Learning leather bars was different from learning life outside the closet. Lessons came later: dos and don’ts, codes and courtesies, good nights and bad ones. He pulls my hand and I follow him through the throng. Then he pulled my hand under his kilt: a fully erect dick with a massive Prince Albert piercing jutting through the head. He held me, we swayed with the music as he rubbed my chest. He put his arm around me and shouted in my ear, “Where are you from?” On the dance floor, I inched close to a guy with salt-and-pepper hair who was wearing a leather kilt. A circle of men stood around him and I didn’t dare peek through. His gagging noises mixed with the music and talk. Someone was choking on a dick in the corner. Upstairs, things were different - a quiet dive bar, people milling around wooden tables. I couldn’t tell if they were dancing or fucking.
In the room downstairs, a strobe flashed over mounds of muscle and harnesses.
