The thing most people don’t realize, I think, about Pigtown, is that most of us want to be there. Or at least, I want to be there, and most of the people I know there never want to be anywhere else. It’s the only place a lot of us want to be, because it’s the only place where any of us can be ourselves. Do you know what that’s like? Probably not–not many people do, or ever get the chance, but ever since I was young, I knew that I was…different.
Not gay. Gay isn’t…anything anymore. Anyone can be gay, which is another way of saying that if you’re gay, you can be anyone–which really means no one. Which means you go to school, you get a job, you find someone equally no one to your no one, and you settle down, make more no ones, and die, eventually. But that wasn’t me, that wasn’t what I wanted. It’s what my dad wanted though, he wanted me to be nothing, just like him. Maybe it would be better to just tell him, to break him, finally, and show him who I am, but I can’t yet. Maybe, because I don’t really know who I am yet, either.
People like me, we know all about Pigtown, even if we’ve never been there. It’s everywhere on the internet, in all the places you go, if you need what Pigtown can provide. Most people never find it, because no one really knows where it is. No one even knows what it is, to be honest. All there are out there are stories of it. Anecdotes, rumors thrice removed. I thought it was just a jack off fantasy, I never imagined that it could actually exist, until I almost walked right past it.
I could barely believe it, when I stepped inside. It was like coming home. It was like meeting the family I had never known, the real family I had always wanted and fantasized about. I was changed, when I left–like everyone always is, as you know–but for me, it was everything rewired on the inside that really mattered. I was different. I was braver, and more confident. Not…confident enough to confront my dad about anything, but confident enough to at least buy cigars and smoke them. Confident enough to…go back.
I needed to be there. I needed to be the person I could be there, that I couldn’t be anywhere else. But I had to be someone else for my dad, for the entire world. Some people just…stay. They remain in the orbit, and they never have to leave Pigtown. They never have to remember that there’s anything beyond this. I don’t want that, I don’t think, but I would like…to have who I am in there match who I am out, but I’m not there yet. Maybe one day, I’ll figure out how. Until then, there’s just this. I walk up the stairs and into the bar, I hand the gimp my coat, and as soon as it’s off, I don’t have to pretend anymore. I’m just…me.
I’m a cigar cub. I’m on my knees at the feet of every smoking bear in sight, my tongue on their leather or rubber boots, ready to be of service in whatever way they so desire. I have my favorite daddies, of course, and plenty who have taken quite a liking to me. But I haven’t…found anyone yet, who I want to be with yet. Maybe that’s what’s wrong with me, and why I can’t stay. Because I’m not here just looking to be someone…but I’m looking for someone too.
The night rolls, and we’re all rolling with it. In Pigtown, everyone is in flux. If you try to focus too hard on it, it’ll just break you apart–you just have to exist, in the moment, and trust it to take you to a level of ecstasy that you pray exists. Well, it does exist. I know, I’ve hit it before. Three skinheads forced me into rubber one night, hooded me, fed me smoke for…I don’t know, days. I lost everything. I lost so much of myself, and all that remained was pleasure. I think…I would have stayed, if they’d kept at it, but the night ended, like always, and outside, I was me again, mostly. The hair stayed–it hasn’t grown a millimeter since.
But that night, there is someone new. He’s there with some other bears I know well–they laugh when I ask about him, and they say they found him outside, just staring at the bar, and they…invited him in, as we all do on occasion. He was handsome, especially with the massive cigar in his jaw, and I was more than happy to serve him…but he had something else in mind.
Before I know what’s happening, he has three cigars wedged in my mouth, his boot planted against my chest, and I can feel my cock throbbing as smoke surges through me…and I know. I know this is something I could get used to. Someone I could get used to. We find a rhythm. He’s new to all this, but he’s enthusiastic, and I’m eager for whatever he might give me. I find it again, that supreme desire and pleasure, chained to the wall, now four cigars wedged in my mouth while he and another bear flog the shit out of me, and I have to know him. If he stays, I’ll stay. But things roll, and we separate, and the morning comes and I’ve lost him, and I cry on the tram going home, because men like that, men who get pulled in, men who aren’t looking for Pigtown at all…well, chances aren’t good, one might say.
I crawl into bed, and sleep in on Saturday. I somehow still get up before my dad, early enough to sneak a smoke in. We cross paths later…and I gotta say, he looks like shit. But I get close, and I smell…something, and see a little flicker in his eyes…but no, it couldn’t be, right?
Then again, Pigtown provides.
Bracken's Corner 