The Confessions of a Sex Addict, Part 1 by Michael Wynne

Author:Michael Wynne [Wynne, Michael]
Language: eng
Format: mobi
Tags: Erotica
Publisher: Kiss & Tell Press
Published: 2011-11-21T05:00:00+00:00

14. Expanding the Repertoire

On Thursday night – later than I usually go out for sex – at about 10pm, I head for naked night at the sex club. If Mario can do it, so can I! The night’s called Stripped, as opposed to the Night of Underwear. A few months ago – I hadn’t mentioned this to Mario, so as not to give him the impression we had something in common – I’d gone to the sex club’s underwear night by mistake, thinking it was just the regular fully-clothed night, and the guy at the desk had said, go on, you’ll like it. And I did.

When I left, he told me they had a naked night, and that I should come back for that.

“One step at a time,” I’d said.

Three months later, maybe more, emboldened and intrigued by Mario’s stories, I’m here. The dress-code is strict – footwear is all you’re allowed.

I’m not sure why I’d hesitated, what it was about the naked night that had turned me off, scared me, because I love the feeling of walking into a crowded sex club, entering a room full of men all there for the same reason. It reminds me of the first gay bar I walked into, a place called the Theatre Club. I was about twenty-one, and a guy I’d met at an anti-war demonstration had taken me there.

Tonight the sex club is heaving. Everyone, except the bar staff and the clothes-check guy, is naked. Men walk around holding onto their cocks, fluffing them; this is not the place to come with a small willy – you’re constantly being scanned for your size. Some men have very large penises and on a night like this these men are popular. I watch a nice big chunky guy with a nice big chunky cock fuck a tall slim guy over a barrel (the barrels are there to rest your drinks on), but he fucks like a masturbator, like a ham-actor in a porn movie. He holds onto the guy’s arse and shoulder so that he can pull himself deeper into his arse, and he just bangs away, his hands locked in the same position.

I’m thinking: At least stroke the guy.

When it comes to penises, I’m more of a grower than a shower. Limp, my cock is not impressive, and it just wouldn’t get hard. At some point I thought, fuck it, I’m going to stand here with a small cock and I don’t care what people think. It’ll be my act of defiance. A couple of guys try to get it hard, but the whole atmosphere isn’t turning me on; the small crowd that has gathered to watch the fucking, and the two guys themselves, seem bored, anaesthetized by the metronomic thrusting. I keep thinking about Freud’s observation about concealment: men in underwear are so much sexier.

Just as I am getting ready to leave, albeit reluctantly, because I like being here, the heat, the proximity of other bodies, the rawness of it

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