At forty-five my life had settled into a middle-aged routine that I suppose most men have fallen into by that age. I’d been married almost twenty years, my kids were in their mid-teens, I had a good if not exciting job, we lived in a leafy suburb with good schools, we had solid friends and family nearby. But if I was content, I was not really happy, not in the relaxed, carefree way you have when you’re in your twenties. Maybe it’s unrealistic to expect more at my age, but it was nevertheless a fact. I needed some excitement in my life.
Particularly where sex was concerned. I truly loved my wife, and we had always had a good sex life. Nothing too exotic, mind you, but a lot of it when we were younger, and just spicy enough as we got older to keep us both interested through our thirties. But as our mid-forties approached, we didn’t seem to spark as often, and I at least felt that something was missing.
I had no intention of cheating on my wife. I was sure I’d eventually get caught, and I couldn’t bear hurting her that way but my fantasy life got a little weirder. My imaginary sex was wilder, more abandoned, sometimes rougher, and often featured things my wife and I had never done together, like anal sex, or sex with vibrators or other toys. I jacked off more often than I had in years, played with my ass sometimes, and though I had never had much interest in porn, I started visiting online sites more often.
One thing that never occurred during these fantasies, however, was gay sex. Like many guys I had experimented a bit when I was a teenager, and I knew what if felt like to have another guy’s dick in my hand. But I had never followed up on these adolescent adventures, and I’d been happily straight for nearly three decades.
But one day that all changed.
At the gym that morning I had decided, for the first time in weeks, to vary my post-workout routine, which usually involves a brief soak in the hot tub, by going for a short stint in the steam room. I stripped off my workout clothes, wrapped a towel around my waist and headed toward the steam room, which is in a short corridor near the showers. It was empty but almost filled with steam, so I sat down on one arm of the U-shaped bench, leaned back against the wall and closed my eyes.
A minute or two later I heard the door open, but I was so relaxed that I didn’t open my eyes at first. When I did the guy was sitting directly across from me on the other side of the U, and after a second I made out the face of a guy I had seen around the gym a few times but had not met.
“Hey,” he said.
“Hey,” I said back.
He closed his eyes and settled back against the wall. I looked at him briefly, about my age, a bit younger maybe, on the slim side but not skinny, with a pleasant-looking face, and closed my eyes again.
A couple of minutes passed quietly, then I heard him stirring. Automatically I opened my eyes, and found myself looking at his backside. He had stood up on the lower bench to rearrange his towel, but instead of wrapping it around his waist again he was spreading it flat on the upper bench. I remember thinking he was taking more time to do this than was strictly necessary when he finally turned and sat down. The steam was pretty thick, but I thought I saw him give me quick look and a faint smile before he closed his eyes again.
That was weird, I thought. But then I realized that his legs were slightly spread and his cock and balls were on full display, and that seemed more than just weird.
I felt a jolt of apprehension. I might not be the most sophisticated or experienced person in the world, but I was worldly enough to suspect he was doing this for my benefit. For the first time in my life, I realized, a guy was coming onto me.
There was a time not so long ago when I would have reacted scornfully to such a proposition, and some guys might have punched him in the nose. But I had never been the violent type, and while what I felt was hard to describe, it wasn’t scorn.
I was uncomfortable, that’s for sure. A little scared, too. But I couldn’t keep myself from looking. What guy could? We’re always stealing glances at each other’s dicks, much as we hate to admit it.
The guy had a nice package. His cock wasn’t all that long (a bit shorter than mine, I was glad to see) but it was thick. His pubic hair was blond and short, like it had been trimmed. His balls were big and round and hung loose in the sack. In that respect I didn’t compare as well; my balls are smaller and tighter in the sack, and I’d always kind of wished I had low-hangers.
Then I noticed that his eyes weren’t entirely closed. It was hard to see in the clouds of steam, but I was pretty sure he was watching me watching him.
I looked away. If I hadn’t been red already from the heat, I surely would have reddened from embarrassment and shame. I realized my heart was racing, and for a second I wanted to dash out of the room.
But something held me. It was partly the unwillingness to look like I was panicked, but it was something else, too. Curiosity, I guess. I was interested
in what he might do.
Was I turned on? At first I didn’t think so. But when he moved one hand to his leg, and slowly moved it toward his cock, I felt my own cock give a little start under the towel.
Part of me wanted to leave, but another part was mesmerized. I watched as he tugged his balls the way all guys do to get more comfortable, and for a second I thought I had imagined the come-on. But another slight move and his cock was firmly in his hand.
My heart was pounding. I shifted my gaze from his crotch to his face, and he was looking me straight in the eye. No doubt now about what was going on. I felt my cock give another start, and realized I was getting hard.
That jolted me out of my daze. I stood up, putting my hand to my side to make sure my towel stayed in place. In my haste and confusion I knocked it loose instead, and it fell to the floor.
It was an accident, I swear, and normally I would have just picked up the towel and walked out without another thought. But not now; there were no accidents in here. Whether I liked it or not, everything happening in that room was charged with meaning.
So I stood there, my dick at forty-five degrees and climbing. Not until I realized that his dick, too, was rising, did I collect myself enough to pick up the towel and leave.
As I walked toward the showers, I asked myself, “What on earth did you just do?” And I realized with something like panic I had as good as told him I was interested in his proposition. I realized, too, that I was stalking around with a rising boner, and I clutched my towel in front to hide it. Luckily there was no one near the showers at the moment.
There are about a dozen shower stalls at my gym, six on each side of a narrow corridor leading from the locker room to the pool. I chose one on the left side. As I hung my towel on the peg outside it, I turned around slightly, expecting to see the guy following me.
He wasn’t. But as I stepped into the shower, out of the corner of my eye I thought I saw the steam room door opening. I flung the curtain closed and turned the water on full and hot. My cock was now fully erect, and I could not resist grabbing it with both hands.
“What the fuck are you doing?” I thought to myself. My head was aswarm with conflicting emotions, among them the fear of being discovered with my hands on my dick, but I couldn’t keep my hands off myself.
A few seconds later I heard the metallic sound of a sliding shower curtain from across the corridor. I knew without looking that the guy had gone into the stall directly opposite. I also knew without looking that his hands were on his
Without realizing it I had started pumping my dick. It was so hard it hurt, and I wanted desperately to come. I knew it was crazy to jack off in a public place, but by now I wasn’t even close to thinking straight.
Worse, I wanted just as desperately to see the other guy pumping his
dick. Without breaking my rhythm, I pulled the curtain back enough to peek across the corridor.
He was standing there, the curtain wide open, his raging cock grasped firmly in one hand. He, too, was vigorously pumping his rod, and when he saw me looking at him he speeded up his motion.
I saw his lips move; he was mouthing the words, “Show me,” and without hesitation, without even thinking of the chances of getting caught, I moved my curtain aside so he could get a good look.
When he saw my cock, fully erect now, the head a deep purple and my balls already starting to contract toward orgasm, he gave one last pump. A thick wad of cum shot out of his cock and landed halfway across the corridor. The second wad flew even farther, landing within inches of my feet, and two shorter bursts plopped into the water around his feet.
Now it was my turn. I came not in blasts like he did but in a single enormous gush that flowed for several seconds and completely covered my hand. It was all I could do not to call out in ecstasy. I doubled over, pumping slowly to get the last few drops out of my still-aching dick.
I looked at the other guy; his knees were shaking and he looked like he was about to collapse. I felt my own knees buckling, and it was all I could do to get the curtain closed before I sat down heavily on the shower floor.
I don’t know how long I sat there. It felt like a long time, though it was probably less than a minute. I held my hand under the water to wash off the cum, surprised at how much I’d produced. My dick, still somewhat hard, flopped between my legs.
At length I stood up, turned the water on cold, and stood in the stream trying to collect my wits.
That was a stupid thing to do, I told myself. Incredibly risky. If someone had seen me, I certainly would have been humiliated, perhaps reported to the management, maybe even thrown out of the gym.
I waited several minutes, hoping the other guy might get dressed and clear out before I returned to my locker. Finally, with a deep breath, I opened the curtain, wrapped the towel around my waist and walked out of the shower corridor.
I was relieved to see how few men were around. Luckily for me it was mid-morning, one of the slowest parts of the day, and there was no sign anyone had seen or heard anything odd.
I went straight to my locker without raising my eyes from the floor. I’d seen a lot of that guy just minutes ago, but I didn’t want to see any part of him now. All I wanted was to dry off, get dressed and get out.
The lockers in my gym are arranged in a series of bays along one long wall. My bay was empty, thank goodness, but I kept my towel on and my back to the open side to hide my still-tumescent dick in case someone walked by.
I was drying off with a second towel when I realized I hadn’t shaved. I considered skipping it, and almost did, but I remembered a business meeting coming in an hour. Reluctantly I got out my shaving kit and went to the nearest sink and mirror, on the wall opposite the opening to the locker bay.
I was still scraping away when the guy reappeared, now fully dressed with, his gym bag slung over his shoulder. I watched in the mirror as he walked straight into my locker bay and placed a scrap of paper on the bench next to my own bag. As he turned around to leave, he looked directly at me in the mirror for two seconds, then walked out of the bay and disappeared from view.
When I got back to my locker I picked up the paper. On it he had written a name, Matt, and an email address.
My first impulse, which I obeyed, was to tear the paper in half. The second impulse was to throw the pieces away, but I hesitated. I dropped them on the bench instead. When I left a few minutes later -- don’t ask me why -- I picked them up and put them in my pocket.
The rest of the day was awful. I got through my business meeting somehow, but otherwise I tortured myself about what I’d done, how reckless I had been. I pictured to myself what would have happened if someone had seen us, the scene it might have caused, especially if we had been seen by someone I know. I even considered whether I should quit that gym and sign up somewhere else.
Thoughts like these alternated with others of a quite different nature. I could not get certain images out of my head: the guy’s cock and balls in the steam room, the sight of him jacking off in the shower, the memory of cum shooting out of his dick. So frequent were these thoughts and so potent these images that I spent most of the day hiding behind my desk, hoping no one would notice my near-constant boner.
About 4 o’clock I sneaked out of the office and went home. The kids were at practice and my wife wasn’t due for an hour and a half, so I stripped off my clothes and threw myself on the bed. I was hard instantly, and jacked myself furiously till I came in another gush almost as big as the one that morning.
“Good grief,” I said aloud as I wiped the cum away, “What is going on with me?”
No question I’m straight, I thought, and I will never stop loving my wife, but I doubted than any gay guy could have been more turned on by the sight of another cock than I had that morning.
I was rational enough to know that one such experience didn’t made me gay or bi, but I had to admit that something
had changed. I was still straight, but with an important qualification: I could be pretty excited by the sight of another dick.
I jacked off a lot more than usual over the next several days, thinking of the guy nearly every time, and I was so generally horny that I tumbled my wife twice in four days, which seemed to surprise her in a good way.
At the same time I felt guilty and ashamed. I stayed totally away from porn: I doubted I could resist looking at pictures of dicks, and I was afraid once I started down that road it would be hard to stop.
I avoided the gym, too, until I got restless from inactivity and decided to go. But I stayed away from the steam room, and went everywhere with my eyes fixed firmly on the floor.
Then one day about a week later I thought of something with a start: the guy had been wearing a wedding ring. I hadn’t noticed it in the steam room or the shower, but I had noticed it when he put the scrap of paper next to my gym bag. How could I have forgotten that until now?
Was I imagining it? No, I decided, I wasn’t. There was definitely a ring.
This put the thing in a different light. I had just assumed to this point that the guy was gay. Still possible, these days, but since gay marriage isn’t legal in this state I doubted it.
If Matt was married, I thought, he might be pretty much like me, a basically straight man bored by marital sex, unable to resist a wild impulse. Maybe, like me, all he wanted was something different and exciting, and that just happened to be the first chance that came along.
I wasn’t sure I wanted that much difference and that much excitement, but the experience no longer seemed quite as weird or stupid or shameful. I started wondering what Matt might be like. I thought about meeting him again -- not for a repeat, though this thought had crossed my mind frequently in the last week -- but to talk. It was oddly reassuring to think there might be another guy in the same position.
I started looking for Matt, I realized with a smile that I now thought of him as “Matt” and not “the guy”, whenever I was at the gym. I wasn’t sure what I would do or say if I saw him, but I wasn’t much worried about that. I guess I was hoping he would know what to say.
Several more days passed, however, without his appearing. I even started going to the steam room every time I was there, hoping to run into him again.
Finally I remembered, again with a start, that he had left me his email address. But where was it? I hadn’t thrown it away, I remembered, but where had I put it?
Pants pockets! But which ones? What had I been wearing that day? Had I -- please God, no -- already sent them to the cleaners?
I went to the closet and rifled through the pockets of one pair after another. I was beginning to lose hope when I came to a pair of khakis I hadn’t worn in a couple of weeks. The two pieces of the torn note were in the left pocket.
I slammed the closet shut, fired up the laptop, opened my email and clicked “compose.”
I paused. What should I say? I thought for a few minutes, but everything that came to mind sounded ridiculous. I wrote and discarded several emails; the last was a pathetic, “Hi, Matt, remember me? We jacked off together a couple of weeks ago!” Eventually I decided to keep it as simple as possible.
“Hi, Matt. My name is Chris. We met a couple of weeks ago at the gym.”
What next? There was more I should say, I knew, but I couldn’t think of anything.
Finally, without really thinking about it, I just hit “Send.”
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