by Labrador

It had been one of those days in San Francisco that you dream about. The azure blue sky was cloudless, the wind about 20 mph had created a crystal clear view of the City so perfect you were afraid someone would hit and shatter it. I had spent a busy day at the office, but through the huge window I had facing the south bay, I watched the sailboats strain against the wind, and above them the planes from SFO were constantly climbing all day. My mood was upbeat, and as the evening drew on, I was reminded of why I moved here. Nice as they are, the views of Chicago were nothing like this! My relatively new job was working out nicely, and while I was worked half to death, I felt good about the way the job was developing. As I drove into the city, I decided to treat myself, and after I parked the car, went up to my apartment and changed into real clothes, I decided to go to my favorite haunt for a rack of lamb. Before dinner as I sat at the bar bantering with some locals, something kept tugging at me, but I didn't know what. After a satisfying dinner, I decided that what I needed was a trip south of Market to one of the City's more notorious bars. Often described as a sex club masquerading as a bar, or a bar masquerading as a sex club, whichever it was, it beckoned to me now.

My upbeat mood seemed to occupy every element of my being. I don't drink and drive, so I relied on MUNI to transport me to my destination. Often a source of frustration, tonight it was on time, and the bus deposited me on the corner where I looked up and saw the Bay Bridge shadowed against the fading daylight, its lights twinkling, and the firefly lights of cars scampering along. I was really feeling good.

As I walked through the leather blackout drape that covered the bar entrance, the familiar smells of the place wafted up. A combination of stale beer and cigarette smoke, of various body odors, and occasionally a whiff of grass or poppers. The smell had come to remind me of this place and I found it pleasant, it belonged here.

The bar was filling up, early for a change, the subdued darkness of the bar, punctuated by the glow of red candles in jars. In the red lighting that dimly pervaded the place, the shapes of the men there began to take a more concrete form in my eyes. This bar attracts all kinds of people, from older guys looking for anonymous sex, a furtive grope, and perhaps a dick to suck, to younger guys who were looking for excitement. All kinds, shapes, and sizes were present. I obtained a drink, and went to look for a seat on the benches that lined the bar. A television was silently projecting a video of three guys in a lusty coupling, which many of the patrons were viewing, when they were not watching each other. I sat and observed as the tide of men coming and going swirled and eddied around me. I was attracted to a few, and a few tried to start up a conversation with me. Normally I would have welcomed their conversations to see where it might lead, but tonight I seemed to be waiting for something, but didn't know what.
Suddenly a dark shape appeared from the doorway and made his way to the bar and ordered a drink. While I couldn't see all that much, I guessed that this guy was at least 6' 3, possibly taller, and appeared to be in great physical shape. A commotion in another corner of the bar momentarily distracted me, and when I turned to see what had become of this man, I discovered him sitting on the bench about six feet away from me. He seemed to be watching the television, and glancing around at the crowd, and not paying any particular attention to me. As the place filled up, seating became at a premium and several people asked him to move over so they could sit, and he moved closer to me. We hadn't exchanged a word, but this man was physically the most intimidating man I think I had ever met. His sense of bearing, his facial features, seeming to be chiseled, all contributed to the sense of latent power and danger that exuded from every aspect of him. I could see that he had a gym-toned body, and while he was wearing a leather shirt and Jeans, I could almost sense the washboard abs of his stomach. After about 5 minutes, he turned to me and asked if I could save his place while he went for another drink, I answered" turn about is fair play, I'll watch for you if you will return the favor." He smiled broadly at me, and while nothing seemed to change about his physical appearance, the idea that he was approachable seemed to jump out at me. It took him about four or five minutes to get his drink, and he asked me to watch it while he went and took a leak. When he came back he was chuckling, telling me that while he was in the bathroom pissing, several guys seemed to be staring at his equipment. I asked the obvious question, and he told me that when you have 10" and it's thick, people tend to stare a lot and that he was used to it. Still his chuckle had an almost menacing quality to it - a shiver ran through me - excitement, danger signal, I didn't really know.

I jumped down from the bench asking him to watch my place, and started threading my way through the now crowded bar toward the station where the bartender poured drinks for the crowd not seated at the main bar. Five or six people were ahead of me, so when I finally got my drink, I half expected to return to find my place occupied by a stranger and the tall black man long gone. Well, I was half-right, in that my place was compressed into a space where no one could sit, but the black man was still there. "Hey let's trade places for a while, I'll stand and when I get tired, we can change places" he commented. Then he jumped down from the bench. I could see that his crotch was bulging, and when he caught me looking he gave me a knowing smile. I hopped up on the bench and he sort of half-turned to watch the crowd. All over the bar, guys were embracing, some kissing, some fondling each other, in one dark corner you could see one guy on his knees, the obvious grin of satisfaction on the face of his partner, while most of the men in the bar were quietly and slowly milling about. The crowd was diverse with most in jeans, almost everyone with some kind of leather; jackets, shirts, some in full regalia. Ages ranged from the barely legal drinking age, to those on the edge of Social Security. Some handsome, some trolls, other from the very fit, to the grossly overweight. In short, a typical mix for this bar.

My "friend" was quietly watching the action and I had just about decided that this was a chance meeting going nowhere, when suddenly a slightly tipsy guy bumped into him and he leaned back on my leg. The shiver returned -- stronger than ever. I asked if he wanted to change places again and grinning broadly he said yes. As I jumped down, he took hold of my shoulder to propel himself up onto the bench. He kept his hand on my shoulder and offered to "let me lean against the bench" so as not to be jostled. Suddenly I found a strong firm leg on either side of me, just barely touching my waist. He was sitting on the bench, and slowly pulled me back so I could lean against that bench and also maneuvered himself so that his crotch was just barely grazing my back. Now he engaged in the sort of "get to know you" banter, which every gay man, knows like a book. He was from a small town outside Philadelphia, had spent six years in the Marine Corps, had taken advantage of the educational opportunities, and was now working in the Financial District as a personal finance consultant. I was from Chicago, had spent six years in the Air Force, had recently completed my MBA and was now the controller of a major real estate company after a series of unfulfilling temporary jobs held to pay the bills. His voice has a resonating quality that I found increasingly seductive. I noticed that the pressure from his legs often increased, then lessened, he shifted his position on the bench and I distinctly felt his crotch pressing against the small of my back. The banter continued for about half an hour, until he asked if I had eaten yet. I commented that I already had, and he asked if I would like to have coffee while he had dinner. I agreed and he said that he was in the mood for a juicy hamburger and one of the City's legendary eateries, Hamburger Mary's, was close. We walked out and in the light of the street I could see that the better light only heightened my original estimation of the man.

During dinner, we talked more and more about our common experiences in the service, about our jobs, and generally got to know each other better. I positioned myself so that my legs were just about touching his, and many times during the meal I felt him brush up against both of my legs, yet never letting on that he was aware of that touch. I wondered where this was heading, would it end as my having found a new "friend," a platonic meeting, or was there something else in the cards for tonight? He finished his meal, ordered coffee, stretched out in his chair, brushed my legs, and lit a cigarette. "Well the evening's young," he stated flatly, "you got any ideas on where we might go now?" I realized that I had no idea of where he lived, so I asked him "well where do you live in the City?" "We might find a bar close to both of our places where we could continue this conversation." I found that we both lived on Nob Hill, about three or four blocks from each other, and I suggested a small gay bar on California Street within easy walking distance from our apartments. "Great, lets get a cab" was his response, and we retired to the Company, a local bar with fireplaces and generally elegant furnishings.

The Company has a variety of seating arrangements from the typical bar stools, to small low cocktail tables, and some chest high tables where you perch on bar stools with your legs not able to touch the floor. I chose the latter when we arrived and he went to order drinks. This bar was well lit and the cat like smoothness of his movements again impressed me. He returned with drinks and a huge grin on his face. "I really like this place ... never knew it was here," he commented looking around. He chose the chair next to me, not across the table and our legs again were touching. All the coffee and drinks had my bladder swollen and I excused myself to head to the men's room. As I stood there relieving myself, he came in and went to the next urinal. "Same problem" was his response and another huge grin. I looked over and he had not been exaggerating about his equipment. He smiled as he noticed my looking at him, and the only comment I could think of was "Wow, now I know why those guys were looking back at the bar." We finished and he just stood there, I noticed that his dick was lengthening a bit, and he came back with: "Hmmm like what you see?" My throat was dry and I could but manage a nod.

Back at the table we engaged in a bit more small talk, when he finally commented, "I bet the drinks are cheaper at either your place or mine." My heart was beating furiously by this time, and I said, "Well which shall it be?"

"I only have a small studio," was his response, "Is that OK?"

"Well I have a one bedroom, with a living room, so why don't we go there?" I responded.

 

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