Tracey Parker is an urban explorer, based in Mexico City, who discovers and presents unique gay cultures around the world. Every so often, he takes us into the gritty, hot, unique and horny hookup spots where gay men go to let loose and fuck. This time, Tracey takes us to Medellín for a hot gay cruising sex club when men get it on.

I arrived at Sillón Rojo Club in Medellín’s Laureles neighborhood late in the evening. I was on my way home, but when I realized where I was, I decided to stop by and see what it was like. I wasn’t even sure if it would be open. I just felt that restlessness I often get in big, unfamiliar cities—the feeling that I just wasn’t quite ready to go home yet.

Once inside, I found the perfect atmosphere. It felt as though every man there shared the same intention. The place wasn’t crowded, but it maintained a diverse collection of men. Most were solidly in their thirties and in good shape, though there were plenty of skinny younger guys as well.

The air smelled of clean sterilizer cut with a dense, male funk and the scent of sex. Men moved through the halls at a brisk pace, looking for exactly what I was looking for—even if none of us could quite name it. None of us were going to leave until we found it. 

After a few laps through the dark-room maze and the common areas, I had a handle on the layout and the clientele.

The men fell into two groups: those pacing like ghosts in their underwear, socks, and sneakers; and those in the back of the maze, which opened into a room bathed in deep red light. 

A single sofa—the sillón rojo—sat against the wall. I assumed it was the namesake of the club. A half-dozen men stood in a circle, jerking off furiously, desperately trying to squeeze a climax out of the organs to which they had surrendered all control of their evening.

This group intrigued me. I stayed in a corner, watching from across the dark room. I didn’t find any of them particularly attractive, but their behavior was hypnotic. They didn’t even seem attracted to each other; they seemed stuck together by a stubborn need to arrive somewhere, believing they could get there faster as a group than alone.

One man, thin and hairy, bent over in front of another who was stroking himself as if on the verge of coming. He reached back and opened his cheeks. The man behind him tried to enter him, but both quickly realized he wasn’t hard enough—perhaps why he hadn’t been able to finish. They didn’t give up. The top began to dry hump him furiously. I watched the bottom’s face shift from anxious waiting to eye-popping excitement as he felt the cock grow and become a weapon, even if only for a moment.

Nights are cold in Medellín, so nobody was sweating, yet we were all covered in a grimy, shiny glaze that served both to attract and lubricate.

I took my cock out—it was harder than the others, as I had just arrived. I began to stroke it as I walked toward the man who was still bent over in anticipation. He grabbed me with both hands and began sucking furiously. It was a bit much.

“Careful,” I told him. “Don’t you want me to fuck you?”

He nodded, then turned and pressed his ass against me. I slid inside him without using my hands. Grabbing his hips, I began to pound. He started whimpering, but I knew I wasn’t hurting him. I wanted to tell him that in a demeaning way, but my Spanish wasn’t good enough, so I spoke to him by stabbing relentlessly, reaching a little deeper with every thrust.

The circle jerk closed in around us. We could all feel an energy building. Sure enough, one of the men reached his climax, shooting a load onto the face of the guy I was fucking. He let out a roar as thick, goopy cum burst out of him, sticking to the bottom’s face and dripping to the floor.

Once it was over, the bottom wiped his eyes with one hand but kept his face pointed toward the circle, as if calling out: Who’s next?

We were moving as one now—no longer a ramshackle collection of individuals, but an orgy moving in one direction. I kept pounding, feeling his warm, slippery insides. All around his face were half a dozen long, hard cocks with bulging heads and frantic hands jerking them so hard you’d wonder if they might break.

The second domino fell when a heavyset bear began to lose control, letting out screams of pleasure. Drops began to drip from his slit, and the hungry bottom stuck out his tongue to catch what he could. When the bear finished, he let the bottom take his cock into his mouth while two other men shot their loads onto either side of the boy’s face.

The chaos of it all finally pushed me over the edge. I pulled out and shot my first load of the day onto his torso. When I finished, I took a step back and slapped his ass as hard as I could.

Once I stopped, he stood up and began to jerk himself off. He was dizzy and disoriented; a few guys had to steady him. We helped him over to the red couch where he took a seat and went back to work. It didn’t take long for him to finish; a few drops of his own cum joined the layers already dripping from his face.

We looked at each other, catching our breath. Then, we began to leave the room separately. Some went straight to the lockers; others resumed their wandering.

I walked around for a few more minutes, but once I’d come, I knew I was done. I went to the locker area and found the same crowd dressing in their street clothes. They looked different now. It was surprising to see the personal style of men I had only known as naked bodies.

Just as I was finishing, the door to the private bathroom unlocked. The bottom we had all destroyed walked out, completely cleaned up. He still had his shirt off and he looked strikingly handsome. We all seemed surprised by how well he cleaned up.

He went to his locker, put on a shirt and a hoodie, and began folding his clothes into a backpack for the walk home. He was completely indifferent to us. You could feel someone wanted to break the ice, to say something, but everyone was too exhausted. We had left all our social energy back in that dark room.

After a few minutes, the man who had held all our attention became just another stranger in a locker room, getting ready to go back into the real world and ask himself what had just happened.

Find more of Tracey Parker’s writing here.