It was the stink that caught my attention. Out back behind the bar, where most of us just slip out the back for the smoke before heading back into dance or flirt or whatever we all go there to do anymore, in a world where Grindr exists. Hell knows, it seems like no one shows up anymore–the place used to feel so alive back in my twenties, after I’d moved here, but here I am, twenties years later in my forties, chasing versions of my younger self. The alley never smells good, mind you, but that night, there was something…extra rank on the air. There was no one out there with me at the moment, and I don’t know if it was pure curiosity, or…well, considering what came next, I have no doubt someone would have gone hunting for them. Mostly I just remember being extra horny that evening, and wondering what in the world could smell like that–I’d just…never smelled anything like that, even in this city, and yet I also…knew the smell all the same.
I should stop trying to explain it, really. Just…just stick to what happened, as best I can. I go digging around the trash in the alley, sniffing around. I finish my cigarette and toss the butt, and I…want to go back inside, because it’s really fucking cold, but I can’t stop. I need to know what the smell is at this point, and I can tell I’m close. The funny part? I’m standing right over the thing, but it’s not…what I’m expecting, you know? Something that smells like that–you’re expecting a body, or some rotting food, or something, not the grungy pair of briefs lying on the pavement under your foot.
And so I’m walking up and down, back and forth, seeing the thing on the ground but not really paying it any mind. I mean, underwear out back behind a gay club is hardly a new thing, you know? People ditch shit back here all the time, and don’t always come back for it. But every time I pass by the smell is stronger, and at last, I stoop down, give a sniff, and sure enough, it’s the fucking underwear, and now that I was closer, I could see why. Sodium light doesn’t really do…yellow much justice, but thee things aren’t just crispy, they’re some of the grungiest fucking things I’ve ever laid eyes on, and you’re talking to a guy who hung out in the bathhouses back before they cleaned up.
So I found it–end of story, right? But here I am, staring down at these things, and before I can really think about why I’m doing it, I reach down and pick the brief’s up by the waistband, bring them to my nose, and I give them a close sniff, and then a deeper snort, and then they’re pressed to my mouth, my cock is out and I’m on my knees in the alley, jacking off, to this rank fucking shit–and I do know the smell now, and why it was so familiar. The difference, I suppose, was just…how concentrated it is–cum, piss, sweat, shit marks up the ass. I know all those smells, but I’d never smelled them like this before in my life. I switch hands, wrap the briefs around my shaft and keep stroking, the coarse texture of the soiled fabric rubbing against my cock, and I shoot, adding a load of my own to the thing–and that’s when I get the thought.
That’s when my brain says, of all things, “Put them on.”
See? That’s why I can’t try and explain any of this shit, it has no explanation. I haven’t felt like I’ve had a reason for anything in months, there’s no reason, there’s just a series of wants and urges and instinct. I know all of the reasons why I shouldn’t do it, why I should just drop that shit, go inside, and wash my hands and face as well as I can, but instead I take a quick look behind me at the door to the bar, propped open but empty of anyone else, and haul off my shoes, pants and boxers. I’m telling myself this is crazy, I’m cursing myself out for being some fucking freak, but my cock is already hard again as I slide the underwear up my legs to my waist. I can feel the wet spot from my cum on the left ass cheek and my stomach churns a bit, but I pull my jeans back on and my boots. I have nowhere to put my boxers though, and so I stuff them back behind a dumpster, figuring I can always come get them later.
I step back into the bar, and it’s a little busier at this point, but I keep my distance from everyone in there. I…I can still smell the thing through my clothes, and I’m horrified by what I just did. I want to go back out there and change again, but by the time I do, there’s other guys smoking, and I can’t…reveal what I did. Rumours spread quick, you know. I see one guy’s nose twitch, and he turns and stares at me, and in the dark strobe, I can’t tell if it’s excitement or disgust–so I ditch. I push my way back out of the bar to the street, and I’m take off at a quick pace back to my apartment a few blocks away.
“Hey!”
It’s the guy who smelled me, he yelled at me a few times from the doorway of the bar. I didn’t turn around, I didn’t look. I turned the corner, and I assume he went back inside. All I wanted, was to get home, get out of these briefs, burn them, and never think of this again. Instead, I get home, and I’m so horny from the rough sensation of the cumdry fabric against my cock that I grope it through my pants as soon as I’m through the door, and it takes less than a minute for me to shoot again, fully clothed–and after I got the jeans off, I stroked off again, and again, until I lost count, and I finally fell asleep, exhausted.
Bracken's Corner 