“Bend over a bit more . . . Yeah that’s it. You like this? My buddy is gonna join us now. That OK?”
Therein starts the threeway, and there I stand. My jaw drops as two six-foot-tall, three-foot-wide daddies in jeans and big black boots both thrust their way into the inviting back end of their third. This all takes place in the corner of a dimly lit room, deep inside the sweaty sex-maze that is The Black Party, America’s largest fetish bash.
The bottom remains bent over after the daddies leave, while an endless queue of guys hungrily line up to fuck him. Sometimes raw, sometimes protected; always with permission.
I experienced the final Black Party at the Roseland Ballroom in 2014. The floors, hallways, rooms, corners, stages and surfaces will never be replicated, as the theatre was a majestic and haunting place. The ballroom is now a pile of rubble, and this year, the party moves to a 3,500-person-capacity warehouse in Brooklyn, where even more sinning will take place.