Steam Room Stranger

I hate the gym, but I go. My mental, emotional, and physical health depend on it. But the gym is terrible. The only saving grace is heading to the steam room after my workout. The steam room is hot, in all manners of the word. Sweat gathers and drips down each chest, wetness congregates on muscular thighs, and body hair clings to the skin, curling like carefully carved marble on ancient Greek stone. 

Recently, after a workout, I was in the steam room with an audience of one, a thin towel wrapped loosely around his waist. I asked if I could turn the steam on. With a lazy and breathless sigh, he nodded his head and mouthed, “Yes.” I reached up to cover the metal frame with my bare hands, stretching my torso, allowing my towel to slip past my waist. I waited for the steam to burst through the room. 

I love mischief. Especially in the steam room. Mutual masturbation, sucking, kissing, grinding, and all the while, anyone can walk in. Knowing that people are outside the door, wandering back and forth, or sitting nearby with their eyes closed, and anything can happen, is extremely exhilarating. Playing peek-a-boo with the towel, allowing yourself to edge out past the line of the thin cloth, the nonchalant stretch that turns the private, public. Every move is erotic. 

I wondered if my friend, let’s call him SRS (steam room stranger), was open to getting into mischief. 

The steam pushed out of the valve and filled the room. I sat across from SRS. SRS looked at me. And that was my cue. If you don’t know the cue, it’s the look that lingers a little longer than necessary, the gaze that suggests, “I will fuck the shit out of you if given the chance.”

SRS gave me that look. So I opened my legs and allowed myself to show slightly. SRS returned the gesture, spread his legs, and exposed his semi-hardness. It hung to the left and called out to me. I pulled my towel up to my hips and gave SRS more of me. SRS tugged open his towel letting both ends fall to the side of his hips. He opened his legs, and I saw the sweat drip from his stomach into his pubic hair. Beads of sweat collected on his shaft and rolled off the side onto the tile. I lifted my towel and wiped my brow, letting the towel fall away, exposing every inch of me. SRS looked me up and down, grabbed himself, and started slowly pulling back and forth. I ran my free hand up and down my chest. I arched my back and tugged on the base of my cock. Then I noticed something. 

As I was working, the steam started to fade, and I got a closer look at SRS’ dick. It was beautiful. I have seen my fair share and I love dick. But this particular one was stunning, picturesque, something to be worshipped. Maybe the steam had worked like special effects to create a more majestic scene. Perhaps I was simply a bit dehydrated. But his dick was perfect to me. It stood straight and serene—not that I would ever judge dicks that curve. The first dick I ever met intimately curved to the right. I'll never forget that dick. It hurt so good.  

I’ve had dicks that billow from the base to the head, and that is lovely. Nothing like being widened as someone pushes deeper and deeper inside. Like Christmas, when each present is bigger and better. But SRS’ dick portions were precise. He had length and girth, but not too much—I’m not a size sycophant. Porn star dicks—while I love to watch them—the thought of riding one would be too much. I prefer my dicks more approachable. SRS’ dick was my kind of dick.

I watched as SRS played with his beautiful cock. The sweat from the steam hid the drool that landed on my chest. Perspiration concealed the precum that was oozing out of me. I was excited. 

And then he stood up.

SRS moved closer and sat on the bench that separated us. I moved closer to him. Our towels hung underneath us, and we sat next to each other with our hardness in hand. We stroked ourselves and looked over each other’s bodies. SRS placed his free hand on my thigh and his eyes met mine. He said simply, “Can I?” I gave SRS a quick nod. I arched my back, bit my bottom lip, and let him wrap his fingers around me. He slowly moved his hand up and down my erection. SRS touched the tip of my head, and let the precum stretch between his finger and the head of my cock. He was a fucking god. 

SRS then turned and angled himself toward me. I didn’t need a second to ponder wrapping my hands around his perfect shaft. I had to do deep breathing to keep my excitement in check. This had escalated quickly! Seconds ago I was simply staring at his beautiful dick. Now my hand gripped the impeccable specimen. 

I wanted SRS in my mouth—I love sucking dick. I love feeling the veins and hot skin against my tongue. I adore licking between the folds of the head. I like the tickle of pubic hair against my lips. I crave the gag as my lips brush against pelvic bone. The taste of precum excites me. 

So like a good boy ready to swallow every inch, I slowly leaned toward SRS giving him time to grant me permission. He looked down at me, licked his lips, and whispered, “fuck.” I wanted every inch of him down my throat. I wanted his hands to grip the back of my head and, when he was ready, let every drop fill my insides.  

SRS placed his hand over his package as I continued to lean forward, and as my hand gripped his shaft, he said, “You can’t. I would cum so fast.” Though he didn’t know me, he insinuated that I had a magical mouth. That made me proud. 

I looked at him and said, “I'm ready.” SRS let his hand fall by his side. He leaned back, closed his eyes, and offered me all of him. His body tightened anticipating intimacy. And I was ravenous. In a single gulp, I took every inch into my mouth. I pulled back, allowing my tongue to brush up the backside, feeling the coarseness of each vein. I went in for a second taste, but before I could reach the base and have his pubic hair brush over my face, he let out a low growl, and poured out a hot stream of cum. SRS shivered, and his free hand gripped my shoulder. I pulled back and used my hand to release every drop. I am a good boy. SRS was a good boy, too. 

He shook off the excitement, held me firmly, rough, and in a slight twisting motion, worked me with his sweaty hand. I leaned my head into his shoulder, my hands braced on the tile, and released all of my excitement. I was breathless and all the tension slid off his hands onto the towel.

We sat for a few seconds. Hot and satisfied. The entire encounter was a few minutes, but every second counted. SRS draped his wet, cum stained towel over his waist, stood up, looked back, and said, “I needed that.” I nodded. He stepped off the bench and walked out of the steam room. 

On second thought, I like the gym. 

Photo by Daria Liudnaya