Your kneepads just upgraded my access.

Another Friday, another Baña party. But this wasn’t just any Baña: this was the Beefcake Edition in observance of Urban Bear Weekend (this was one of several Bear-centric events happening in the City). Once again, I ventured to the Financial District alone. There was no way I was going to miss the last time I could get the 25-and-under discount!

Mike Dreyden and his man were working the clothes check as usual. After a warm and friendly greeting from them, I stripped down to my neon-green speedo. As I descended the stairs, I noticed my reflection in the mirrored wall.  . o O (Oh my god, my ass has never looked this nice! These lunges are really working. My package looks kinda tiny, but my ass looks amazing!).

My first stop was the restroom. On the way there, I walked by a tall, cute, well-built black guy. I’m not sure what exactly he did as I walked by, but he came off really creepy within the first second of his greeting. I acknowledged him in a way that was intended to convey that I was only being polite and didn’t desire further interaction, but apparently he had to urinate as well. 

While he as at the urinal next to mine, an older white guy approached him from the far side. He looked down and said, “WOW!” to which the black guy responded, “Man, damn! You made me mess up!” I was almost not-sketched-out enough to inquire as to the meaning/consequences of ‘messing up’, but I decided against. I did, however, make the mistake of laughing and saying, “Thank god you guys know each other! That could have been really weird.” As I was finishing up, I saw the black guy approach me from the side.

“I’ll show you mine if you—“

“I’m good!” *flush*

I got myself a drink and posted up on the wall in the dance-floor area. “Excuse me,” a bearish white guy in a jock strap asked me, “are you Corey?”

“No, I’m D. Kareem.”

“Oh, I’m sorry,” he said before walking back over to the dark-skinned guy with the dreds and the nipple piercing. . o O (Shit, we're over our quota!) I overheard the black guy say, “Corey had beads on his braids.” Shortly thereafter, I saw a couple of guys walk in in street clothes carrying art supplies. Huh?

About 15 minutes later, I was on the balcony overlooking the dance floor and stage. I looked down and was awestruck by what I soon realized was the reason for the art supplies. He as about 6’7”, dark, perfectly muscled body, and he had cornrows with beads. . o O (Wow, so this is Corey. I’m flattered!) As Corey was modeling for the artists, I noticed something that made my eyes grow to about twice their normal size. Corey was posing in a Captain-Morgan stance with a towel around his waist. Something below the towel (a bit more than halfway down his thigh) started twitching under the towel. Then I saw the tip.

. o O (Oh my god, that’s the biggest penis I’ve ever seen!) I won’t even take a guess at how many inches, but I think I’ve only seen a monster like that in porn. And that’s a big maybe. Pretty, too.

After the modeling show was over, I saw the two guys from the urinal talking to the well-endowed model and a friend of his. Apparently they all came arrived together.

As it got later, more men came, and the crowd got hotter. A guy in a wheelchair came through as well! I tried to make myself appear not-so-aloof, but obviously, I hadn’t had enough drinks. 

Around 2:15, they announced the performance. A short black guy with 3 (hot) dancers came out with a microphone and did a singing/dancing-type performance. It was great to watch, but the sound system was crappy. Then the porn god of all porn gods came to the stage!

Colton Ford was dressed in a mechanic’s coveralls and a wrestler’s mask, but he soon stripped down to an ill-advised ensemble: a fishnet body suit over a (leather?) thong. He looked absolutely amazing (face and body), which was hard to do in that outfit. What really got me, though, was that he sounded really good. A bit off on the first song (hard to hear oneself when the sound isn’t right), but by his second song, he was spot on. Crisp runs and everything. I’d never heard him sing live, and I was very impressed. And after he was done, I told him so (he smiled and shook my hand…  my knees almost buckled).

I went up to the pool area where some boys from Cheer New York were doing stunts in the water. And thankfully so because the flier for those double-back-layout basket tosses would have landed right on his stomach were it not for his liquid cushion.

. o O (The wheelchair is here, but nobody’s in it. WTF?! Did Colton heal him? ¡Miráculo! ¡Mira! ¡Culo!)

One thing about Baña is that most guys aren’t going there to take someone home. If they’re looking for dick (which is not the majority of guys... but they are a visible minority), they want it right there in the dark room, the steam room, or the VIP area (and occasionally poolside, but we weren’t so lucky this time). I wandered into the dark room for shits and giggles (I’m not a sex-in-public kinda girl… maybe with a boyfriend for a thrill), and as I was batting hands away from my crotch (guess my package didn’t look so small after all), I noticed the most guttural groan coming from one side. It was almost pitch black, but I was determined to see something… or at least hear the smack of ass-pounding. I found the area where the guys were and worked my way to the second row of perverts voyeurs. Out of nowhere, the groaning stopped, and I saw a guy get up, pull up his speedo and duck out of the crowd in one quick, fluid motion. I followed him, intent on seeing his face for future kee-kee moments. Once he got into the light (I really don’t think anyone else saw him duck out because he did it so quickly), I recognized the speedo.

“Nice performance.” I said, thinking twice about patting him on the back.

“Hey, it’s not easy job, but somebody’s gotta take it,” replied the white guy from the urinal.

 The rest of the night was mostly taken up with wandering around looking for more action to watch. I saw a few blow jobs going on, but the full-on penetration was definitely lacking. What made it worse was that the guy guarding the VIP door seemed to be unusually committed to his job (or rather, it seemed like he was enforcing the door rather late). But eventually, I walked by and saw him getting a blow job. . o O (Your kneepads just upgraded my access. Way to take one for the team, buddy.)

I got to the back of the VIP section, and what did I see: more blow jobs. I started talking to another guy who was watching it all go down (ha!), and after about 2 minutes, he reached over to me. I removed his hand from the pouch of my speedo (the outside) as politely as I could, explaining that I was just watching. We talked a bit more, but he ran away as soon as he saw an opportunity to put something in his mouth.

And the lights came on. End Scene. Did I mention how much I hate the subway ride from the Financial District to WaHi? Yeah.

Click here to check out our attempt to destroy Beige @ B Bar. 

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