“Touch my pecker,” Doug said.
I was at Rough House, an afternoon dungeon-like play party at Club 120 when I got this request. It was in 2015, my first year of writing this column.
Under the red lights, there were shadows of men at play: some being flogged, some smacking with moans and groans filling the club. I watched and listened,while sipping a beer and leaning over the mezzanine, shirtless,wearing only jeans and wrists restraints.
That’s when Doug approached. I’d noticed him at the party earlier but we got chatting when he passed by. I was supposed to interview him for my column, but we had yet to lock down a time. We’d only ever messaged on Facebook, so it was great to finally meet, even though unexpected. I thought we were hitting it off and remember thinking that he was a lot nicer in person too, all smiles and good vibes.
During a lull in the conversation I looked down into the main room below and watched men cruise in full gear. There was always something going on down there be it flogging demos or fisting — anything goes. When I looked back at Doug he had his cock out and was masturbating.
I was totally fine with it; sure, I was a little surprised but given the context, it wasn’t shocking by any means. Until he said, “Touch my pecker.”
I was taken aback, not just because the last time I’d heard someone refer to a penis as a pecker was when I was 12 years old, but because it seemed to have come out of left field. I was flustered.
Mike Miksche is a lot cooler than I’ll ever be. I sometimes wonder whether I’ll live up to my pseudonym’s hard kinkster image. I got into BDSM through my sexual mentor, DH, before I’d started the column. I was exploring the the leather and sex scenes at the time and had written about the infamous Lab.oratory in Berlin and The Point, the gay campground in Ontario for Xtra. That soon led to the column but those scenes were still very new to me at the time.
In the years that I’ve written this column, guys have sent me explicit personal stories, sexual propositions and nudes. Some people assume that I’m down for sex anywhere and with anybody because I write, sometimes quite explicitly, about sex culture. And while it’s flattering, I wish it was all true — but I’m really shy.
In my personal life, I’m very much into BDSM, but usually only one-on-one and in private. If I’m going to do something in public I need a level of anonymity — I can’t relax, especially if there are people there who I know (like at Rough House that night), but I can have a drink and chat with friends.However, when I’m traveling to places where nobody knows me, I become a different person, free of the sort of hang ups I often get in my home city. I can become whoever I want — I can be Mike Miksche.
At the same time, an interesting thing happens in the absence of my needed anonymity. I become a voyeur.
Voyeurism is just as significant a part of the public sex ecosystem as anything else. Without us, the exhibitionists would be deprived of joy and it’d likely throw everything off kilter. I love observing sexual behavior and how people use public spaces; it’s a window into the essence of desire and what makes so many of us tick, sexually. I find it interesting to see how people utilize space to get what they need, so even if I don’t get off, I still kind of do.
Rough House has never disappointed with such visual stimulation. By just standing up on the mezzanine, one can bear witness to the the entire spectrum of male perversity: I’ve seen guys pumping their testicles with saline so they look like balloons; I’ve seen Sirs forcing their subs into submission, fisters plunged forearm-deep in some dude’s ass and I’ve seen packs of pups sniffing and searching for handlers..From fisting to bondage, it’s stuff that I’ve experienced privately, but there was some sort of satisfaction that I got just from watching too.
When Doug asked me to touch his “pecker” he wouldn’t know any of this about me. Mike Miksche writes about sex so I guess he figured I’d have sex with him even though he wasn’t my type. I made a lame excuse and walked away awkwardly but he immediately started to get off with someone else. I felt kind of embarrassed by my reaction, as if I was a let down to Mike Miksche.
I couldn’t blame Doug for asking me to touch his pecker — like others who read my column, it’s not inconceivable to think that Mike Miksche would be open to sexual experiences with anyone, on the spot. But that’s just not who I am.
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