Anacondas and Bubble Butts 

     With the right underwear, a guy can conquer the world. Marilyn said something along those lines, I think with shoes, but she’s never seen me in my baby blue boxer briefs. I believe boxers are like shoes, with many different kinds and sizes and finding that right pair makes you unstoppable.

I wore my baby blue boxers today because they hugged my ass and wrapped around the bulge in front. It was like a walking weapon, don’t stand too close. Or do. The briefs matched perfectly with my blue eyes, blonde hair and tanned skin.

The world I came to conquer was the gay bar downtown, called Anaconda’s. A fitting name, being that customers were only allowed to wear underwear. I’ve been there many times and made quite the selection of friends.

Standing outside was the bouncer, a big hulk-like man named Biscuit. He saw me and smiled.

            “Johnny, looking damn fine,” he said, opening the door for me.

            “Biscuit, just wait,” I told him as I lowered my pants down to the top of the briefs. I knew blue was his favorite color; he’s told me many time since.

I walked inside and stopped at the coat- well, clothes- checker. I removed my shirt slowly because I knew people were watching inside. I rubbed my hands down my chest and fumbled with my jean button. I took them off, and inside I heard moaning.

            “Is that Johnny Cooper?”

            “That’s Johnny fucking Cooper!”

The clothes checker handed me a slip of paper, 69 written at the top. Clever. On the backside, his phone number.

Anaconda’s was the place made for dreams. At every corner, a bubble butt stood. A muscled top sat at the bar. Underpants every shape, size and color were waiting for a simple touch, pat or slap. The bathroom was a joke reserved for those who couldn’t quite wait to go home.

I took my seat at the end of the bar, near the bathroom. The bartender, noting the quick glances from other customers, placed a drink in front of me.

            “Free of charge, Mr. Cooper.”

            I smiled at him. I really should ask for his name but before I could speak he shouts at a group of guys who, towards the dancefloor already crowded with sweaty half naked men, were in the midst of pissing on some poor twink dressed as a unicorn.   

As I took a sip, glancing around the bar I noticed one guy looking right at me. He stood at a table, not moving, blinking or drinking. He wore a black pair of boxer briefs, tight and form fitting. His cock not yet erect but getting there.

I nodded over to him, shocked he hasn’t moved to the seat next to me. His olive skin tone, shined in the light. His black hair was pushed back and greased.

He moved over to me. I pushed the chair out and he sat down.

“Hi. I’m Johnny.”

            “Yo sé quién eres. That’s all these people talk about,” he said, in a think accent. I couldn’t place where he was from though; the music over-powered his small whispering.

“Where are you from?”

            He didn’t answer me. Either he didn’t want to or he couldn’t hear me. I looked back down to his briefs. He was a bottom; his ass looked too good in those briefs.

            “My name is Oliver.”

            I looked over at him. He looked like an Oliver.

            “I’m new to this scene. I just moved here from Texas.”

            “Texas! I’ve never been, would love to go sometime,” I said, taking another sip from my drink.

            “I’ve never been with a man,” Oliver said.

            My eyes smiled.

            “I could show you some things,” I told him, standing up.

He looked around. I bet he was nervous, I was my first time. I grabbed his hands, leading him away from Anaconda’s. Away from the other bubble butts and power tops. Away from the men, groaning, yelling “Dammit. Maybe next time.”

We walk back to my place our clothes back on. Anaconda was only a short fifteen-minute walk and on the way, I learned as much as I could about Oliver. He moved away from Texas because his parents didn’t accept him and said that marriage was between a man and a woman. Final. He wanted to be a writer, which was also unheard of in his family.

Inside I put on some music. Oliver hasn’t listened to Whitney or Barry.

Instead, I pull him into me, kiss his lips. I run my hands down his back, touch his butt. His shirt is so soft.

He runs a hand through my hair, pulling back so he can kiss my neck. In my bedroom, I push him down onto the bed. He kicks his shoes off. I take my jeans off.

            “What do I do?” he asks, still kissing my lips, neck and chest.

            “Ssh, I got this. You just sit back and relax.”

            I take off my underwear and just before I throw them onto the floor I caress his cheeks with them wiping my scent all over him like a puppy marking his spot. I turn him around, give him a little slap. His ass round and his hole ready. Pulsing. I stick my tongue in it, swirl it around form letters like some perverted spelling test. I spell out cock, suck, fuck, raw and slut. He moans and I tell him to be quiet.

“Turn around. Let me see those pretty green eyes.”

His eyes find mine and I look into them. Long. Hard. I wrap my hands around his face and bring him closer to me. Our lips lock and I can tell he’s shy.

“Open your mouth.”

He opens his eyes. “Sí, señor.”

“Your accent is so fucking hot.”

“I want you to fuck me.”

“Say it in spanish.”

“Quiero que me jodas.”

I tell him I make the rules tonight. “Get on your knees. Face down.” Ready. Set. Go.

As I lay on top of him, each thrust making him squeal in pain or pleasure, I know I’ve conquered Texas and I couldn’t help but wonder where I should go next.