A brief review of my first visit to Dads & Lads, a weekly party by the Lodge in an anonymous building not far from Times Square.
I’m 45, white, 5’10, 155 lb. I hadn’t been to a sex party in years: I get in my head. I’d left a NY Jacks meetup minutes after arriving and spent a night at GBU wandering aimless, unable to connect.
But I’m glad I went to this one.
It’s welcoming: the street level door is open and at the second floor someone buzzes you in. A friendly guy takes $30 in cash and explains the process: take a plastic bag and a hanger; disrobe at the couches; leave nearly everything at coat check; then head back for fun.
I arrived in the first 15 minutes to join a small crowd of older men undressing. Some wore jockstraps, others wore nothing but their years and a proud erection. I was mildly nervous, but there was a quiet silliness and anticipation, like the opening of Much Ado About Nothing.
I revealed what I donned at work: gym sneakers, black ankle socks, black jockstrap and contact lenses. The jock gave some control over access to my cock; socks held the coat check ticket; contacts meant my glasses couldn’t fall when my head bobbed or flung back in passion.
The first half hour was hardest. I roamed among 12-20 guys in the dimly lit back rooms. I appraised the men, inspected the fellatio and occasional coitus. I kept glancing at the huge clock ticking on the wall.
The majority of guys were older and mostly height/weight proportional. By appearance, roughly one quarter were Dads; half were Uncles (bit youthful and a bit dadbod); ~10% were Granddads. 20-30something Lads, on my visit, were about 15% of the mix.
I noticed only one lad in the first five minutes of my arrival, a lithe German tourist with glasses and a roaming gait. He didn’t want me, so we only shared a smile.
There’s a good vibe to the place overall. When I was there, men were respectful (if handsy) and peaceful (with occasional lusty outbursts). The curtained area is dark, but faces and features were clear enough to see.
The most light is near the bathrooms: one locks, one doesn’t, and two urinals are out in the open by three sinks.
There’s abundant Listerine, lube and condoms. I recall 3-4 slings, a half dozen beds, yards of couches and benches. By the bathroom hallway there’s an alcove lit enough for a friendly exchange.
That’s where I caught up with a pair of lads, an adorable long-term couple, hung and open and 30ish. One of the pair frequents these parties with backward cap, beat-up jockstrap, and smoldering passion.
If you’re on the fence about attending, let this lad be reason enough.
I encountered a range of intimate connections: conversation and compliments, caresses and cocksucking. I didn’t take part in the fucking, but shared encouragement with the fuckers and the guys who opened themselves to these connections.
My sex party fears were mostly about judgment: being judged, but also being judgey. I work out, but age walks with us all, and I longed to be celebrated for my beauty.
I was.
I feared I would be body-negative and reject everyone older and more corpulent.
I wasn’t.
After that first half hour, I found my opening to enjoy the scene: fondling embraces, brief bursts of passion, and intermissions when I’d pull away to reset and explore.
The layout of the place let me enjoy a fond blowjob from the young couple, in line of sight of new arrivals. I was proud to provide such a promising welcome.
After an hour, I departed, triumphant and uncummed, leaving the lads, the dads and the uncles wanting more.