Sunday Afternoon at the Baths

Thanks to the storms that blew through here last Thursday, my power’s been off and on all weekend. More off than on, though I’m grateful at least that at night, I’ve had electricity and air conditioning enough to sleep comfortably.

The neighborhood is a mess. It looks like a tornado whipped through, with all the downed trees and branches that have smashed through garages and wrecked fences everywhere. During the day, I’ve gotten to the point that when the power company crews working all over the nearby streets shut off my juice again, I shrug, grab my bag, and head for somewhere cool. And today I chose to spend the afternoon at the baths, which had the air on full blast.

When I arrived at the local bathhouse, it was just how I liked it. Dark, cool, and busy. My brief period of walking through the door and being the new meat was highlighted by a trail of men casually tailing me to my room, where they all took note of where I was and nodded and made serious eye contact through the door.

And that was the height of the activity for the day, sadly.

Guy #1: Mr. Tan

When I’m at these particular baths, I like to make a circuit through the facility first to see what’s going on. I walk up and down the central hallways and look into the rooms to see who’s there. Then I take a brief jaunt into the steam room, and relax there a bit. If nothing happens (and nothing did, today), I walk to the sling room and the gloryhole passage to see if there’s any public group action going on. And then I’ll return to my room and wait there. After all, if I have to wait for a mouth on my dick, I might as well do it in comfort, right?

In my room my usual modus operandi is to keep the lights low—approximately the same level as the hallway, which is pretty dim, but enough to let people see what I look like. I take off my towel, and sit on the bed opposite the open doorway, back against the wall. I usually keep my right knee up to prop an arm onto, point my left knee toward the head of the bed, and stroke my dick with my left hand.

When guys walk by, if they’re creepy I’ll simply lower my dick so that my hand covers it. If they’re attractive, I’ll keep masturbating and open my legs a little wider so they can see. I had a lot of people stalking my doorway today. They’d walk past, pause, then turn and stroll in the opposite direction while I showed off for them. One black guy with long braids wore down the carpet tread, going back and forth, letting his towel slip down a little with every pass.

But no one would come in. Guys were gawking like crazy, but for the life of me I couldn’t get anyone to slow down, stop in my doorway, and let me beckon them in. For something like forty minutes I sat there, playing and nodding and smiling and stroking at the guys I found attractive, and got absolutely no response.

Then Mr. Tan walked by. He was perhaps in his mid-fifties, quite handsome, and very, very tan. In a better light he might even have been orange, I’d venture to say. His body was amazingly fit though, and he had a beautiful chest . . . and a teeny-tiny little dick. “Well hello,” he said as he walked into my room without hesitation, as if he belonged there.

I responded by showing off my dick. Without hesitation he went down on it, sucking me gently and erotically for a few seconds. Then he began to touch me. His hands were soft and supple, and felt great as he used his palms to stroke my shoulders, my arms, my chest. He rubbed the fur of my legs, and then smoothed down my beard and ran his fingers through my hair. I’m an addict to touch, so I started purring like a kitten. Maybe the forty minutes of waiting was going to be worth it, for this guy.

Then he looked at a watch he wasn’t wearing. “Hey, gotta check my voicemail,” he said, retreating. “I’ll be back.” He wasn’t. Didn’t see him again at all.

So no. It wasn’t worth it.



Guy #2: Daddy’s Boy

During my circuit of the joint earlier, one of the men who’d nodded at me as I passed his room had been a really handsome man lying on his belly with his head right by the doorway. Every time I walked by, he’d smile and nod. I thought the chances of having some fun with him were pretty good, so I left the cocoon of my room and ventured over.

“Are you a top?” he said, first thing. I nodded. “Are you married?” he asked, nodding at my wedding band. I just fingered it and smiled. “Hot!” he said. “I want daddy’s dick up me!”

From the hallway I’d thought the guy was maybe forty—probably less—but once in his room I was guessing he was slightly older than I. His hair was probably the most attractive thing about him. He wore his dark blond hair in an old-fashioned ‘do from the nineteen-seventies, thick and tousled and swept over his forehead, kind of like John Davidson during his Hollywood Squares days. When he sucked me, it was kind of desperately. “Fuck me daddy,” he said. “Fuck your baby boy.”

I flipped him over and entered his hole, but I knew from the beginning it was a losing cause. For one thing, he had the kind of ass that felt like it was filled with some kind of grit; he was clean, but it was far from comfortable. For another, his voice bothered me. He spoke in a high and reedy tone that reminded me of Gilbert Gottfried at his most annoying. Picture Gottfriend whining, “Fuck me, daddy! Fuck your baby boy!” and you’ll know why I asked him to be quiet.

“Come on, daddy! Your baby boy needs your big dick!” he’d say, after a couple more minutes.

“Sssshh,” I’d tell him.

“Fuck your baby b—!”

I’d put a finger over my mouth. “Shush.”

“Your baby—!”

“Shut up for daddy,” I tried.

It didn’t work. It was the most unerotic dirty talk I’ve ever encountered. After a couple of minutes I pulled out. “I’m taking a break,” I announced. Then I fled as fast as I could.



Guy #3: Santa

I have a thing for a sexy daddy. Back in my room, when an older man loomed in my doorway, my legs parted instantly. He was furry all over, wore a white beard, and although he was more stocky than bowl-full-of-jelly-like, he bore a perhaps-unfortunate resemblance to jolly old St. Nicholas. And let me tell you, there’s something unnerving about Santa Claus telling you straight off, “Bite daddy’s nipples, boy.”

I bit, though. Santa had a thick dick that poked my sternum as I chewed on his left tit. “Damn, son,” he said, directing my head to the other one. “You know how to give a man pleasure. Fucking built for pleasure, you are.” I only grunted at the praise. “Yeah. Now show me what kind of pleasure you can give a man.”

He pushed me down on my knees. I opened my mouth and accepted his dick, which he pistoned in and out while keeping a firm grip on the crown of my head and the back of my neck. He was just long enough to open my throat a little, but I had no problems taking him to the base. With every thrust I grunted a little; my eyes were watering from the brutality of the face-fuck.

“I knew you’d be good,” he said, lifting me up and sitting me on the bed. “Now let’s see what other kind of pleasure you can give to your daddy.”

He used the tube of lube by my bedside to grease up his hole. As I lay on the bed, Santa climbed up, straddled me, and settled his furry ass down onto my north pole. "Damn, son,” he hissed, once he was down to the base. “This is the best kind of pleasure of all.” I sat up while he raised and lowered himself on me, and he cradled my head in his arms the entire time so I could chew and bite on his tits. “Yeah, son,” he growled. “Make your daddy feel good. You know what to do, son.”

That was daddy talk done right. Plus, in a reverse, it was the first time in my life that Santa’s ever sat in my lap.



Guy #4: The Neighbor

I saw him in the steam room when I walked in. It felt like his eyes cut through the mist shrouding everyone, as he stared past the other men loitering around the walls directly to me. When I sat on the upper ledge, removed my towel, and let my dick slap against the wet tile below, he excused himself and pushed two men out of the way. Then he lay his own towel on the lower shelf below me, parted my legs, and began to suck as if he’d known he’d get my dick from the moment the door opened.

For the record, I was fine with that.

We ended up going back to his room. “I bet you’re a top, with a big dick like that,” he said. I nodded as we kissed. “I wish you could fuck me.”

“Oh, I can,” I said.

“No, you can’t,” he told me. “I’m not clean down there.”

At least he warned me. We had other fun instead. I let him suck me—which he did expertly—and then sat on his face while I played with his nipples, until he came. We were cleaning up afterward when he asked me where I was from. “Oh, I’m just across the street,” he said, when I told him, and named the city next to mine. “I’ve been without power for three days, since the storms. I wanted to come to somewhere cool.”

“No kidding!” I said. “Me too!”

“What are you near?” I named a market at the end of my street. “Oh my god, I walk there almost every day.”

It turned out that my last trick of the day lived all of a quarter mile from me, and that we’d both been driven to the bathhouse for the same reasons: the heat, the lack of electricity, and a boner or two to take care of.

Well, it’s one way to meet the neighbors.