I Got F*cked By a Man With 32 D*ck Piercings Before an Orgiastic War Broke Out in the Saloon

"It was like ‘Nam—utter chaos. People shooting (loads) without looking."

The paperback for Boyslut: A Memoir and Manifesto is out now. Order it here!

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Original illustration by Eduardo

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I didn’t know it was a clothing-optional bar, and I definitely didn’t know that you could fuck anywhere your heart desired. The poorly-lit backroom was only for the coy gays because you could also fuck on stage with the lights shining down on you. Or you could fuck outside on the patio. Or you could bend over a barstool and spread your cheeks so your asshole is the first thing men see when they enter. (“Hello, and welcome to Saloon 1!”) No place was off-limits.

But again, I didn’t know this when I walked in. It looked like any other regular, unsuspecting dive bar. It wasn’t hidden in a dark alleyway. There was no secret code to enter or an exorbitant cover at the door. It was just off the main party street in Key West. Anyone with an ID could walk in. This wasn’t your curated, NYC, queer, sex-positive, enthusiastic consent-touting club. This was your run-of-the-mill gay dive bar that catered to older bears, younger otters, and the horniest of faggots who need to get pounded anonymously. They weren’t looking for the magic, glass slipper of cocks that fit just right—any dick would do. 

But again, I didn’t know this. All I knew was that Saloon had a “best dick” competition on this night, and I was in the mood to ogle some cocks. Also, I wanted to get fucked by the winner of the BD competition, obviously. 

Now, I’m not a huge fan of dive bars. Sure, I had a stint bartending at several dives when I moved to Bushwick, and maybe that’s why I’m not a huge fan. But, to be fair, those weren’t real dive bars. Those were hipster dives where the 22-year-old artists (i.e., trust fund babies) don’t tip because they pretend they’re broke. (Untrue. They have access to their trust funds).  

But you could see how bartending at these spots for a year could make a man skeptical of the alleged “realness” and “small-town charm” of dives. However, entering Saloon 1, I knew this was a real dive bar. Sure, it was a gay dive, but there were people over the age of 28 there. There were biker dudes with ZZ-Top beards in their fifties. Lonesome stragglers were nursing their bottled beer and drinking their pain away. (Not a gaggle of five 20-year-old NYU students with fake IDs.)

I entered with Jonzu, my then-partner of slutty crime. We were there on the earlier side (I was overly ambitious in my pursuit of seeing peen), so we made our way around the deceptively large space. There was a side room that looked like an old-timey jail cell—on brand for a bar called Saloon. On the other side of the bar was a lightless room with a large, private glory hole installed. I prayed that some of the contestants in the best dick might find their way there after the competition. And there was a small enclosed back patio for smokers or anyone wanting fresh air.

At this point, I figured that some sexual activity was allowed in the space. I refused to believe that the glory hole set-up was for aesthetics alone, but still, I wasn’t sure exactly how much we could do—how far we could go. 

“Do you think we can full-on fuck here?” I asked Jonzu. 

“Yeahhhhh…” he replied, looking around. “I think so.” 

Jonzu and I found two seats at the bar with a perfect view to scope out the boys as they trickled in. Then we ordered two beers. (When in Rome.) As midnight approached, a rush came through. Big boys. Little boys. Hairy boys. Hairless boys. Black, white, and Latino boys. Bearded and smooth-cheeked boys. Most had mustaches. Some had handlebar mustaches unironically. Most wore tank tops showing off their pits—few wore deodorant. Cut-off jeans revealed juicy asses. Nasty Pig hats covered balding heads. And the boys wore striped, knee-high soccer socks with sneakers.

After seeing the third man in those socks—those slutty fucking socks—I knew sex was going to take place. I didn’t know when or where, but when a thicc boy wears those socks, you know he takes anonymous loads. He gets fisted in the backroom, and even though you fuck him afterward, his hole is somehow still tight. That’s how much control he has over his sphincter muscles—an inspiration to us all.

Once Saloon 1 was nearly full, I told Jonzu I would take a peak at the glory hole. He gave me a suspicious look, knowing I would do more than “ just check it out.” (Reader, I was going to stick my dick in that fucking hole.)

When I walked on one side of the partition, a man quickly followed to the other. I whipped out my dick and put it in the hole. I felt his prickly mustache on my cock, but then only felt tongue and throat. He just gobbled me right up. A guy came behind me to watch me get blown in the glory hole, which was hot. I think of glory holes as being secretive and illicit, so this man jacking off to me getting blown was unexpected. Then, a few more guys came through to watch, and just as it started to get overcrowded, I heard a man on a microphone say, “The competition is about to start!” 

I wouldn’t miss this, so I pulled up my pants, and the boys followed suit. I returned to Jonzu, who smiled and asked, “Oh, just checking it out?” I laughed.

A man who looked like a member of the Hells Angels took to the little stage of the main room. After welcoming us to Saloon 1, he said, “This is a place where you can touch first. Out in the real world, you can’t go up to a stranger and slap his ass, but here, an ass slap or crotch grab is how we say ‘hello.’ It’s our version of shaking hands.” The crowd, myself included, roared with applause. I was going to slap so many fucking asses, grab so many hard dicks, that I might just die. In fact, that was my goal: get so aroused that I have a heart attack. And with my last, dying breath, I would whimper, “Finish on my face.”

The Sonny Barger (RIP) look-alike continued, “As you know, tonight we have the best cock competition. Note this doesn’t mean the biggest; this means the best. But before we get to the cocks, we also have other categories: best chest, best ass, hottest couple, best beard…” 

Barger then told us the comically bad prizes—like a ten percent coupon for a store no one had ever heard of. The prizes being so terrible somehow made the competition even better. No one was doing this for the prizes; they were doing it to show off and have some fun.

And that’s what the boys did, myself included. I actually entered the best chest category, and your boy(slut) won! More importantly, I was on stage, and others saw me. That was the real goal: to get the attention of the men, and, given what proceeded, I think I succeeded. 

By the time the best dick rolled around, the boys were getting horny. Hands started lingering on butts, guys were massaging each other’s cocks over their jorts, and some men had undressed into jocks.

When the host mentioned that contestants were allowed to use a fluffer of their choice, everyone in the audience lost any sense of decorum. Watching these meaty dicks get sucked created a ripple effect in the crowd; men simply had to start sucking dicks there, too. 

It became a dick-sucking orgy, and you better believe I was getting my cock sucked down to the balls by a hearty bear. He unbuttoned his pants and unclasped his belt, so I could finger his hairy hole while he sucked. (Obviously, he was wearing a jockstrap under his jorts.) 

The winner of the best dick competition really did have the perfect cock: thick, 8 inches, cut, with a bulging pink head and vein down the side. Once Barger announced the winner and everyone stepped down from the tiny stage, horny chaos ensued. 

The Bear, let’s call him B1 (Bear 1), stopped sucking my dick, turned around, and moved the stool out of the way so he could lay his elbows on the bar. I took off his jorts and began feasting. While eating this plump ass, I felt a man with a beard C1 (Cocksucker 1) start sucking my dick. I’m not sure how he managed to angle himself to suck my cock in that position, but he did. Good for him. Great for me! 

With a big, wet dick, I pulled out from C1 and entered B1. Even without lube, I had no problem sliding in. This man was ready to go. It wasn’t his first rodeo. I started slowly, but he wasn’t having it. Using the bar as leverage, he backed his ass up into me with the skills of a man who’d taken thousands of dicks. I let him do his thing as I pinched my nipples. Then I grabbed him by his hips and began matching his thrusts. Each time I sank my dick into his hole, it made a satisfying “smack” sound. I screamed. He screamed. We all screamed for dickcream. 

A crowd quickly formed. Boys jerked off while watching until they started jacking each other off, which led to them blowing each other away. But there were a few guys who didn’t get side-tracked by the other cocks and asses. They had their eye on the prize, and while I wished it was my cock they were after, I knew it was B1’s fat hairy ass.

I knew it would be greedy to hoard this man—this hole—to myself, so I pulled out, and before I could ask if anyone else wanted to take a turn, there was a man already inside of him. 

It was starting to get stuffy in there. Forty burly men fucking each other will do that, so I stepped outside. There was a man who looked like the son of Yosemite Sam and Sam Elliot.

I could see his pierced dick through his black leather jockstrap (obviously, he wore assless chaps, too). But it looked like he had multiple piercings. 

“Thirty-two,” he said. I shook my head in disbelief. 

“You have thirty-two piercings on your dick?”

“Yeah,” he said casually.

“Well, I would like to see.”

He pulled down his jock, and there were indeed thirty-two piercings—and not small ones. These were large gauged barbells going through his dick. It was beautiful. It was horrifying. It was art. It was arousing. 

“I need to suck that dick,” I said. He nodded in approval. I loved hearing the sound of metal clang against my teeth. And the way the hoops felt in my throat. It was like I was being tickled on the inside. I sucked until he got nice and hard. My spit causes his piercings to glisten. I loved taking his long cock down my throat. Dare I say, it was quite a mouthful. 

“Want to fuck me?” I asked. If it felt that good in my throat, imagine how it would feel in my ass. 

He did. I bent over, dropped my jorts, and pulled my bikini undies to the side. It was almost like taking anal beads. I felt the pressure and pleasure in and around my hole, but when he was deep inside me, I didn’t feel his piercings. 

I could work with that. I backed my ass up and down his dick—slowly. I wanted to feel each ring push its way inside of me. It was a relaxing fuck that was clearly for my pleasure, not his. Still, I think he was into fucking someone less than half his age. He called me “Boy,” and I called him “Daddy.” It was hot knowing he was old enough to be my father.  

When he needed a break (From what? Unclear, as I was doing all the work), I ventured back inside with a warmed-up hole. It was time to get what I came there for: the winner of the best dick competition. 

When I went back inside, it was like ‘Nam—utter chaos. People shooting (loads) without looking. Men on all fours, crawling in the trenches as other men snuck behind them, ready to pounce. The sounds of grunts and moans echoed throughout the battleground. 

“You’ve had enough yet?”

“Take it, faggot.” 

“You’re all mine.” 

But I couldn’t get distracted by bedlam. I was on a mission: to retrieve my comrade, better known by his moniker BDW (Best Dick Winner), from beyond enemy lines. He was captured, lost in a big hole. Whenever he managed to crawl his way out, he found himself in yet another hole. The only way to find him? Be a better hole. A hole to take him all the way home. A hole that will make him forget those other holes existed. 

Alas, I couldn’t find him amidst the mayhem. The only thing I did see was a fellow patriot, B1, in a jail cell. He was fighting off five men and was repeatedly getting thrown against the wall. The men spread his legs, each taking turns on him. One after the next, pounding and pounding, with no end in sight. I had to help, so I pushed through the sea of men, threw off my uniform, and grabbed the cell bars. I was only able to draw two of them off of him. So I placed my leg on the stool and, with one hand, spread my cheek apart to give the enemies more access to my hairy hole. 

That got their attention. One man, E1 (Enemy 1), spat on his cock and entered me. Thank god I was already warmed up from Elliot because he showed no mercy. He forcefully thrusted his 8-inch cock down my insides. I moaned but knew I could take more, knew I needed to take more from these men to assist B1. Another of the enemies, E2, made his way around the cell and shoved his cock into my mouth as I continued getting railed from behind. Seeing me gag on cock on E2’s cock made E1 shoot deep inside of me. Out of ammo, E1 was down. E3 took his place. He was smaller than E1, so I knew he’d be easy for me. I clenched my asshole together as he slid his cock inside of me. I then used one hand to finger the hole of E2, who was still fucking my throat.

Bam! Got them both, a load in my throat and a second in my hole. I turned to see B1, who had taken out his two men alone. We had done it. We won the battle. But the war was far from over. I still needed to find and rescue BDW.

In the distance, I saw him, balls deep in a hole, just as I predicted. I pulled up my undies but left my pants in the trenches. I marched over to BDW, avoiding the many traps behind enemy lines. It was like everywhere I stepped, there was a hole that was begging for me to enter. But I stayed strong. Finally, I made it to BDW. He was exhausted from making his way out of countless holes. He had lost his voice and was drenched in sweat. 

He needed to be released. He needed to cum with me.

I grabbed his cock the moment it briefly slipped from the hole. He looked at me and me at him. We both knew what needed to be done. Quickly, I shoved his cock into my ass. He let out a moan. I backed my ass up on him while squeezing my hole tight. 

“Oh, shit,” he said. He has forgotten the difference between enemy and ally holes. I needed to let him know. Enemy holes were teases—only causing pain. Ally holes get the job done. I turned around, put two bar stools together, and lay on my back. I draped my legs over his shoulders, grabbed his fat, juicy, award-winning cock, and let him rearrange my guts. He needed this, and I would do anything for my fellow countryman. I grabbed his ass to thrust him into me harder. 

“I’m going to cum,” he said. 

“Do it now!” I shouted, and with a great cock came a great load. I felt his warmth inside me and soaked up every lost drop. 

When I opened my eyes, I saw his face. He was relaxed. He was at peace. I had saved him.      

When I looked around the bar, I saw B1 back in trouble. Countless enemies had once again surrounded him. He had nowhere to go. Nowhere to hide. I knew I couldn’t leave him there, and I knew my approach, to take some of the heat off with my hole, wasn’t effective long-term. So I needed to utilize another tactical maneuver they warned us never to use in basic training unless we had no other options. Coming back to that jail cell, a place I had vowed never to return, I knew this was my only option. I would have to execute a cum-filled explosion so big that it would take out every one: a Cumikaze.

I took the dick out of B1 and shoved mine inside of him. He turned back and smiled. It was just like the old days when the two of us would fuck while others watched. I reached around and grabbed his cock. It was soft, but I gently stroked it until it got hard, and once it did, I doubled the speed and intensity of my thrusts. 

“This is for you,” was my only thought. I felt his cock twitching involuntarily. He was about to burst. I could feel it. I stroked faster and focused on where his head met his shaft. Then he shot everything he got. He shot on the man’s chest in front of him.

I pulled out and shot everyone I could with everything I got. The double Cumikaze caused a domino effect; now everyone could not contain themselves. Everyone shot their cum everywhere. The horror. The humanity! Some men were left lying there, lifeless. Some men were stuck in the trenches; others were glued to the barracks. 

But we had done it. Everyone was down. Everyone was out of ammo. Everyone had shot their last loads. 

I looked at Bear 1, my first fuck, my first friend. We had made it through ‘Nam together. Yes, there were many casualties, but we did it. And the war was over. 

Or so I thought. The next night, at Island House, another war was just beginning.