Tuesday, Feb. 05, 2002 - 10:23 p.m.
Just Watch: Me

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As I boarded the subway Monday after work, I couldn’t help but notice a young dirty-blond-haired guy getting on too. A quiet glow to his lovely pale face. Swooning, I sat right beside where he stood. I chose badly; to gaze upon him, I would have to obviously—and uncomfortably—crane my neck around. Oh well.

Then I noticed something even more interesting.

Across from me in a two-seater sat a boyfriend and girlfriend, hands entwined. Two beautiful people in their early twenties. She was distractedly staring out the window. He—slightly coiffed light brown hair, bee-stung lips—was gawking at the pale-faced guy beside me, desire smoldering in his dark brown eyes.

Intrigued, I watched the staring boy joined to the girl. His eyes did the most amazing things. As he peered at the dirty-blond guy, they moistened; his pupils dilated. And every three seconds, he would break his rapt gaze to peek guiltily at his girlfriend. Oblivious, she continued looking blurrily out the window. His emboldened eyes would return again to glisten at the beautiful man.

This ocular cycle happened over and over and over again as the subway rumbled along the track. In desire, his eyes danced; in fear, they shrank back.

Then the quiet, glowing guy—no doubt unaware of the drama his beauty provoked—got off the subway.

The boyfriend nudged his girlfriend out of her reverie; he tightened his grip on her hand. They started making small-talk.

As they chatted, the young man caught me staring. I darted my eyes away. For the remaining few minutes of the ride, I averted my gaze.

Because I remembered how frightening it once was—being recognized.

Enjoying The Views

The sauna at the gym was hopping last night. Teeming. There were two or three guys in there when I arrived. Then this shorter, smooth guy—probably about my age—walked in with shaved, jumbo genitalia. He sat near me. He cruised the guy on his left, then began eyeing me as he cupped his big balls in one hand.

In spite of myself, I started sprouting. He wasn’t that good looking; his appeal was that kind of almost-over-the-hill nastiness that doesn’t usually work for me. But there was something about his brashness, the matter-of-fact way he squeezed his dick as he met your eye that got a rise out of me.

Somebody had doused the sauna-apparatus-thingey on the wall with water; the steam was filling up the room, an opaque fog that poached. It got so misty, I began fantasizing that the brazen Shorter Smooth Guy would actually reach out and touch me, suck my dick.

Such imaginings did little to nip my bud, let me tell ya.

We were then joined by a luscious, tall brunette I’d been eyeing up in the work-out room. He looked even better without clothes. Big thick dick swinging as he hopped up on the ledge and sat between me and Shorter Smooth Guy. Six-pack abs, thighs for days. I was not surprised that SSG immediately transferred his attention onto this young buck; I did too.

It got too hot in there—in more ways than one—so I adjourned to the shower. Here’s a diagram to help you visualize the rest of the story.

A wall (with a doorless passageway in the middle) splits the shower area into two rooms; there are shower nozzles along both sides of the wall.

Anyway, as you can see, I stood under a nozzle in the corner of the inner shower room. Moments later, Young Buck was at the nozzle right beside me. Lucky me! He paid me no attention; his back turned, he fixed his eyes on Shorter Smooth Guy, kitty corner across the passageway in the Outer Shower Area. This, of course, afforded me a perfect view of his butt.

Oh my fucking god. Can we say ‘Rear Admirable’, boys and girls?

I continued my shower, agog, thinking, Second-hand gratification isn’t so bad.

And then he turned around. Checked me out. Let me see what he’d been showing off to Shorter Smooth Guy.

Big thick delicious-looking hard-on, dangling—no, throbbing—downwards. It looked heavy. Boy, did I want to lighten his load!

His impish eyes assessed whether his show was having any affect on me. It was. Then he turned back to stare intently at SGG. Soon they both headed back to the sauna.

I thought about leaving at that point. But I couldn’t. I was crazed, I tell you. Crazed.

Wagging my hard-on in hot pursuit of this candy, I was breathless, ready for whatever fomentation—first-hand, second-hand, it-didn’t-fucking-matter-what-hand—the big-dicked boy might toss my way. I’d watch the two of them go at it, ignoring me completely; I’d join in; I’d bide my time for a moment—and hopefully a grope or two—alone with Young Buck; I’d do anything.

I arrived to a sauna swollen with men. There must have been ten guys in there. Young Buck sat beside SGG, his big lap covered up with a towel; they exchanged horny, frustrated glances. As far as me—the new arrival—went, it was standing room only. So I headed back to my locker after all. To calm down; to catch my breath; to revel.

What can I say? Lust’s eruptions beguile me: the body’s brief surges, our waves of joyous flesh.