Page 2 of Little Boy Toy

Errol and I had had some pretty decent heart-to-hearts. He’d been a bit brutal when he told me I was too picky and that was why I was alone.

“You don’t know what you’re looking for and you find flaws in every date you have,” he had said. “You’re either too shallow or too deep and nothing will ever be good enough. Give yourself room to fall in love if that’s what you want.”

“If it hasn’t happened by age thirty-three, it’s not going to,” I’d replied.

“You never know.”

At the door, someone checked us off a digital list on a tablet. We’d already signed our privacy and consent forms and paid online so there was no holdup. Errol waltzed into the club like he owned the place.

The club was busy for such a secret, hidden place with an unmarked scarlet door. I immediately saw a large bar and headed for it. Half the guys we passed were wearing leather, some in harnesses and chaps, some in jackets like me. Even though our desires didn’t match, it was a comfort. My size, six-four and two-hundred forty pounds of hard muscle always made me stand out, even feel awkward, but I could hold my own when it came to this crowd.

Errol came up alongside me and ordered a beer. I preferred harder stuff when I was not the driver and put in for a rum and Coke.

“Come on.” Errol picked up his drink. “Let’s have a look around.”

The main level held the bar, a dance floor, bathrooms, and several large party rooms.

“Those rooms can be rented for private parties,” Errol said. “But some are more public than private.”

I noticed the doors were open to three of the rooms. One room had tons of balloons and streamers, and people in all modes of dress milling about a large cake shaped like a naked man with accurate anatomy. Impressive. Maybe tasty, too.

Another room had a small stage where naked male dancers were giving an energetic performance to a loud industrial beat. The sign on the door said, Morrow Construction Employees Welcome.

We moved on.

The third room had a sign that said, Keats and Tomlin Wedding Party. It was a reception. Of sorts. The big cake had a huge dildo on top, the tip of which was set on fire.

“This place is busy.”

“The weekend is never boring here.” Errol led me to another door.

Overhead, the archway was painted red with the words THE CELLAR on it.

“Downstairs is where most of the kink actually happens,” Errol said.

“Figured.” I was new here, but not to kink clubs in general.

Errol opened the door, and I followed him down a narrow stairway dimly lit by overhead orange lights. The walls were brick, the air cool. It smelled loamy at first. But when I stepped off the last step and turned the corner, I was assaulted with a mix of men’s cologne, sweat, sex and bleach.

The hallway stretched ahead of us, white brick and clean white tile. Fluorescents bathed the area with a harshness I’d not expected. It was like a school hall, or a hospital, with windowed doors and more windows to the sides so a person could peep into any of the rooms without going inside.

There were peepers standing around, some talking, some staring. They ignored us as we moved forward. I noticed hand sanitizer units at every entrance, as well as in-built shelves offering bowls of condoms and lube packets. Everything was spic and span, gleaming like new. It was almost silent, but through the thick walls and glass I heard a few distant shouts and groans.

At the far end of the hall were changing rooms, and signs with arrows that pointed to more bathrooms.

Errol turned to me. “Well, that’s the tour. Something for everyone.”

“Yep.”

The lure of sex permeated the air, especially psychically. I had always been sensitive to the moods of others in close proximity. But nothing called out to me. I wasn’t sure where to start. I was still very much in my mind tonight, my body failing to rule me as it did so much in my early twenties.

“You okay for a while?” Errol asked.

“Fine.”

He wandered off. I couldn’t blame him. He’d led me downstairs not to show off but for his own selfish reasons. I’d agreed ahead of time that we would separate.

I leaned against the frame of a window, peeking inside an orgy room. Orgies were the sort of thing that were fascinating at first, but after a while they got rather repetitive. The really creative ones required directors, and that rarely happened in a spontaneous place like a kink club. If someone wanted a real performance, there were places for that, secretive and underground.

---