Balls N' All in San Francisco

In late summer of 2015, I took a trip to San Francisco for a gay soccer tournament. After an excruciating breakup, I was looking for some distraction. I hit the ground running, with a surplus of cash and a desire to go hard and not go home. I was going to do whatever I wanted on this trip.

The first night there I ended up having sex with some Mexican party boy in the foyer of his building. For whatever reason, we didn't even make it upstairs. I had met him on the street, and it had been my inauguration to the Castro.

He invited me to a party the next night and I agreed to go. Fun was what I came for and I could tell he knew where to have a good time, if nothing else.

My second day in the city, I played some soccer and lost horribly. The wonderful locals I was staying with had recommended a few things to see in the city so I had traipsed all over town exploring. By night I was back in the bars up to no good and eventually decided to meet up with the party boy from the previous night.

I got in a cab to to go to the house party, but ended up in the wrong part of town. Lost in the middle of the night in the suburbs of a city you don't know is not where you want to be without a data plan. An hour or so later, I eventually got to the correct building.

I walked up to the door, and it was lit in red light, but otherwise looked like a normal house on a normal street.

It was not.

I opened the door and walked upstairs. Apart from a few snacks on the table and some half empty bottles of booze, there wasn't much going on in the kitchen area. I walked around the house looking for party boy but to no avail.

There were men walking around in harnesses and various states of undress. The hot tub outside was filled with drunk men, some of whom had bags of cocaine, which seems a little counterproductive to me if you are relaxing in a hot tub, but that's none of my business.

I thought I would take one last look downstairs for party boy. What I did find was a dark room lit only with a few violet lights and a number of beds. There were people making out and having sex all around me. Since I couldn't find my impromptu tour guide to San Francisco, I sat down and watched for a while.

No one was really that attractive, but in the dark, you couldn't really tell, and no one really cared. Unlike bathhouses, which I abhor, there was no expectation of action since no one had paid a fee to enter this basement.

Shortly after sitting on the bed, I was no longer welcome as a mere audience member. I was still fully clothed at this point but two of the gentlemen proceeded to undo the button of my jeans. One of them whispered something in my ear that I barely remember. With a little coaxing, I let them suck me off for a while and then decided it was time to leave.

I walked back upstairs and into the kitchen and saw party boy. We had a quick conversation about leaving and I got a half baked excuse about why he was so difficult to find at the party. I didn't really care about the bullshit I was being fed.

I bent down to tie my shoe laces, and when I came up, he was gone. There was no trace of him.

Only later did he text to inform me that his friends had waited so long while I was lost that they just dragged him away - in mid conversation, while I was tying my shoe.

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