Friday at the Baths

One of the nice things about what I do for a living is that if I decide to take the day off and sleaze, I can. I don’t have to call in sick to anyone, or do what I did when I had a day job, which was to pretend to have ‘a meeting on the other campus’ and go do whatever the fuck I wanted. Today I decided to give myself the day off and spend it at the baths.

I arrived exactly at 12:05. “The lunchtime crowd’s going to love you,” said the deep-voiced, goateed guy behind the desk, who’s bottomed for me more than a few times. “When they arrive, that is,” he added.

He wasn’t kidding. For an hour I wandered around the place wondering if there’d been some kind of bomb scare in the city of which I wasn’t aware. I eventually sat in my room and played games on my phone until in walked. . .

#1: Rick was 59 years old, bald, handsome, and fairly fit. He stepped into my room like he owned it, and shut the door. “You look lonely,” he said, and put a hand on each of my knees so he could wrench my legs apart. He sucked well, and I loved it when he flipped me over, slapped my ass, and announced, “You are so damned fuckable, boy.” To my ears, that’s a huge compliment. Even though I consider myself a top guy, and even though I haven't been fucked in over half a decade, hearing someone say those words makes me blush like a pleased schoolboy. I almost never get to hear it, though. For one thing, I have no ass. For another, the vast majority of guys I play with don’t want me to be fuckable. They want me to find them fuckable. Since I rapidly discovered that Rick didn’t get hard and that therefore I wouldn't be accused of leading him on if I enjoyed a little assplay, I didn’t mind letting him manhandle me like his little bitch for a few minutes until I took a break.

#2: The Banker is a guy I’ve played with several times before. I have no actual proof he’s a banker, but he dresses like one. When this distinguished, gray-haired gentleman walks into the baths he’s always wearing the finest and most flexible of wire-rimmed spectacles, an obviously expensive, tailored shirt, fine slate-colored woolen slacks, a conservative tie in a pastel color, and the inevitable shiny penny loafers. Then he takes all that shit off and reveals a chest covered with a carpet of fur and a short, curved dick that gets hard, stays hard, and blasts hard.

I saw him walk in and immediately thought to myself, hot damn! when I saw him enter the room next to mine. I gave him a few minutes to undress and shower, but when I heard him return, I opened my door, walked into his room, knelt down on the floor, and was immediately rewarded with a mouthful of banker cock. He knows by now I can take a pretty hard face-fucking, so my head was banging against the drywall before he let loose and gave me a juicy mouthful.

#3: Mark I met in the steamroom. I was sitting on the top shelf when in walked a stocky gent with a policeman’s build and an enormous handlebar mustache. He’d trailed me in, obviously hoping to find me there, and when he saw me playing with my hard dick, he sat down on the ledge before me and stared at me. The guy had the most intense blue eyes I’ve ever noticed through the steam.

While a crowd of four or five guys watched, Mark expertly deep-throated me without choking or gagging, while simultaneously yanking on my nipples and somehow wetting his third finger and jamming it up my ass. When I writhed and squirmed away from the unexpected invasion, he shoved me roughly against the wall, surrounded his mouth with mine, and kissed me so deeply that suddenly I didn’t even mind the digit prodding my prostate. “I wanna suck that dick to the root,” he growled.

“Let’s go back to my room,” I managed to pant.

Inside the room he twisted and chewed on my nipples so hard that they’re still sore now—which I kind of like, to be honest. “Looks like the boy can stand some pain!” he said, applying the pressure even more. He slapped my balls experimentally, sucked me, and then continued talking about how he was gonna bend me over and fuck my boyass like the little bitch I was. (I don’t know why I was giving off such a bottomy vibe to those guys, that afternoon. Highly unusual.) “I wanna do anything for you,” he said. “Just name it. Name it and I’ll do it right now.”

"Anything?" I asked. "Seriously, anything?"

"I said anything and I meant it! Name it, boy!"

“Could you eat my ass,” this boy said, after a minute. “Please, eat my fuckin’ ass?”

“Except that,” he announced, abruptly standing up and putting on his towel. He opened the door and stalked out, but not before saying, “I’m a doctor. You don’t want to know what comes out of that hole.”

Fail.

#4, 5, 6, and 7: Craig pounced on me the minute I stepped back in the steamroom after the aborted encounter with Mark. He was lankier and thinner than I, and younger as well. When I sat down on a lower ledge, he immediately got down on his knees and began going to town on my dick. Good head, too. The best I’d had that day.

While he was sucking, a sexy muscular guy in his twenties sat down next to me and began kissing me and playing with my nipples. He was joined by two guys I’d seen in the showers earlier, both also in their twenties, both with beards and long, shoulder-length hair. They looked like brothers. Both of the long-haired fellows also reached down to play with my dick and to rub their hands over my chest. One of them pulled my head forward to suck his average-sized meat—and I discovered that both of the long-haired guys were wearing rubbers for oral sex. A mouthful of latex isn’t really my thing. I let the muscular guy suck them both while Craig continued to suck me. Then I reached down between Craig’s legs, my middle finger discovered a wet and slippery hole, lubed and ready to go. Finally I was going to get some ass. “Want to go back to my room?” he asked. I agreed.

The minute the door closed, Craig instantly assumed the position, butt up, knees spread, hands clutching at his butt cheeks to pull them apart for me. I spat on my dick, worked in the head, and began to fuck. The kid had a great, great hole. Tight, wet, and greedy. “Oh fuck,” he said. “I’m so glad you didn’t want a rubber.”

“You don’t have to worry about rubbers with me,” I whispered.

“Are you going to stay in or pull out when you shoot?”

I didn’t answer. He'd find out soon enough I don't pull out. I kept fucking. By that time I was so horny and frustrated that I knew I wasn’t going to last much longer. I pounded the skinny little fucker so hard I thought he might snap. When it came time, I thrust all the way in and let loose. “Breed me!” His breath was hoarse as he played with himself. A moment later, he shook and quivered, spraying his load onto the cheap sheets.

We exchanged numbers. The kid only lives about a mile from me, which could be a plus.

#8: Another muscled guy came into my room when I was resting. Like Rick, he didn’t wait for permission. He simply walked in, shut the door, and stood there with his hands on his hips. He was in his mid-thirties, perhaps, and had wavy long hair with a single gray streak on one side. “Did you fuck that guy?” he asked. “I saw him sucking you in the steam room. Did you fuck him?”

“Yeah,” I said.

“Damn, you’ve got a big dick.” He lifted my hand away from my crotch. I’d started to get hard again at the sight of him. He looked at me speculatively. “Did you suck that guy?” I shook my head. “You want to suck me?”

“Let me see it,” I said. He dropped the towel. His cock had a downward curve, and was hard and respectably-sized. He made it twitch. “Yeah,” I told him. “I’ll suck you.”

I stayed on my knees for a good ten minutes, giving him a good wet hand-and-mouth job. He kept his hands on the back of my head the entire time, and occasionally would lean down to plant a gentle kiss on the top of my head. “Good boy,” he’d say. “Very good boy.” The closer he got to shooting, the more aggressive he got; he put his hands on top of his head as if to show off his body, looked into my eyes where I gazed up at him with a mouthful of meat, and made short, hard thrusts. When he shot, it was almost silently. He forced my head down on his dick and held it there, letting out three bursts of fluid. I waited until he was done and had withdrawn, and swallowed.

“Your wife let you fuck her with that thing?” he said, gesturing to my dick as he put on his towel. The guys think they're all clever for noticing my wedding ring. Little do they know I've learned it's like a cocksucker magnet. Guys in the baths love giving a married guy what they think he lacks.

“Yessir, she does,” I replied.

“Lucky bitch.”

#9: The porn star occupied the room directly behind mine. He wasn’t an actual porn star, as far as I know. He merely looked like one. Killer body. Beautiful rugged face. Shaved head. Vivid, colorful ink running from his beautiful biceps down his back, and curving around his luscious butt to end on the fronts of his thighs. Not random tatts—a solid work of art. His dick was thick, vacuum-pumped, and sported a zero-gauge p.a. Around his neck he wore a heavy chain and a rusted lock that looked as if it’d been there for a long, long while. Big heavy black boots weighed down his enormous feet. His hands were meaty and ape-like—almost paws. He lay in his room on his back, legs in the air, eyes staring at the ceiling, fingering his greased-up, slimy hole and playing with his thick meat. The overhead light was on full bright. He was just waiting for someone to come in.

When I went in, Craig, the guy I’d bred, was already in there, feeding the porn star dick. The porn star gulped at it greedily, his eyes mere slits of fucklust. I stood next to him stroking and showing off my meat, while Craig reached behind to play with me and tug at my balls.

Finally Craig stepped aside and let me assume my place over the guy’s mouth. “I’m sorry,” said the porn star to me. When he spoke, it was with an over-enunciated, lightweight effeminate voice that really belied the tough-fuckmeat image he was going for. “I simply cannot suck a dick that someone else has touched.” I raised my eyebrows. I can see not sucking a dick that’s been in some stranger’s ass. (I’m not a doctor, and I can figure out why I might not want to. Even though I’ve done it.) I can maybe see not wanting to suck a dick that someone else has been sucking. But not sucking a dick that someone (whose dick you've just eaten like a red Twizzler) has squeezed with his hand? Is crazy.

“I just got out of the shower,” I assured him.

“If you rinse it off, I’ll suck it then.”

I wrapped my towel around my waist and stomped off to the showers again, growling all the way. Craig was still in the porn star's room when I returned. I made sure not to let him accidentally graze me in case the disinfectant queen had a fit. “Do you have poppers?” he asked. When I said I didn’t, he asked Craig the same thing. “How about the people in the hallway?” he said. “Do they have poppers?”

I wasn’t planning to ask random strangers in the hallway for their poppers, so I put my dick in his mouth to shut him up. He sucked for a while—and looked good doing it—but after about two minutes he stopped. “Are you planning to cum soon?” he said in that voice. “Because I don’t want to have to be doing this all day.”

What a rude fucker he was, I thought to myself. “Then let me use your hole instead,” was what I said.

He acted like I’d suggested I pour chili-infused honey on his testicles and let loose the bucket of fire ants. “Oh my god no!” he squealed, and actually held a hand to his chest. “I don’t get fucked!”

Then here's my seasoned advice: don’t lay there with your legs in the air fingering your greased hole and giving drill-me glances to every man passing your doorway, asswad. "Sorry to inconvenience you," I said, and walked out.

I left after that, and got home at exactly 4:02, three minutes before the boy got home from school, and a half hour before we left to pick up the spouse at the airport. Somehow I managed to squeeze another load out before the trip across town.

Not exactly a terrible day at the baths, but definitely not a good one, either. My load count: Took two orally, delivered one in the rear, jacked one at home. Number of times I was called 'boy': More times than in the previous five years. Dim bathhouse lighting and men not wearing their glasses, my monstrous ego thanks you.