I have the hornies really bad. It's Friday night, after a long and hard week at the office. I treated myself to a nice dinner, followed by a few beers at my favourite strip joint. Watching these hot ladies gyrating in the altogether makes me realize that I am horny. Really horny. Having been without a steady girlfriend for a while, I haven't got laid in over a month. That's tough on a healthy 30-year-old.
Evening or morning sessions with Rosie Palm and her five sisters have made the deprivation bearable. But tonight, I feel that just releasing the pressure by myself in't an option.
I need someone else's hand on my cock. Hand, then mouth, then pussy.
Trying my luck in a singles bar isn't an option: I need certainty. I don't want to have to face non-existing options at 2 in the morning. I have to have someone take my problem in hand. Soon.
Escorts aren't a solution either. Budget constraints don't allow me to blow $200 to get blown. An affordable rub-and-tug parlour could be an option, but they're raided regularly by the cops and I don't want my bosses to see my face splashed on the cover page of a tabloid next to an explicit caption. Call me publicity-shy if you will.
I decide to leave the strip joint to avoid compounding my sex repression problem with a hangover.
As I am walking towards home, trying to convince myself that whacking off would be a bearable alternative, I come upon a gay bath. "Stars Sauna" read the sign.
I pause. I have been accosted a few times before by gay men. I know I can be attractive to them, even though I consider myself the ultimate straight guy. Well, there had been a few episodes of mutual masturbation with the buddies when I was a teenager. But hey, back then, when glands were hyperactive, such behaviour was OK, right?
My glands are hyperactive tonight.
As I walk inside, I can feel the heat caused by the sexual tension. I read the sign announcing the rates, and manage to muster enough guts to go to the counter and ask "A room, please."
Fifteen bucks later, I have a key, a towel and a condom. I head to the room, hardly noticing any of the guys that I come across as I proceed to my cubicle.
Room 7D. I unlock the door and enter a dimly lit miniature room with a bed, a chair, a table and nothing else. I close the door and take a deep breath. Now's my chance to call the whole thing off, head home fifteen bucks poorer and jerk off.
I stay. I close the door, lock it and take another deep breath. (Let's just say I'll skip the deep breaths from now on. There are just too many.)
Slowly, almost like an automaton, I take my clothes off. Soon, I am naked as a jaybird. I wrap the towel around my hips and venture out of my protective cubicle. Again, I proceed without noticing anything around me. I'm still trying to adjust to the place. The sexual tension is so high that it can be felt.