauna or steamroom than in the jacuzzi/pool. And they always seem to over chlorinate these waters.
7. Mazes. Personally, I find these spaces can be fun if done right. It’s usually a room, painted black with very little light. I saw one with black lights and with painted obscene messages in fluorescent paints. Sometimes there’s gloryholes. Wander through and see if lots of men are cruising around.
8. Dark rooms or “black outs.” Rather than a maze, this is just a room or a hallway that is completely dark. You cannot see who is touching you and they cannot see you. Anything goes here.
9. Dance floor. Yes, I have seen bathhouses where you can cut a rug and dance with you cock out. Not my thing. Don’t ask me.
10. Lounge. No sex here. Usually a nice space with a television, some fake plants and snack machine. It’s a place to take a break.
11. Locker room. For all your fantasies, no sex here. For the cheapest rates at a bathhouse, you rent a locker and you change here and lock up your belongings here.
12. Massage room. Some places will “rent” or loan the room to a “licensed” therapist. His job is to work out your stress, which seems to be in your shoulders, your back, your ass, your asshole, your balls and your cock. When all that stress is finally released all over his hand or the inside of his mouth or ass, you owe him money. Gosh, this place is expensive.
13. Bunk room. For the frugal locker users, they don’t have a place to sleep off the drug-induced crash or the post-ejaculation downer, so some offer this kind of space. Now, I’ve found sometimes hook-ups can start here.
14. Cyber lounge. So there’s not enough men in the bathhouse, check out all the men online and invite them over. Have cybersex online! Yay! Come on dude! Real live human beings with cocks and mouths and assholes nearby. Don’t be so picky.
15. Fetish rooms. Jail cells, medical bays, dungeons, meat locker, rodeo, sling, St. Andrew’s cross, etc. are available. Sometimes these are rooms at a cost, sometimes these are public play areas. Either way, if you have a fantasy, they can happen. I’ve seen each of these.

The different cruisers…

Door wide open, on his back, jerking off to video
(oral bottom 80% chance, anal bottom 60% chance, oral top 30% chance, anal top 40% chance)
He wants a good look at you and wants you to get a good look at him. So, if you’re interested, linger in view for a moment. He’ll glance at you a few times. If his attention goes back to the television and ignores you, move on. If not, move to the doorway, rub your crotch. He should begin jerking off more to you than the TV. Again, if at anytime, he goes back to the TV, then move on. Otherwise, open your towel so he can see your inflating cock and move toward him. If he reaches toward it, close the door. If he motions “no” with his hand, move on.

Door wide open, on his stomach, “relaxing”
(anal bottom 100% chance, oral bottom 60% chance, anal top 0% chance, oral top 5% chance)
He’s looking to get fucked, obviously. He might be a little picky about who does it. Slow down, approach, step up. If he says, “I’m just taking a break” or “I’m just relaxing,” then move on. That’s code for, “I’m not interested.” If he says nothing, keep getting closer and touch his ass. He’ll likely be extremely passive and you’ll need to guide him to suck if you want sucked.

Door wide open, on his stomach, “asleep”
(anal bottom 100% chance, oral bottom 0% chance, anal top 0% chance, oral top 0% chance)
He is looking to get fucked and he is likely already loaded. A few times. He’s not picky (and it’s rare to find these kind of men are good looking or decent looking or anything above fugly). Sometimes they really are asleep, coming down off crystal after being fucked for 12 hours straight. Now I personally love dipping into a preloaded ass — there’s something hot about it — but there’s some places even I won’t go. I let sleeping dogs lie.

Door open, standing in door, naked, relaxed
(50%-50% on everything)
Eye contact is everything pretty much here on out, so if he’s in the door, he’s ready to invite you in. Just stop near by let him get a good look at you, you get a good look at him, look him in the eye, if he keeps looking at you, approach. Now hopefully he’s not staring at a bizarre birthmark over your left eye or anything. Tweak a nipple or ask in a low voice what he’s interested in. You can glance inside his room to see what’s out. But he’ll tell you what he wants to do. You do the same. Don’t be afraid to move on. Likewise, don’t be afraid to step inside and sample the wares.

Standing along the wall, no place in particular
(50%-50% on everything)
Again, eye contact matters. (Personally, I think tops tend to roam more and bottoms tend to be more stationary, but that’s not necessarily a rule.) Just like the previous one, watch him for a bit, if he watches you, good eye contact, saddle up to him and start a conversation. “Howzit going today?” or “Any luck so far?”

Wandering around, wearing a towel
(50%-50% on everything)
Following him will not work. DO NOT STALK. He will slow down if he’s interested in you. Eye contact, eye contact, eye contact. Generally, I monitor his pattern and if he’s headed a route toward where my room is, I’ll conveniently need to stop in my room. I’ll glance over my shoulder toward him repeatedly. If he looks at me and I’m looking at him, the message is received. I’ll leave the door open a crack and he’ll step in behind. Brief exchange of interest then go at it or kick his ass out.

Wandering around, wearing fashionable underwear, towel over shoulder
(bottom 90% chance, top 20% chance, tweaker 75% chance)
Where does he store the crystal bags? In his underwear. He’s hot. He’s out of your league. But if he’s high enough, chances are you can fuck his ass. Just be aware if he’s been doing booty bumps, you might get some on or in your cock. In general, though, I’ve found that these guys run around in pairs and are actually the men selling the drugs.

Stalkers or (worse) stalker trolls
(0% chance of anything)
These guys just will not leave you alone. They follow. They try to touch. They don’t get the hint that you’re not interested. To get them off my scent, I’ve gone into my room, locked the door and waited for 15 to 20 minutes. If they’re still outside waiting on you to come out, I roll my eyes with a disgusted look on my face, close the door and wait another five. If they’re still waiting, I will be so bold to tell them to fuck off. Drugged up stalkers might make things a little dangerous so it’s not worth it. Just leave.

Couples getting their jollies
(10% chance of anything)
Seeking to get a little spice in your love life? Well, these couples are. So they go to a bathhouse, open the door and fuck. They want you to watch. They even don’t mind a little touching. But the top will not let anyone else fuck the bottom and the top will not fuck anyone else. That is, unless you’re a couple of leagues above their collective top status. So let’s save the bottom is a seven (on the one-to-ten scale) and the top is a five. The third they might play with would need to be at least an eight (if he’s another top) or a nine. That is, unless he’s really hung and the top is sort of versatile.

Jerkers (or voyeurs)
(0% or anything other than bukkake)
These are guys just looking to watch. They will wander around until they see something happening and they will stand back and jerk it. They just want to masturbate. They do not want anyone else to play with them.

Tips and tricks

Who has a room and who has a locker? Which did you rent? Your key is on a lanyard or wristband with a certain color. So let’s say you rented a room and it’s a red wristband. As you walk through, you notice a lot of men standing in the hall have a bunch of blue wristbands along with a few reds and a couple of greens. Chances are the blue are locker boys with greens for special rooms.

Between tricks. If you get hot and heavy with anyone, it’s polite to go take a quick rinse off. You don’t have to completely shower off and lather up every inch. But at least get the top layer of cum, spit, sweat and lube off of you.

Dick breath. I always carry a fresh pack of gum that I chew between encounters. I don’t recommend bringing a toothbrush (even for the best mouth hygiene, you could open your gums for bleeding with could introduce your blood or theirs). If you want something stronger than gum, bring a sample of mouthwash.

Using a secret word. If I go with a buddy, I always have a “secret word” that we both know. If either of us use it, it’s an indication of need. Loyal friends will drop what or who he’s doing and run to the rescue. Usually that means going to the other’s room. It really depends on the circumstance and your discussions with your friend.

Shit it out. If you need to shit, go home.

When to go

Of course, weekends are always the best — Friday night until Sunday night. However some surprising times I find works:

– Mondays: If you didn’t get laid over the weekend and you want it, you’ll end up in the bathhouse on Monday. It’s also convenient to take Monday off from work since it’s next to the weekend.
– Thursday night: College towns especially will usually have a good night on Thursday. If someone is taking off Friday too and want to kick the weekend off with a good lay, Thursday night is when the weekend begins.

Each town and city is different. Each has a different vibe, a different day or night that might make a different time better or worst. For example, when do the bars close? That’s when the horny men will show up at the bathhouses for a quickie.

Post an ad to Craigslist.org and see what the locals suggest. They will usually steer you the right direction.