biwords
Aug 16, 2007, 10:55 PM
[warning: coarse content]
I had a doctor’s appointment today and took some pride at arriving five minutes ahead of what I'd believed was the scheduled time, 1:00 p.m. The doc congratulated me on my newfound punctuality but pointed out that I was in fact two hours early. Yes, I’d fgotten it wrong, and as a result, hadn’t brought any work with me.
What to do? Why, hit the bathhouse, of course, for my second-ever visit. This would mean buying some lube at Condom Shack no later than 1:15, arriving at SpaExcess (which supplies free condoms, if you were wondering) no later than 1:30, showering and then having sex of some kind by 2:30, showering again and leaving by 2:45, and arriving back at the doc’s ten minutes later.
I should explain that I have almost never had a one-night stand and that virtually all the sex I’ve ever had has been in the context of real relationships – you know, the ones where at a minimum you know the other party’s name (and in practice, a lot more).
That said, the ‘game’ element in my little mission appealed to me. And I thought it would make an interesting forum thread, too. How's that for dedication? Christiane Amanpour can pose in front of burning tanks, surely I can do a little investigative reporting for my friends at bisexual.com?
So off I went. Paid $15 for my towel and key and was at my locker by 1:35. Disrobed, donned my bathtowel, and prepared a small bag containing my watch (essential!), condoms, lube and locker key. Then realized that I was in the wrong locker. Moved my stuff to the correct locker, in the course of which all my loose change spilled out over the locker room floor. Not good. Gathered it up, moved it to the correct locker. Decided my shirt was going to get crumpled in the locker, moved it from the bottom to the top of the heap. In doing so, knocked the loose change out of the locker again. Gathered it up. A fellow patron pointed out some subway tokens I”d missed. Got those too. Now at least five minutes behind. Showered. Looked in the whirlpool. Interesting black guy, but he left as I was toweling myself off.
Couldn’t be picky, given the time-frame. Went upstairs to where the private rooms are. Passed an affable-looking Bear in the hall and asked him politely if I could stroke him off. He broke into a really sweet smile: “Thanks, but I’ve just unloaded”. The whole encounter strikes me as funny.
Another guy passed. Eye contact. He came over and put his hand under the towel, checking the goods. I checked his. He was friendly but not very interested, said he might catch me later. I remembered what cousin Ken (he of the 1,000 sexual partners) said: Whatever happens in a bathhouse is never, ever to be taken personally. OK. Walked into a couple of other rooms, renewed my request. No takers. Reminded myself not to take it personally. It was now nearly 2:00; damn!
Went to the porn room. Sat down. Two young twinks on screen, shyly fondling each other, then going at it in various ways. I part my towel, very stiff and begin idly stroking myself. Middle-aged guy sits down next to me, fondles me. I fondle him. Again, I’m hard, he’s not. Remind myself not to take it personally. Another guy comes along, starts fondling me. Only afterwards do I realize that this is my first-ever threesome, however rudimentary. First guy wants me to suck him. I lick around some, but there’s no way I’m taking his head into my mouth without a condom. He takes my head and not roughly pushes it towards his dick. I explain the condom thing. He takes it philosophically and leaves with the other guy in my threesome. It’s 2:07. Double damn!
Since I’m still erect I decide there’s value in continuing to advertise, so I go back to watching the film, openly if idly stroking myself. Behind me is this very handsome, beautifully groomed, slim, graying European guy. He watches the film. He watches me. He pops over and fondles me. Maybe he’s hard? I check under the towel and indeed, the Euro is up today. His fondling technique is exceptional. It’s 2:15. He shows me his room key and asks me to follow him. I regretfully tell him I can’t, I have to leave within minutes. He says come anyway.
I follow him into his room. He shuts the door, begins kissing me, pinching my nipples. I respond in kind (remembering a female site member’s wise remark that ‘you pay very close attention to what they do to you, that's what tells you what they want done to them’ – priceless advice there, cornsilk-hair!). I stroke him. He has an accent and so I don’t initially get what he’s saying, which is that he wants it slower. A man after my own hard! -- I mean, heart; I like it slower too. Everyone else here seems to be on speed. Anyway, Euroman turns around, pressing his back and butt against the front of me. I take him in hand from behind, holding him nearly vertically and stroking firmly and slowly. To my amazement, in maybe 30 seconds I feel a massive load covering my hand. Neat! It's a bit like that childhood game where you crack an imaginary eggshell over someone's head from behind and then simulate the dripping of the egg over their head and neck.
He turns around. To show my appreciation I smear his jizz all over my abdomen. We exchange smiles. I give him a little squeeze on the bicep and excuse myself, heading for the shower. I realize that I’ve left my towel in his room. I spot some fresh pillowcases and take two in lieu of the towel. I’m still very aroused, so while showering I finish myself off, complete with moans. Other patrons on either side of me take no notice. It’s that kind of place. Total acceptance. Only at this point (!) do I realize that I have hitherto-unsuspected exhibitionistic tendencies.
I dress and check out, walking (per necessitum) through the bar, where Euroman is slumped in front of the TV, happily asleep. The sight of him this way is oddly comforting. I turn in my key and am surprised to receive back $5 of my $15. I’m back on the street at 2:45. I never knew I was such a time manager! I take the subway to Osgoode station and present myself at the doc’s, cool and fresh, just a few moments before 3:00.
Afterthoughts? Well, on one level the whole thing’s kind of gross, kind of a travesty, and completely unrepresentative of my (usually highly romantic) approach to sexuality. Still -- as another site member is fond of saying, “not gonna lie” --- another part of me dug the game aspect and the fact that I was able to make a stranger happy. Would I do it again? It’s not a priority, but I won’t rule it out either. I’m also struck by how polite most everyone was. Ken, who lives in Paris, says this is very much a North American thing; in France, he finds, bars and bathhouses are cruel, snooty places. I remind him that even if that’s so, he mustn’t take it personally.
I had a doctor’s appointment today and took some pride at arriving five minutes ahead of what I'd believed was the scheduled time, 1:00 p.m. The doc congratulated me on my newfound punctuality but pointed out that I was in fact two hours early. Yes, I’d fgotten it wrong, and as a result, hadn’t brought any work with me.
What to do? Why, hit the bathhouse, of course, for my second-ever visit. This would mean buying some lube at Condom Shack no later than 1:15, arriving at SpaExcess (which supplies free condoms, if you were wondering) no later than 1:30, showering and then having sex of some kind by 2:30, showering again and leaving by 2:45, and arriving back at the doc’s ten minutes later.
I should explain that I have almost never had a one-night stand and that virtually all the sex I’ve ever had has been in the context of real relationships – you know, the ones where at a minimum you know the other party’s name (and in practice, a lot more).
That said, the ‘game’ element in my little mission appealed to me. And I thought it would make an interesting forum thread, too. How's that for dedication? Christiane Amanpour can pose in front of burning tanks, surely I can do a little investigative reporting for my friends at bisexual.com?
So off I went. Paid $15 for my towel and key and was at my locker by 1:35. Disrobed, donned my bathtowel, and prepared a small bag containing my watch (essential!), condoms, lube and locker key. Then realized that I was in the wrong locker. Moved my stuff to the correct locker, in the course of which all my loose change spilled out over the locker room floor. Not good. Gathered it up, moved it to the correct locker. Decided my shirt was going to get crumpled in the locker, moved it from the bottom to the top of the heap. In doing so, knocked the loose change out of the locker again. Gathered it up. A fellow patron pointed out some subway tokens I”d missed. Got those too. Now at least five minutes behind. Showered. Looked in the whirlpool. Interesting black guy, but he left as I was toweling myself off.
Couldn’t be picky, given the time-frame. Went upstairs to where the private rooms are. Passed an affable-looking Bear in the hall and asked him politely if I could stroke him off. He broke into a really sweet smile: “Thanks, but I’ve just unloaded”. The whole encounter strikes me as funny.
Another guy passed. Eye contact. He came over and put his hand under the towel, checking the goods. I checked his. He was friendly but not very interested, said he might catch me later. I remembered what cousin Ken (he of the 1,000 sexual partners) said: Whatever happens in a bathhouse is never, ever to be taken personally. OK. Walked into a couple of other rooms, renewed my request. No takers. Reminded myself not to take it personally. It was now nearly 2:00; damn!
Went to the porn room. Sat down. Two young twinks on screen, shyly fondling each other, then going at it in various ways. I part my towel, very stiff and begin idly stroking myself. Middle-aged guy sits down next to me, fondles me. I fondle him. Again, I’m hard, he’s not. Remind myself not to take it personally. Another guy comes along, starts fondling me. Only afterwards do I realize that this is my first-ever threesome, however rudimentary. First guy wants me to suck him. I lick around some, but there’s no way I’m taking his head into my mouth without a condom. He takes my head and not roughly pushes it towards his dick. I explain the condom thing. He takes it philosophically and leaves with the other guy in my threesome. It’s 2:07. Double damn!
Since I’m still erect I decide there’s value in continuing to advertise, so I go back to watching the film, openly if idly stroking myself. Behind me is this very handsome, beautifully groomed, slim, graying European guy. He watches the film. He watches me. He pops over and fondles me. Maybe he’s hard? I check under the towel and indeed, the Euro is up today. His fondling technique is exceptional. It’s 2:15. He shows me his room key and asks me to follow him. I regretfully tell him I can’t, I have to leave within minutes. He says come anyway.
I follow him into his room. He shuts the door, begins kissing me, pinching my nipples. I respond in kind (remembering a female site member’s wise remark that ‘you pay very close attention to what they do to you, that's what tells you what they want done to them’ – priceless advice there, cornsilk-hair!). I stroke him. He has an accent and so I don’t initially get what he’s saying, which is that he wants it slower. A man after my own hard! -- I mean, heart; I like it slower too. Everyone else here seems to be on speed. Anyway, Euroman turns around, pressing his back and butt against the front of me. I take him in hand from behind, holding him nearly vertically and stroking firmly and slowly. To my amazement, in maybe 30 seconds I feel a massive load covering my hand. Neat! It's a bit like that childhood game where you crack an imaginary eggshell over someone's head from behind and then simulate the dripping of the egg over their head and neck.
He turns around. To show my appreciation I smear his jizz all over my abdomen. We exchange smiles. I give him a little squeeze on the bicep and excuse myself, heading for the shower. I realize that I’ve left my towel in his room. I spot some fresh pillowcases and take two in lieu of the towel. I’m still very aroused, so while showering I finish myself off, complete with moans. Other patrons on either side of me take no notice. It’s that kind of place. Total acceptance. Only at this point (!) do I realize that I have hitherto-unsuspected exhibitionistic tendencies.
I dress and check out, walking (per necessitum) through the bar, where Euroman is slumped in front of the TV, happily asleep. The sight of him this way is oddly comforting. I turn in my key and am surprised to receive back $5 of my $15. I’m back on the street at 2:45. I never knew I was such a time manager! I take the subway to Osgoode station and present myself at the doc’s, cool and fresh, just a few moments before 3:00.
Afterthoughts? Well, on one level the whole thing’s kind of gross, kind of a travesty, and completely unrepresentative of my (usually highly romantic) approach to sexuality. Still -- as another site member is fond of saying, “not gonna lie” --- another part of me dug the game aspect and the fact that I was able to make a stranger happy. Would I do it again? It’s not a priority, but I won’t rule it out either. I’m also struck by how polite most everyone was. Ken, who lives in Paris, says this is very much a North American thing; in France, he finds, bars and bathhouses are cruel, snooty places. I remind him that even if that’s so, he mustn’t take it personally.