I Anonymously F*cked Ten Bottoms at Church. It Was the Best Sex Party of My Life.
There's a party in Amsterdam called "Meat Market." I haven't experienced anything like it since.
Original illustration by Roy (@theslagroom)
I had to change my flight from Copenhagen to Amsterdam. There was no way I was going to miss Meat Market (link NSFW)—a once-a-month anonymous sex party at Club Church where bottoms arrive 30 minutes before tops and strip down completely naked (or to a jock). They wear either a white or red hood, depending on if they care whether tops wear condoms. Red hood if you want to get fucked raw. White hood if you require protection.
Once inside, you can’t see or choose who fucks you. Your hole has to be open for any top who desires. (If you require a break, one of the “chaperones” who work the event will escort you to the special bottom’s room to remove your hood and rest. These chaperones are also condom checkers, making sure the guys wearing white hoods aren’t getting barebacked.)
Every time you get fucked, one of the chaperones will tally you with a Sharpie. At the end of the evening, whoever gets fucked by the most men gets a reward. (I think the prize is something like free entry for next month, worth all of 20 euros or whatnot.)
I was trekking across Europe for the month, doing all the gay things, because I got a queer travel column for a small site. While I wanted to write this piece as a column, it was far too sexual. (I had already pushed the limits by writing my first experience in a gay sauna in Brussels.)
Even though I attended this party five and a half years ago, the event is forever seared into my mind. To this day, it was probably the most terrified and turned on I’ve ever been.
I arrived at Club Church alone during the allotted time for top entry. At this point in my life, I had only bottomed for a handful of men and women. (This was before I even douched.) I wasn’t about to double the number of men who’d been inside me in one night.
Once inside, I stripped down naked and checked my clothing. Then I entered Church. The space was massive. It is one of the biggest gay clubs in Amsterdam. It is a club-club—not a bar with a little dance floor. Church is a multi-story established where you go to (a) fucking party.
The moment I walked in, I almost turned around. I was overwhelmed by how many bottoms there were. At least 150. All hooded. All bent over, holding on to a railing or some support. Ready to get fucked. Big asses. Small asses. White asses. Black asses. Hairy asses. Smooth asses. Saggy asses. Perky asses. Muscle asses. Skinny asses. Tatted asses. Every single ass you could think of was there on display like a Christmas ham just waiting to get eaten.
Most of the guys there would bend and straighten each leg or twerk their ass, hoping to entice a top. The ratio of bottoms to tops was 5:1. Top privilege at its finest. The tops would mingle with each other. Have a drink or two at the bar while they watched the fuckfest before them. Once in a while, they’d see a fine ass getting fucked, and go on over to facefuck the dude—just for a minute or two—because why not spitroast? When in Church, ya know?
I had been to many sex parties before, but none like this. At most of the sex parties I’d been to, I knew the majority of the people there. Often, they were parties orchestrated by one of my ex’s friends. There, there’s a lot more schmoozing that happened before the fucking, and more often than not, people fuck others they’ve already met before. Here, there was no schmoozing, only randos getting straight to business. Animalistic. Primal. Pumping and dumping until the cows come home.
I bee-lined it to the bar (what used to be) my go-to move when feeling overwhelmed. I ordered myself a Jameson on the rocks. I downed it and ordered another. The bar was in the back center of the club; from there, you had a view of everything and everyone.
It was unlike anything I’d ever seen. To this day, it’s the most people I’ve seen fucking in one room. It was an erotic cacophony of sounds. Low-pitched muscle daddies saying, “Fuck yeah,” and little twinks, squealing in whistle tones that rival Mariah.
After three stiff drinks, I did a lap. There was a path—somewhat—a loop that took you up and down the stairs, past every thirsty, bent-over man, just begging to take a load. I walked around, gently rubbing my fingers on each ass as I passed by. I’d see their backs arch, hoping—praying— I’d choose them. Once in a while, I’d give an ass a firm smack and then gently kiss it afterward before moving to the next behind. I walked by this burly, hairy man, 6’6 with a cock to match, absolutely destroying this beefy bottom. As I passed, he said, “My boy is too loud. Can you shut him up?”
So I stuck my dick in his mouth. It didn’t take long until I got rock hard. (I love it when you’re getting blown, and they’re getting plowed from behind. He has to deepthroat you since there’s nowhere else it can go. He’s trying to moan but can’t because he’s gagging on your dick.)
I stopped before I came. I didn’t want to blow my load too quickly. I reached over the bottom’s back and kissed the hunk fucking him as he kept plowing and squeezing his pierced nipples.
Fully erect, I then searched for the juiciest ass I could find. I felt like a kid in a candy store, grinning ear to ear. By the time I found the most enormous ass, he already has eight tick marks on his back. Clearly, I wasn’t the only one who thought this bottom was the one to fuck. He had a red hood, and I stuck my dick in raw. He had at least five loads in him, which I could use as lube. I had never fucked a guy who was so wet from all the cum before me. It made my dick even harder. But after fucking him for a few moments, I noticed an issue. It was like throwing a hot dog down a hallway. This man had been fucked by eight different men over the past 90 minutes. He was warmed up, a little too warmed up, if ya catch my drift. I could have easily fisted him at this point (and am wishing now that I did). That would have been the goddamn move.
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