2001-01-26 - 21:34:23
Priapic Triptych

Priapic Triptych

I. The Beautiful Mirror Is Broken

I had occasion to be downtown this afternoon. After my appointment, I wandered into the mall. You know, the mall with the cruisey men's room.

I wandered down the long corridor, past the phone booths, through the first of two doors into the washroom. Continued up the long pathway to the second entrance. I was inside. The quietness reeked of illicit sex, suddenly stilled. Three of the four stalls were occupied; no one was at the urinals. It occurred to me that I did, in fact, have to pee. I did so, in the wheelchair stall.

Cubicle cruising did not particularly appeal; I thought I would just leave. As I washed my hands at the sink, the mirror reflected furious hand-pumping through the wee door-slit of the nearest stall. "Wow, he's brazen," thought I. All I could make out was the clenched hand, up and down and up and down. It had to be attached to some unattractive man, I concluded.

I wandered over to his stall, tentatively peeked through the crack. There perched a beautiful boy, perhaps 17 or 18. Blonde streaks through wavy gelled hair, jeans crumpled around his ankles, a sleeveless wine sweater hugging his slim torso. Fiendishly jerking his lovely dick.

I was powerless over my glomming. My mind raced, blood rushed to my dick, and I needed nothing other than to watch.

But then I noticed his eyes. His beautiful brown eyes. A cold shameful blur pooled there. They never once met mine, that guilt-wracked stare trained dully on my crotch. Those desperate, lifeless eyes chilled me; my crotch spasms persisted, but I could not avert my eyes from the contactlessness of his face.

"You're beautiful," I wanted to say. "You're okay. What you want is nothing to be ashamed of. There's more out there than this. This is just a game, a lark, a quick whimsy. Please believe me, there's more!"

Two men walked in. I returned to the sinks, washed my hands again. As I left, one of the men leered in at the beautiful numb boy.

II. Delirious Gag

After Chinese food and a cigarette downstairs in the food court, I returned to the washroom. Again, three of the four stalls were silently occupied. No bathroom sounds to be heard. Again, I went to the far stall, the large one for wheelchairs. Removed my coat, plunked down on the toilet. Waited.

The blue tiled wall refracted some curious motion in the stall next to me. I assumed he was unattractive. What the hell was I doing here?

I began to make out his reflection; he bobbed his head this way and that, craning to get a glimpse of me. I gasped as his face crystallized for a moment on the tile-mirror; a stunning brunette, perhaps 27, resembling a young Tom Cruise. I began piquing my dick; my legs spasmed. What would happen next?

Perhaps he too gleaned enough of a look at me to take the next step; he extended his upturned palm under the bottom of the metal wall between us, began groping at the air. Oh my fucking god, I thought.

I kneeled down astride his big hand; he palmed me and jerked me for a minute. I shoved my hand over into his space. He pulled his hand back, and soon his knees appeared under the divide. He squirmed to position himself and then--muscled, slightly-hairy thighs splayed out on the floor--a gargantuan cock periscoped up into view. I scrunched down, inhaled that porno-dick as I milked his balls and caressed his smooth warm butt.

This was risky pleasure. Were a security guard to come in, no doubt enough of our entanglement would be visible to get us caught. As I chomped ecstatically, I didn't really care; but after a swooning minute or two, Mr. Big withdrew.

I stood up, throbbing and dizzy. Began to stroke my own dick, sensed I could cum in ten seconds flat. I saw that Mr. Big too was standing up, all 6 feet or more of him: he looked overtop the wall on the other side of him, glanced back at me a couple times; then he exited his stall to peer into the far one. Others came in at that point, and he wandered out.

I departed soon after, walked four miles to the gym. My knees stopped buckling within a few blocks, but that gleeful throb remains, still, at my throat.

III. Smorgasbords Have Etiquette

The sauna was crowded today. As I made my way through the hot damp room, I checked out the men. There, talking with a buddy, was the pudgy guy with the tremendously fat cock I'd noticed swaggering in the shower minutes before. Everyone had towels around their waists; I kept mine on too as I sat down beside an older, paunchy guy.

As my eyes adjusted to the light, I noted a speedo-clad Asian cutie at the far end of my bench: swimmer's build, pale smooth skin. Ignoring the masculine chatter, I honed in on him. When he got up to leave, he shot me a curious glance; as I thought about how to take that look, I couldn't help but gawk at his bubble-butt.

I hit the shower minutes later. This gym's shower is wide-open--no private stalls--but bisected by a wall. I always select whichever of the two rooms has the hottest guys, so I veered into the closest one, watched two young studs soap themselves up. I noted that neither lovely gent was all that well hung, that my desire to ravish them was not diminished in the slightest.

Once I'd washed my hair, I stepped over to the "towelling-off" area, began to do just that. My position afforded me a splendid view of both shower rooms. Ah, there was the pretty Speedo boy from the sauna! Speedo-less, he caught my glance and returned it, an impish half-grin spreading over his face. I was dimly aware of a handful of other guys showering around him, and there he was making eyes at me without the slightest hesitation. Rivulets of soap tonguing down his back, disappearing between those amazing buttocks.

His grin seemed to say to me, "Hey, meet me outside, we'll go back to my dorm." Or something like that, something qualitatively different from the usual furtive cruise. I towelled off a lot longer than was necessary, processing all this. The beautiful Asian speedo-less boy and I continued to gleam at one another.

And all of a sudden, I noticed one of the other naked men showering there. Oh my fucking God! Would you look at that dick?? Does he have a hard-on? No, it's hanging loose, all ten or eleven inches of it. Hmm, some guys dangle when fully erect. And what an attention-seeking shave job! His whole body is covered in fur, and that bald circle around his humongous genitalia beckons like a neon sign. Good lord! What a fabulous penis. Is he queer? Does he want my attention? He's not meeting my eyes, but there's a definite exhibitionist hue to his face. I'm going to pass out here.

Oops, where was I?

I finally glanced back over at Speedo Boy, watched him watching me watch Monster-Dick. He looked sad, even scorned. He never met my eyes again; I stood there waiting, eager to resume our ocular dance. To impress upon him--what??--that I wanted him too. But no. I'd blown it; whatever "it" might have been.

Dicks animate me; there is no one way to answer their call.

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