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Farewell To The Mountain Men
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Tom Prescott had heard of gay baths—places where men went for quick anonymous sex—but he'd never expected to be wandering through one, naked except for the towel wrapped around his waist.
The clerk had said it was unusually crowded, even for a Friday night. There were definitely a lot of guys everywhere—lounging in the pool area, flirting in the gym, getting playful in the showers, retreating to tiny private cubicles, or plunging into the big dark room furnished with a few beds.
Tom was in his mid-20s and built like a football player with buzz-cut blond hair. He'd strolled through the whole facility, trying not to gawk. The thin towel didn't do much to conceal his partial hard-on as he walked down the dimly lit hall to the big room at its end.
Two weeks ago, Tom had taken time away from his dead-end job in the city and his girlfriend, who'd lost interest in sex. He'd gone to the Rugged Mountains for the afternoon and gotten lost. As night was falling and a snowstorm was approaching, he'd found his way to Clint Hardwick's camp.
Tom was straight, but he'd been instantly attracted to Clint. The attraction was mutual. The sexual tension between the two men built to a fiery explosion of raw man-on-man sex. That had been great, but then Clint had brought in his lusty Mountain Men friends.
The group sex had bothered him. Maybe it was just Catholic guilt, but multiple partners diluted the one-on-one intensity that sex should create.
He hadn't been able to decide if he belonged with the Mountain Men, or back in the city. So, he'd gone back to his shitty job as a convenience store manager and to his girlfriend. She'd fucked his brains out, but then told him she was dumping him for a woman.
He'd tried a hetero singles bar, but realized he wasn't ready for another woman. Then, he'd picked up a man in a gay bar. That had been fun, but unsatisfyingly brief, because the guy had to get home to his wife. Now, he was here at the baths, looking for plain old uncomplicated sex . . .
A BIG black man was standing outside the room's entrance. He was tall—at least 6' 4"—and muscular, with a barrel chest and arms and legs to match. He was a few pounds overweight, but he carried it well. His tightly-trimmed beard was a darker shadow on his chocolate face. He watched Tom approach, smiling at the growing bulge in his towel.
Just before Tom reached him, the big man whipped off his towel, revealing his massive cock. Even soft, it was amazingly long and thick. He walked into the dark room and let the door swing shut behind him.
Tom wished he could take that man home, or at least to one of the private rooms. But that Stud had gone in there—into the dark with a lot of other men. Horny men.
Suddenly excited, he tore the towel off, exposing the towering boner rising from his thick forest of dark blond pubic hair, then opened the door and stepped over the threshold.
He hesitated, startled at the sight of his imagination made real in the dim light from the corridor. Men. Lots of men. Men masturbating. Men jacking each other off. Men sucking cock and fucking ass. On the beds and on the floor, standing up, lying down . . .
"Hey!" someone called. "Close the door!"
