Dore Story

I went with my friend to the Dore Alley Street Fair last weekend.

Dore Story

25 July 2010

We went for a weekend stay

In San Francisco by the bay.

The sidewalks and gutters were dirty

But the cruising men were flirty.

The sky was overcast

But that didn’t last.

The sun played peek-a-boo

As we greeted a friend or two.

Although it was a bit cold

We found hot cocks to hold.

We thought it would do no harm

To go in the bar and get warm.

Gradually the temperature rose,

Men began to shed their clothes

And the guys started to play,

First one cock then two on display.

I tell you the truth, I’m not joking

Before long several men were stroking

Somebody else’s bone

If it wasn’t their own.

Early on the barback warned against sucking

But later on there was outright fucking.

Tits were stimulated

As men masturbated.

Having a slight headache

Made the music hard to take.

There was a sense of euphoria

Mixed with some claustrophobia.

It was hard for a cocksucker to kneel.

The crowd made it easy to cop a feel.

Orgasms later we got out of there

Just to get some fresh air.

Indulges and Bulges

This poem is dedicated to two yearly events that happen in San Francisco. Dore Alley occurs the last Sunday of July and Folsom Street is the last Sunday of September.

Indulges and Bulges
24 June 2010

Walking down the street I ogle and stare
At Dore Alley and Folsom Street Fair.
The men are more than just pretty faces,
They have muscles and bulges in the right places.
Any one of them can sign up on my dance card
Just looking at them makes me drool and get hard.
Their looks and bodies are hard to hide
Especially when they’re naked outside.
The entry signs say no fucking or nudity
But those in the know don’t put up with such prudity.
As San Francisco’s finest reposed
I’ve strolled by with my privates exposed.
Regardless of the weather
Most of the crowd wears leather.
There are people of both sexes and all sizes
And a few come with odd surprises.
I get my favorite wish there
To walk around in fetish gear.
When the sky’s unclouded
The street becomes crowded.
You never know who you’ll meet,
And you might have sex in the street.
Folsom & Dore are a mix of fantasy and real
Mostly you just look, but sometimes you feel.
There’s drooling by the hour
With no hope of a cold shower.
Later when the fog rolls in,
It’s the rigamarole’s end.
Outside the temperature drops
But indoors the party never stops.
The memories are all so good
I’ll be back next time in all likelihood.