The One-Way Voyage (Day Zero)
DAY ZERO
The worst day of my life.
It was my lack of mathematical skills that led to my downfall.
I had $36 in my pocket. The IPAs at The Dungeon cost $13 each, so I thought I had enough for, like, three, right? It wasn't until I had finished the third beer that I realized I had made a mistake. I was $3 short.
Urges of panic pricked my scalp and neck. What should I do? Drink slowly, I told myself. Stay calm. Think.
This trip to San Francisco wasn't going well.
I only knew one person in the city, but Matt and I had parted ways earlier that morning, and not on the best of terms. Would he be willing to save me from the mess I had created? My hand went into my pocket and traced the familiar contour of my phone.
A young man of twenty, alone in an unfamiliar place, leaving behind a failed past and the new life I'd hoped for in shambles. I remembered the argument we'd had that morning, when Matt had asked me to leave his apartment. I'd managed to pay for breakfast with the last twenty dollars I had in my pocket, which left me with $36 in small bills. I counted them again just to be sure.
The Dungeon was the seediest gay club in San Francisco, and that was saying something. I'd waited until nightfall to locate it in a filthy back alley, where I spotted its black sign lit up with purple rope lights. The sign had a castle gate on it, with a raised portcullis. Behind its iron bars, a muscular man in a loincloth clutched them, his eyes wide with alarm.
I could relate.
I shook my head and looked around. People sat at dimly lit tables along the edges of the main floor. In the center, two tables stood, padded with black and red leather, equipped with straps and handcuffs. Above them, a sling hung from four chains suspended from the ceiling.
The Dungeon welcomed anyone foolish enough—or intoxicated enough—to strip and use the equipment, for their entertainment and that of the other patrons. If you could put on a good show, the club would cover your tab.
I observed a naked guy lying in the sling, a freckled redhead with pale, hairless skin. His feet were securely strapped to two of the chains, elevating his legs wide apart. Another bulky, hairy guy stood between his legs, ruthlessly thrusting into him. Two other naked guys, their pants around their ankles, stood on either side of the sling, receiving handjobs from the redhead. Nearby, another naked man lay on a table, face down, as someone else began to mount him from behind.
If I couldn't pay my bill, this was a possibility. Most of the men in the club were bigger and older than me, which made me nervous. Once a burly guy started with me, there'd be no turning back.
Even if I were brave enough to try this, how would I initiate it? I tried to picture myself, disrobing and striding to the center of the room, head held high, my long blond hair catching the bright lights, because confidence is sexy.
Could I pull off such a feat? I didn't know. If I could, these seasoned guys would undoubtedly approach me. But then what? The guy on the table was already getting fucked. The guy in the sling couldn't give me his full attention. What should I do? Lie down on the floor and wait for someone to approach and fuck me?
Perhaps someone would. Perhaps I'd enjoy it and it might cover my three drinks.
Or perhaps I'd lie there completely alone, exposed under the bright lights, looking like the pathetic loser I was, with a body no one wanted, while the seasoned men watched me from the shadows, with a mixture of disdain and pity.
Which would it be? I didn't have the guts to find out. My heart raced and my palms sweat at the mere thought of it.
I took a deep breath. It may have been a last resort, but I'd rather have one of these men approach me, maybe pay for dinner, cover my tab, and take me back to his place. Then at least I could rest in a real bed instead of a plastic seat at the bus station.
Naturally, I'd have to let him fuck me in return, but at this point, that seemed like a small price to pay, and at least it would be private.
While drinking my first beer, I'd tried my best to exude confidence and availability. Nothing. During my second beer, I undid the buttons on my blue polo shirt. Still nothing.
Maybe they simply didn't find me attractive enough.
How would the employees of The Dungeon react if they discovered I couldn't pay? Would they summon the police? Confinement to jail seemed inevitable, considering the scenario. Would I experience rape within the jail's confines? An additional layer of irony if, for refusing a straner's money to engage in sex, I ended up assaulted by a stranger and didn't even receive compensation.
I attempted to reassure myself that lying naked on a table and being observed by older gentlemen wasn't too uncomfortable. It's all about mindset, correct?
My resolve was weakening when I noticed a touch on my shoulder.
"Hey," came a voice. An older man approached me. I looked up to see messy, blow-dried hair, framing strong black eyebrows and a nicely-groomed beard that framed a charming smile. His crimson shirt was unbuttoned, exposing more hair underneath. "May I join you?"
"No," I replied then cringed at my misphrasing. "I mean, yes. I mean, go ahead, have a seat."
The man obliged, sitting in the lone other chair at my intimate table. He beckoned the waiter. "Hey, Dillon. I'll have the same as him," he added, indicating me. "Get my acquaintance a second round, also."
"Right away," Dillon acknowledged.
"I can't--" I hesitated. "I can't afford--" I paused, unsure of what to convey.
"You don't have enough for another one. No stress. The next round's on you."
I frowned. How did he discern it?
"You've been downing that beer for nearly thirty minutes," he commented. "I've been following you." He moved closer to the table, resting his folded hands on it. With a soft voice, he said to me, "I'd wager you don't even have money to cover the drink you've already chugged down."
I laughed, chuckling nervously. "Gotcha."
He smiled once again, and suddenly my imminent predicament didn't appear so bleak. "Then it's on me for the evening," he proclaimed. I started to object, yet he forestalled me. "Forget it. No biggie."
His shirt resembled satin and likely cost more than my modest fortune and all the garments I wore. Then I noticed his gaze upon me, and I broke into a cold sweat.
Are you uncomfortable if an older man eyeballs you?
An acceptable question. One which I yearned for the answer.
To mask my uneasiness, I lifted my glass to my lips and drained what remained. I turned to observe the onscreen entertainment. A middle-aged man had risen, stripped, and now his penis was thrust into the standing figure's mouth, who remained between two men with erections, diligently pumping them.
Certainly not a scenario that had crossed my mind.
"Feel like joining in?" he addressed me.
"No! Not that!" I exclaimed hastily, downing the remainder of my beer to hide the discomfort.
"No? What did you really come here for? Only to indulge in beer, which you could just as easily get down the street at a lesser expense than this."
Perplexed, I stared at the arrangement occurring on the stage. "I didn't anticipate--" I trailed off.
"You didn't foresee this kind of enjoyment?" the older man queried.
Another trip to the bathroom necessitated.
He shoved me out of the way, "You go relieve yourself."
"I'm not used to this much alcohol. I mean, IPA's are stronger than most."
"Where to?" the man inquired as I departed.
"Past the cowboys."
"Go on."
To my left, a patron approached the stage. "Want a piece of that," he alluded to the man with four appendages being serviced.
In the men's room, I entangled my legs around a younger man. He observed my trouser area. "Nice prod," he muttered.
Ignoring him, I left the washroom, feeling more unsettled than before. The man who had frequented the guy with four guys was now being fucked by an additional man. I found it hard not to stare at this, even whilst on my course. One of the guys was servicing two fellows simultaneously, generating quite the ruckus. Then it hit me; I had to find the restroom.
Upon my return, I nearly tripped over the guy being arse-raped. I inspected who it could be, only to find Dillon. "Hey, can we catch our breath?" he enquired.
It looks like I've had too much to drink.
"I guess so."
Dillon assisted me back to my table, where my new companion was patiently waiting. I found myself collapsing into the chair more than deliberately sitting down. "You okay?"
"Yeah, just a bit tired." I downed the dregs of my drink. The beer felt odd.
"You could go back to my place and lie on the sofa for a bit. We could watch a television show or something. Do you have anywhere to stay?"
My vision was doubled. Despite blinking several times, the duplications would not disappear. How did I become such a light drunk? "No."
"Then you can crash at my place. It's an interesting place, I admit, but it takes some getting used to."
"I think--I think maybe--" I was struggling with what exactly I wanted to say.
"It's time to say goodnight." He whipped out his wallet, dropping two hundred dollar bills on the table. I saw more of them inside. "Please call us a cab, Dillon? This should cover both our tabs. The remainder is for your trouble." Dillon nodded, picked up the money, and hustled off. "C'mon," he said, guiding me to my feet and assisting me into my coat. "We'll grab a cab. You can go to my place, or I'll drop you wherever you want to be."
"I don't have a destination."
"Then come to my place. I'll support you with no concerns. I'll take care of you. How does that appeal to you?"
"Sounds great," I managed to mumble.
He linked his arm with mine and guided me outside, waiting while Dillon waved down a cab. When my limbs grew weak, the guy encircled me in his warmth and hugged me tightly. On this chilly night, he was a source of heat.
A taxi appeared. The guy maneuvered me into the back seat, then crammed himself in beside me. "Marina Boulevard," he directed the driver.
As the cab made its way through the Interstate, my head slid down onto his shoulder. He wrapped an arm around me again and swayed me comfortably. "Nice," I breathed.
"Is your friend okay?" the driver questioned.
"Drank too much, that's all. He'll be fine."
"You should take him home and put him to bed."
"That's my plan."
"Hmm," I sighed into the guy's neck. It felt as if I was in the arms of safety for the first time since leaving Iowa. He promised to care for me, I thought, just before drifting off to sleep.
Read also:
Source: www.nice-escort.de
