It took me less than three or four visits to the CH2 to realize, that “angle” was important when laying down on a black leather mattress, belly down, waiting to be used by a cock whose owner I would never know. Whoever has been there, will probably agree.

There is nothing like opening the door of one’s tiny room, all lubed up, and then quickly lay down on the bed, smooth ass up!

I would lay down and immediately take a double hit of Rush, my favorite poppers.

I would wait for the poppers to hit my brain, and close my eyes for a full minute. I would consciously imagine hordes of hung men coordinating the invasion of my holes. I would shiver in the idea of how helpless I laid there.

I would let the high of my poppers pass, and I would open my eyes. I would look at the long, rectangular mirrors all along both sides of my “prison.” Something hit me, then!

I realized that my left mirror was a much better reflection of me. I have a tattoo all along my right leg and thigh, of a snake climbing its way, as if up a tree branch. Just that the tree branch is my leg, and the snake’s head is close to my anus, her split tongue almost touching my sphincter.

I also realized that my rib cage looked better on my right side, on my left side mirror.

And lastly, I used to have pimples on face and neck on my left side, during puberty.

And so, one mirror would show it while the other would not.

I noticed that when the bed bunk was glued to the left side of my “cell” I was getting double the amount of men, and invariably, almost all of them would breed me. I guess the snake played a role.

I also noticed that rooms with bunks on the left side showed more of my good side, smooth skin, and perhaps even better light when they (possible fuckers) passed by, cruising the hallways.

I soooo remember the sounds of their feet, approaching my door; or about to go past my door!

It was always exhilarating when they stopped. I never faced the door, because only the most assertive tops would stay in the frame. And I wanted those assertive men too —don’t get me wrong!

But I also wanted those men who were cheating on their wives! I wanted those men who would fuck me senseless while in their minds, they were destroying Sasha Gray’s or Jenna Haze’s cunt!

I wanted the cum of men who would show up between 7 and 8 in the morning, with no time to delay their breeding a sweet, completely hairless hole. They were on their way to work and had precious little time. 

I would make sure I was the best alternative at that hour of the day! Twice, I remember that up to four men were standing in my room, waiting their turn, as another one was grunting his semen into me. Just as if they stood in a queue to get their Café Latte, they never talked to each other, and prepared their cocks, as if preparing change for their drink in a Starbucks.

They seldom thanked me, after filling my intestines, and just like in a café, the next customer was inside me, even before the one before left the room.

They respected their order of arrival. But sometimes some of them would gesture with their hand and say “you go ahead” if they weren’t hard enough, or if they wanted me with more sperm swimming in my rectum.

They never lasted more than five minutes, and that was fine— they all needed to get to work!

I also learned that men came into the bathhouse between 12 and 1 PM— lunch break fuck!

I would be there for them!

But by far… The biggest wave was always between 5 and 8 PM.

Men on their way home, wishing they had someone like Taylor Rain or Anette Schwarz, waiting for them, to be fucked without mercy.

And so, I always made sure that I didn’t challenge them mentally by looking or staring at them.

I would show my face— yes!— buried in my pillow, but my eyes would remain closed. I would make sure it was easily noticeable that I wasn’t looking at them. I was giving them time. 

I loved to wait. Is this cock going to turn around and leave?

Will I hear a hand touching the door knob, about to close the door?

Will I hear a step forward? 

I would slightly lift my butt. Not too much, just an inch or so, and slightly arch my back. Often, this was enough to trigger a “I’ll fuck this boy!” in their brain.

If I suddenly felt a thick (or thin or gnarled) digit probe my anus, I would exhale in a soft moan. Not loud. Barely perceptible.

Sometimes I would slide my hands along my body, down, down, down. Until I could pull both my ass cheeks open. Wide open. It would signal to them that I was sooooo available!

And sometimes I would slide my hands to the wall or the mirror, inches above my head. I would show how I was willing to accept them, by holding myself against the wall or the mirror, and from hitting the wall if they decided to fuck me. 

If I felt a second digit slide in my hole, I always squirmed. Mmmmm! I would do my utter best to be their bitch. I was ready to become Jayna Oso. Their tattooed Belladonna.

Their whichever favorite porn actress!

Those men fucked like they would fuck a woman… but they ALWAYS left thick ropes of cum inside my tummy! 

And yet, the best fucks were from the other side of the spectrum.

Hardcore, self declared, self conscious, gay men.

Breeders.

Destroyers of sphincters.

Gape makers.

Creators of cock-addicted boys.

They could see their own shafts in the bulge of the boy’s tummy, bulging with every thrust.

They could fuck for hours, days even!

They would insert mysterious shards, magic powders, or demonic liquids up my ass!

They would truly debase me, further than any wife-cheater could ever think possible.

They could be masters.

They could be sweet daddies, or powerful monsters. 

Monsters only dark games could come up with, with tentacles that could go a meter deep in a boy’s body.

And strangely enough, they also showed up more often when my “angle” was the right one, laying on my bunk.

They didn’t cheat on a wife. They were on a mission to breed.

More often than not, they wanted me on my back. No room for arching my back, as my legs would be hooked on their broad, often hairy, shoulders.

They showed little mercy. I guess they enjoyed watching my face in pain, much more than watching the feminine shape of my bottom and waistline.

I remember one man, who was so into me, that he said he would pay my daily visits as long as I made sure I was there for him, every Tuesday, Thursday, and Sunday.

I will blog about him soon, but just as a spoiler, he claimed to take ONE VIAGRA A DAY, his cock was straight as an arrow, long as a wine bottle (not as thick!) and he was almost 80. In my memory, his nickname is Popeye (will always be!), because he loved to talk about ports, ships, and fucking boys in those ports all over the world. He would hold me for hours next to him, cuddling and talking me into sleep.

He used to be a seaman, just like Popeye! And he ALWAYS fucked me with my legs trapped on his shoulders! Seriously, I tried to lower my legs every time— there was no way! 

Anyways… 

Knowing the angle (and the right room to “show” this angle) became a dealbreaker!

And so, very soon I began to ask for specific rooms at check in. I would even give them a five dollar tip if room 17 was available.