New York tourist meets West Hollywood bubble butt for sex
LOS ANGELES, U.S.A. — I am not a huge fan of Chi Chi LaRue. Her films are too polished and the general premise of a drag queen directing porn is enormously unappealing to me. Despite this, her Dirty Deeds party was recommended as a must-see while I was in LA visiting from New York. The party was at Fu Bar on Santa Monica Blvd. in West Hollywood. A gothic showgirl drag queen collected my five-dollar entrance fee. The bar was all black and felt like a sanitized LA version of New York’s The Cock. The stage ran the length of the bar and was designed to showcase go-go boys.
Three boys were dancing there, all in their early twenties and all with completely hairless bodies. The first was a mini black kid that couldn’t have been taller than 4’8”, with an amazingly perfect bubble butt that made up half his body. The white kid was in rockabilly drag, complete with knee-high leather boots and pompadoured hair. The Latino had a streamlined swimmer’s body. The crowd was ugly: the kind of crowd that needs to pay to touch. They were overly focused on the dancers and no one was cruising.
The party wasn’t just another DVD giveaway – Chi Chi LaRue was actually there MC-ing and DJ-ing. And she was even more vulgar in person. In twenty minutes, she screeched several times, ‘THIS IS THE HOTTEST NIGHT IN LA! WE ARE PACKED WITH STARS TONIGHT: MUSIC STARS, TV STARS, AND OF COURSE PORN STARS!’ Chi Chi had just found out that she was number 36 on Out magazine’s gay power list, and she made sure the crowd wouldn’t forget it.
One hour and two beers into the night, I was ready to move on. But at that moment, Chi Chi requested a bottle of tequila for her dancers and commanded them to do a few rounds of shots. This worked, and immediately they started grabbing each other’s dicks. It was fun to watch. Chi Chi commanded them to get down on their knees in a row of bare asses facing the crowd exactly at eye level. Then she announced, ‘ASS SHOTS.’ For twenty bucks, a guy would pour tequila down a kneeling boy’s lower back, using his ass crack as a shot luge, and patrons would put their mouth firmly between the kid’s balls and asshole to catch the shot on its way down.
Ass shots changed the energy of the room tremendously. Off-work dancers and porn actors joined the stage and started pairing up in different configurations, rimming each other and giving each other blowjobs. I had thought the ass shot was the innovation of the night, until Chi Chi announced ‘FORESKIN SHOTS!’ They went like this: a Latino guy with an unusually big foreskin who was the star of Chi Chi’s new film took a swig of Tequila and then pulled his foreskin up as high and wide as it could go, bent down as close as he could to his dick and spat the shot into his foreskin. An eager patron would slip him a twenty, and then he would lower his dick into the guy’s mouth and feed him the shot. I was happy to see that LA had out-sleazed New York City.
At this point it became a free-for-all, and everyone wanted in on the action – including me. I was standing there, fully amused by the show, when the guy next to me patted my ass. He was unusual for this bar: a black man, maybe 40, with a boyish face and a deviant smile – a bit of rough trade compared to the otherwise professional crowd. He was double my size: about 6’4”, with a broad, triangular back and a shaved head. He wore a tight T-shirt and army pants. He had extremely high cheekbones; a mix of African-American and American Indian.
Visually we were exact opposites, and this was thrilling to both of us. We smiled at each other, and considering the stage act there was no need to be shy. He put my hand on his dick and it was a great size, even semi-erect. Then he put his hand on mine, and I was immediately ready to go. We felt each other up and he unbuttoned my pants and took out my dick. I quickly did the same with his, eager to see his cock grown to full size. I was not disappointed.
We stood there stroking each other in public and then settled into the club’s dark back room where a covered pool table was being used as round two of the sex show. The lanky Latino go-go kid was fucking the rockabilly kid while the third guy was spreading his butt cheeks and occasionally licking. The crowd was huddled around them cheering and grabbing. I sat back down with my new friend.
‘Terrible coke,’ was the first thing he said to me; we had both totally lost our erections on a hit of coke that we’d grabbed on the way from the bar to here. ‘I want that ass,’ he said as he put his hand down my pants. ‘And you want this dick, don’t you? By the time we get to my house the coke will have worn off and we’ll be good to go.’ I was game.
As we got into his SUV he told me his apartment was a mess. Once outside the oversexed bar, I could make a better assessment about what I was getting into. Drunk and unfamiliar with LA, I couldn’t size people up, but I started to get a slight hint that I had been projecting the rough trade aspect onto him. Was I going home with a West Hollywood queen? Regardless, I was still fixated on his size and looking forward to being tossed around.
‘I have a boyfriend,’ he said as soon as we entered the car.
‘Perfect. Me too,’ I countered.
‘You guys are open?’ he asked.
‘Yeah, when we are away from each other, we’re not straight,’ I explained.
He nodded his head in agreement. ‘I feel that way too, but my boyfriend doesn’t. I have been monogamous for seven years and he always accuses me of cheating… I never do – but I figure if I’m already going to get in trouble for it I should at least get the pleasure. Anyway, that’s why my house is such a mess. I wasn’t expecting to bring anyone home.’
‘That’s cool,’ I assured him. ‘I am not coming to check out your house.’ I paused and then asked, ‘So I’m the first person you are taking home in seven years?’– thinking about how liberating the sex will be for him and how fun that will be for me.
‘Yes, I don’t get that much attention in LA, even though I am in great shape. I think most guys here aren’t attracted to black men,’ he said sadly.
‘Well I’m not from here,’ I said, turning up the music to try to kill the conversation before I learned any more facts about his boyfriend. Too much talking before this kind of hook-up kills the fantasy. Suddenly he wasn’t this big dominating Daddy anymore, but a sad guy with a bad relationship and a messy house.
He stopped at the deli and picked up some Bud Light. The next stop was the Circus of Books. We went into the adult section. He picked out some lube and asked the guy at the counter what the best brand of poppers is. They had the biggest assortment I had ever seen. The man explained sternly that they didn’t sell poppers, just video head cleaner, and then he recommended a brand that cleaned really well. Then I finally found out my one-night stand’s name was Andy.
Andy was chatty, and unfortunately I heard more about his boyfriend on the way to his apartment. Inside, the décor was like that of a straight, post-college bachelor’s pad: pizza boxes and beer cans, with the centerpiece being a 70s suburban brass-and-glass entertainment center. It was a nice surprise – the exact opposite of what you could have expected for West Hollywood – and he clearly wasn’t a queen.
I made myself comfortable on a light-blue pleather couch. At home he was more polite than I wanted him to be; he served beer and apologized for the mess for a third time. Then he put on some porn. I absolutely hate it when that happens. How can real sex not be enough to get you going? At that point he took off his clothes. I took mine off separately. He asked, ‘Can you do me a favor?’
‘It depends,’ I said, half excited/half scared in anticipation. He went into the bedroom and came back out wearing white track pants and holding a pair of matching black track pants.
‘Put these on,’ he commanded.
‘Why?’ I asked.
‘’Cause it’s hot,’ he said confidently. A good enough reason for me. I complied and put them on, happy to please. The originality of his request made me forget all about the porn. I was hard, he was not. We started making out and slowly took the track pants off each other. He was giving me a steady stream of poppers and then forced my mouth to the base of his giant dick. The cocaine was still affecting him and he apologized. The poppers had literally turned me into another person: I was sucking his dick like it was the most important task in the universe, and it was finally fully erect. He let my head up.
‘How are these poppers affecting you?’ I asked, thinking that maybe he had given me something more than poppers.
‘They make me more into it,’ he said, way more calm than I was. His cool put me at ease. I grabbed his dick and asked where the bedroom was.
On the bed I was on my knees, sucking his dick. He had a couple of fingers in my ass and was telling me over and over again how tight I was. This was turning me off until I remembered that I was going to be the first new ass for him in seven years. We got right down to fucking: he got out the lube and the condoms and started putting on the condom. The minute the latex touched his dick, he went completely flaccid. ‘I am used to fucking my boyfriend without a condom,’ he explained with a hint toward not using them.
‘I hate them too, but we are using one,’ I demanded. He tried again, but nothing. I tried to give him another blowjob, but it was clear that the moment had passed. And I was starting to fall asleep during my attempt.
In the morning I woke up curled up in his big chest to the sound of the Martha Stewart Show. Despite our failed attempt at sex, I was still really attracted to him and determined to get what I came for. I kissed him on the cheek and suggested turning off the TV. Being half asleep, he misunderstood me, mumbling that he never missed an episode. Then he started waking up, sucked my dick – and said he didn’t think he could get hard. ‘But why don’t you cum on my chest – at least one of us should cum, right?’ He lay on his back and I straddled his upper chest and complied. The built-up sexual frustration made me overshoot his chest, and my cum ended up mostly on his face, despite the sexless sound of Martha explaining the latest trends in Easter egg decoration.
I showered, and once again, Andy got very chatty. I heard all the details of his fight with his boyfriend. I learned that he was a musician, and it being LA, I got the rundown of his projects past, present and future, along with a list of his connections to celebrity (the latest being his having worked as a trumpeteer on a Justin Timberlake hit).
He apologized for having talked my ear off, but then couldn’t help going into another monologue about how vain Hollywood fags are and how they all want the perfect package even though they aren’t that way themselves. I suggested that Hollywood is the land of fac,ades. He pondered this idea like it was the first time he had ever heard it. ‘I like that,’ he said.
- As published in BUTT 20 on pages 75, 76 and 77
(1 July 2007)