The Ultimate Throat F*ck to End All Throat F*cks

He had the biggest, low-hanging balls, and when they covered my eyes like goggles, I lost it.

Heads up: This piece gets aggressive. It depicts messy, brutal throat-fuckings. If that’s not your thing, I’d skip it. But if you’re a sick fuck like me, continue on…

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The flyer got me. But in my defense, just look at it. Beefy men with fat asses in thongs. The pull of the waistband. A slutty “Pig” tattoo on the cheek. It was as if someone made this event especially for me. Even its title, “Pork Butt.” What a fabulous name.

Flyer illustration by Bob Bottle (@bobbottlenyc)

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I arrived alone to the party on the earlier side, to the venue C’mon Everybody, a gay bar in Brooklyn that I need to stop forgetting about, because whenever I go, I always meet some very cute queers, often taking them home at the night’s end.

When I entered, every seat at the bar was taken, as most people hadn’t yet ventured onto the dance floor or into the dark room. So I ordered a double vodka soda and struck up some casual conversation. I tried to be fully present, listening as the men talked about their lives, work, where they lived, and the gay events they frequented—the usual topics. But honestly, I was struggling to focus.

I was wearing my “I’m here to fuck” hat, not my “I want to talk about work” suspenders, so I let my central vision drift while I watched the boys go by out of the corner of my eyes. Cute boy after cute boy entered, and I suddenly realized, though not officially, that this was a bear party. I’d been to plenty of bear events, where the men tended to be between 40 and 65, averaging around 55. That didn’t bother me—I love a big daddy—but I sometimes wished there were more guys my age. Pork Butt delivered just that—hairy men with big bellies and meaty asses, mostly between the ages of 30 and 40. I was living.

After about an hour, the crowd spilled from the bar onto the dance floor. I checked my clothes and joined them in dance—swiveling my hips, throwing my hands in the air, shaking my ass in my black jockstrap. I was in my own little world, feeling myself, both literally and figuratively. Soon after, however, I noticed I was one of the few still dancing. One by one, the men quietly slipped into the dark room, and none returned. Either it was a portal to another dimension, or they were just getting down in there. Either way, I was set to enter a big hole.

Cautiously, I stepped into the dark room behind the partition, where I heard low grunts and moans. One man was on his knees, sucking another’s cock while jerking off two others. The BJ-giver was a plate-spinner—except instead of keeping plates from falling, he kept every man hard. When one dick started to soften, he switched to blowing it, then moved to the next.

Men pressed their hands against the walls in the corners, getting railed from behind. Others wandered aimlessly, stroking their cocks, hoping to get hard or praying someone would drop to their knees before their manhood.

I moved toward a bear of a man—about my height, roughly 6’4”, my age, and close to 300 pounds. He was a thick, sexy guy with an enormous cock getting blown. I enjoyed the show, stroking myself beside him. The guy giving him head was slobbering all over his big cock, licking up and down the shaft, sucking his balls. I got instantly hard watching.

Suddenly, a man approached me, dropped to his knees, and started blowing me. The bear and I exchanged a quick nod, as if to say, “Yeah, we’re doing something right.”

As their knees bruised from the effort, the bear and I started making out. Our tongues swirled, making me hornier, my dick pulsing in the stranger’s mouth. Once the BJ enthusiasts grew tired (or sought new cocks to gag on), the bear and I exited the dark room to grab another drink.

His name was Mark. He played for the Dom Tops but had been curious about switching teams and joining the Vers Princes. He loved to party, hitting fabulous, slutty gay events multiple times a week. He knew where the good ass was, and he was all about the musky men who didn’t bother with deodorant.

Mark was also unfathomably kind. (And if there is one person I love, it’s a kind slut.) He shared a wide grin, his shiny teeth visible. And he looked at me with this playful intensity, though he didn’t just want to jump my bones; he seemed to want to get to know me and learn about who I am and what I’m about.

I appreciated him for his engagement, but I also appreciated his donkey dick and needed to suck it.

I led us back to the dark room, found a vacant dark corner, and pushed him up against the wall. Passionately we kissed, our dicks still in jocks, pressed against each other, both growing thicker by the second. I then slowly kissed down his neck, sucked on his nipples, and nipped at his belly before grabbing his jockstrap and pulling them down to his ankles.

I found my balance while squatting, and started to suck his monster cock. I began by sucking his head lightly, then moved down his shaft, my throat loosening, expanding, doing what it does best.

“You can play with my balls too,” he said. “They’re pretty big.”

I placed my hand on his testicles, ready to play with them like Chinese medicine balls, when I nearly choked on his cock from surprise. I stopped sucking to analyze. In the dark, I hadn’t gotten a good look at his nuts. Now, I was squared up, eye-to-eye with each.

“Holyyyy shit,” I said.

“Yeah, they’re big,” he said, aware that those two bad boys were his crown jewels.

“No, not big,” I said. “Huge. These are the biggest balls I’ve seen!”

I never considered myself a “big balls guy.” If I’m being frank, I usually forget they’re there while having penetrative sex or blowing a dude. But there was no world in which I could forget about these fellas.

They were so big and heavy, hanging down to his mid-thighs. Gently, I placed one hand beneath them and cupped. I could have bicep curled his balls and gotten a great arm workout.

I wasn’t just turned on; I was also fascinated. It was like discovering a deep-sea creature—an alien-looking blubber fish washed up on the shore—and thinking, “This is cool, but what the hell do I do with this?”

I just didn’t know how to handle them, so I focused more on his dick, deepthroating him, gagging on his cock, giving him the ol’ reliable Cluck Cluck 3,000. When I grabbed his hand and placed it on the back of my head, pushing my face further down his cock, he lit up with a devilish grin. He held the back of my head in place and started to pump his monster cock down my throat, his heavy nuts, swaying like a pendulum, hitting my chin. (Incredible, no notes!)

Once my legs were sore from squatting, I suggested we take this back to my house. But before we did, I asked if he’s into even rougher throat fucking.

“Like Gag the Fag?” he asked. “Yes, exactly like that,” I replied, loving that he watched my favorite type of porn.

Within a moment of being in my apartment, we were both naked. Him, sitting on my blue velour couch. Me, on my knees between his thick legs. A red towel beneath me in case things got extra sloppy.

I started sucking his big cock intensely as if I had an purpose. Like there was a demon trapped inside of his body, and the only way to expel the evil spirit, was to suck the cum out of him.