Key Westing

We started the evening at Saloon 1 on Petronia Street, which I thought was a bit too leather and rough for the beginning of the evening. But Brian was three days ahead of me in checking out the extensive local gay club scene, so I just followed his lead. The stud who had fucked us both the night before in our hotel room, who turned out to be named Flash, was there and was looking mighty fine. He wanted the three of us to go right back to our room for an encore, but the evening’s adventure was just starting for me, and I said, “thanks but no thanks—at least not this early in the evening.”

Brian was the forward, friendly type, and I could tell that he was ultra horny this evening, so I wasn’t surprised that he let any of the guys buzzing around us feel him up. I didn’t want the evening to end so fast with a rough gang banging, though, so I managed to extract him from Saloon 1 and get him moving toward the next club on his list.

We were back on Duval Street, and Brian pulled me into the Bourbon Street Pub. There were soft-core porn movies flashing on screens within sight of every nook and cranny in the dimly lit main room, the music was loud enough that my ears throbbed to the heavy beat, and heavenly barely legal young men in thong bikinis were playing poles at intervals along the top of the long bar. Brian was immediately surrounded by virile studs who he obviously had met and been very friendly with in earlier visits to the establishment, and he was quickly busy doing a lap dance on the crotch of a beefy Jamaican dude in baggy shorts and nipple rings who was perched on a bar stool.