Tracey Parker is a gay cruising fanatic who travels around the world and to Squirt.org members After sharing a hot gay Paris, France sex hookup, this time, Tracey transports us to a local US celebration of Gay Pride in Chicago, Illinois for some hot action. Check it out below.

The parade was becoming too much for me, so I decided to stumble through the crowd to get some space and some room to breathe. 

I had also just finished a large Water Hazard—a creation my friend had made for me and Matt, the other guest spending Pride Weekend with us in Chicago. The three of us had been roommates during our final year in college, and we tried to meet up every few years after graduating. A Water Hazard consists of blue Gatorade, lemonade, vodka, and Sprite. I was lit.

The three of us were used to disappearing on one another and effortlessly finding our way back together throughout the course of a day, a week, or a semester. We had been passing a marijuana vape pen between us, and I was really feeling everything hit me at once.

I began walking away from the parade toward the lake. The sun was burning; it was rare for me to be so buzzed this early in the day. I had an overwhelming feeling of gratitude that the world had given me the opportunity to be here, feeling this, on this day at this hour.

The tall buildings had flowers in front of them, and for once, I was able to admire their beauty instead of rushing by without noticing them. All around me, other men dressed in flamboyant rainbow accessories were enjoying themselves. I felt a connection to all of them that I rarely ever feel toward anybody. I thought to myself, This is really good weed.

Ahead of me on the sidewalk, I spotted a man whose beauty made me forget all the sensory details I had been appreciating. Instead, I focused entirely on his sexuality, which seemed to drip from every limb. 

He was my height, with dark brown skin, wearing blue jeans and an unbuttoned leather vest that showed off his chiseled torso. His head was shaved, he had a few ear piercings, and a shiny necklace hung around his neck.

Our eyes were glued together as he walked in my direction and passed me on my right. We looked at each other in an aggressively sexual manner, almost as if we were angry with one another. Something about me felt different. I think the Water Hazard and the recent puffs of weed allowed me to act like somebody else, and this guy was giving me a role to emulate.

I turned around, and a stare from his dark brown eyes sent an electric pulse through my body. I stopped in my tracks, my body turning back toward him without a second thought. We walked toward each other and began to chat.

“What are you doing?” he asked me.

“Just getting a break from the parade,” I told him.

“Same,” he responded, “but I’m coming down from a party.”

I noticed an accent in his voice.

“¿De dónde eres?” I asked him in Spanish.

“Mexico.”

I told him I used to live in Mexico City, and he told me he had never been. He was from a different part of Mexico and had lived in Chicago most of his life.

“¿Estás pedo?” he asked, wanting to know if I was drunk.

Instead of answering—since I wasn’t entirely sure if I was or not—I asked him to walk around the block with me. As we walked, I began to catch the scent of male musk and alcohol coming off his body. His skin was slick and hairy, and it was completely turning me on.

Suddenly, he told me we had reached the building where his party was. I began to say goodbye, but instead, he invited me up to join.

I followed him into the building, watching him say hello to the doorman and walk toward the elevator as if he owned the place. He seemed so at home on the street and everywhere else he went. 

He gave off the vibe that anything was possible. As soon as the elevator doors closed, our hands were all over each other. He possessed a warmth that surprised me even in the summer heat; you could tell he had been up all night and his body was being sustained by drugs. Perhaps that was where his irresistible charm came from.

As we walked down the hallway together, he stopped to say hello to two men passing us on their way out. They exchanged kisses and hugs, and then we all continued along our way. Just before he opened the door to the apartment, he asked my name and told me he was Veneno—meaning venom. I knew it wasn’t his real name, but before I could comment on it, we were already inside.

The moment I stepped through the door, I was transported to another world. The first two things that hit me were the smell and the view of the lake. The place smelled exactly like Veneno, just far more intense. 

There were bottles of liquor on every surface, the floor was strewn with clothes, and naked men walked around, casually sliding into whatever space or person they passed for a few minutes before moving on.

It was easy to tell the difference between the new arrivals, like me, and those who had been there all night. The new arrivals were fucking like bunnies. Many of the men were just as hot as Veneno. 

I walked into the living room and saw a skinny, muscular, college-type guy sucking off a beefy older man. He devoured his cock with both hands and his mouth, focusing on it like it was a final exam. 

The older man inhaled poppers as he received the blowjob, then passed them down to the younger guy, who gratefully accepted. He took the cap off, savored the smell, and went right back to servicing the man. Later, I would see the two of them fucking on a bed in the bedroom alongside several others.

Beyond the bed, there was a chaise lounge in front of a window with an amazing view of the turquoise lake. It was the kind of view that made you pause, feel grateful for the privilege of seeing it, and realize how much you take for granted. On the chaise lounge, a darkly tanned, heavyset older man lay on his stomach while a slender, well-hung twink lay on top of him, fucking him relentlessly. 

The twink’s body was mostly still, save for the rhythmic pivot of his hips driving his cock in and out. I looked at their faces and envied the otherworldly pleasure they were giving each other.

Lucky guys, I thought to myself.

Those who weren’t actively locking eyes with a partner prowled the apartment, keeping themselves hard by stroking their cocks or casually sliding into someone else for just a moment before moving on. They were like bees in a garden, jumping from flower to flower, mindlessly sucking nectar and disseminating pollen—the mules of nature, driven purely by desire.

As I wandered through the party, I bumped into Veneno again. He had two red plastic cups in his hands and handed one to me. I stared into his eyes and didn’t take it.

“Take it, I made it for you.”

Bitch, I don’t know what you put in that, I thought. Then I smiled at him—a smile that didn’t bother to hide my attraction.

“I’d rather not, mi rey.”

“Bueno,” he responded. I was incredibly glad he wasn’t pushy. I could already tell why: he was so used to getting whatever he wanted that he probably didn’t even know how to be pushy.

He set both drinks down on the nearest surface, wrapped his arms around me, and slid his tongue deep into my mouth, moving it around the back of my throat. I could feel his breath tickle my esophagus. I placed my hands on his warm body, which was covered in goosebumps. I cupped his cheeks, feeling the prickle of his stubble.

I told him I needed to get back down to my friends at the parade. I thanked him for inviting me up and told him how much I had enjoyed getting a glimpse of the scene. As he escorted me back to the elevator, we couldn’t keep our hands off each other. We exchanged numbers and promised to meet up before I left Chicago.

I rode the elevator down to the ground floor alone, grinning from ear to ear. I asked myself if I would regret not staying. I doubted I’d ever be lucky enough to stumble across a scene like that again in my life. But I was so excited to tell my friends all about it. After all, they were the reason I was here. I was grateful to have them and grateful that we had kept this tradition alive for so long.

Knowing when to stop is an art, and that afternoon made me realize I was getting better at it. I pulled out my phone and looked at the profile picture attached to Veneno’s number. It barely looked like the guy I had just met. 

I wished I could get to know him better, but I doubted I would. I accepted that my memory of the orgy he had taken me to would probably eclipse any details I could recall of the man himself. My heart felt heavy for the rest of the weekend whenever I thought of him, but I’m still glad I did what I did.