Written by Jordan Jameson

The bell rang for lunch. It was that intermittent time between periods. The time when peers mingled, the time in which the typical norms of high school happened.

In all reality, high school isn’t as dramatic and cinematic as Euphoria makes it out to be. There were not cliques per se, or a hierarchical system of Who’s Who. No, John Hughes did not direct this story though it would have been pretty helpful to have a breakfast club of misfits to delve into our adolescent angst.

I think that it’s fair to say that if my teens were likened to any pop culture phenomenon, Big Mouth would be the most spot on and I was my very own hormone MONSTER!

Growing up in Westchester, it was this strange mix of waspy suburbia and urban grit. My town was filled with your typical white picket fence 1950s American dream houses, a few mansions splashed in – housing your occasional celebrity or millionaire – a few high-rises, and your token project buildings. With all of the fun offerings the city had to offer centered within a 1-mile ratio. All of this and the handy dandy metro north that got you into Manhattan in 30 minutes.

It was this strange mix of suburban yet quintessential NYC culture that had baby me both sheltered and FREE!

Like most 14-year-olds, I had a curfew. Of course, in a suburban town, there’s only but so much you can do at night. It was movies, arcade, or get trashed with friends with whatever you can manage to get your hands on. But then there’s the train. A train that gets you to the heart and epicenter of the universe. In 30 minutes, you’re transported to a place where you have access to any and EVERYTHING!

So, responsible teen me with the annoyingly earlier-than-my-friends curfew had this in consideration, and decided to do some research and planning.

I had moved to Westchester from NYC at age 12 but the years prior to suburban suicide were uneventful. Mainly because there’s only but so much you can do and even really think about about at that age. Fourteen-year-old me on the other hand was reaching the HEIGHT of his sexual hunger and there was MUCH to explore.

For context, my porn search history included a lot of burly daddies, orgies and gangbangs, and your token fist scene. It all started with that skinamax special and two years later, my search history legit sounded like a snuff film! After watching TOO much porn, I craved the IRL! I needed to experience it and I wanted to live out what I was watching.

A few minutes on Google landed me on a known – not widely used anymore – m4m hookup site, and this specific one listed gatherings and happenings. I made a list of what sounded the hottest and also easiest to get to and from while still being back home in a reasonable time and avoid any hint of suspicion.

One party really stuck out to me. It was titled “Executive Lunch”. This one in particular had its very own website with pix of past parties, a fun bio, and was even walkable from Grand Central! The catch – as it states in the name – it’s during lunch time… literally! It is also only Wednesdays. Some wear pink on Wednesday, these guys wear cum and sweat!

Ditching class was no new concept for me, I’d done it many times prior just to go home and rub one off before my brother and his parade of friends take over the entire house. This was no different.

It probably was the very next Wednesday, I did the thing! The lunch bell rang, and I walked right off campus. All the confidence in the world, deviant smile, and dick ROCK HARD thinking about the shenanigans that were to ensue but also wondering if I was going to get away with it.

Like most sex spaces, an ID was required. I looked at the rules and requirements like a hawk. My plan? I borrowed my uncle’s ID. My uncle at the time was 25 and looked NOTHING like me – almost comically so – but we’re both black and my thought process was, “is the more-than-likely white person in charge going to have this uncomfortable stare down and questionnaire about identity?” Problematic concept but I felt the odds were in my favor.

I boarded the metro north at 12:36 and arrived at Manhattan at 1:06. The “lunch” started at 1 and ended at 3 so I figured it would be the best to arrive in the middle when both everyone is distracted from different guests to further evade suspicion and I figured I’d be entering the heart of the fun.

I arrived to this sketchy entrance next to a club. I open the door of the address written down and all that’s in sight is a back kitchen to the left and an ominous stairwell.

I could hear the light remnants of men moaning and I could almost smell the fumes of sweat and Rush poppers.

I followed the trail up two flights and was met with a black curtain at the top. I walked past the curtain and was greeted by a VERY hot middle aged daddy. He was BEYOND sweet and bubbly, and asked for my ID and $20 for the cover.

The moment of truth was here. My heart was in my butthole at this point. I swiftly gave him both the ID and cash, giving him soul piercing eye contact and a plastic toothy smile. He didn’t even look twice. He handed it back, took the cash and directed me to the left for coat check. I was in. Getting away with that felt like getting away with murder.

I stripped to my boxers – I truly wish I knew about jockstraps back then – and entered the main room. It was Babylon! Men of all shapes and sizes in every square inch of this Chelsea loft doing ALL THE THINGS! Guys were suckin, fuckin, fistin, even pissin! Almost no kink was left unseen. The gravity of all of this for a Wednesday afternoon!

I can honestly say as FILTHY as I am now, I will happily take an actual lunch over a PIG FEST now… but I digress.

I stood in a corner to get my bearings, where a few guys were voyeuristically watching the debauchery. I soon joined them in their circle jerk to help ease into the scene. My hand turned to his, to theirs, to his mouth and then suddenly I was inside of all of them and they in me.

Within minutes, the voyeur circle jerk in the corner turned into its own pocket orgy within the orgy. More joined, then more, and more and soon the pocket orgy had merged with the bigger one at large.

I had to try every guy, every position, EVERY KINK being done! My life motto has ALWAYS been I’ll do ANYTHING twice… probably 3 times just to be sure. I was pissing in a guy’s mouth for the first time… Meh. I understand the appeal, but it didn’t FULLY do it for me. Fisting was…. interesting!

After a FULL shawarma board of sexual acts, I came doing the thing that has now become my signature move! As I was getting plowed missionary from this hot Latin daddy with a 10 inch dick (in retrospect, I CARRIED), I saw this hot furry muscle bear in my peripheral by his lonesome. By this point, the crowd had subdued and closing was soon. I instructed care bear to sit on my face. He rode my face stroking my cock and I stroked his all while I was being plowed by this devil of a dick. Within minutes, it was WATERFALLS. I came as he came on my chest. The fine daddy pulled out and added his.

My hunger was THOROUGHLY satiated. I got up, wiped away the cum, and proceeded to coat check. Young me did not know full sex party etiquette, I probably should have said thank you or gave my name… Actually, probably not because I was HEAVILY underage and they’d go to prison unknowing that they fucked a minor.

I tossed my clothes back on, exited the curtains at stage left, and proceeded back down the ominous dark stairwell that led to the kitchen of the unknown restaurant/club.

It was 3 PM and I had three hours to be back home, cool as a cucumber and completely inconspicuous before mom arrived from the office.

I took a gingerly stroll back to Grand Central, wearing the afterglow of the super raunchy things I just did. Things that I DEFINITELY did not tell mom about or even my friends and peers for that matter. It was my FILTHY and pretty damn illegal secret.

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