Friday at the Baths: Steam Room Bear

I usually judge the prospective activity of the local bathhouse by the number of cars I see parked in its two lots. It's not unusual for the back lot to be more empty. There’s a bit of a trek to the door from around the back of the building, in that industrial neighborhood. If the lot closest to the front door is abandoned, however, I'll usually make the U-turn that would take me around to the bathhouse's fenced enclosure, and continue on back to the highway.

Friday, the lot was packed. I pulled in, parked my car, grabbed my flip-flops and the bottle of lube I keep in the glove compartment, and headed inside.

I don't hit the baths all that often. When was the last time? Eight months ago? But the guy who works the daytime shift at the counter recognized me. From behind his glasses he stared at me, then nodded. "Hey," I grinned at him, and then slipped my twenty beneath the glass for a regular room. He handed me a paper to sign, took my membership card, and buzzed me in. Only once I was inside the darkness, waiting at the counter for him to pass me my room key and towel, did he open his thickly-goateed mouth. "Enjoy yourself, now," he growled in a deep bass. Then he chuckled. "I know they'll enjoy you."

He's a flirt, that desk clerk. But he always gives me a choice room—this time, at the intersection of three heavily-trafficked hallways.

The baths are a hit-or-miss affair. So much depends on the crowd, and the mixture of the crowd is always a matter of timing, chance, and the whims of the locals. If it's a miserable day of rain or snow or ice, it could swing either way—people might be looking for a refuge from the weather and come for a day of sex with strangers, or they might equally be tempted to stay at home, warm and dry and alone. Fine weather might draw people out of their homes, but they could be inclined to head to the mall or the riverfront, as to the bathhouse. National holidays tend to be good—even Thanksgiving. Guys are off work, and guys get bored and mischievous, then. I was hoping that Friday, right around lunchtime, might attract a certain mature crowd looking to play before the start of the weekend. Or at least some hot unemployed men.

But still, it's always tough to tell what you'll get on any particular day at the bathhouse. You could have the time of your life. Or you could sit around for hours, diddling yourself and wondering why you came, when it's PERFECTLY OBVIOUS that everyone finds you OUTRAGEOUSLY UGLY and GROSSLY OBESE and RUNS at the sight of you.

Luckily, Friday was one of the former.

After laying out the sheet on my mattress in my room, then disrobing and slipping on my rubber cock rings and wrapping my threadbare towel around my midsection, I slipped out of the door and clopped down the hall in my flip-flops to the steam room. The steam room at this particular bath is large, and tiled from floor to ceiling, and divided into two roughly enclosures. I moved into the room's foggy far side, and climbed onto the upper shelf to wait. An older gentleman sat nearby; he didn't look at me when I took my place upon the tiles, removed my towel, and settled into a position with my legs spread and my forearms balanced upon the knees. I'd passed several guys in the hallway who'd given me the eyeball when I'd walked by. Several of them trailed in after me.

One was an older guy in his sixties with an enviably athletic build and a shaved head. Without asking, and without any resistance from me, he removed his towel and set it on the lower shelf, then knelt upon it and began to suck my dick. I hardened between his lips, then let him move his mouth up and down the shaft as he got it wetter and more rigid. The two men who had trailed in after him watched from nearby. One was another senior whose features I couldn't make out through the dense fog that was ramping up as the steamer pumped out clouds of vapor. He was tall, though, and definitely as old, or older than the man working on my dick. The other was a big, burly bear. Five-foot-nine and two-hundred-and-eighty pounds of very furry, masculine, bearded bear.

I found the bear instantly attractive in a god I want that one! kind of way. However much I find many of them attractive, though, bears don't tend to go for me. Or if they do, they certainly don't act upon it in person. As a matter of fact, when in my presence they manage to hide any interest pretty damned well. I kept trying to give this one the eye, and to invite him to come over and join in, but he sat down at a fair distance and watched, just like everyone else.

The older gent who'd been present in the room when I'd entered gathered his towel and left. My cocksucker rose, gave me a deep kiss, then grabbed his towel and did the same. By way of apology, he comically mimed wiping sweat off his forehead. It was getting warm in there; the boiler was at its peak, and I couldn't see more than two or three feet in front of me. Still rock hard and wanting a mouth on my meat, I pulled myself to the edge of the upper ledge and positioned myself so that I was sitting directly above the bear. He watched as I played with my nipples and masturbated myself lasciviously for him.

Finally, when I spread my legs invitingly as wide as they could possibly go, he stood up and positioned himself between them. Now that I could see him more clearly, I could tell how fucking cute the guy really was. He had to me about my age, but he had the impish eyes and cherry cheeks of a little boy. His beard was bushy, full, and dark. His chest was furry, though his round belly was perfectly smooth. From the bush of his pubes rose a stubby penis, fat, full, hard, and short.

I grabbed him by the dick and pulled him in. His mouth landed on mine; I found my lips surrounded by his mouth. His beard scratched my face, pleasantly. I inhaled his sweet scent of mouthwash and coffee traces as the breath from our lungs mingled. He groaned when I pinched and pulled at his nipples. Then I ran my right hand through his curly hair and pushed him down so that his face was at his dick. He opened his mouth, and engulfed it.

The older gentleman had done a really good job of sucking me. He was nothing, however, compared to the bear. My hips buckled at the feel of his mouth as he took me to the root. His mouth was so wide open that I thought he'd slurp in my balls, as well. When finally he backed off, the combination of the heat and the blow job left my head spinning. "You wanna fuck me?" he wanted to know.

Did I! "Yeah," I grunted. "Want to go back to my room?"

I didn't have to ask twice. I was streaming water when we left the steam room. I didn't even bother to wait to get back; I removed my town and walked, hard-on bouncing painfully, down the hallway as I dried off my shoulders and back. Several men watched as we disappeared into the darkness of the little cubicle with the number 50 on its door.

"Gawd," said the bear. "You’ve got the perfect dick, fucker." He sat heavily on the bed and grabbed it, pulling me to him. "The perfect dick. It's fucking big, too. How long is it?" I told him, and he shook his head. "I want it in me."

I leaned down for another of his kisses. I loved the feel of his beard against mine. "I was hoping I would get with you," I told him, quite honestly. "I saw you walk in that room, and I thought to myself, I've gotta get some of that."

"No shit? I'm just a furry fat dude." He seemed incredulous, despite my assertion that he was far more than a furry fat dude. "You clean?" I told him I was. ""Because I'm thinking I want you to sperm me up."

"You want it bareback?" I asked.

"Only done it that way with one other buddy," he said. "But yeah. I don't wanna pass up this shot. You wanna bareback me?"

Again, he didn't have to ask twice. I had been turning him onto his knees as he spoke. He lay face down on the bed, clutched the pauper's pillow between his arms to prop up his chin, and groaned as I fingered some lube into his butt. When I pushed between those big, furry cheeks, he grabbed for his bottle of poppers and inhaled deeply. I could feel his muscles relax to admit me as I slid deeper. "Oh fuck," he said, over and over again. "Oh fuck. I've never had one this big. Fucking amazing."

I was all the way in. As he told me how rarely he'd been fucked—apparently the last time had been eight months prior—I was a little surprised how elastic and smooth he was. He didn't clench down, or resist my thrusts, or betray any discomfort when I increased the depth with which I'd pull out and shove back in. He didn't seem to feel pain when I would hold myself in him at the deepest point, and swell my dick by clamping down on the floor of my pelvis. All he did was hold one of my hands like a lifeline, breath heavily, and moan with pleasure.

"You like it, don't you, stud?" I growled in his ear.

"Yes," he cried. "You don't know how long I've needed this, buddy. You don't know how bad. Where are you from?" he asked, suddenly. I told him, still keeping up the rhythm of my thrusting, and asked where he lived. He was from Ohio, he told me. An hour and a half away. "But if you could ever host, or meet me here, I would totally drive up for more of this—anytime. An-y-time," he repeated, drawing out each syllable. He sounded, quite honestly, so happy at the way my dick was making him feel that he was close to tears.

"Then I'll have to give you my number," I told him. "Because I find you so fucking attractive that I'd love to see more of you."

The news pleased him. It pleased him so much that he clamped down on my meat like a pair of hands and began to milk it. I wasn't going to last much longer. "Let me sit on it," he suggested.

Anything to extend the pleasure. I got on my back. He mounted me, putting his considerable weight on my midsection as his hole grabbed onto my dick. I like a guy's weight on me. I particularly love a bear's weight on me—it makes me feel tiny, and compact, which is something that an ungainly, long-limbed fellow like me rarely gets to experience. His fat dick rubbed against my stomach as he rode me. I could tell that the feelings for him were even more intense in this position than they had been when I'd been ramming into him. "I'm going to shoot," he warned me.

"Do it," I commanded.

He continued to ride back and forth and up and down, more and more vigorously. His excitement tickled mine. I found myself very much on the edge as he rode closer and closer to orgasm. When he came, it was without having touched himself once; he shot a blast of cum squarely into my face. That alone pushed me over. I began to unload into him, loudly, as he continued to groan and squirm on top of me. Finally, wary of opening my eyes while his copious sperm was still dripping down my face, I let him wipe me off before I looked at him. "Holy fuck," he said.

"Holy fuck," I agreed. "Shit!"

He didn't stay on me long. When he stood up, I lay on my stomach on the mattress and took his still-hard cock in my mouth, cleaning off the rest of the sperm that was lingering there. His back slammed against the cubicle door. He rested there for long minutes while I nursed at his dick, enjoying the way it filled my mouth. Like most big men, he was actually much bigger than he appeared. I felt guilty for thinking of him as stubby and short, when it was obvious that he had a good seven inches on him.

When I pulled off his dick, finally, he pushed me back and ran his hand through my steam-wet, long hair. “I didn’t expect to come here and rob the cradle today,” he said, pulling my face against his extended, rotund belly in a way that made my dick sit up and take notice. “You don’t mind being with an older guy? How old are you, son? Thirty-one? Thirty-two?”

I might’ve thought he was teasing, or attempting to flatter me, but his tone was completely serious. I was flattered, though. Very flattered. Still, I snorted. “I’m forty-seven.”

He seemed genuinely stunned. Once again he rattled the door in its frame as he leaned back against it. “Holy shit. Are you serious? I’m forty-eight. You look like, twenty years younger than me. Are you really that old?”

I admitted I was, but that I certainly didn’t mind him calling me son. Blushing prettily, I opened the door for him and we stepped outside. The half-dozen men who’d been hanging around, listening to the fucking and waiting to see who eventually emerged, scattered into the darkness like rats.

Usually at the baths I'm there for variety; I don't like to be pinned down to one guy, or feel as if I'm being monopolized. Likewise, I'm wary about taking up any guy's afternoon by keeping him in my company when he might want to be out and about, sampling other meat. With the bear, though, we formed a companionable partnership that afternoon. After we toweled off the sperm that seemed to be everywhere, we stuck together for a couple of more hours. While he showered, I filled out a slip of paper with my name and my email and phone number.

We then made out and sucked each other in the shower room while guys drifted in and out. I let him piss on my head there, in front of a crowd of a half-dozen, and then let him soap me up and lather me clean under the running shower head. He invited me back to his larger room, where we talked for a while, and made out, and fucked again. He placed me on my stomach and gave me an amazing and skilled deep-tissue massage that left me (literally, and embarrassingly) drooling.

And more importantly, we made some tentative plans to connect again when he gets back from a business trip.

Ah, the bears. Usually they tend to ignore me, like I said. But when I trap one, I'm a very happy man.