Monday, August 19, 2013

French Quarter Knights excerpt by Jacob Campbell

In French Quarter Knights by Jacob Campbell, Thaddeus "Tadpole" Merton, after winning millions in a settlement from the church, has learned to hide things from others -- his money, his epilepsy, and his feelings. Now, he searches for love, acceptance, and sexual liberation in 1983 New Orleans.

Leaving behind a reluctant master in
Linden and exploring a new lover in Sandy, Tadpole has adventures into a sensual drug- and alcohol-rich world of gay bars, drag clubs, baths, porno theatres, arcades, and hidden sex venues. Yet he also works with a yoga teacher and Zen guide, and questions himself in light of a world beyond the merely physical.

Tadpole seeks friendship and love, a home, and independence. But exploring steamy sensuality seems to counter his romantic need for true love, and he struggles with himself and his desires.

Will he be able to transcend the empty promises of easy sex and sick relationships to find true love? Tadpole knows he needs to settle for nothing less than complete freedom and independence. But can he overcome his own emotions and move on to a better life as a gay man?

French Quarter Knights
JMS Books (August 4, 2013)
ISBN: 9781611524901


From Chapter 8: Jewel’s Full Moon Party & Orgy

As if on signal, when the pool table was shoved aside, and the music turned tribal, sex began sprouting up everywhere. Sandy and I grabbed each other and held one another close together, stomach to stomach. Around us, men were sucking cock and masturbating one another. It was overwhelmingly hot. We unzipped our pants and clung to one another’s cocks both to stroke them but also to protect them from other’s hands.

“I gotta pee,” I told Sandy.

“No! You’re kidding?” Sandy’s face was suddenly serious. 
“Well, it’s not an emergency but I will have to pee if we’re going to have sex.”

“Try holding it, Taddy. The bathroom is a sardine can of perverts. There’s a bathtub instead of a urinal and some S&M master will have his slave in it taking all the pee.”
“No!” I imagined a bathtub with a skinny guy being pissed on by six or eight guys in motorcycle drag.
“Hold it. We’ll go outside later and you can pee in the alley,” Sandy said.
I saw the line for the bathroom with about forty guys lined up against the wall—some in motorcycle drag, some in short pants and nothing else, some guys in just their jeans and having sex with the guys next to them in line. I decided to hold off going to the bathroom as long as I could.

This wonderful variety of men making up the crowd was the glory of Full Moon at Jewel’s—a mixture of sophisticated educated wealthy men, a group of barely washed street kids, the leather groups, which included the older leather crowd, and the younger leather crowd, the motorcycle crowd, both the rich dandies and the real Hell’s Angels types—all mingling with one goal: sex. After midnight, when the party was in full swing, all the sub-groups began to mesh. Guys who were total strangers a minute before were suddenly erotically inching into my space, our space. It began with a touch here, a bummed cigarette, a brief kiss, a grope but everything was working to lower our sexual inhibitions and the crowd was taking on a super friendly aspect.

What had begun with quiet couples kissing grew into a throng of naked men tricking. The mural on the wall lent a haunting, wolf-like atmosphere to the dark Jewel’s catacomb-like setting for sex.. All was one sweaty, steamy, intense celebration of homosexual sex. We were all smoking weed and the bar was a fog of pot smoke mixed with cigarette smoke.

There was a feeling and knowing of heated epiphanies cascading through young men all connected by skin touching skin. The sex of males in groups was sex like the roiling great ocean, a quiet low moaning of amazement at pleasures, an action like rowing. Hands on cocks pulled gently to and fro for hours, avoiding the first orgasm as long as possible. Once that first orgasm happened, the participants became super-charged. Guys would cum, rest a short while smoking and drinking, and as quickly as they could be aroused again, they entered a sort of timeless erotic dance, ready to perform sexually for hours without pause. That the second arousal could be maintained for what seemed like forever is what built a tribal sense of unification, a real celebration of male sexuality. Three or four hours of kissing, licking, fucking, rimming the orgy took on a protective quality, a unification into a delicious wetness. The shared wetness and skin on skin evoked more interaction, and the orgy expanded and the little groups of friends who arrived clinging to one another began to allow more and more strangers into their huddles. Groups formed, shifted, reformed, and the sex became more and more open. People began to fuck on the pool table, and guys were kneeling down, giving blow jobs everywhere you looked.

There was the constant beat of the primitive music, the continual movement of dance and sex. I was amazed how the flow of sex energy radiated from the center of the orgy and moved outward in waves. The knitting of arms over and under arms, arms over and under legs, shoulders pressing up on buttocks of neighboring men, rubbing torsos against the asses of men whose lovers are masturbating leaning on the people behind them, others kneeling to suck cock, and the kneeling guys’ heads are petted by many men as if they were special friends. The role of stranger ceased to exist. Some precum made our shafts slippery but we tried to hold back as long as we could before cumming again because everyone wanted the intensity of stimulation to build to ever newer heights.

There was the near-mystical feeling of climbing higher and higher on this erotic ladder, this mountain of sensual expression leading to realizations about the tribal nature of sexual energy. Erotic duos held one another close at times to try to resist the dissolution into the group identity, but more and more couples became foursomes, then eight and more, all interwoven sexually.

Sandy and I kissed a friend and for a while. First, I’d kiss him, then Sandy, then we somehow had a three-way kiss. I didn’t know who this guy was, but another man, a tall red haired guy showed up, the lover of the man we had been kissing, and so Sandy and I were making out with these two strangers and we began to hold their cocks.

Then Bert and Redd approached, naked—their jeans around their knees—sweating and with their arrival our destiny to merge with the larger orgy was set. The die was cast. We would take our chances in the wilds of Jewel’s Full Moon orgy.

Redd’s bronze skin was especially hot, highlighted against all the pale or suntanned white guys. Bert had a huge hard showing fully, and Redd, large, uncut, hung out erect. They pulled one another along as if the penises were steering mechanisms for the duo. They came up to us, masturbating and kissing one another, and we all lifted arms. The two lovers didn’t stick around when Red and Bert showed up but now the four of us formed a circle with arms over shoulders to the left and all our right hands holding the cock of the guy to the right. We violated all the exclusivity previously planned, overwhelmed by this human tide. Energetic levees broke and floods of sensuality overtook the vessels, us, carrying us off together on a flood of homosexual sexual majesty.

This was a crescendo for all gay men everywhere—the waters couldn’t rise any higher than this. It was the peak of the sexual revolution, the end of our time of sexual oppression. Out from this center of Eros, waves of liberated and freed masculine energy flowed through the universe. It felt this grand in this ocean of men. Everything seemed elevated, glorified, made holy and special by the intensity of Eros.

I was electrified by Redd’s touch on my cock. I, in turn, held Bert’s cock, a thing he wanted so much before and which I’d resisted. We four made a mandala of male arousal. I held Bert’s cock and watched his right hand holding my lover’s cock, the first time these two men had ever touched each other sexually with me a part of it since our three-way, and then, seeing my lover reach to his right and hold Redd’s cock. Redd, the guy that a week ago had me sobbing on the bathtub rim because I’d seen Sandy fucking him was now turning me on, trying to see how close to orgasm I was, as my lover stroked his cock. There was a series of duos kissing; first, I kissed Redd to my left and then Bert to my right. Sandy kissed Bert to his left and Redd to his right, and our two dyads dissolved into one unified group of male heat.

The orgy-soul, the swelling tide of male expectation and entry into higher levels of erotic consciousness, took us together beyond what was allowed ever to a single individual. The orgy-soul entered into the pairs of men, floating, as if on an atmosphere made of human skin and muscle and steamy sweat. For a minute, our foursome held together in the seeming chaos and random sexual connections of the group. Momentarily we’re separated from the greater being but we’re being pulled by newly approaching forces into the vortex of this masculine sensuality. Our neat four- man mandala, at the center of the orgy room, was slowly shoved aside by new erotic undulations, by the force of hundreds of men pushing toward one another. The forces were impossible to resist, and guiding our little group as a unit grew more difficult.

The orgy generated its own form of control against which individuals are helpless.

Sandy was opposite from me in our four-person square. His pants were pulled down to his knees, and we were a unity of four men being totally uninhibited with one another. Next, a familiar yet anonymous, little guy who danced often on the bar in his leather Speedo, snorting poppers—his name was Louie, I think—knelt in the center of our four man square and began sucking Redd’s cock.

Sandy moved his hand to the very stem of Redd’s cock and held it like a cockring, making the hard even harder. The blood vessels under Louie’s sucking licking wetting mouth reflected a burgundy light. Seeing this oral sex ignited even hotter fires. Not only Redd was experiencing this blowjob pleasure. The rest of us glanced around to expand of our movement into this sea of bodies.

Then, into our midst, a second kneeling guy in nothing but a black leather vest and a black leather cock ring, knelt and wrapped his arms around my body and held my ass, and began sucking my cock. As if on a signal, another kneeling man entered our square of friends.

Seven of us now functioned as a unit of rich shared touches, licks, sucking, fingers finding assholes and gently tapping the entrance and sometimes wetting and entering in. My cock was sucked and another guy sucked Sandy, so we leaned forward and kissed each other, making a more intricate mandala of lovers in this unifying orgy. Wet precum leaked from our cocks into the mouths of these fabulous strangers as fingers explored us. I find Louie has switched to licking me and somehow spun around under my balls and legs. He knelt behind me with his face, nose, tongue up my ass, and the mandala spreads to include even more men added to its growing size. We maintained our central core of Sandy and me, Redd and Bert, Louis and two other cocksuckers. Strong men, large bodies shoved harder against our interwoven monad, then we lost our grasp of one another as the press of strong muscled guys surged upon us.

As if in a sudden ocean wave my grasp of Bert was lost, and the connection that the four of us had broken apart.

I watched as Redd let a small black guy stand behind him and slide his cock in him, and with that, suddenly the “fucking brigade” was upon us.

I had to decide if I’d let a cock in my ass other than Sandy’s and he faced the same decisions. But we’re both surprised by the invitation of proffered butts, and we saw the opportunity to fuck these gorgeous young men anonymously.

Sandy and I agreed with a nod to each other.
We began to swim into the core of the orgy, anonymously fucking guys who moved as the press of bodies let them, and we found ourselves floating in an ocean, farther apart physically, but I began fucking some guy and Sandy fucking some guy, and Louie steadily working my ass with his tongue and then he asks permission and I agree to get fucked by him as I fuck a starkly muscular blond boy from the college crowd. In the distance, I see Sandy and he’ fucking.

We reached out to one another, but our arms weren’t long enough to breach the gulf of flesh between us. As if on signal, we both gently exited from the men we were fucking. Louie pulled out of my ass. Sandy and I moved past shoulders and chests, legs and asses, hard cocks between every couple of guys ad infinitum, and we embraced, stomach to stomach with our dicks pressed between us and no longer available to the group, we kissed and light filled my mind and body and I witnessed time slowing down. We’d been in the orgy for hours.

Suddenly poppers were tossed into the air-conditioning system and we were all on Butyl Nitrate, stoned and aroused even more. With the whole group breathing the poppers’ fumes, this combined earthly sensuality of the group moaned in pleasure like one huge being. The orgy has a being-ness, like a living unity, and we’re in a being that each of us is a part of. Individuality was swallowed up. We pressed into each other and reached in between ourselves, and now fully four hours after we entered the press of shirtless men, we were finally cumming on each other at the edge of the orgy. We cum with explosive jets of pent up sex, like all of the beauty built up inside each of us spills out into the universe. We were sexual artists enjoying freedom to create.

We kissed in blissful afterglow and the skin of other men began to feel cooler to us. Fewer and fewer couples fucked and the masturbation ended. We all moved against one another a few more times but now it was just friendly and casual body talk. Then in twos and threes we rested upon one another, leaning on each other, and pants were here and there are pulled up to waist height, snapped or buttoned shut. Some guys let their flaccid cocks hang out and lit cigarettes, and the orgy, that great being of sensuality ended in hours of soft conversation, with occasional cock sucking.

Sandy and I again sat on one of the giant speakers, the gigantic bass woofer, and had a cigarette we bummed from Redd, then a joint. Sandy pointed to the entrance and we got off of the huge speaker, and walk single file through the crowd and out into the early pre-dawn glow of Saturday morning sunrise.

It was almost dawn Saturday, the outside air cleaned and humid. Inside Jewel’s, we’d breathed marijuana air, poppers air, cigarette smoke air, and the scent and pheromones of three or four hundred men, all shirtless or even naked. The sweat and underarm odor, the sex smells, all the smoke began to thin out as a massive air conditioning system caught up with the load it had to fight. It was strange to feel ice cold air conditioning now washing out the front door and onto the sidewalk. We went back in for a minute to cool down. The air conditioner system was injected with pure oxygen from the DJ’s booth and there was nothing more refreshing to a guy in a body crush or in an orgy. The cool oxygen invigorated us.

We wished to be nowhere other than this one place as the cool winds embraced us. Feeding the tribe pure oxygen and pure poppers caused huge swings of lessened inhibitions and let the primal being cut loose once more. People found themselves doing things that they never would have imagined they could do in public. However, Sandy and I were exhausted. Sated.

Exiting Jewel’s was always like being reborn into a forgotten world. Weather changes take place over several hours. When we went in, it was hot and humid but now, about five A.M, we walked arm in arm, clasping waists, shirtless, now in a heavy rain. Warm rain fell in the Vieux Carre and we feel bathed in the purifying water.


Lloyd Meeker said...

The description of the orgy as a mystical character, with a collectively generated life-force and will is marvelous, and very true...

Victor J. Banis said...

That is certainly steamy. Lloyd is right, sometimes these scenes do take on a mystical component (though, alas, not always - sometimes it's just guys getting their rocks off) - of course, this could only have happened pre-AIDS how things did change...