2000-11-16 - 23:22:37
Unrequital, The Teacher

Unrequital, The Teacher

The bathhouse was not abuzz last night. Go figure: the last time I'd been there was on a weekend.

My brother Ryan was exhausted, flu-ish, and jetlagged so after a great visit, he opted for an early night. Thus I arrived at the bathhouse, alone, at 10 pm. Checked into my wee room, piled my clothes on the bedside dresser, stashed my lube and condoms in the top drawer, folded the white towel in half--to show off more thigh--and wrapped it around me.

I began with a dip in the hot tub. Couldn't get the jets to turn on. Initially alone, within minutes I was joined by a portly older fellow and an Asian man. Bathhouse chit-chat ensued; they couldn't get the jets working either. Our nakedness was translucent under the stilled water. Soon, no one was speaking. The greying, hairy man eyed me lasciviously. The Asian guy began to fondle himself under the water. Uncomfortable, I stopped looking at either one of them.

Thankfully, at that moment I spotted a delicious young Asian guy across the way, changing into his towel at a locker. He cruised me intently as he peeled off his clothes. I left the two gents alone, dried myself off while they watched.

Within ten minutes, the cute Asian guy and I were in my room. Jian, 30, was a hairdresser. Deep brown eyes. Soft black hair, boyishly bobbing. My hands first went for that lustrous bob. Then his soft smooth cheeks; I couldn't keep my hands--and later, my tongue--off his pretty face.

Various raptures ensued. Jian tasted as good as he looked. As if devouring chicken off a wing, I nibbled his armpits; he writhed and moaned.

His asshole tasted like God.

We kissed and kissed and kissed. Jian kept lobbing balls of spit into my mouth.

We tasted noses. I licked between his toes. I fucked him. He warned me that he was really tight.

"You say that like it's a bad thing," said I.

The innovative positions his body concocted bent my hard-on this way and that. Some angles were better than others; by the end, my dick was sore.

When we'd both sprayed my belly, Jian asked what time it was. It was 11:40 pm. He was supposed to be somewhere--home, presumably--by 11. Quick but fond goodbye.

My evening was off to a great start.

During the 90 minutes I'd been indisposed, the bathhouse had become a bit busier. Various hunks and cuties wandered up and down the dingy corridors, congregated in the jacuzzi tubs.

The ubiquitous mirrors told me how tired I was. I did not look my best. They also reported--or was this just my imagination?--that my tummy slouched more than last time. How many more sit-ups would be required, god dammit?

Older men--whom I did not desire--cruised me. Beautiful, younger men--whom I did--avoided my eyes. This went on for a couple hours. I traipsed up and down and up and down the hallways, huffily ignoring the undesirables, and greeting each hottie with eager hopefulness which quickly froze into resentment when my gaze was not returned.

A bathhouse--or any public sex venue--can be a magical playground; it is also, for me at least, a fabulous place to mull.

It hit me, what I was doing. I was dishing out the same cold attitude to the men who wanted me that I was getting from the yummy men who didn't. As I continued my prowl, a knowing smile broke through onto my face. My inner dialogue deepened; I began to open myself to fresh experiences.

A cute Latino-looking fellow said hello to me as he stumbled, still dressed, to his room. He was a bit drunk and a lot cute. I waited until he changed, followed him around for a bit. At one point I sat down in one of the corner lounges, watched him watching porn. On the TV screen, one hottie slept on his belly while his friend--taking care not to awaken him--pulled off the covers and played with the sleeping beauty's jockstrap, caressed and began licking his butt. This scene really worked for me, and also--obviously--for the Latino guy: his erection was clearly visible under the towel, pointing upwards to his belly-button. Then he shifted a bit, spread his legs a bit, the towel gaped open a bit, and that woody jutted to the left. Any electric second, it would pop right out. I sat there silently, two seats away, watching his eyes glued to the screen, his dick twitching against that white white towel.

Then he got up and walked away.

Dizzy with lust, I throbbed under my own towel, began to connect with pockets of Eros everywhere around me. Not so much needing sex, now, as to participate, to assert my right to be here in this space with all my body flaws and my horny big heart.

I crossed paths several more times with the Latino guy; he was not interested in having sex, that was obvious, but he would always smile in a friendly way.

I sat down in the other TV room--where some silly WW II movie was playing--and struck up a conversation with another of the studs who'd previously failed to cruise me back: a late 30's massively-built guy. With each friendly to-and-fro of our conversation, I softened out of my pouty mask. It was okay to be here, to be myself in this mazing space on an evening--luscious Jian aside--of mismatched desire.

I watched a sexy, muscled skinhead arrive, cruise me and every man he passed on his way to his room. He soon emerged in a towel under which swang a massive bulge; I watched him poke his nose into every open-doored room, opting for the darkest one. There is no possible way he could have discerned what the inhabitant looked like before he shut that door behind him. Later, I saw him again, looking more relaxed. He shed the towel--humongous dick at half-mast--to take a quick shower before exiting the bathhouse altogether.

He'd been in and out in thirty minutes, tops.

An older man, probably mid-sixties, followed me around off and on throughout the evening. At first I'd frozen him out, pretending not to hear him softly call out "Hey, there's 'handsome' again" whenever I'd walk by. Once I got grounded, I began to smile back at him, say thanks. My gratitude emboldened him, and he offered me a blowjob. I warmly declined.

I thought, The capacity to create queer community is utterly related to how we navigate one-sided lust. I wondered, Can our communication of erotic disinterest not be tenderized?

I noticed another new guy, perhaps 40 but youthfully olive-skinned and smooth and hunky, alone in the jacuzzi. He smiled at me as I walked by. I joined him in there. Our small talk revolved around the jets not working. He seemed nervous, a bit drunk, and definitely attracted to me. I watched his dick spring up between his legs. I began to drool.

Then we were joined by that same older Asian man who'd been in the jacuzzi earlier. My olive-skinned man rolled his eyes, smiled at me awkwardly. The Asian man was friendly enough, but I wanted to kill him for interrupting us. Especially when he began playing with himself again. I kept stealing glances at Mr. Olive-Skin, his bobbing dick; I hoped the Asian man would leave.

Instead, the olive-skinned man left abruptly without looking at me again. I jumped out minutes later, but couldn't find him for a while. When I did locate him on his way out of the steam room, his initial friendliness had vanished. Responding to my greeting dismissively, he ignored me from then on.

Meanwhile, some deeper vibe continued to hum away inside. A quick inventory: the main reason I was here was because I'd planned the bathhouse expedition (alongside my visit with Ryan) in advance, not because of in the moment raunchy desire or playfulness. I was tired. I did not feel horny.

And, recognition that as recently as a year ago, a series of "rejections" like this would have sent me into a compulsive tailspin. I would not have been able to leave the bathhouse without getting off with some attractive fellow. I would have stayed right to the bitter end, sinking deeper and deeper into a shame-ridden bind.

At about 3 am, I simply decided that enough was enough. By no means had the evening been a write-off, but neither had it been the skanky festival I'd hoped for.

I dressed, strode through the bathhouse, handed in my key, got my $5 deposit back. Had the attendant call me a cab.

As I headed up the stairs out into the night, a stunningly-gorgeous young man was leaving the basement bar lounge which adjoins the bathhouse. Outside, he asked me for a cigarette. Saucy brown eyes beckoned me into them as I lit his smoke. Naturally-curly hair, lickable tanned face. A babe.

"So," I said, "Why weren't you in there wandering around in a towel?"

He explained that he doesn't do the bathhouse scene. He'd just gotten off work, had simply stopped in for a drink.

"You're cute," he said. "And I'm really horny." Pause. "What are you up to now?"

My dick lurching to attention in my pants, I said I was on my way back to my hotel room. "And you?"

He said he was on his way home, just around the corner.

Once it was clarified that I shared my hotel room with a sleeping brother, and that he could not bring me back to his apartment because of his roommate, we stood there, smoking, in the frosty air. More authentic naughtiness ricocheted between us in those few moments than had transpired all evening.

Here was erotic energy. Here were two brazen boys on the same wavelength.

"Actually," this sweet young man added, "I'm not really thinking 'sex'."

"Oh?" I said. "What are you thinking?"

"To be honest, I am in the mood to 'chow down' on a pair of nice buns." His naughty eyes gleamed at me. "What's your butt like?"

Laughingly, from that grounded place a few hours of mismatched desire had inculcated, I said I didn't think my butt was my best feature. "It's alright, I suppose. A typical 34 year old male butt."

"Oh well," he said, with a smile. While my response had potentially killed any sexual prospect--venue issues aside--something deeper, yet still raunchy and erotic, kept us standing there gazing at one another.

Quoting myself, I pronounced, "Well, lust is a cruel whimsy, eh?"

The boy's eyes danced. A connect. "A cruel whimsy indeed!"

"Fuck," I said. "You are so cute!"

"Too bad it's not summer," he said. "We could go off into some dark alleyway or something."

My taxi pulled up. The curly-haired hottie and I shook hands. As I walked towards the cab, he called out from behind me, "Hey, your butt looks great! I don't know what you were talking about."

My hand on the car door, I glanced back at him, impishly. "Oh, so does this mean you've changed your mind?"

He giggled, said no, he better go home and sleep. As I got in the taxi, he walked off into the dark, turning around twice to look back at me expectantly.

Those eyes told me I could have followed. I could have.

Instead, my heart singing, I returned to the hotel, crawled in my own empty bed beside my brother sleeping in his.

Brimming over.

Aroused.

Awed by desire's fabulous dipsy-doodles.

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