2001-08-11 - 6:46 p.m.
Spunky Recount

Spunky Recount

Well the boys are cumming over in an hour so I’ve got till then to catch up on my sex life. Something tells me that, after tonight’s third helping of Dan and Steve, my adventures from last weekend shall be old news.

What do I want to say about my trysts, comminglings and near-misses from last weekend? Hmm…

The sauna at the YMCA gym was as cruisy as ever. But each time, there was no opportunity for any dyadic naughtiness; the sauna had at least three or four guys in it at any one time. Everybody was ogling everybody else, but no one made a move.

(I’m sure there must be at least one non-bi-curious straight guy who works out there? I’ve yet to see him.)

No, the bathhouse was where I did my acting out. It being Gay Pride weekend, it was packed on Thursday and Saturday, the two nights I visited. So I couldn’t get a room, had to settle for a locker.

The first night I had a lovely conversation with an older black guy after exchanging interested, not-quite-sure glances all evening. He was visiting from the States, originally from the deep south. He was a bit too paunchy for my liking, but after talking to him for five minutes, I wanted him big-time. Dark dark brown eyes; hurt me. Trouble was, neither of us had a room. So we sat there in the middle of the busy lounge, driving each other crazy with naughty gazes and whispered fantasies. It was luscious.

I nearly fell over when he told me he was 48. Forty-eight! I love that I’m becoming attracted to older guys, and to guys whose bodies—at first glance—don’t light my fire. There is definitely some interesting evolution in my taste.

Then I was in the steam room and this pudgy blonde guy came onto me and I wasn’t sure I was into him but he was so eager—in such a boyish way—that I couldn’t resist his advances. Then we kissed and I went straight to heaven. He tasted so damned good. Within a few minutes he’d jerked and sucked me off to an orgasm vociferous enough to interrupt the various comminglings around us. One naked bystander even cheered.

Later that night I hooked up with a 25 year old black guy, visiting from the same nearby American city. He was a babe! Not classically gorgeous or anything, but cute and friendly. A tall guy. He asked me what I was into; as long-time readers will know, I hate that question. In explaining that sex, for me, is not about a series of “tab A/slot B” activities, I piqued his curiosity and was immediately invited back to his room.

I could have chewed on his full lips for hours. As it was, I got a good twenty minutes of chewy kissing and licking and sucking. He was interestingly aggressive, at various points pinning me up against the wall (facing it or facing him, depending on his mood), and once picking me up in his big arms and twirling me roughly around the room. Hot.

Then he said he had to pee. Then he came back and said his tummy was upset, that he was borderline lactose intolerant and had something for dinner that disagreed with him. “I was having a great time,” he said, “But I better lie down for a bit.”

So that was that. Oh well. I questioned myself, wondered whether he’d simply not been into me the way I’d been into him; if so, he sure faked his interest pretty good.

And then I just let it go: I was in a bathouse, an erotic smorgasbord. Didn’t matter.

Then I went home.

(Running out of time here…)

Saturday night was interesting too. It all started in the whirlpool when this Latino-looking dude struck up a conversation with me and then grabbed my dick under the water. He was a pudgy Puerto Rican from Arizona, and we put on quite a show in the Jacuzzi room for the three or four other bathers. Neither of us had rooms, but we adjourned to one of the darkened labyrinth rooms. Interesting that as I was licking and chewing and sucking him, I noticed his eyes so attentive to whoever was walking by. I imagined he was surveying the crowd for someone more appealing than me. Then he said, “It’s too crowded; I’m self-conscious with all these guys walking by.”

I didn’t believe him, choosing to believe my own self-critical version of his departure. And damned if he didn’t keep returning to me all night, friendly as all get-out, always stopping to talk and fondle me. So I guess he was telling me the truth eh?

A bathhouse is about uncomplicated sex, yes, but the space is also great for testing out and working through neuroses.

I gravitated often towards the steam room where all manner of sweaty communion unfolded. Mostly I just watched, but one humpy fellow with a gargantuan hard-on let me slurp on it for a minute or two. Then one time I saw the cute Asian boy from the Y’s shower wander in. Or at least I thought it was him; it was pretty dark in there. Excitedly, I tapped him on his bare shoulder, said “Are you staying at the Y?”

He looked me up and down, then laughed. “No,” he said, then reached his hands up and caressed my naked chest.

Mistaken identity can get you laid, eh?

He invited me back to his room; I accepted. What happened next was fascinating. Let’s call him Donny. Donny went nuts when he saw my nipples by the better light in his room. That enthusiasm transmitted into the best, gentlest most erotic nipple-attention I’ve received in a long long while. Wow.

And what I saw in the better light of his room was that he wasn’t particularly my type. But not not my type either. The whole light and shadow thing.

Meanwhile, he was so into my body that it wasn’t long before I was ready to cum. He said he didn’t want to get me off that soon, unless, of course, I wanted to cum that soon.

“Well to be honest,” I said, honestly, “It’s so rare that a guy can actually make me cum…”

So he did and it was absolutely incredible.

Then we lay there chatting and cuddling for about an hour. A really sweet, interesting guy. And get this: Donny is 42! In the light, he looked older than the young cutie from the shower, but I’d have pegged him to be around my age.

Anyway, he gave me his number and said he hoped I’d call him once I move there. Cool.

And the fascinating part for me is, I’m not really interested in having sex with him again. Unless he wants to “do me” like he did that night. Because he “does me” with extreme acumen, let me tell you.

So I think, under those circumstances, it’s better to leave well enough alone. I do intend to touch base with him once I arrive there in three weeks, but I also don’t want to lead him on. I did love cuddling with him though.

The other interesting thing about my tryst with Donny was that immediately after I said goodnight to him, a throb of Dionysian energy blasted through my body. I felt raunchier than I had all weekend long.

There’s something about tender, companionate sex that triggers that Bacchanalian juice inside me.

These few bathhouse encounters were intriguing. But watching was even more so. I saw so much—so many hot or otherwise interesting men—and it was the watchful aspect of my experience that made the deepest impact.

Unfortunately, I don’t have the time now to recount any of my voyeuristic exploits. Suffice it to say that my eyes were busy. And happy.

There is some intriguing shift occurring in my erotic consciousness. I can detect it beneath the surface of my recent experiences. I don’t know how to describe what’s unfolding.

But I like it. Sex is fun, and Eros flows through and stretches the insides of me.

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