October is the month, two years ago, I first went through this particular bathhouse entrance. The following months and seasons have seen me return numerous times, only rarely not able to spend time having sex with another man or men. And on some of these visits, experiencing some of the most erotic times of life, far beyond the fantasies of my youthful imagination in the late 70s.
Practice has led to a simple streamlining of the process, changing out of street clothes in the locker room to enter an explicitly male only space. A space that, not coincidentally, offers various places to enjoy explicitly male sex.
This process includes drinking a cold beer, generally while sitting at the curved counter space, able to see the foyer through the half height blocked space used for collecting the admission charge. Today, only a couple of people entered while I drank. Seeing men entering while watching from within, knowing any of them could be someone I would be having sex with is just another part of the process.
Including making an honest statement to myself of the reason for being here. Generally, honesty has served me well, and a bathhouse visit is certainly no reason to abandon that approach. Such as always wearing my wedding ring. If someone doesn't want to have sex with a married man, I see no reason for deception, for example (admittedly, this concerns seems much greater among women).
But honest is not quite the same thing as being recognized, something that likely only happened here once, in a context where having a wedding ring made no difference. A reason I sit on a bar stool, wearing nothing but a towel, is simply to get a better feel of how many people are arriving, and whether in couples or clumps, a very basic step in entering the rhythms which flow through a bathhouse.
The man that appeared was tall and slim, roughly my age, with almost certainly dyed black hair. He was one of the service managers at the dealership where we had bought our car, meaning he had dealt with me and wife, separately and together, over several years. Oddly, based on my virtual lack of gaydar use (gaydar is completely unnecessary at a bathhouse), something had clicked on its screen the first couple of times we had interacted, then disappeared.
From my viewpoint, sitting at the bar with a half finished beer, torso naked, he seemed quite surprised. My reaction was likely better controlled than his, almost embarrassing in its way. Being recognized provided a couple of insights. Assuming that it had been someone known, since I did not see him during the rest of my visit. A visit likely mainly spent in the steambath, probably sucking one or more cocks, being sucked by one or more men in turn, and touching as many cocks as were available, while letting anyone who wanted to to touch mine. Along with enjoying nipple play, and male tongues licking and kissing.
The deepest insight then was that having sex with total strangers totally turns me on in a way that having sex with a man I know can't - at least in a male only setting. (The number of fantasies involving my wife and any man makes no distinction between knowing them or not.) Cocks make men sexy, and cocks are definitely offered at the bathhouse, mine just like everyone else's. Group sex with strangers is fantastically arousing, submerging in a sea of sex.
The second insight was in recognizing that privacy is highly prized among bathhouse visitors, at least ones that aren't arriving together. After that first startled reaction, we maintained a discrete lack of awareness, as he received his towel and locker key.
The third insight was that what attracts me to men is their cocks, and what essentially attracts other men to me is the same thing, in the end - at least in a male only steambath, or a darkroom. Here, it is really isn't about the person, the subject is straightforward sex - and that I love being straightforward.
Today, it didn't take long to finish my beer, followed by going up the spiral staircase, mainly to see if any good porn was playing in the theater space. This visit, much like my first, was without any Rush, the little brown bottle no longer able to provide its magical boost. Even after using a freezer and keeping it in an airtight container, there comes a time when something like Jungle Juice loses its ferocious power.
Its lack wasn't a complete disappointment, the bathhouse continuing to lack much in the way of interesting porn. Though some of the decorations - pictures, reliefs, carvings - are surprisingly erotic, including one relief of two men, Asian, apparently monks, quite different in age, hands beneath each other's opened robes, and another which looks like a scene of men at work, until its details become more apparent.
Most gay porn lacks such magnetic appeal, and at this sauna, there are only two choices available at any one time, either on the large screen or in one of the two mirrored booths, each playing the same porn on the angled monitor. Not that getting hard to arousing gay porn is difficult, it is just the available amount with that effect is essentially hit or miss, unless it includes groups of men.
Reaching the top, I decided to check the extensive dark area, though it is almost always empty. Standing at the one of its thresholds, it made sense to let my eyes adjust before entering. Taking a couple of tentative steps, faints sounds seemed to be coming from the large bed area - a wide, fan shaped expanse of well padded space, big enough to easily hold a dozen men, with at least half that number able to stand along edge of the platform, at an ideal height for easy access, as I knew from the past.
It was here that a stranger rimmed me for what felt like an eternity of pleasure, a stranger tempting and teasing me until I had moved to kneel over his face, kissing his cock, unable to do anything but let him keep rimming me. There were other men around, and some part of me recognized that I had played with several hard cocks, before hearing a wrapper being opened, then doing down on a reclining man, filling my mouth with a stranger's rigid rod while another totally unseen man continued to practice pure gay magic on my asshole.
I had only been rimmed a couple of times, several decades ago, by a girlfriend that had read about it in the early 80s Gay Joy Of Sex. Feeling a man's cock pump its cum while stroking the cock of the man that was licking my ass was even more gay than she likely could have imagined then, and an incredible sexual sensation.
In the present, alive with a tingling awareness that anything was possible, stretching out a hand to follow the wall, I turned the corner into the broad space, unsure of what was going on. It began to sound like at least a couple were already enjoying themselves. Not everyone is interested in group sex, and the space has generally been empty of the past couple of years, but I was becoming too horny to be concerned about such minor concerns.
At the edge of the open platform, near the end of the wall, slowly reaching out, my right hand touched a foot towards the center and rear. This provided the information I needed to sit against the wall, unwrap my towel, preparing for whatever arose in the darkness.
