I was awake ridiculously early that morning. In addition to the fact that my body tends to wake up at the same time no matter what time I went to bed the night before, I was fretting about moving my car. I had noted the parking restriction started at 10AM, but I was now paranoid that I'd remembered wrong. Howard had taken the day off, so I knew he wouldn't be stirring any time soon. I managed to get back to sleep, but it was a spotty, disturbed, unrestful sleep.

I woke back up again for good about 10 minutes before my watch alarm went off to tell me it was time to move the car. Howard was still asleep. I threw on some clothes, grabbed his spare set of apartment keys, and headed out.

After I got the car fired up I searched the radio stations for Howard Stern. I thought it would be fun to listen to him considering it was all happening live only a few miles away. Eventually I found it and headed out. I did a semi-logical search pattern, remaining in the same general area.

Scrutinizing the parking signs intently, I realized at one point that I was on a street where the no parking period was just coming to an end. The curb was already full of cars. That clued me into the fact that I had to be back early if I wanted to get my old spot back.

After a little more searching I found a spot on the South-East corner of Tompkins Square Park, only a couple blocks from Howard's. As soon as I started walking away, however, I realized I needed a special faculty permit to park there. I got back in and kept driving.

Two things kept vexing me in my search. One was fire hydrant zones. You can't see the hydrant until you were right up on it, so you'd think you'd found a space only to discover that it was no good. The other was metered parking. I kept seeing empty spots, but when I got close I realized that they had parking meters on them. Finally I realized that I could put it in metered parking for the time that my old spot was off limits, and bring it back early enough to get my old spot back. It was a great plan. I pulled into the next metered spot I saw and dropped $2 in quarters into the meter.

As I walked back to Howard's very proud of myself, I realized that I could have found metered parking only a block away from my old spot, instead of the half-dozen blocks I now had to walk. Oh well. Live and learn.

On the way back to Howard's place I grabbed a bagel from the local bodega, as my stomach was already rumbling and I knew it would be quite a while before we sat down to a proper breakfast.

When I got back to the apartment Howard was already ambling about. I ate a couple bites from my bagel, lay on the futon for a while, and eventually got back up and took a shower. Taking a shower in Howard's place is kind of like standing under a drippy faucet.

By the time we were both dressed and ready to leave it was about time to get my car anyway. We walked up to where I left it and drove directly back to where I had it before. I was early enough that there were lots and lots of spaces available. I parked it in almost exactly the same spot, except a tad closer even to the corner. I was so early, in fact, that I decided to wait around a bit and make sure that some meter maid didn't come by and slap a ticket on me. But a lot of other people had already parked.

When a guy in an old VW camper parked in the spot behind me, I decided to get out and compliment him on his cool vehicle. He was perhaps in his late 40's, but handsome and in pretty good shape.

"Nice camper," I said as he climbed out and locked the door.

"Uhhh, thanks..." he said hesitantly.

"That's a pretty old one, isn't it?" I continued innocently.

"Yeah, '69," he said as he scurried away.

Howard had to explain to me that I wasn't upstate any more, and that people in the city don't generally chat with people they don't know. I thought our VW simpatico would overcome that, but apparently I was wrong.

Howard and I wandered off to get some breakfast. I was back in the mode where I just follow the knowledgeable person around like a puppy dog. I wasn't sure which diner we went into, but it had pretty decent food and cute waiters.

We had a light agenda for the day. I had heard on Fresh Air™ a few weeks back about a photo exhibit in a SoHo gallery. Photographer Joel Meyerowitz had a studio with a stunning view of downtown, and over the course of twenty years he had taken numerous pictures of the skyline, which prominently featured the twin towers. He had been planning to exhibit many of these photos long before September 11th. He decided to go ahead with the exhibit, and it would be in progress while I was in town. I really wanted to see it.

I won't go into my feelings of the events of September 11th, except to say that despite the tragic loss of life, I really lamented the loss of the buildings themselves. I have been interested in architecture all my life. People come and go, but buildings persist. The step pyramid of Sakkra was the first example of monumental architecture, and millennia after the death of Zoser and Imhotep, the pyramid lives on. The monumental Gothic cathedrals of the middle ages took hundreds of years to construct. Those who designed such buildings knew from the start that they would not live to see their completion. Whenever I'm in the presence of such architecture, I'm filled with awe, and a sense of pride that our species has the ingenuity and sheer will to achieve such greatness.

While the World Trade Center was in practice a pragmatic office building, it's sheer scale was monumental, and it had long been a favorite of mine. The presence of the twin towers on the skyline as a whole was striking and significant in that they counter-balanced the jungle of sky-scrapers clustered around mid-town, but their true beauty was better appreciated from a closer vantage point. They were so incredibly tall that they could be seen from virtually any spot in lower Manhattan. Since I spent most of my time in the village, I grew accustomed to seeing them wherever I went. They became permanent objects in the sky, providing a point of reference and a sense of comfort and security, like a man-made North Star.

The Empire State Building, by contrast, was juxtaposed against the Chrysler Building, the Pan Am Building, and a forest of other mid-town behemoths. The twin towers so overtopped every other building in the area that they had the sky to themselves. Yet their peerless domination was tempered by the fact that there were two of them. Rather than an individual titan dominating all that surrounded it, the twin towers shared the sky between them. They were celestial sisters, posed side be side -- an eternal monument to symmetry and balance.

The architectural critics who praised the buildings after their demise were largely the same ones who bitterly criticized them when they were new. The twin towers were almost universally panned as being nothing more than simple rectangular boxes. I never shared this view. I thought that they were perfect examples of understated grace. The Sears Tower in Chicago, in my opinion, is a plain glass box (and I mean "plain" in the pejorative sense). As far as I'm concerned, its flagrant disregard of the basic sensibilities of symmetry broaches on the ugly. It looks like a stack of Leggo blocks created by a kid who didn't have enough to complete the job. Beyond that, the exterior surfaces had no texture or ornamentation of any kind. It was simply covered in vast monolithic sheets of glass. While the twin towers were admittedly simple rectangular forms, they were so much more than that. Each face was covered in regularly spaced, delicate white flutes that stretched uninterrupted the entire height of the structure. At the base of the tower, trinities of flutes gathered together, naturally forming Gothic arches to top the wider spaces that bore the many entrances to the building. While this design was indeed very simple, I thought it was uncompromisingly beautiful. To enhance the already considerable state of grace these towers created, they were not placed side-by-side, but offset corner to corner. This small design element had a major impact on those standing at the base, those gazing out the windows from within, and those seeing the towers from a distance at any angle. To me, they were the epitome of uncluttered beauty.

I had done a web search and found the Ariel-Meyerowitz gallery to be only a few blocks from the festival venue. Howard explained that it was a little farther than it looked like on the map, but it was still within walking distance. After we finished breakfast we hiked to Broadway. After initially walking directly past the appropriate building, we figured out which one it was. We took the elevator to the top floor and walked in.

The space was smaller than I expected, but the photographs were huge. Meyerowitz had shot them all on an old-fashioned "view camera" which exposes an 8" by 10" negative (as opposed to a 35mm negative). This creates photographs that have incredible vibrancy and clarity, even when enlarged to great proportions. It was quite amazing to see such photographic prints close up.

I found the photographs to be more about the sky than the twin towers. The latter was actually used more as a frame for the former. The sky-scapes that Meyerowitz captured were really quite amazing, though. There were sunsets, cloud formations, and massive storms. We hung out for a while and then moved on.

Our next stop was the nearby Leslie-Lohman Gay Art Foundation to see the 10th Gay & Lesbian Photo Annual, subtitled "Body Language: Explicit/Implicit." It was pretty interesting, and more than a little erotic. It was enough to give me a little wood in my jeans. At first I wanted to hide it, but I decided I totally didn't care. I wound up walking around with a huge bulge in my pants the rest of the time. After a while we left and hiked back to Howard's where we both took naps.

I set the alarm on my watch to get me up in time to get to the Stonewall to meet Angel and Robert. They were a couple of guys who had found me on the web a while back. Angel had done a Lycose image search for "BEACH+BOY" and found a picture of me naked and erect on a San Francisco nude beach. After delving into my site he emailed me. Long story short I told him I'd be in NYC in a couple weeks and we made plans to meet at the Stonewall.

I hiked up to 9th Street and took that all the way across town. On my way I was seeing signs to Route 9A, which I remembered as being the official designation for the Henry Hudson Expressway. I now knew what my escape route would be Monday morning.

I got to the Stonewall a little early, so I milled about in a nearby souvenir shop for a while. I wound up buying a postcard to send home to my folks. It was an aerial view of the Greenwich Village area. It was pretty cool, actually.

I headed back up to the Stonewall. I had been by it many times but had never gone in, until now. Despite it's legendary status, it was just a bar. It was a little too dark and the music was a little too loud. I got a $3.00 glass of Coke. Angel and Robert wouldn't send me a pic of themselves. They said they didn't have one to send. In this day and age I find it hard to believe that no one has even one digitized photo to send around. I usually suspect that excuse to be a euphemism for, "I don't want you to know what I look like." Either way, the onus was off me from peering around the bar trying to identify the guys I was supposed to meet. I got a table and sat down.

It didn't take a minute before a guy came over and introduced himself. It was Angel. He was about two tables over from me. I picked up my drink and moved over to his table. In a minute his boyfriend Robert came over. My theory about them not sending a pic seemed to be out the window. They weren't movie stars, but they looked quite nice to me. They were maybe in their early to mid 40's. For some reason I had pictured them as being in their 50's. I'm not sure why. Maybe it was residual suspicion from them not sending a pic.

We went through that initial uncomfortable stage where no one really knew what to talk about. We made some pointless chit chat for a while until Robert kind of hunkered down and asked if he could ask me some more personal questions.

"You can ask me anything you want," I said.

He then tried to formulate his question. Actually it was more one of those, let-me-tell-you-a-question questions. Actually it didn't turn out to really be a question at all, but rather a semi-inquisitive observation. He said something like, "You have all these pictures of yourself, right down to childhood and Halloween costumes, and you have all these stories about your life and your interests, even down to the level of detail of James Bond and Planet of the Apes."

I was like, "Yeah?"

He said, "Well... what's up with that?"

I took a breath to respond, but Robert went on some more.

"I mean, like, it's so universal. I like Planet of the Apes too. I think we all do." He went on to tell the story of the first time he saw the original Planet of the Apes movie. Every time he paused I took a breath to reply, but every time I was about to utter a sound he'd continue on again. Eventually I just folded my hands in my lap and waited for him to actually stop and give me a chance to say something.

When he finally did hand me the conch I told the story about how back in Jr. High School I got an assignment to write an autobiography, and I was inexplicably driven to write intensely personal things. Later on in college I took a writing course and also found a compulsion to write profoundly from the heart about myself, my feelings, and my experiences. I went on to explain that as far as my web site went, the autobiographical essays started as something to counter-balance the pictures, so that the site wasn't so entirely vain as to simply be picture after picture of myself.

We continued talking for a while. Although it had been Angel who originally contacted me, Robert seemed to be the more talkative. Or, more accurately, he was more aggressive in taking control of the conversation. I was enjoying myself, but it was just too loud in the Stonewall. I asked them if the wanted to grab a bite to eat. We wound up going around the corner to the Garage.

We went upstairs and had a nice meal. I started asking them more about themselves, like how them met and stuff. We settled into pretty normal dinner conversation. They hazed me for ordering a glass of milk with dinner. Everyone does. As the meal wound down I got to talking about the festival, my video that was playing, and other videos and other festivals.

Robert and Angel at dinner

I was to meet Howard and Keith for the 8:00 screening, so I began to make overtures towards leaving. I got the impression that Angel and Robert were about ready to head home anyway. They had each come directly from work to meet me at the Stonewall. I made a token effort to chip in on the bill, but Angel graciously picked it up. They invited me to come over to their place for dinner the following night. I said that it wasn't likely, as my schedule was pretty full, but that I'd call them and let them know for sure.

We said goodbye as we parted outside the restaurant and I headed East. I realized I hadn't taken a cab or a subway train since I'd been in town. I decided to keep my record clean and hike the whole way. I had plenty of time, but I was a little bored. I walked past a fenced-in basketball court across from a MacDonalds. It reminded me of the time years ago when my then boyfriend Darnell took me to NYC. We sat in that very MacDonalds and watched buys playing in that very basketball court. Back then I was considerably metrophobic, and was in truth a bit of a basket case while we were there.

Realizing I had my cell phone in my pocket, I figured I'd give Darnell a call to keep me company while I walked. I rang him up, and much to my surprise he was actually home. It was great talking to him again. He had just taken a job as the assistant registrar at a law school. Having thoroughly enjoyed working in higher education for over ten years, I asked him how he was liking it himself. He said it was good, but he had to get used to the lower standards of professionalism. I had accurately predicted that this would be a considerable adjustment for him. For the first two weeks he wore a suit and tie to work, until he got sick of people asking him if he had an interview or something.

We were still talking away when I got back to the venue. We talked just a bit more, but I did have to get in to make the screening. I said goodbye and went inside. Ioannis was hobnobbing in the lobby. He came up to me and asked how I was liking the festival. He asked what screenings I'd been to.

"Well," I said sheepishly. "I have to confess that I've only been to the Gong Show so far. But I'm very excited about the ten o'clock screening!"

I wasn't just being polite. The film was called "The Law Of Enclosures" and it was a John Greyson adaptation of the Dale Peck novel. I hadn't actually seen any of John Greyson's work, but I knew a little bit about "Zero Patience." It was a lively and light-hearted romp about the advent of the AIDS epidemic. I was impressed that he could take a subject that heavy and infuse it with such levity. I was very anxious to see his latest film.

I caught up with Howard and Keith. There was still some time before the screening, but there was no sign of the jag, so I stepped outside to call him. He said that going into work that day was a big mistake. It was hours before he could get back out again. He was running way behind in his preparations for his performance at the Lusty Loft party that night. He had to skip the 8:00 screening and said he'd meet us at the party no later than 11:30.

Howard and Keith and I went in and sat down for the screening. There was a brief introduction where Ioannis stated that John Greyson couldn't be there, but they were honored to have the author Dale Peck in attendance. There was a round of applause, but when I looked around the theater, Mr. Peck wasn't standing or otherwise identifying himself.

The lights went down and the film began. It opened by setting a rather stark, dour mood. It wasn't at all what I was expecting. There was one unbelievably cute boy in it (Howard later recognized him as the guy who played the younger, more aggressive thug in MTVs portrayal of the Matthew Shepheard story). The film proved to be well done technically, and essentially well executed from a thematical standpoint, but I found it to be the opposite of uplifting. It was about a couple who married too young and essentially hated each other the rest of their lives. Frankly it was a little on the depressing side. And just when it looked like things were going to turn around, there was a tragic surprise ending.

After the film Howard and Keith wanted to get a bite to eat. I was still pretty full from the dinner I'd had only a couple hours before. I was actually very excited to get to the Lusty Loft party. It was in an area of Brooklyn called DUMBO, which I had learned as being acronymous for Down Under Manhatan Bridge Overpass. There was an artist's collective that lived in the area who called themselves Dumba. There were two stories regarding their name. One was that it was a feminized version of the masculine DUMBO, and the other was that the "A" stood for "anarchist." Frankly it was all moot to me. All I cared about was the fact that it was going to be a sex party. The jag had spoken of it briefly. It was a mixed crowd: gay, straight, male, female. There was one "sex room" that was being web-cast around the space and around the world. The actual amount of sexual activity was largely dependent on the party mood and group dynamic. I was entirely ready to do my part to make the mood a lusty one.

After a while Keith and Howard were ready to go. By this time it was already past 11:00. We swung by Howard's apartment so I could get my video equipment to tape the jag's performance. We got on the F train and took it all the way into Brooklyn. That was a first for me. I'd been in the Bronx once or twice, and even in Queens many years ago. But never Brooklyn. Until that night. Our destination was only the second stop across the river, so it was not a very long ride. We came up to the street, and the view was about what I expected. It was a rather depressing mélange of warehouses and other run-down buildings, with a gargantuan bridge overpass looming up in the night sky. I would have been a little bugged-out if the streets weren't entirely deserted.

We had the street address of the party, and we could see the number of the building we came up next to, but we didn't know in which direction the numbers went up and in which they went down. Howard led us off in one direction. After about a block and a half we came upon a building with a small crowd out in front and music blaring from within. It looked like the place. It was $10 to get in.

Immediately inside I was surprised to find the space much more cramped and limited than what I had expected for a "loft." I'm not sure why I was surprised. By now you'd think I'd have learned that there are no expansive spaces anywhere in NYC. We inched in a little further and found the jag right away. He was in his leather shorts and not much else. He said that there was no clothes check. I wasn't too comfortable with that. I'd come in a white unitard under my street clothes, but I wasn't too keen on leaving my stuff lying around. For the time being I took off my motorcycle jacket and walked around with it in my hand. I squeezed my way past the dance room and into the back part of the space where the sex room was. There were two webcams inside the sex room that were broadcasting images to the computer just outside (where I was standing), and around the world. The problem was that the picture quality was really terrible. I was staring at it trying to determine what it was I was seeing. Finally I said fuck it and just pulled the curtain back and peeked in the room itself. There were some people in there, but it didn't look like there was any sex going on. At least not yet.

I squeezed back up to the dance room and stood around in there. They were projecting films onto the wall. I was feeling a little pent up and short-tempered. I was rather anxious about my potential participation in any public sexual activity, I was also a bit stressed about the responsibility to tape the jag's performance, and the dense crowd and loud music exacerbated my already fading mood. Suddenly, however, I had an inexplicable change of heart. I literally told myself to get over it and start enjoying myself. That's usually utterly ineffective, but in this instance it seemed to work. I made my way to the side of the dance room where there was a little stage set up. I stripped down to my unitard and combat boots. I pulled my video camera out of my backpack and stuffed my clothes in. I then put my leather jacket around the backpack as if it was a mannequin torso. I put the whole assemblage under one of the projector stands. I then walked back out to the dance floor and danced a little bit. Over the past couple years I've slowly been losing my aversion to dancing. What happened was I finally stopped giving a fuck if I looked like I knew how to dance or not. So I just stood on the crowded dance floor and bopped to the music a bit. I started watching the people a little closer. It was an interesting crowd. Most people were in regular clothes, but there were some interesting outfits. One kid was running around stark naked.

It actually wasn't long before the jag came through saying he was going to get set up for his performance. He had two assistants with him whom I'd met once before. I wasn't even sure what his performance was going to be, except that it involved bondage. His assistants began securing his arms to a pole that hung horizontally overhead above the little stage on the side of the dance room. They then started tying him up with rope. It all looked pretty cool, but it took a long time to do. Finally they ran out of rope. But then they reached in their bag and pulled out more rope. When that ran out of that they pulled out even more rope. The rope work was actually quite intricate, and they re-did certain sections. Frankly it was taking a pretty long time to do. It wasn't that I minded waiting, but my mood had been totally transformed by the fact that I was now in nothing but a sheer unitard, and I wanted to start enjoying the party. More people were running around in sexy outfits, and it looked like some action was starting up in the sex room.

On a couple of occasions an assistant asked me to go get the jag some water. I went to the kitchen area, and one of the Dumba insiders poured me a little coffee cup of tap water. Getting back across the dance floor wasn't as challenging as doing so without spilling any of the water. The assistants were still in the process of tying up the jag, so I wondered off into the back area for a bit. There was now some sex going on in the sex room. There was some oral and some jerking off. Nothing major, but it was still hot. I went back to the dance area to see how the jag was coming.

By the time I got back they had a hood over the jag's head and they were putting the finishing touches on the ropes. I got the camera ready. In a few minutes they were ready to start. One of the assistants got off the stage and the other one took control. The performance consisted mostly of smacking the jag on his balls and cock with a riding crop and/or flogging him with a leather whip. I was all over the place with the camera. The projectionist came over and asked if he could suck the jag's dick. "As far as I'm concerned..." I said. He started sucking away and I got it on tape.

This all went on for some time. When the jag's body language indicated that his cock and balls had been tortured enough, the assistant would tug on the tit clamps. Then he'd go back to torturing the cock and balls again. I wasn't sure how much footage the jag wanted, but after waiting all that time I decided to just let it roll for about as long as the performance lasted. I played around with some picture effects, but mostly just got the action from as many angles as I could.

After a while the assistant asked me if I wanted to tape a come shot. "Works for me," I said. He got some lube on the jag's dick and started stroking it hard. But after a while he stopped. Then I heard the jag say something like, "Actually I think that's about it." The assistant pulled the hood off. When he removed the tit clamps I saw a serious expression of pain on the jag's face. When the crowd realized the performance was effectively over they gave him a round of applause. I carefully put the camera back in my bag and bundled the leather jacket back up around it again. By the time I'd done that they had the jag pretty much untied. I got up in front of the whole dance floor and made out with him and stroked his dick, which got totally hard again.

After a little bit of that I got back down off the stage and walked into the back to peek into the sex room. There was more sex going on now. One guy was totally hard and was stroking himself. The stark naked boy was near me. Some people were putting their hands on him and even stroking his dick a little. Somehow he remained soft. I realized that I was getting a bit of a boner myself. In the sheer unitard I was wearing there was no way to hide it. I was actually a little hesitant about it. One reason was that this was a mixed crowd. My exhibitionism occurred exclusively in places frequented strictly by gay men. This was a little new for me. The other thing was that the only boners I'd seen that night had been in the designated sex rooms or on stage. I wasn't sure how my vulgar display would be received while strolling about amongst the general population. I decided to just let it go and be seen with a hardon no matter what. It was actually very exciting. Exhibitionism had become rather routine and had lost it's edge with me. This moment brought back the kind of dangerous exhilaration that it used to hold for me. That very excitement made me totally stiff.

I turned and walked back to the dance area. My boner was totally pushing out the front of my sheer unitard. It was entirely obscene. I got back on the dance floor and danced around a little. I saw a couple of young men I hadn't noticed before. They looked like they might even be High School age, and they were totally cute. I knew I couldn't make any assumptions about anyone's sexuality at this event, and figured they were probably straight. If that was so, however, they didn't seem to mind dancing with each other. One of them had some really good moves, too. I continued mingling around a bit. My boner had deflated to the state of merely being "chubby" at this point. I made my way over to the kitchen and scarfed some cookies. I was kind of hungry.

I went over to the bottleneck that connected the kitchen area, the dance room, and the hallway to the back area. I saw the cute High School boys. There was a larger group of them than I had originally noticed. And they were definitely gay. They were interracting in a most randy manner, actually. I was simultaneously totally turned on and endeared to the fact that in this day and age gay High School boys had places like this they could go. When I was that age the only gay scenes I knew about were rehearsals for the community theater musical productions. I positioned myself in the bottleneck so that when anyone went by they'd have to brush past me and my protruding bulge.

After a bit of this I decided to return to the back area and get myself back up to raging boner status again. The action really wasn't all that hot, but seeing a stiff dick inside the sex room was still enough to get me hard again. This time I got a bit of a precum stain on my unitard.

I walked back up to the dance area. I instantly saw a guy who totally caught my attention. He was naked except for a pair of white briefs. He had good proportions, a very nice build, and a Mohawk haircut. I'm a total sucker for Mohawks. But what was even more interesting was that his hair color was strawberry blonde. I'm also a total sucker for strawberry blonde. In fact that's my 100% absolute favorite hair color. This was the first time I'd ever seen the two combined. He was talking with some girl. Once again, I knew that I couldn't make any assumptions about anyone's sexual orientation. I figured that with my luck he was probably straight. I milled about a bit, and as I moved by him I saw that he was now talking with the jag. The jag introduced us. The guy's name was Tigger. We exchanged pleasantries and I continued moving past.

There was some breathing room in back at one end of the little stage where the DJ table was set up, so I went back and hung out there. In a moment or two Tigger was back there very near me. He definitely seemed to be cruising me. I'm always really pathetic in those situations. I don't know what it is with me, but I always regress back to being a timid little 17-year-old. I just started dancing a little bit. Tigger did the same. We caught each other's gaze from time to time, but I was too shy to commit. But when I noticed that his dick was now pretty much hard, it brought me out of my shell (so to speak). I changed the orientation of my dick so that it was pointing straight up, and stroked it a bit through my unitard to get it harder. We danced ever closer, inch by inch.

Finally we both gave in and just started kissing each other. It was way hot. Our hands were everywhere. I totally ran my fingers through his strawberry blonde Mohawk. We were touching each other's nipples and rubbing our dicks against eachother. All the while we were in total view of the entire dance floor. As far as I know we were the only action outside of the sex rooms.

The one problem with my unitard was that it made access all but impossible. I pulled my arms out of the shoulder straps and pulled the garment down to my waist. I wanted to just rip it off, but also wanted to preserve the tease factor. Tigger stuck his hand inside. I stuck my hand inside his shorts. We stroked each other as we continued to kiss madly. It wasn't long before he yanked the unitard down and started sucking me off. Man did it feel good. I kept playing with his Mohawk hair as his head was in my groin. He came back up and planted another one on my mouth. I really love kissing guys immediately after they've been sucking my dick. Pretty quickly I pulled down his shorts and was down there sucking him. His dick wasn't as big as mine, but was a good, straight cock that was nicely shaped, very decent in size, and totally hard. I was really getting off sucking him. Some dicks I like to suck and some I don't. This one I liked. I liked it a lot.

We went back and forth, kissing, touching, and sucking. It went on for some time in total view of the whole party. Some hot guys had gotten up on the stage and were using the jag's equipment to do their own Goth/S&M show. Tigger and I were right at their feet. When I wasn't kissing or sucking Tigger, he was sucking me, and I'd look back up at this sexy show that was going on right in front of us. My mind and body were swirling with Tigger's wet mouth on my stiff cock and strong fingers clenching my butt. My own fingers were pinching hard on my tender nipples, and the sight of these totally hot guys grinding and whipping each other was before my very eyes. All the while I was being watched by an entire dance floor full of horny, half-naked people. In this time of sobriety, my only mind-altering opportunities were hot, wet, stiff, steamy, drippy experiences like this one. And frankly, this scene had me in a higher state of euphoria than any drug could have.

It wasn't long at all before I was totally ready to come. I was a little unsure about that, though. I mean, when I come it tends to get all over the place. I was concerned about hitting an innocent bystander, getting it in someone's food or drink, or generally just leaving a huge oil slick on the dance floor. I leaned over and asked Tigger, "What's the policy on coming here?"

He looked back at me a bit perplexed. "I think it's perfectly fine," he said.

"Well then I'm about ready," I said.

He stepped up his efforts. He sucked me good to get my dick all wet and slippery, and then started pounding me hard with his hand. That's exactly what I require to get off. I big tool like mine doesn't respond to gentle stroking. You need to pump it like a pit crew jacking up a race car. I gave my nipples another hard pinch and instantly started coming all over the place. I don't think Tigger was prepared for the cascade of come I produced. About 15 or 20 seconds later I was done.

I immediately turned my attention to Tigger. I sucked him good and started stroking him like crazy. I had been facing out towards the dance floor, but he was aiming right for the DJ table. Within a minute or two he started coming. I had planned on blocking it with my body, but one spurt got through. I think it landed in someone's drink. The next spurt hit me right in the stomach, and the rest dribbled onto the floor.

That was hot. It was one of the hottest sessions I'd had in a long time. We kissed a little more and then pulled our "clothes" back on. I left my unitard at my waist to reamain bare-chested. We walked around a bit arm-in-arm. I had the jag snap a picture of us.

Tigger 'n' Toaph

At this point I was totally drained. It was very late at night, and I was on borrowed time to begin with. Now that I had ejaculated, I just wanted to lie down on the spot. The jag was basically ready to leave, but the Goth boys were still using his equipment. Howard was pretty much ready to go, but he had to find Keith and see if he was staying or not. Tigger wanted to play more. I wanted to sleep. All I wanted to do was sleep.

Finally the jag got his equipment back and Howard found Keith. I got my stuff from under the projector and got properly dressed. I told Tigger that I'd like to see him again while I was still in town. I wasn't sure about the following day, but at the very least I wanted him to accompany me to my screening on Sunday as my guest. He said that sounded great. I got a black marker out of my bag and wrote Tigger's number on my arm. He then wrote my number on his arm. It was oddly sexy. Tigger stayed behind, but the rest of us bundled up and headed out. The jag's assistants left with us.

It was a quick walk to the subway station but a long wait for a train. I got out the camcorder, rewound it, and played the video for the jag and his assistants on the LCD panel while we waited. They found it way cool to be able to watch the very scene they'd just performed.

Finally a train came. As we rode along I was fake smoking an unlit cigarette. Some sketchy black guy saw me and asked if he could have one. I think he was drunk. I didn't really mind giving him one. I still had all twenty. But when I gave the guy the cigarette he actually lit it on the subway! I couldn't believe it.

Soon we were back on Manhattan Island. Howard and I got off in the village and everyone else continued up-town. We dragged our asses back up to the apartment and collapsed in bed. It was a little before 4:30AM.