Steam Punks

The shower room was dark. Like uselessly dark. There were lights in areas where you could see the controls for the shower heads but the main area was so dimly lit you couldn't see much of anything.

Chris had warned me as much. This was his idea after all.

Let's put down the facts before I go any further. I'm straight. I've always been straight. I've never been into guys, never. I've never had a problem with gay dudes, never been uncomfortable around naked guys, just not my thing.

So I'm in a gay bathhouse. Why? Because I'd lost a bet.

A lot of guys might have backed out, but I'm a man of my word. Chris and I had bet on a football game, his alma mater against mine.

He leaned back against the picnic table where we relaxed during lunch. Our other coworker, Anne, sat on the top of the table fiddling with her phone, "OK, what's the bet then?" He asked. I was relatively certain I had nothing to worry about. We were rated #4 in the country. His was unranked.

I laughed, I had it in the bag. "You keep talking about how your grandma's linguini was the best thing on the planet. You have to make that for us for dinner."

He looked offended, "Really? Maybe the tortellini, but not the Linguini...not for you for just winning." He waved at me dismissively.

Without looking up Anne said, "Tortellini if they win, Linguini if they beat the spread."

Chris and I looked at each other. "Deal" he said. Then he looked around and said, "What do I get?"

"What do you want?" I laughed at him.

He grinned at me like lunch, "If we win you model for me."

I about fell off the bench. Anne guffawed. Chris had asked before, a few times. He had a fetish page where he sold some of his one-off leather creations to other gay guys and he'd tried to get me to pose in them for easier sale.

I'm in pretty good shape. Ex-college wrestling and weightlifting, still kept some of it up but mostly just keeping myself from going all soft like my family.

Why did I even question it? I had it in the bag, like I said. "OK, fine."

Anne, still looking at her phone and viciously typing said, "What about if they stomp you guys? Something more to lose, that's just fair."

I made almost the same noise as she had at the modeling comment. "OK, go ahead, hit me with what you got." I said.

He screwed up his face, concerned about something or other, not sure about what to say. Tapped his jaw before looking at me and saying, "If you lose by twenty one or more, you go to Steam Punks with me."

I looked at him. Anne lifted her face and looked at him, "What the fuck is a Steam Punks?" She asked.

Needless to say, sometimes an unranked team pulls it out of nowhere and my school had lost 7-35. I then learned 'Steam Punks' was a gay bathhouse.

Chris told me all about the place while Anne giggled like the funniest fucking thing on the planet had happened. We settled on our visit to the place being the following Sunday. I told him that I wasn't gonna 'do' anything with him. He said that was just fine, and that nobody was going to do anything with me I didn't want. I could just avoid anyone trying to be forward if I wanted.

Rules: I had to go there, I had to hang out with him...both generally and genitally, I guess...for a while, but spend no less than two hours in the joint. I figured I could avoid anything for two hours.

I found he'd paid my way when I showed them my ID at the door. A key on one of those stretchy wrist hangers and a little cubicle-style area about three feet smaller than my office in every dimension.

Now I was in the shower and I couldn't see shit. I hadn't seen Chris yet. In fact, the only person I'd seen was the guy at the counter, through a glass window like something off a gas station. He'd looked at me with all the interest of a person at a similar gas stop watching a lizard crawl across a pump.

There'd been maybe seven cars in the lot including Chris' Mini, so I wasn't sure if they were all congregated somewhere or anything. Chris had given me a sort of crash course in the layout while Anne continued to giggle relentlessly the Friday before.

The first floor, where I was now, had an entry area with lockers, a weight room, the showers. You passed through there and there was a hallway with a spa to one side and a steam room the other direction. A dry sauna was further down on the left, and if you went up the stairs at the end of the hallway to the right there was a massage area, some small cubicle-sized rooms...one of which was mine...a TV room, and 'another' room.

"You'll probably want to skip that one. It's a bit further out of your comfort zone I think." He said, to an even more raucous tone out of Anne as she almost fell off the table.

One thing the place did have was amazing water pressure. I used a mint-and-citrus soap they had in dispensers and soaped myself down. I'd come straight from the gym, figuring I'd treat this as just a stop over on my way home. No reason to make a big deal about it, right? Just a thing, just hanging out with a buddy. Just chilling out. No reason to be anxious at all.

I killed the water without seeing another soul. I glanced to my watch to see twelve minutes had gone down. One hour and forty-eight minutes left. Piece of cake.

I continued down the hallway I'd passed through earlier on my way to my room and glanced towards the jacuzzi. I'd been nude in a jacuzzi all of once in my life, drunk at a hotel in Puerto Vallarta during Spring Break. I put my towel on a hook outside and entered, emboldened by the just now vacancies.

The pool inside the tiled room was just to the left as you walked in, with a border some six feet or so in every direction. It was a pretty big tub, maybe fifteen feet across. Wooden benches, similar to what you'd see in a dry sauna flanked it on the far sides from where you walked in. I made my way around to the furthest side, like a gunfighter in an old west saloon, keeping my back against the wall.

The water was criminally hot. Particularly against the poor tender flesh of my ballsack as it hit faster than I planned. I winced but slowly lowered myself slowly in the rest of the way, finally settling in and relishing the comfortable heat and massaging bubbles.

Kinda wished my gym had one of these.

I put my head back and closed my eyes. If I snoozed for a couple minutes, that's more time, right?

The sound of bare feet on tile stirred me the second I'd shut my eyes and I immediately freaked out. Internally, of course. I 'subtly' glanced towards the door.

He was probably in his 40's. "Dad Bod" type of guy, strong upper body from work instead of a gym, maybe just under six feet, maybe just over two hundred pounds. Shaved head with a salt-and-pepper mustache and goatee.

I didn't look below his chest. Locker room rules.

His chin dipped in a nod, which I returned. He took a seat about five feet to my left, inhaling as the water hit his groin, "God DAMN. Hot." I noticed the Marine Corps tattoo on his shoulder.

"Marine, huh?" I said, noticing, "My uncle was in the Corps during that thing in Nicaragua."

An eyebrow raised, "Huh" He answered, "I was Desert Storm. Iraq the first." His voice was gruff. How the hell was this dude gay? An ex-marine?

After that brief exchange, we were quiet. I did see his arm move against his leg...I hoped it was his leg. "Shit, what if it isn't?" my mind wandered, "What's the big deal. You were in college. It's not like you didn't have a dorm roommate jack off every night four feet away from you." Somehow this felt different. Tony had thought I was asleep. This dude might be stroking it to a thought of me.

But then, Tony might have been thinking of me too...not sure about that one.

I looked at my watch after a few minutes of continued silence and saw 23 minutes down. 1:37 to go.

Just as I was thinking it might be a good idea to find Chris and make sure he knew I was good to my word (even though I'd snapped a picture with my phone of the clock as I walked in) more footsteps came around the entry.

In walked Chris and another dude about our age. Chris' slender-almost-emaciated, hairless frame was held around the waist by a guy who looked like he could 'take' me. Every bit of my 6'1", probably my weight or a bit more. Hairy dude too, with a stylish, short cut to his hair and one of those currently in-fad beards. His chest was massive, clearly a guy who knew his way around a weight set.

Again, nothing below the nipples. Locker. Room. Etiquette.

"There you are!" Chis exclaimed and practically jumped into the pool to sit next to me, his leg against mine, "Daniel," he used my full name, something he was fond of, "I'd like you to meet my good friend Trav." He motioned with his hand to his companion, "Trav is in town for the next couple weeks visiting his sister for her wedding."

He reached down as he stepped in and presented his hand, "Evening." He said, his voice a calm, even tone an octave lighter than his body would have you believe. There was another new one for me. He sat down immediately on the other side of Chris. The three of us were now huddled onto one side with the other gent over to one side.

For the next few minutes, Chris regaled everyone in the tub...including the ex-Marine...about the goings-on in his current life. I knew almost all of it, since he had a penchant for telling Anne and I at lunch everything. The difference now was that he got a little more lewd than I'd heard before.

"...so I finished up the leather jockstrap for the guy, and he was like, 'Now we've got to try it out'. So yeah, I ended up sewing in a fucking set of woven handles into the waistband if you can believe that. Not a bad bottom though." The Marine chuckled. Trav smiled big. I lowered my head down until my jawline was just above the water and tried to think about how soon I was leaving.

"Whew! Is this water out of hand!" Chris said, sliding up to where his ass was on the side of the pool. It put his calf next to my shoulder. I glanced his way just as a "I noticed a thing happened" motion and had no choice but to see his cock.

I looked away only a second later, but the damage had been done in my head. Chris' entire body was fairly pale. Light hair, light eyes, pale skin, slender...like an elf from the Lord of the Rings movies, but with short hair. My split-second view of his erection gave me the mental image that it was virtually the same shade as the rest of his body, but with patterns of blue veins just under the almost translucent surface. Like a pattern of rivers. He was uncircumcised but without a great deal of extra foreskin, so it just rest against the back of where his light pink head pressed against it.

He was big. Bigger than me in every dimension, and I'd thought I was no slouch based on past girlfriends. Granted, my pool of experience wasn't huge or anything, six ex-girlfriends, a few hookups. No complaints. My regular college girlfriend had measured me then at just about 7", not bad, right? I was also decently thick and pretty directly straight (no pun intended).

Yeah, Chris had at least an inch on me. Probably closer to two. Chris was fatter as well, and angled upward halfway.

This all went through my head in a tenth of a second.

Neither the movement nor the very apparent hardon came close to pausing Chris' dialogue with..well, himself. He continued his stories to the very attentive Trav, whose gaze never went away from him. At least to my peripheral vision. I wasn't going to turn that way, I might see that flagpole again have even more of a mental image.

Just as I glanced at my watch and noticed another 12 minutes was gone. One hour, twenty five minutes left.

I put my arm back down, glanced against Chris' foot and things went immediately weird.

Trav stood up, turned towards Chris and grabbed his prick with one hand. He opened his mouth and took the thing inside. Chris moved his hand to the side of Trav's head and pulled him slightly further down on his erection. I saw this all out of the corner of my eye.

I 'noped' out of there that second, "Too warm in this water, yep. I'm gonna take a shower." I crossed the pool in the water, got out, made my way to the towels and grabbed mine. I wrapped it around my waist.

Why did I have half a hardon?

I hung the towel on a duplicate peg near the showers and went under the one I'd used before, cranking the water and putting my head underneath it.

"You alright?" A voice from next to me a second later. It startled me and I snapped my head to the direction. It was the marine.

"Uh...yeah, I'm good. Just fine. What's up?" I grabbed some soap out of the dispenser and started rubbing myself down.

He'd taken the shower next to me. I hadn't heard him come in, hadn't heard him turn the water on, hadn't heard anything. Had it only been a second? I glanced at my watch. No, it'd been about five minutes. I only had about an hour and ten minutes to go. Thank God.

His hands went down his powerful legs and back up. I noticed now, without being able to stop myself that he wasn't erect. That was a relief. "You just seemed a bit, I dunno, stressed when your buddy started getting blown." He grinned at me. "You know, that kind of stuff happens in a spa."

"It's...it's my first time." Yeah, just admit the truth, why not?

He laughed, "Yeah, no shit." He continued soaping himself, "Are you just curious or something? Trying to cure yourself of homophobia? Family member came out of the closet and trying to numb yourself to the idea? Something like that?"

"Huh?"

"A straight dude in a gay bathhouse?" He cocked his head, "Why are you here? Just curious."

I felt relieved and nervously or anxiously chuckled, not sure which, "I lost a bet with that dude in there, Chris. Football last weekend. I have to be here for two hours." I glanced at my watch again, "One hour, eight minutes now."

He shrugged, "Tell you what, let's go upstairs. Massage room. I'll give you a massage for about 45 of those. Nothing weird. I'm not a professional masseuse or anything, but I'm OK at it. It'll keep anyone from getting too familiar with you and burn up most of your remaining time. As long as you don't mind me knocking one out to you later." He leaned towards me conspiratorially, "Your buddy in there? He's done it, I almost guarantee."

I thought about it a moment then said, "Nothing weird?"

He shrugged, "Well, unless you get all forward with me. I might get bashful." He grinned.

I nodded. "OK." He said to meet him upstairs in a couple minutes. He'd grab some massage oil from his room and meet me there.

If the showers were dimly lit, the massage rooms were inky blackness. The only light came from red lights in the hallway outside either direction about five feet. At least that's what I thought. When I got inside and my eyes adjusted, I saw that there were some super-dim striplights under a fringe at the baseboard and the crown mouldings.

Two large cushioned tables were inside the room along with a plastic chair, one of those stacking ones from someone's patio. The dude came into the room as I was looking at things, "There's hooks right up there." He hung his towel there, and I followed suit. I was a little nervous about a nude guy massaging me nude, but 'When in Rome'.

The vinyl of the table was cool and took my stomach, chest, legs and groin a few seconds to get used to it. "By the way, I'm Greg." He said, "You're Daniel. I remember."

"Just Dan. Chris likes to use the full name." I said, my voice coming out weird with my face smushed against the cushion.

"Gotcha, Dan. Just relax and enjoy." He poured a generous amount of heavily scented oil onto my back, lower back, butt and legs.

For 'not being a masseuse or anything', he didn't fuck around. Greg was fucking amazing. He kneaded my muscles where they were thickest and lightly probed the tender areas. It was like he already knew where things needed working out. It was almost intuitive.

Some minutes in as he'd finished my lower back and had started moving up from my left foot towards my ass, "You know, if you aren't a masseuse, maybe you should think about it."

I heard him chuckle in a somewhat hoarse manner, "Nah, I prefer it as a hobby. You do anything you enjoy for money it might wear on you."

His hands got to my ass. I was pretty relaxed at this point from what he'd been doing to me. I pretty much challenge anyone to be tense when someone's been working on your tension like that.

I heard a noise, opened my eyes and saw an older man walk in against the darkness. He looked somewhere north of 50, maybe 60. A little overweight, crew cut, completely nude. He walked in and took a seat on the chair and immediately began to stroke himself. I couldn't see much of the details, only the dim view of what was going on.

My opinion at this point was, "Hey, if you're into it, have a good stroke dude."

A second later though, Greg got a LOT more familiar. He'd begun to knead my left asscheek in a regular massaging manner. So when I felt him run his fingers down along the tender flesh between my balls and asshole, then across the ring of my ass itself.

I twitched hard, "Sorry about that." He said, pulling his hand back hard, "Forgot who I was with for a second."

I relaxed again, "It's alright, I get it." I glanced backwards just a hair, "Just...uh...remember who you're with for the rest of the seconds, cool?" He replied 'cool'.

He flipped to the other side of the table and worked on my right side with the same skill he'd used for the rest of my back. I was thoroughly in the comfy zone.

"OK, other side." He said. I flipped over, noting my watch and that almost a half hour had passed. That left me with about thirty-five or forty to go. Thirty-five, yeah.

I did notice when I turned over that I was half hard. I figured that was due to the general atmosphere. It could have been anything at that point, hands on me and being comfortable was what did it. Try to think about sportbike racing. Fly fishing. Something unsexy.

His work on the front side was as effective as the back. My chest, arms, abs, legs, he hit me like nothing you can imagine. Easy and smooth, cool and calm. The oil and his hands worked in concert so fluidly I thought I was going to pass out from it.

My legs were slightly spread and he worked my inner thighs. His hands worked just at the right level of pressure to not cause me any distress. Just at the point where he'd be maybe "tickling", he'd back off or dig in. It worked every time.

At least three times his hands brushed against my balls. The first time I twitched. The second time I'm sure I flexed a bit. The third time I was pretty sure it was on purpose.

As he did my inner thighs I'd noticed something I was trying not to. At first, I'd felt the heavy presence of my prick against my hip. Over the course of things, I'd felt it's weight lift away from me and pivot to the base. I was pretty sure I was now full-on hard.

"Do you always react to massages this way?" Greg's voice had a guttural timbre to it.

I smiled with my eyes closed, "Not always." I said, "Pretty sure never."

"Too bad you're not even a little bit curious. I'm sure it'd be fun." He said with that same tone.

My head just swam. What did it matter, really? It's just a dude.

I sighed quietly and said, "What did you have in mind?"

My eyes were still closed, but I know what it feels like when a mouth goes around your cock.

OK, so I'm 25 years old. I've had six girlfriends in my life. All of them went down on me. I've also had a few random blowjobs here and there. I like to think I've had a few experiences.

Greg was another level altogether. He began just surrounding my head with his lips, salivating heavily but not moving much. He was doing most of his work by getting things wet and changing his suction, moving his tongue. It felt like he had an extra tongue, or two, or three.