More than 5 weeks had passed since my last visit, causing my sense of timing to be a bit off. Not only due to eager anticipation, which at times had me riding far too fast, but also due to enjoying a good smoke before leaving. On weekends, the bathhouse opens at 2pm, and parking the motorcycle around 1:50pm meant hanging around for at least a couple of minutes. The bath house opening hours keep me from visiting more often, which is fortunate, since its attractions are impossible to resist, particularly considering how utterly the reality of what happens there replaces pale decades old speculation of what really open group gay sex means.
Though balanced with decades long knowledge of its challenges - apart from the very first visit last fall, I ensure that condoms are always available, if not always precisely when needed, a fact leading to a few missed opportunities that aren't really the sort of missed opportunity that bothers me in the least. Self-discipline isn't too hard in my later 40s, even if the attraction of such male to male sex in middle age has overwhelmed the caution of my youth, a revealing reversal in itself. I truly could care less if anyone finds out, at least when actually getting off - and since all the men there share the same basic interests, there is little worry of any of us exposing what goes on, except when we can't help ourselves from being participants, revealing our shared lust to those best suited to increase and appreciate it.
Though on the other hand, the simple fact that it was almost impossible to restrain myself until an opportunity arose to spend an afternoon at such a sauna certainly indicated that a focused self-discipline isn't the same as being able to keep myself from getting off with a group of naked strangers whenever the chance arises. The bath house experience is truly irresistible, and now, I know why so many were closed in the earlier 1980s, around the time I had first read about them. Which was also the time I had bought my first gay porn mags, always picking those with threesomes or groups. The same time I was buying Rush to get off with my first girlfriend. The same girlfriend that rimmed me after reading about it in the Joy of Gay Sex, having me lay on my back, legs lifted to spread over my head, giving her total access to my ass, which she then tongued, a heavenly sensation.
Ringing at the entrance, my new black helmet in hand (since unlike all my older helmets, it doesn't fit in my saddlebag), I knew this was still probably a couple of minutes too early, then paying admittance and getting a locker key went quickly, ended by opening the door for the next visitor, a heavy set man probably in his mid-20s, with a baseball cap.
Sitting at the bar, the cold beer was a nice accompaniment to simply looking around, the sun pouring into the space. The day was nice, if not quite warm and still enough to enjoy spending time at the local nude lake, as I had told my wife, who had something scheduled for that afternoon with her choir.
Everything was gleaming, as another person finished cleaning the glass door to the outdoor area, with its small bubbling fountains and greenery, a couple of recliners, along with a discrete roof arrangement to preserve privacy from the apartment buildings in the area. I was the only customer sitting at the bar at this point, along with the one staff person in his customary white shorts and t-shirt, and a couple of other men in street clothes, including the person doing the last cleaning.
About half finished with my beer, I turned around to see that the free Internet PC was being used by the man I had opened the door for. I upstairs, which was empty except for one man stroking his erect cock in the porn theater area, his towel on the broad bench. I watched for a bit, but the porn on the screen held no appeal at all. Of all the areas in the bath house, the theater room somehow remains the least appealing in general to me, though it is well designed, with three broad tiers of 'seating,' providing lots of comfortable space to get off with other men.
I went to the now expected to be empty darkroom, then into one of the private rooms to do a first hit of poppers, another more than nostalgic vice. Technically, today's not so little brown bottle contained a mixture called Jungle Juice, but the effect is essentially the same, especially considering how the contents have evolved over the years.
Breathing out, then going down to spiraling steps to the basement, I looked in at the whirlpool. With a small but very recent bandaged cut on my big toe, I had already decided that a jacuzzi experience was not really desirable, but the excessively bubbling fountain again convinced me to avoid the place on own its merits. I walked into the steamroom, which was empty. And surprisingly dry, compared to my last experience entering it around opening. After a few minutes, it was fairly clear that on this sunny early fall Sunday, my timing had been a bit off. Going back upstairs to the bar, I ordered a second beer, knowing that this meant spending at least another hour here before riding home. And also only the second time that I had done this - getting drunk is not smart when riding, and equally so when getting off with a group of turned on strangers.
Emptying the glass, the same guy was still at the Internet PC, so I went back upstairs, did another hit from my little brown bottle, now returning to the basement steambath. That was still empty, and still fairly dry without being too hot. A quite enjoyable experience, much more like a truly hot and humid southern day in Virginia or Alabama, particularly the feel of the cool bench and wall compared to the heat of what the steam bath would possess soon enough.
After a while alone, I stepped back outside, rewrapped my towel, put on my glasses, grabbed my black bag with the condoms and jungle juice bottle, and went up the spiral staircase, then walked outside. I enjoy being nude, and wearing nothing but a towel in 'public' feels almost unbearably nude in a way that actual nudity doesn't. Much more erotic, much like the way that several older girlfriends have talked about when going out without panties while wearing a skirt. A feeling I knew to be real at the time, having played with a truly sopping wet pussy, or seeing the wetness left where they had been sitting in public, after having already enjoyed their scent.
