Steamy Dorm

by Kristine Robinson

He imagined that his fingers were a hot, steaming, shitty cock that had just been pulled out of his ass. He stroked and stroked…

  “AHHHHHHHHHHH!” He groaned. A huge load shot from his dick, landing on his chest and face. He continued to stroke, continued to sniff the shitty fingers. He panted and sweated. He lay sprawled out on his bed, chest glistening with perspiration and cum.

  If only he had brought Colin home. They should've left the bar together. They could've started playing around in the car, fondling each other, rubbing each other's thighs, smiling, leaning over, opening their mouths, pushing their tongues in and out, swirling them around. And then they would reach into each other's pants, into each other's boxers, and fish out their big, hard cocks, stroking each other up and down while they continued to kiss, the pre-cum beginning to leak from the heads of their cocks. It would've been incredible.

  But fear and inhibition had held him back. How much longer could he live like that? He wasn't sure. It was beginning to feel like was leading a double life. He was sick of having to be the tough, no-nonsense, obedient lawman. Fake heterosexual. He was sick of having to play that role. His ass needed to be fucked and stretched regularly. He needed to feel a Dom’s love and power regularly. It could no longer be something that he just got every few months when he left Sacramento. He wanted it to be a part of his daily life.

  But it was crazy. He would have to risk everything. Was it worth it? Was living in authentic life worth it? What a strange question! Of course, it was worth it. But the price would be so high. So fucking high. He would have to start all over again. Find a new profession, a new career path.

  He sighed and closed his eyes. As he lay on the bed, he imagined that he was resting his head on Colin's powerful chest, imagined that Colin was running his fingers through his hair.

  Chapter 3

  Saturday night. 6 PM. But these days Saturdays didn't feel that special anymore. They were better than most days in the week, of course. He didn't have to trudge to work, slave away in a cubicle, the hardest task being keeping his eyes open, keeping his brain alive, while he performed mind-numbing data entry.

  It was strange not being excited on a Saturday, enthusiastic about where the night would lead. Saturdays were supposed to be the salvation, the one day that made weekly wage slavery, worthwhile. No matter how shitty, soul sucking, and spirit killing Monday through Friday were, Saturday would always be there to save you, lift your spirit, rejuvenate you.

  At least you had the money, time, and energy to go crazy on Saturday night, let it all hangout, drink yourself into oblivion, then sleep it off on the Lord's Day. Then your sweet ass better be back on the plantation Monday morning. That was the routine that everybody lived by. If you didn't, you were some sign of some kind of weirdo or freak. But there were plenty of people, folks that had slipped through the cracks, the losers, the junkies, fiends, hookers, and hoes, who most likely didn’t take much satisfaction or solace from Saturday nights. It was just another day, another 24 hours in their personal hell.

  Sadness, depression and the sharp pangs of loneliness were what Michael usually experienced on Saturday night. But this night was different. He felt a strange energy coursing through his veins. He sat down at his laptop. He was about to log onto his favorite porn site but instead, he decided to do a Google search.

  He typed: gay bars and clubs Sacramento. The Yelp page was the first thing that came up.

  The first entry, with over 300 five-star reviews, was Bottoms up. People raved about the place. The hottest club in town. Go-Go dancers. 3-1 drink specials. Crazy stage shows. Oil wrestling. Drag queens. Michael’s eyes opened wide with excitement.

  Michael went to the bar’s website and he watched a few of their promotional party videos.

  The place seemed so hot and alive. Sexy, horny, drunk people were everywhere, dancing, frolicking, burning off steam, letting out all their built up aggression and frustration.

  He got up from the laptop and began pacing around his room. He was actually thinking about going out, hitting the scene, doing a bit of dragging. Maybe he would find himself a top…It had been so long since he'd experienced the real thing. Far too fucking long.

  He went to the kitchen and poured himself a glass of wine. This was just what he needed. He would finally break out of the shell he had been building around himself since returning to Sacramento. He only wished that he had more cum juice saved up for the evening. He would hate to make a bad first impression by shooting a weak load. But after last night's multiple, and very pleasurable stroke sessions, he was feeling a bit empty. It would be fine, though. No problem. The pot, the poppers, and the red wine would help pick him up.

  And before going out he would finish the rest of the crispy fish that he had ordered the night before from David King’s. It was so damn delicious, even the next day—the way it would crunch up in your mouth, the salt tickling you, slowly drying you out, making you thirstier and thirstier, and then the red wine washing it down, soaking your palate in deliciousness.

  He began to wonder about what his life could be if there was another man in it, what it would be if he had a place to go to express his desires, to rub shoulders and crotches, hold hands, and swap stories, spit, and cum with men who shared his sexual predilections.

  He reached down and squeezed his hard cock, eyes closed. This was going to be so much fun. He would wear his open-ass chaps. He would slip on his cock ring, fire whiff after whiff of poppers up his nose. This would be the perfect night for them. He looked forward to passing them around. He would be one of the stars of the party, he told himself rather naively. He couldn't wait.

  He spent the next couple hours doing a little bit more research on Bottoms Up. Apparently, the place used to have a pretty wild reputation. Watch out for shady characters in the bathroom, one of the yelp reviewers had warned. It’s hard to tell whether they or thugs or undercover cops. Either way, they aren’t the kind of people that you want to be talking to.

  Michael shook his head. This place only got more interesting. That element of danger only served to heighten his excitement.

  Two hours later, Michael sat in the back of a taxi in route for Bottom’s Up. It was almost 10. Perfect time to step out! Michael's entire body tingled with excitement as the car pulled into the parking lot.

  He saw the neon sign. Bottoms up. There was a line of about 30 people outside. He smiled. He got out of the cab and hurried into the line. What an eclectic assortment of characters! Some of the men wore tank tops, showing off their ripped, vein-popping muscles, proud of the work they had put in the gym during the week. Then there were the leather boys. The twinks. The Hairy bears. There weren’t enough gay clubs and bars around to separate yourself. Everyone had to come together and get along.

  Michael could already sense that there was something special about this place. His only regret was that he hadn’t come sooner. While he waited in line, he took a few hits from the small bottle. Somebody tapped him on the shoulder. A big burly guy, 6’6”, almost 300 pounds. A bull ring in his nose.

  He wanted a hit. No problem. Michael passed in the bottle. And then he passed it around to a few other guys. When the bottle finally came back to him, he took a couple bumps in each nostril.

  YEAHHHH!

  Everybody had that good time feeling! The energy was so electric! The line went quickly, and as Michael walked into the doors of the club/bar, his body began to vibrate to the sound of the music, which seemed to explode from every inch of the walls and ceiling.

  Men were everywhere, flirting, chatting, making out.

  Michael needed a drink. A beer? A shot? No, but a rum and coke would do the trick.

  Now all he needed was to get a top’s attention, cast a spell and lure in his prey. He loved how his ass felt in his open invitation, open ass underwear. And he was certain that he would be able to find a top that would be hungry to explore those sweet cheeks, pump, pound, and leave them covered in a nice, thick, tasty cum glazing.

  Chapter 4 />
  “Colin, I know you’re moving on that piece of ass, Mrs. Santorelli. Make sure you record it or at least take some pictures.”

  “What are you talking about?” Colin asked, buckling his belt.

  “What do I mean?” Vinny replied. Her husband, who can't seem to keep his hands off her for more than a week at a time, we’ll be locked up for the next eight months. That’s what I mean.”

  Colin sighed. He didn't want to hear any more. He hated these sorts of conversations.

  He'd been the first officer on the scene, the one to drag Mrs. Santorelli’s asshole husband off her before he succeeding in beating her to a fucking pulp. Once Colin gotten a good hold of the bastard, he made sure to slam his face extra hard into the ground. Then he delivered a strong knee to the middle of his back and then cuff his wrists.

  He dragged him across the concrete and then threw him into the backseat of the cruiser. Then he had gone back to attend to the woman whose face was battered and bruised, both her eyes blackened, her lip busted and bleeding. She was trembling and mumbling to herself.

  It wasn't the first time that he had shown up at their rundown house. But it was the first time that he had ever seen her quite that bad.

  “You know,” Vinny continued with a wicked, sadistic grin splitting his face in half. “You know she's going to be lonely and vulnerable, right?”

  “Yeah, I gave her the number of a couple of counselors and programs for victims of domestic abuse. And I think she might have any issue with booze and pills.”

  “Wow! That’s even better! This bitch is a real mess. Sounds like she needs a lot of help. That’s perfect! You might be able to pass her around for a little.”

  Colin gritted his teeth. It made him sick to hear a fellow officer to talk like that. He’d heard about more than a few officers trying to take advantage of battered, vulnerable women, filling them with hopes and promises when the only thing that really interested them was sexual conquest. It was a power thing, an ego trip. You could take another man’s woman while his punk ass was locked up. You could put your righteous, cop cock deep in her. It was part of some weird, sick, twisted game that Colin wanted nothing to with. It was the kind of thing that made him sick—the kind of thing that made him question why he put on the uniform every day. But he was always quick to shake those thoughts out of his mind.

  “Hey, I don't know,” Vinny said, shrugging his shoulders. “Maybe you're just getting so much pussy these days, that you can't be bothered.”

  Colin smirked. If only you knew Vinny, he thought to himself. If only you knew.

  “I’ll see you out there big guy,” Vinny said, slapping Colin’s ass. Colin stared at him, nervous. Vinny had a big stupid grin on his face. There wasn’t anything so strange about that. He always had a strange, stupid grin on his chubby face.

  After Vinny left the locker room, Colin sat down on a bench sighed. When Vinny had slapped his ass, Colin had felt an electric charge move through his body. He began to worry. Had the rumor gotten out? Had somebody seen him?

  Over the last several months, he had been taking trips to West Hollywood. Yes, San Francisco was a lot closer. But that was the problem. He hoped that down in LA, he wouldn't see anybody that would be able to recognize him. He always rented an Air BnB right in the center of West Hollywood, that bathhouse of gay love, open air temple of homoerotic desire where men flaunted ripped muscles, hard bulges, where the masculine form was honored and revered, where he could strip down, bend over and get fucked and filled with love cream, where he could feel a tongue dipping into his hole, licking, slurping, sucking, where he could feel like tongue coated in his own fuck juices swirling around his slutty, dirty, pig whore mouth.

  But here in Sacramento, more specifically in the Sacramento police department, he felt completely separated and cut off from any kind of gay scene. Even going twice a month to LA wasn’t enough anymore. He hated that fact that he traveled so far just to find a place where he could enjoy himself, where he could be in a room with people who shared his burning sexual desire for a wonderfully sculpted masculine physique.

  Not only did he feel alone in the department but also felt as if he were under attack.

  The chief and the people closest to him were intensely homophobic. Because of the new presidential administration, which has proven to be very hostile to the interests of some of the society’s most marginalized communities, the chief was rolling out a series of measures meant to crack down on gay and lesbian establishments in the Sacramento area. The chief might have been a dumb redneck, but he wasn’t stupid. He understood that if it looked like the department were specifically targeting gay people, there would be a huge backlash from the overwhelmingly liberal media. There would be wall to wall coverage. The Justice Department would be up their ass within hours. That’s why the had to create a pretext, something that they could present to the general public that would show that the gay nightlife scene was rife with crime—drugs, sex, and prostitution. Once they could show that gay bars made the downtown area unsafe, they would be able to swoop in and begin clearing them out.

  When Colin had first heard this story, he couldn’t quite believe it. Sure, he understood that homophobia was rampant throughout law enforcement, and he had seen and heard it first hand in his building. Yet still, there was something about the plan that didn’t quite make sense. There had to be something else to this. There had to be someone pulling some very expensive strings somewhere, someone who had serious economic interests involved in this affair.

  For the last several weeks he had been digging deeper and deeper into the matter. And finally, he felt like he had stumbled upon something—a connection to a foreign group of investors. Chinese. They had actually come to the department and had stayed in the chief’s office along with the mayor for more than an hour. Colin had asked around about who they were but he hadn’t been able to come up with any answers. Either nobody knew anything or they weren’t telling him. Either way, he was still in the dark about what was going on.

  His research had turned up an address on the outskirts of town. It was a large warehouse. He drove by a few times. There appeared to be a lot of activity in the parking lot—shady activity. He wanted to go back there but not alone. He planned on asking the only person in the department that he could trust, Joel, to accompany him.

  He looked at his watch and sighed. Joel usually came back to the station around this time for a mini-break on Saturdays. He wondered where he was. Joel was the only person who didn't seem like a complete brute, the only person in the department who might be able to appreciate a little more in life than just beer and sports, the only person in the department who might be… gay? He wondered. He had serious suspicions. Actually, he had felt that Joel was probably gay since their days in the police academy.

  It wasn’t that hard to tell actually. Whenever the other guys started joking about the women they either banged, were banging, or wanted to bang, Joel always grew quiet and turned red. And of course, his tally number for women banged inside the department's walls had remained at zero. No wife. Girlfriend. Colin smiled and licked his lips. This job would be a lot more fun if he had a friend on the force that he could play with.

  The door to the locker room opened. Colin quickly raised his head. It was Vinny.

  “Hey, the meeting’s about to start. Hurry up.”

  The door closed. Colin sighed. He got up from the bench and walked to the nearest mirror.

  He would be playing the role of a sexy top from the Midwest in Sacramento for business. He had heard about some of the illicit sex parties-violent, drug-filled orgies that take place at the club and he wanted to have a taste while in town. He had money to burn and a gallon of lighter fuel. According to the chief, truly a plotting wizard, this cover will be enough for him to infiltrate whatever kind of networks were being run in the club.

  But Colin suspected that it was all bullshit. There was a whole other side to what was going on that he wasn’t being told about. That’s w
here the real action was.

  He frowned as he stared in the mirror. He felt so square in that sports coat and jeans. When he hit the town in West Hollywood, most recently two weeks ago, he made sure to deck himself out in full leather, ass open, cock-ringed. And he loved to show his tattoos, especially the one that snaked from his ankle around his thigh and onto his lower back.

  But there was no way that he was going to complain to the chief about this outfit. That might have truly given him away. He felt for the people in that club. He was one of them. But his profession kept him away from them. The blue wall stood between him and the people that he really wanted to spend time with. And tonight he finally would be spending time with them. And tonight might be the last night that anyone spends time there if the chief has his way.

  Yes, in an about an hour he would begin working undercover at Sacramento’s most popular gay bar. Bottom’s Up. He sighed and turned away from the mirror. He was disgusted with himself.

  “Fuck! Fuck! Fuck!”

  He pounded his fist against the concrete wall. Adrenaline surged through his body. He could have turned the position down, weeks ago. If only he had just told the chief that he wasn’t comfortable being around all those fags. And he would have made sure to say that word with the necessary hatred and sadism.

  A SWAT would be raiding the popular bar after shortly after midnight. They would arrest everyone inside. The camera crews would file into the parking lot. Helicopters overhead. Patrol cars, wagons, vans. Maybe even a tank. One big fucking show. A chance for the chief to flex his muscle. Compensate for the peanut sized dick in his pants.

  10 minutes later, Colin walked into a conference room. Six rows of five men faced forward, listening intently to the chief’s words. Colin gritted his teeth when he saw the pompous, pot-bellied man standing in front of them like a dictator.

  “TONIGHT IS THE NIGHT, GENTLEMAN,” the chief said.”THIS MODERN DAY SODOM AND GOMORRAH WILL NO LONGER BE ABLE TO OPERATE IN SACRAMENTO. TONIGHT WE ARE GOING TO DRAIN THAT GODFORSAKEN SWAMP!!!