I first heard about Rain City Jacks from Brad, a bisexual friend of mine whose experience did not come with a recommendation to visit. But after he described it, I HAD to go. A club where men gather to masturbate together? I couldn’t decide if it sounded absurd, hot, or both.
“How many guys were there?” I asked.
“About 30… maybe 50. It's a little dark in there and I just didn't stay long.” Brad kept eye-fucking a couple behind me—who I’d already checked out myself and did not find remotely interesting—I still had no clue what his tastes were.
“What didn't you like about it?” I asked as the waitress brought our brunch check.
“There just weren't any men I found attractive I guess. And the few guys I interacted with had tiny dicks and I just wasn't into it.” Brad had a huge dick, which made it all the stranger that he hated both being around smaller ones and being complimented on his own size. Any time I would suck his dick and tell him how big and beautiful it was, he would give me placid blink of the eyes expressing, “Tell me something I don’t know…” Talk about chopped liver...
I got the website details from him and the following Sunday I found myself standing in front pitch-black double doors on First Avenue in downtown Seattle. The address was the right match but there was no signage or markings anywhere. I guessed I just should try to open the doors; I did and they did.
It was indeed dark, and there was a very good looking bear at the reception desk waiting to attend to me as I walked in. The space was discreet—at first it looked like a blacked-out room with only a man and a reception desk.
“Welcome, welcome. Is this your first time here?” I immediately loved how approachable he was.
“Yes… is this Rain City Jacks?” There was still a chance I was completely off the mark.
“Of course! You're in the right place. Let me go ahead and give you the elevator pitch and tell you about our rules and membership and all that jazz.” I hoped he would be joining us.
After about 15 minutes of conversation I had my key takeaways: no penetration of any kind, no oral, no docking… only masturbation, mutual jerk offs, and making out if you wanted. He asked me to follow him to the locker rooms, where I could finally take a peek behind the curtain. Still, I needed clarification on one thing.
“Where can we come….?” I asked sheepishly.
His positive attitude and good nature was steadfast. “Ah, sorry I forgot to go over that. After moonlighting here for a year you'd think I'd have all that down. No exchange of bodily fluids which means you cant come in someones mouth or on their asshole or any orifice, but everything else is fine. Paper towels are everywhere—just clean up after yourself.”
I was a little unsure of what options were left but fuck it. I decided I would figure it out.
After getting undressed in the locker room I stepped out into the club floor completely nude. The first thing I noticed: everyone else kept their shoes on. It immediately dawned on me, better sticky shoes than sticky feet. I ducked back into the locker room.
Upon re-entry, I was ready for action this time. I was able to assess the situation a bit more. The room was wide and dark, about the size of a basketball court. The walls were lined with love seats and various types of chairs. In one half of the room there was a set of six arm chairs in a circle and in the other half there was a king sized mattress on a platform about a foot off the ground. There was gay porn projecting on a big screen with just a couple guys on the bed making out.
I decided to find a quieter spot not exactly in the corner, but certainly away from center stage. I was a little surprised that being surrounded by so many naked men jerking off would so easily turn me on.
The novel dynamics of such a new environment came into play fairly quickly. Soon after sitting down and beginning to service myself, I scanned the room to notice that three men slowly stood out to me. The guy with probably the biggest dick in the room seemed to be having the most fun. He was walking around with his dick at full mast, back and forth, smiling and seemingly eager to treat another guests to few tugs. It was fun to observe. Another guy wasn’t exactly pacing, but he hovered near my area. I noticed him looking at me, or least in my direction a few times. I found myself hoping he would stay away. He was short, with a huge belly, and an equally large white beard to match; a mini Santa Claus. While on the lookout for him coming my way, I noticed someone else.
I always found it interesting how you can catch certain positive vibes from someone without having shared a word and with perhaps maybe just a glance. This guy wore a backwards ratty brown baseball cap and gave off total ‘chill dude’ energy. It made me wonder if I’ve ever seen a gay guy wear a backwards baseball cap at all. I caught myself wondering I would consider us all gay just because we enjoy penises… go figure. In my head he became named Brandon. And I was immediately fawning over how to approach him.
As I thought about what to do I noticed in the middle of the room, on one of the comfortable chairs, Mr. Fun-Time-Huge-Dick had mounted a guys chest and had quite fairly warned him that he was about to come, to which he did. It felt like counting stone skips: one, two, three—how many times could he shoot across this guy’s chest? After about the fifth shot he wiped the rest that was dribbling out onto the guys chest. The guy looked down at all the cum on his chest and immediate came as well. Nowhere as impressive a load, but it was fun to watch. I wondered if they knew each other.
My thoughts were interrupted by Santa Claus sitting down next to me asking if he could jerk me off. “Please don’t.” I thought. However, afraid of being rude, I said, ‘Sure thing,’ even though I had no desire to touch him. He left after about a minute of him touching me with no reciprocation. I felt bad after realizing that in trying not to be rude, I insulted him and treated him unfairly, when simple communication would have clearly saved us both the discomfort. Lesson learned. The dissonance and guilt almost made me lose my boner as I spiraled in my head. How was I, an able-bodied man, afraid to say no? Do women experience similar things out of fear of being rude?
Pensive thoughts out. Sexy thoughts in.
I was about 45 minutes into jerking off and I was wondering if it was time to come and then go, or just go, or…. Maybe if I can find Brandon before I leave.
“Hey, do you mind if I sit down?” Came a voice from my blind spot. It was Brandon!
“Of course, please do!” I said as I scooted over as though I needed to make room.
I was so flattered and I’m sure I was doing a poor job of hiding how much I was gushing. His dick was amazing. It was perfectly strong and lengthy, thick enough that I couldn’t even wrap my whole hand around it. I did lament that I couldn’t put my mouth on it. I made zero eye contact since I was both afraid of doing anything to make him uncomfortable and completely mesmerized by the motion of my hands fumbling up and down his girthy cock. His light scent of cedar wood chips was so intoxicating. He was mildly hard when sat down and I felt him physiologically giving me a reward by getting rock hard after a few seconds of me stroking him. His hands were firmly gripping my dick as well and I had no clue if he was stroking my shaft smoothly or like my first girlfriend in high school. I didn’t care. Could I make him come just from a hand job? I bet if I focused on long even strokes mixed in with a few seconds of some short quick ones at the head I could probably make it happen. I wanted to do a good job for him. I wanted to make sure he could feel how much I appreciated the full beauty of his dick. He finally let out a moan… I was doing good!
“Alright man,” he said abruptly, “I’m going to go get some some paper towels to come.”
“Sounds good man!” I replied.
I was proud of myself! Even though he was going off on his own now, I was the one who got him there. As soon as he stood up I made the decision to end my first experience on a high note. I also excused myself to the locker rooms to get changed.
“Should I have asked for his number?” I wondered. “Damn… maybe even his name? Nah… ‘Hey, I know I’m in the process of furiously trying to make you come, but what’s your name…?’” I’m not sure that would have made sense.
I was halfway to my car before I wondered to myself if Brandon was actually letting me know that he’d be back with paper towels for both us.
Dammit.