Hanging Up Your Jockstrap

Hanging Up Your Jockstrap

Bored one Friday night with going to my local sex club Slammers, I made the executive decision to visit one of the bath houses in town that I had gone to religiously in my pre-Slammer days, that is until it got too old, not just older, OLD. Well, after a hiatus of over a year, I found to my amazement virtually the same universe of guys I left behind still there, still roaming the halls in dingy jockstraps or leather harnesses that supported their sagging tits like a bra, like dementia patients in a nursing home aging in place, with little new meat to savor. In fact, there was absolutely nothing going on, nothing to even voyeur over, and after two hours of supreme frustration as the 50 mg. of Viagra I had taken evaporated from my body, I shifted gears, and in a double-dip night, left for Slammers where in the space of 55 minutes, I fucked one guy, got my dick sucked by three other guys, and got blown by a fifth.

So why, I kept asking myself, would the Denture Cream Generation I had encountered at the other place that night, why would they keep plunking down twenty dollars or more week after week after month after year after decade to have absolutely nothing but stare at one another’s aging, sagging flesh.

Why?

Because they knew that had less or no chance of scoring at Slammers with its somewhat humpier crowd, but that here in the whorehouse some had known for decades and should have bought timeshares in, they had a comfort level, while still feeling they were part of The Scene. For if they stopped coming and traded their seventies vintage cockrings for the TV remote, they would have finally reconciled with themselves that they were no longer sexually active or desirable, that, however pathetic they looked as they wandered the whorehouse halls, their lives as  active gay men were over.

That they had finally hung up their jockstrap.

Even staring at the younger (read 30+, 40+) humpier guys – grown, mature men – on a Saturday night at the Ramrod, our local butch leather bar, shaking their butts like twenty year old circuit bois and probably just as high as they would be on E or Tina, I often ask the question silently of them and myself – when are we all gonna grow up? Do we really think this merry-go-round will never stop?

So when do you know it’s time to hang up YOUR jockstrap, to stop pimping yourself  while you still have some self dignity, when, while porn may still hold its joys, aggressively searching for a man no longer holds its allure.  Some reasons Wednesday.

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