Perhaps you noticed that the title of this blog post is a play on words as a pun of the word cumpleaños that means "birthday" in Spanish. Sometimes I try too hard, but this is perhaps a perfect anecdote to introduce this tale.
I've already written about half of the stories that took place shortly before and after my birthday as noted in the posts Sex and the Shitty and Red Hanky Redux - during that precious time where my Capricorn ambition got more than the best of me and my determination led to some rather thrilling experiences. Let's get started...
One of my favorite pastimes in this whore town is to go hip hunting in sex animal's natural habitat. I opted yet again to go to my favorite Sauna/Sex Club in Berlin that caters to sex tourists and the Berliners who fuck them. I always have a good time at this particular place for a number of reasons.
First, the amount of privacy alloted. There are private cabins with a state of the art porn system that is literally at your fingertips.
Second, despite the level of sleaze, it is a clean, cozy place where you can actually socialize if you're in the mood.
Third, as opposed to a private in-home sex party, you don't have to deal with being responsible for other people's fetishes and their particular interests (as much).
Frankly, the place allows me to pick and choose and to be as selfish or altruistic as I want to be. The only real problem is that like any public sex scene - you don't get to see too much sex because everyone is always hiding in the darkest corners of the place (i.e. the steam room or the dark cruising areas).
I arrived on Friday evening, the day before my birthday - having already scheduled a pretty nominal birthday otherwise that would involve laying in bed drinking bourbon and eating ice cream while watching X-Men movies (after the exhausting holiday season, it was just what the doctor ordered and perfectly suited to my desired level of enjoyment).
I set up shop in my private room and when I left to go "prepare" I noticed the prized prey. They always show up as soon as I get there and I know right away that they are going to be the most difficult to bed. Call it instinct or call it stupidity, but I always go for the ones that I don't have to slap their hands away (something that is commonplace in these public venues as I am usually the token person of color in the joint).
I got there early because I wanted to avoid the drama that usually precipitates throughout the weekend - including but not limited to: no vacant rooms, the bartender nowhere to be found, eye candy cruising distraction (is that a "fuck you" stare or a "fuck me" stare?), crowded line at the ass cleaning station, etcetera.
I'm almost ashamed to say it - but when I finally had "MY TIME" there, alone, surrounded by a pretty hefty meat market - I felt like I was at an amusement park waiting in line to get on a new, record-breaking roller coaster. The feeling was just - as I'll explain.
I'll focus on three equally exciting occurrences that were all exceptional in different ways:
Let's get Mr. Hotstuff
out of the way.
He was typically my type - bald, hairy, blue eyes, tattooed, meaty - impossibly aryan...he looked like a Raging Stallion Studios
porn star - and in actuality and hindsight, I think he might actually be one.
He was the first guy that caught my eye (amongst other things) and I didn't want to let on too soon that I would certainly be feasting on him. He disappeared from my view several times, not noticing me at all - which of course made him even hotter than he already was.
Eventually he ended up standing in front of my door ajar cabin peeking in as I was already exhausted from several hook-ups that mostly took place in the cabins of others. He just stood there, like a deer in headlights, fondling himself through the white towel that was painfully wrapping itself just enough around him (he was a hefty guy).
He stood there looking directly at me for what seemed like a century only because in cruising time it was (actually about 20 minutes). Others looked in and I shooed them away and then returned back to him as he stood there - completely oblivious still as I proceeded to virtually BEKON HIM TO STICK IT IN NOW with hand motions and other provocative gestures that were nothing short of farce.
He tiptoed closer, and then a little closer, and then a little closer, and then he stopped at the threshold. I yelled, "Come the fuck in! God!" and he did.
He closed the door behind him and I was laughing at him saying something about how ridiculous he was for standing there for so long.
He half smiled one of those typical pursed, frown upside down German "smiles" and said nothing, or nothing worthy of me remembering. What was most memorable was what was presented before me when he dropped his towel. I gulped.
He was a good kisser. We roared like wild animals as we played tongue hockey and our dewy hands were all over each other, nervous perhaps because it was unexpected that the other person wanted us. I kept making my way to his third leg of a dick, all of which I could not take in my mouth, and by the looks of things he was going to be more of the top though I did slip a few fingers into his supple slippery hairy asshole while I was choking on what part of his maness I could fit to the base of my throat.
He turned me around on all fours as he sat next to the dorm sized, sleazy cabin plastic mattress bed whose dirty sheet had already been released from the edges and was now in a disheveled pile atop it, his and my cabin keys sprawled along the mess of condom wrappers and little lube bottles and other sauna paraphernalia.
He ate my hole like a champ for a quick moment - and I went to that place that I always try to avoid: wondering what would happen if this guy was more than an anonymous fuck. Just when I thought I couldn't get enough of his hot hungry tongue, most of his dick entered me.
He started off slow and gradually increased in speed as my moaning navigated this. After awhile, I didn't care about the pain of the beastly thing and actually preferred it and dreaded the thought of being stretched open enough to the point that it wouldn't hurt anymore. I usually don't like big dicks, but this was different. Because he was so sexy and he was so gifted in the art of pumping, I enjoyed the feat of taking him fully despite the fact that my hole winced every time he pushed that thing closer to my stomach.
Then he was on the bed with me and I was in my favorite position (as a bottom) - I was laying on my stomach and he was slamming into me quickly and hard, very hard. The heft came in handy, sometimes it is all you need to help you forget about your troubles. He must've been all of 205 pounds, and the weight of him seemed to lift away all the weight I've been carrying on my shoulders. I was screaming now.
He changed me then too from voyeur to exhibitionist, from selfish to altruistic, and I wanted everyone in that place to hear my painful joy in the hopes that they might be thrilled by it. I was coming as he was riding my aching hole, but I did not tell him for fear that he would stop but he did in fact feel me pulsing (or convulsing rather) and began to slow down and then I demanded him to keep going - he did, and the orgasm was priceless.
Speaking of priceless, let's talk about Mr. Escort
This hairy butterface troll came peeking into my room right around the time I thought that truly, really, I had had enough and I was spent and needed to go home.
He casually entered, without the essential sauna etiquette that at times can be an unruly thing to assuage, especially with the ugly ones who have nothing to lose - so it is a standard-less numbers game to them. He wasn't terribly homely, but a little bit unfortunate looking. Though his body was rather stunning in that beefy, hairy, worked-out kind of way, there was this one crime against nature that really bothered me. He had shoulder length hair.
Without much ado he closed the door behind him, took off his towel, and stuck his small but poignant dick right inside of me. And then he fucked me.
And fucked me. And fucked me. And fucked me some more. We changed positions. And he fucked me. And fucked me. And then he fucked me. And he fucked me. And fucked me. I stopped to cough. And then he fucked me. And fuck fuck fuck fucked me - and then I had to adjust myself because his arm was in an uncomfortable position underneath me - all the while he fucked and fucked and fucked away. Then he spooned me for about half a minute, him exhausted and me exasperated, and then he started fucking fucking fucking for about 8 minutes straight (think about it - that's a long ass time).
When he was "finished" he tried to start again and I insisted that he didn't. Then in broken English he started tallying up his necessities that included an U-bahn ticket home and a pack of cigarettes. And then came the kicker:
"Yeah, so I think about ten Euro should do it."
?", I scoffed.
It was a perfectly believable situation in my unbelievable life. This man - this half-attractive good fuck was selling himself to me for ten Euro.
I laughed at him, handed him an "extra" U-bahn ticket from my wallet, pulled a cigarette out of my pack of Camels, handed them to him and said, "Tschüss
!" to which he continued to offer me other unsolicited things (in words this time) that I completely ignored as I literally pushed him out of my cabin.
Speaking of pushing out - let's continue on to Mr. Mister
One of the main reasons I (try to) avoid new sex partners in Berlin (as aforementioned) is because of the astounding amount of heavy extreme sex that is all too common here, or to state more accurately without subjective bias, common enough.
There are enough people at these places who want to have ordinary sex, and there are more than enough that want the heavy shit too. And then there are those that want everything and more.
There was a couple that was a natural candidate(s) for one of my conquests. I don't need to tell you what they looked like, I only need to tell you that they were exactly my type.
What was most fascinating about them was that they were both German - and I am always eluded about the dynamics of a Teutonic/Teutonic partnership because it is no secret that the culture of Germans involves a heavy dose of control and communication issues. So in part I wanted to get into these guys (literally and figuratively) to get a front row seat of a hardcore German power struggle drama.
One was stout and wide, one was long and thin; I'm talking about their bodies and their cocks. The wide one was the talker, the thin one was the doer. Long and fat story less endless and thick, I got to know the two of them much better live and in person (we had a chatting history online), and what started as a pivotal and amazing spitroasting
session between them, ended in another one of those dreaded "I'M NOT INTO THAT!" situations when the thinner one casually began to prepare my asshole for fisting as if it were second nature and asked me to "push it out".
It was a pity really.
I left soon after the incident with the two after I meandered around one last time looking for Mr. Hotstuff to no avail. After we had our bout of incredible, sweaty, no holds barred sex, we had a cigarette and a nice talk. I told him about my birthday plans and he told me he too was a Capricorn - so the rest of our conversation revolved around work, and I loved it. When I asked him where his boyfriend was he said, "At home," and those little pangs came creeping back in - wondering why men are such secretive pigs, and how is it that I am so attracted to red flags.
I was quite fulfilled and left the place almost limping with pleasure.
I walked out into the sunrise, realizing my thirty-fifth year for the first time, and I was amused by how far I've come in my sexual evolution. The things that I've experienced in the past few years in Berlin have been completely freeing in terms of the early onset repression that occurred from Catholicism.
I went to bed, alone, with only tea-light candles instead of birthday ones - and I enjoyed a whole lot of nothingness, with my bourbon and my X-Men movie, and after a lot of smiling thinking about all of the gifts I received the previous day, I scrunched my face into thoughtful furrows, pondering how I would get the one thing that was lacking on my birthday wish list: rimming.