A Circle-Jerk Miracle on HotGuySecret
I’m 24 and in I’m in a pin-stripe shirt that’s become a bit too tight for me, even more so with the week’s all-you-can-eat breakfasts. I’m bored out of my mind with my first-ever professional conference abroad, and disgusted with the unofficial expectation that I now spend my evenings with professional networking and leave just enough time to jack off and sleep.
It’s a big conference, divided between middle-aged lifers and young keeners. I think we were all pretending to value anything about this.
Throughout the entire first day there was an intrusive thought that was probably a terrible idea.
But, as Day 2 trucked on, looking around at the dozens or hundreds of strangers around me, at audience tables and at buffets, I began having silly daydreams about exactly what kind of bored my peers were.
I was definitely the only one who felt like THAT.
I was used to having an inconvenient daytime horniness, used to presuming I was the horniest presence in any room. It just felt unusual.
But at least, in this large city I was visiting, I wondered whether to take the plunge I had already taken twice before in my own city, to use the Internet to find out what strangers also needed to exchange gay sex without baggage.
As the conference session on Change Management began, I began calculating what we call in the biz a Fermi Estimate:
In a given city, there is a baseline of men who want to have sex with men, and some of them successfully sourced it. Of those, within that sub-population there is a baseline of men who keep their desires to have sex with men a secret; and some of them successfully sourced it. Of those, there is a baseline of those who don’t trust others who live in that city not to remain strangers or at least discreet.
Which meant there is a baseline of men in this city who would only have sex with a visitor from abroad.
I thought about that for a moment. This sub-population seeks a resource that exists in scarcity, to fulfil a very real biological need, that can only be achieved in unusual scenarios.
And therefore I essentially represented ‘a good’ that was scarce and indispensable. There was a baseline of men in the city for which they would be desperately interested in having sex with me this week. Of those, a percentage of them had beautiful cocks.
The thought was discarded for the rest of the morning as silly fantasy but it returned at lunch. Watching the profiles of strangers of various demographics reminded me. I watched them. In my industry, no one needs to prove themselves by being chiseled or skinny, and I’m not drawn to chiseled men, they remind me of red-flag behaviour somehow. There’s something about two sweet-spots in particular, 20ish years old and 40ish years old (broadly defined with lots of wiggle room within these 2 sub-populations of adulthood), something about the context of each of these 2 age-group’s particular kind of horniness, that I desire to engage with so very much. Mostly hypothetically, but one session with each of these age-groups confirmed my happy suspicions.
It was almost to occupy and amuse myself that I got onto my old cruising site, re-triangulated my location, and just for the hell of it began to plan an anxiously bored anxiously excited message about how visiting this city for the next 2 days resulted in me being available for and in need of sex with a perfect stranger.
I soon noticed something that made my face go fuchsia.
Having triangulated myself to this exact neighbourhood, several people in this distance-sorted message board were saying messages that all sounded roughly the same: that they were visiting this city for a very boring conference and wanted to have hotel sex.
We were not Downtown. We were in an otherwise differently zoned neighbourhood. I did not notice other hotels around. This big building probably ticked off the buildings and residences around us.
So it was this hotel.
I don’t know why I was bold enough to look individually at these messages while still at the hotel’s (and conference’s) common lounge area, but I instinctively darted my eyes around, in what was probably obvious and suspicious. I glanced back at my laptop screen. There were multiple profiles engaged in this topic, in multiple threads. Of diverse ages. Some of the profiles were erection-only or pictureless, but there was a sub-population of don’t-give-a-fuck faceshots.
I recognised two of them. Not knew them, but those were two faces I had seen. Today.
And more messages still.
They had already started coordinating. I was not the first to think of this. I watched the context, and two of them had already entered an early negotiation to pair off.
I closed my eyes and breathed hard and slow.
thisisstupidthisiscrazythisisdangerousthisismoronicthiswillgetmefired
Wait. What is this scenario, exactly, that I was afraid of? That this subpopulation of men asking for anonymous gay sex at a work conference would find out that I was also interested in anonymous gay sex and talk about how they know?
I breathed and thought and thought. By definition every man who didn’t want to have sex at this conference was oblivious to this conversation.
thisisstupidthisiscrazythisisdangerousthisismoronicthiswill-
“Hi everyone, I’m visiting for a conference in the Lower East Side of the city and this is my chance to have some anonymous sex. I’m unusually horny, I love giving blowjobs, I love getting blowjobs, I love both young and mature men, I don’t mind your body-type, I just need you to be friendly and horny and discreet and giving. I’m recently certified healthy. Who needs some secret fun?”
The engagement blew up. There were offers from other neighbourhoods, but somehow in this conference was apparently emerging a teeny little countercultural community. Of gay sex.
There was a lot of adamant talk back and forth, but multiple couplings were quickly emerging. Among those whose attention I had attracted, I had gladly accepted that of a middle-aged man with a bit of a tummy and a stunning uncut penis, who was ready to be very very bi after a separation.
At least some of the pairings had mentioned tonight after the dinner. I enjoyed the shared pictures and sales-pitches of the other men, horny for most of them but cautiously happy with my outcome.
The afternoon sessions began, and it was a little harder to hear, as hail and later huge raindrops started pounding on the glass dome above us (the atrium was partly jutting out of the rest of the building in a boot kind of shape, probably exactly for this purpose of skylight). There was thunder as things went on.
While the conference ate dinner in earnest, some mandatory speeches proceeded, and carried on for a bit longer than necessary. The lectern was occupied for a good while as most plates emptied. There was a very tangible moment, with both released tension and added tension in the room, where the speaker finished her speech and, after a polite clap, invited up a far less mandatory speaker though on a topic pretty consequential for the industry.
Not perfectly planned. If you’re a bureaucrat forcing people to listen to your little Expo, you back-load the mandatory stuff.
This was the very tangible moment, the flashpoint, where several people stood up, with polite gradualness but in no way lingering. Some of them carried on to the washroom. About 6 of us walked briskly from the atrium door to the elevator.
You don’t look at faces while waiting for an elevator. In fact one tries pretty hard not to. But when one gets in the elevator (which was at least luxuriously large), one has to make tiny fragments of eye-contact to exchange negotiations of social contract: who will stand where, how silent to be, whether anyone is going to try to chat with you…
The first thing I noticed is that two of them were smirking but trying to act casual and not look at anything: one a young chubby younger man and one a tall man in maybe his late 30s.
The second thing I noticed was that I definitely recognised the face of a shorter middle-aged man, who I remember had an absolutely stunning penis.
The third thing I noticed was that the chubby young man had a familiar figure, and an image came into my head of a poorly-taken picture of a naked young body, neck-down, with a cute cut penis, trying to pose casually despite the nudity, in a dimly lit bedroom. The fourth thing I noticed is that yet another man, maybe the oldest, was looking very casual but whose very expensive-looking suit pants were terrible at hiding erections.
I felt that fuchsia look on my face again, and the people in the elevator started to notice me, and almost looked concerned about something. I certainly hadn’t shown my face during midday break’s illicit correspondence, but something about my obvious bashfulness and the others’ double-takes, one by one until the glances at me and around became something else entirely. If I wasn’t stupid and mistaken, they began to turn into a dawning thought on the faces of us 6 elevator strangers.
Sub-populations can be partitioned by scenarios of unique behaviour, and if you’re lucky, by their unique choice to be in a particular place in a particular time. What is the sub-population of men at a conference who would quickly move to their empty hotel rooms during an important but non-mandatory PowerPoint presentation?
The answer was men who had something unique to do in private bedrooms that there wouldn’t be another chance for. Or better yet, that could be done a bit later but were good enough to miss a meeting for.
After the final of us no longer was able to look subtle, we all scanned each other. We scanned to count and cross-check for a single outsider. A single outsider was grounds to shut the fuck up right now. It was in fact crazy not to.
The profiles of each other told stories.
The pink-faced young man with wide eyes.
The recognisable young body we had all seen naked.
The late-30s man who approached and entered with him but avoided eye-contact.
The older man with the raging erection.
A man in his 30s unnecessarily wearing a buttoned-up coat.
A man of 40 darting his eyes away subtly, but unwisely darting those eyes specifically between two locations, the face of the young man and the buldge of the older man. Until he saw me again, and thought for a second, and then glanced downwards at my pants, and then up at me once more.
We were safe.
At some point in that slow-slow-rising elevator, we chuckled at each other.
“Christ, really?” I said. We laughed more.
The other young man said, “Ummmmmmmm, have fun?” The late-30s man close-by him smiled very broadly.
It devolved back into awkward silence. Even if what was happening was in some vague potential way a small miracle of fortune, I didn’t really have the language or the presence of mind to process that vague thought. The situation was volatile and fleeting. We would all have separate floors. Eventually it would be time for me and one other person to get off at the same time.
It was just a funny little coincidence that would make for 2 things about tonight to never discuss with anyone.
The elevator crawled up. In the elevator shaft we could hear the pelting rain again.
First the lights blinked, with an old-fashioned flickering noise that was particularly discouraging, and then I heard something spinning begin to not spin correctly, and a kind of ca-chunk of shuddering lost momentum upward. We all held our breaths for those first few seconds one wonders whether this is A Hiccup or whether it’s A Situation.
For the first few seconds of realising it was a situation, it was like we were strangers again, uncomfortable at being in a box with strangers for more than a few seconds at a time, and not able to choose our next movements. There were a few instinctual reaches for our mobile phones.
After a few seconds, there was a polite little ding, and a bored but practiced customer-service voice telling us to be patient and that the situation will be resolved swiftly.
There was a moment of grumpiness. And then a moment of awkwardness.
Eventually, the first flashpoint of annoyance calming down, I think one by one we once again remembered the scenario we were in.
And we men were awkwardly chuckling. Far more awkwardly now.
The young man spoke up,
“Aw nuts, how long until…..” Two of us smarmily shushed him, glancing warningly up at the intercom.
“Can they hear us?”
I glanced around and there was a phone box. I put up my finger to signal to wait. And, without touching the phone, I said, “Hello? Can someone hear me? Someone may be hurt in here, we need advice.” A full minute went by and there was nothing.
For the first time I glanced very carefully at the ceiling. It was a shabbier elevator than it at first seemed to be. Kind of old. No mirrors (the kind with cameras behind them). Just faded metal and wood. I glanced down at the box with the phone logo.
“Okay, there’s no camera. And they can’t hear us unless we use that thing.” No one wanted to be the person to pick up the phone. And another moment went by. It was awkward and uncomfortable, but we had slightly upgraded our familiarity. We were in fact in a deeply uncomfortable uncanny-valley between strangers and not-strangers, a feeling we all probably knew very well as conference visitors. That feeling is torture, with an added sense of butterflies-in-the-stomach when you add the connotation of immediate sexual familiarity.
So I decided to switch discomforts. As torturous as this transition was, I really needed this feeling gone if I was stuck.
“I think it’s fine. We have lots more chances to get what we need, tonight or tomorrow.”
We chuckled. “I hope tonight!” someone said. “I hope now!” the young man said.
I looked at the 40 year-old beside me. “Um, hi”, I said, knowing the elevator was watching me. “I think I’m going to have sex with you tonight?”
There was a moment of tension as I mentioned the secret out loud, but there was such a dramatic release of tension.
The older man spoke next, and it didn’t surprise me since he was the one who shared his face.
“Getting ready to drop to those knees everyone?” There were elated smiles among us. The man in his 30s said, “Well I’m way more ready to drop these pants, but I’ll drop to my knees in exchange if I need to!” There was chuckling at the wordplay. But I blinked in surprise.
“Well I definitely can’t wait for both of them!” I said, still very bashful to be saying all this. “Right everyone? Both are fun, right?”
“Well sure,” said the 40 year-old. “It’s hot doing it, and I love a great, uhh,” he glanced around one more time, “a great dick… But it’s a ‘sexual favour’, it’s more fun to get one, right?”
There were smiles of camaraderie now.
“I’m not the only one who just enjoys giving…” (glancing around) “blowjobs just for its own sake, am I?”
The young stranger blushed. “Well? Um, technically I don’t know yet, so maybe?” His companion seemed absolutely delighted.
The outlines of more erections were now visible.
“Goddamn it, this elevator…….”
We smiled and nodded. “This is impossible,” I said, softly, but smiling.
We all looked at each other again. Face and tent, face and tent, face and tent.
No one was going to say it.
No one.
They started looking at me. Something about my first words, or something I said, or the fact that I was the brave one that spoke first (was that top energy?) or something else about me, made them look at me more than elsewhere.
They seemed to like something about my bashful but hopeful grin.
I opened the phone box. I put my finger up again. I let myself breathe calmly. I picked up the phone.
“Hello? I’m wondering if we can get an update on the sit–“
“Yeah hi” said a very loud voice through the telephone, and I realised I didn’t need to hold it to my face at all, with a voice like that. “I know, it’s not a great situation. Look my team is looking into it, and we’ll get you out of there as soon as we can, but look it’s going to be more than just a minute, I’m sorr–“
“Okay, I hear you, it’s okay, hi, thanks for this. I’m not calling to rush you, we’re just planning expectations, how comfy to get in here, so we’re just checking whether we’re looking at minutes or hours here–“
“Yeah I’m really sorry I get it’s going to–“
“It’s okay!” I said a little too forcefully. “I’m not upset about it, it’s really great that you’re here, I believe you about the situation, we’re calm, we’re just planning what we’re in for. What’s the sitch boss?”
We all held our breaths.
“Hey thanks, that’s great. Okay I don’t have an estimate, but I’ll tell you something maybe about the storm and this old elevator caused an arc. It’s not just the elevator that’s out. You still have lights in there? Yeah? That’s lucky. But look more might go down. We’ve got the electricians in, and we’re looking at it, but yeah, to answer your question? It’s definitely, definitely not going to be a few minutes. There are mechanical and electrical things to do before we can possibly lower you down to a floor safely. I’m really sorry. It’s possible in half an hour we can lower some water down in there, could that help?”
“NO! No it’s fine. Thanks, that’s really great, but um, I don’t need your team diverting your attention, you can focus on the main problem. We’re going to be alright.” I tried to keep my voice very steady. It would probably be understandable, if misunderstood, if it wasn’t calm though.
“Hey that’s great, thanks, you’re doing a really great job of staying calm.”
I blushed and grinned. “Well we’ll be alright. There’s 6 men in here, all relieved for the news.”
“Hey that’s great. Okay, I’ll be in touch.”
I gently put the phone down.
All of us were wide-eyed. Especially the young man.
“Um, what were we talking about?” said the man who was scheduled to have sex with me, with an indescribable expression.
I gave them a sheepish look. “I was talking about how much I enjoy having men in my mouth. And then I was talking about how it’s absolutely certain that this elevator door isn’t opening for way over an hour. And now I’m deciding whether to talk about something else on my mind.”
I watched the faces. I saw bashfulness, but I looked and looked but saw absolutely no discomfort.
“Okay, can I say something?”
I sensed a hopeful kind of silence.
“Are we all still interested in hooking up?”
They looked at each other, and their faces all interacted and slowly smirked. I gradually heard “yeah” from each man, and as carefully as I watched none of them felt forced or just compliant.
“So what was the other thing that’s now on your mind?” said someone, pointlessly, or maybe just to get to the next moment. Which I think we all desperately needed now.
“What’s on my mind? Maybe how I’m in a secured room with people that have been waiting to have discreet gay sex for hours. Like how I’m in a secured room with people who have already shared pictures of each other naked. We all already know each other’s bodies. Well, most of you.”
Everyone was frozen still.
“So where am I? I’m crazy, I’m stupid, I’m done giving a shit, and I’m in a room full of cocks that already planned to cum into a strange mouth this very hour.” I was talking feverishly now.
“No one wants to take the lead in situations. I get that at work all the time. There’s accountability involved in being the person with the idea. But I can’t forget the fact that it’s literally impossible that the doors will open soon, and I can’t forget the fact that everyone here wants a blowjob from a stranger, and I can’t forget the fact that you all liked what I said about what I enjoyed.”
Everyone stared. I must have sounded like a lunatic.
“So I’d like to hear anyone waffling right now to say a big strong No and we can just wait this out until we’re out and our separate ways. Can I get a big strong No from anyone?”