Opinion
2 min

Hole in the wall (Part 2)

Don't make any assumptions

Columnist Mike Miksche explores the world of public sex. Credit: N Maxwell Lander

Down below, on the main level, I watch what I take to be a “boy” flogging the chest of an older, significantly larger gentleman in a cap. I assume the flogger is a “boy” because of his age: he is in his mid-20s and the sub he is flogging looks about 40. For whatever reason, I believe that the smaller and younger should be dominated by the larger and older — so it is interesting to learn later that the “boy” is actually a “sir.” I should be more open-minded.

The sir starts flogging the sub softly but soon builds momentum, distributing distinct lashes across his chest. The sub groans, lean and loud, like he is pushing his body to its limits. When the sir hits too hard, they lunge at each other and kiss passionately. I watch carefully so that I can borrow his techniques for play later on.

On the west mezzanine I join some guys having casual conversations on the sidelines. Beyond is a group of men at play, the red light popping out their facial features in the darkness. Another sir sits back with a boy between his legs, hands tied, holding his master’s cock as though it is sacred. They kiss slowly and delicately. Next to them is a dom who has his sub leaned against the railing. He rubs a paddle around the parameter of the sub’s ass, then whacks it as hard as he can. The sub yells and retracts his body with each hit, but the dom is relentless. To my right is a tall man covered in tattoos who is being serviced by another. No matter where I look, there is something going on.

From where I am standing I can see only silhouettes of the happenings in the east mezzanine, as a sheer cloth conceals the area. When I finally venture over, I still find it difficult to distinguish what is going on: the minimally lit space is confined and packed full of limbs, making it conducive to orgy-style play. There is a guy in a sling at the back — that I can tell. People surround him, moaning, smacking, chains rattling, but I make out only bits and pieces.

Later in the afternoon I go to the toilet and find a naked man standing by the door of the stall with another guy on his knees going at him. Down the hall I see the daddy from earlier, fully clothed, ordering one boy to suck the other. By the stairs, two friends are laughing and making jokes over beers. Unlike at the sex cinema, there is no divide between the sexual and social at Rough House. It’s a reconciliation of one’s personality and kinks. In the world of mobile hook-ups apps, I appreciate having a physical space where I can explore all sides of BDSM with like-minded people. We need more of this in the city.

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