Barcode. A red and black sign, a hideous lettering made with stickers poorly stuck on the glass door of the entrance, an almost dilapidated facade and nothing less than welcoming. The interior, after the airlock that hides the view from the street, is painted black, poorly lit except for the "stage" and the atmosphere is often more than hot because the establishment has no "outbuildings", there is no place to discreetly fall back on to give free rein to the fuck.

It is the meeting place of the "hard" gays of the city and the surrounding area. At least, those who would dress in leather, wear a cap and moustache if it weren't so dated, and exchange virile, bravado, and subtly plaintive, "pick me..." looks.

The guy who brought me there is in a wheelchair, he likes to suck big cocks, which he does without any restraint as soon as the opportunity arises and with all the more gusto as he doesn't have to stand or kneel to be within reach of all the machines that give themselves to him.

He is beginning to be known in this bar, he has made a place for himself as a regular and the friendly solicitude of which he is the object proves his "know-how". He hasn't sucked me, I'm missing a few centimetres, both in length and in circumference, for him to welcome me into his mouth. So I don't know the extent of his talents but I tell myself that I've probably missed something...

He's the one who introduced me to this bar, he had told me about it during our first meeting, at his place, decided after a chat on a gay website. When he told me that he was in a wheelchair, it made me curious: how did you fuck when you were in a wheelchair? I didn't know that I would never know. Or at least not with him.

The chat had gone well, i.e. he had gone past the three messages and the fateful "do you have a pic of yourself?", even though I had noticed that, like many people on a chat, he didn't have much to say. This impression was confirmed in him. He was talkative, but he didn't have much interesting to say either, so I just listened while looking at the blister-packed mini Egyptian statuettes that adorned his shelves, no doubt from a mainstream encyclopaedic publisher, a kind of supermarket culture acquired by instalments at the local newsagent.

He told me about the Barcode, a hard gay meeting place in the city. He told me he went there regularly and said that if I wanted to, he could get me in. When I asked what he meant by "hard", he explained that the bar only opened late at night (until early in the morning), that there were no back rooms or booths, just a sort of large "dance floor" with more or less evenly spaced lockers, a long counter, a stage, a few showers with no privacy, and toilets too, which were closed, but could not accommodate more than one person at a time.

It didn't explain what "hard" meant. He added that it was not uncommon to have orgies there, the guys went there for that and there was no need to drink to get the spirits and bodies going. Guys were more or less stripping, stuffing their clothes in the nearest lockers, taking or not taking the available condoms and jumping on anything that was within reach.

He went on to say that on Saturdays there was the "guest", a guy tied up on the stage, on whom those who wanted to, came to let off steam with their bare hands or with the SM props provided. Everything was allowed except marks, blows, various injuries and blood, two guys from the bar made sure that everyone kept a cool head. We had seen "guests" wickedly fisting or puking cum after many customers had relieved themselves continuously in their mouths. Only those who could endure such treatment were "guests", often submissives, slaves or sluts educated and presented by their masters.

On other days, those who took the stage were called "volunteers", they could be anyone, "you or me if we wanted", who also suffered the assaults of the customers, there were often several volunteers for one evening, but there could only be one at a time on the stage. So the choice was very simple: they were exposed naked at the entrance of the bar and as they entered, the customers marked with a stroke of lipstick the one they preferred, often according to their physique, but also according to the "programme" they allowed. When it was time to go on stage, the volunteer with the most votes was tied up and given to the general public. Here too, two guys from the bar kept an eye on things and tempered the ardour of those who overstepped the limits set by the volunteers themselves.

This idea excited me enormously, I had always wanted to be shown off and then made available. At the same time, it scared the hell out of me: I wasn't particularly gay, I didn't do any of the things the guy was describing, could it be that one was a "volunteer" but refused, for example, sodomy or fisting? The guy pouted... "You'd at least have to suck, but if you don't want to be sodomized... You're not going to interest many people."

"- And then, physically too, you're 'out of place'..."

To be continued...

Translated with www.DeepL.com/Translator (free version)