I can trace the fetish back to childhood, when I would spy on men washing in the communal showers at the public swimming pool. Now, at 32, virtually any tiled room turns me on.
A large portion of my twenties was spent pining away in saunas and steam rooms of New York City, waiting for this or that big-dicked fantasy to return from the shower and sweep me away to eternal happiness. Never happened, but that didn’t stop me from trying.
I have a boyfriend now, and we’re committed, but we maintain a don’t ask/don’t tell policy when it comes to locker room liaisons. We understand the need. If it happens, it happens, but neither of us really wants to know the gory details.
Conditionally, though, neither of us is allowed to take things beyond the confines of the locker room. A random hook-up has to be a random hook-up. No planning. No trying to coordinate schedules. No exchange of phone numbers. And certainly no “Let’s take this back to my place.”
Steam room guys generally just want to rub one out and hit the road anyway, so for the most part it isn’t a problem. At my gym, there are a few repeat offenders I’ve met over the years; mostly guys I had known, purely in the biblical sense, before I ever met my boyfriend.
There’s the shy, sad-looking guy with the huge cock. He’s pale, looks vaguely Eastern
European and turns me on to no end. He brings out my inner top, and when I see him in the shower I have to restrain myself from doing a face plant into his ass crack, which is shadowed by the cutest patch of reddish hair. Then there’s the beefy Latino who I’ve watched jack off—no touching—in the sauna. He has a huge dick too, and, of course, a boyfriend.
But my favorite is the middle-aged pasty bald dude with the belly who sits patiently in the sauna reading travel guides. He always has a small plastic vial of body oil with him. If I happen to walk into the sauna and he’s there, the first thing he does is pull back his towel to show off his cock, which starts to grow immediately.
I try to sit near him, either adjacent or perpendicular. And if we find ourselves alone, he’ll cleverly start to slip his hand under my towel, while keeping a watchful eye on the door. All he wants is to jerk me off. Sometimes he’ll take care of himself, but usually not. It’s really hot, probably very particular to me and may possibly be some kind of molestation fantasy, but whatever—I love it. Now, I don’t run into any of these guys with enough regularity that I feel I’m bordering on breaking the rules; I certainly don’t plan on coming across them in the steam room. But recently, I encountered this hot little number who, for all I can tell, is a chronic—and rather aggressive—random hook-up.
The first time we met was in the sauna. I was sitting alone in a towel; he came in fully clothed (gym shorts, shoes and a muscle shirt) and stood across the sauna facing me. That was a bad sign right there. Guys who check out the sauna before they start working out are definitely horny and looking for sex more than they’re looking to plow through their regimen of free-weights.
But I can still sometimes be naive. He didn’t seem gay and he was fully clothed, so I figured nothing would happen. Until I noticed a stiff bulge growing in his shorts.
Fuck, I thought, this guy’s horny. And also, how totally ballsy to just stand there getting a hard on. It was hot. So I started doing the requisite gestures to let him know I was interested; shrugging the shoulders; excessive massaging of my pecs, biceps and abs; a nonchalant scratch at the cock ‘n’ balls.
Suddenly, he pulled his shirt over his head, and began rubbing his own pecs, biceps and abs.Then he let a hand slip down shorts and started massaging his thick and growing dick. Before long, he had fully pulled it out of his shorts and stood there masturbating in front of me, peppering his strokes with a little dirty talk. “I bet you’re a hot fucking top...” he’d say, and then suck in hot air through his pursed lips. By the end of it, he had gone down on me and we’d both gotten off. Afterward, I ran into him in the locker room (he seemed to have discarded the idea of actually working out), and he asked for my phone number. “No, that’s all right,” I said. “I’ll just see you around here.”You know, the rule. The next time I hooked up with him was in the steam room. He went down on me again, this time while I was standing. I reached around and rubbed his tight ass until I got off. Afterward, he asked for my number again. “No, man,” I told him. “I have a boyfriend.” He coolly replied, “So do I.” After that, I started to dodge him. I just didn’t want to have to deal with the expectation that every time we ran into each other we’d get off and he’d ask me for my number.
A few weeks went by when I unexpectedly found him skulking in the sauna. He struck up the conversation.“Hey man, I haven’t seen you around here lately.” I gave him the “I’ve been busy” line. Not missing a beat, he started to stroke and talk dirty again, this time imagining himself as the top, and also beseeching me, yet again, to meet up at another location so we could full-out fuck. Yes, it was hot, but my patience was already being tested by our previous interactions.
And his aggressiveness was getting a little creepy. As luck would have it, a few non-cruisey guys surprised us in the sauna, so I used that as an opportunity to bail. I haven’t really seen him since then. And if and when I do, the plan is still to avoid him. Hooking up with him any more would just egg him on. And he’s already proven himself incapable of understanding that I’m serious about my conviction not to go home with him. Call me old fashioned, but I made an agreement with my boyfriend, and I plan on sticking to it:What happens at the Y, stays at the Y.
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