The Blond Man's Gaze

I remember one particular day during the summer after my first year of college. My friends and I had all come back to our hometown, and we decided to go to the pool to relive what we believed then to be our glory days.

After fighting the need to piss until it became an exigency, I excused myself from my companions and got out of the pool. Water dripped around my bare feet as I traipsed to the bathroom, which was built in earlier days when privacy was a mere luxury and real men were unashamed of baring their penises and asses. As such, it was very open, without partitions between the urinals or stalls in which one could change his clothes or take a shit.

When I entered the bathroom, I immediately realized I wouldn't be alone in that disclosed space. Standing near the lockers past the urinals was a blond, attractive man -- perhaps twenty-five years old -- who was dressed as if he had come to the pool directly from his office. He had a backpack on top of the bench in front of him, and out of it he drew out a towel and a swimsuit. Then he sat on the bench and took off his shoes and socks while I walked up to the urinal.

Once there, I took out my penis, and without dividers, I knew I couldn't hide myself if the man chose to look at me. With these thoughts in my head, nothing came out of my urethra at first; it was always difficult to piss when there was another person in the bathroom with me, even though it seemed like the other man barely noticed my presence.

I must have looked stupid like that, with my bare cock dangling out of my swimsuit, quite visible in the open air, but without the stream of urine I felt in my bladder. However, while I waited, I discreetly studied the other man. He got up from the bench (standing on those beautiful feet!) and removed his polo shirt. That allowed me to scan his skinny torso, which had a bit of muscle and a tattoo of a lighthouse above his left nipple. The beam of the lighthouse spread across his chest until it reached his other brown nipple, which stood out in contrast from his sun-tanned skin. I couldn't glimpse a hint of hair on his torso, not even in his armpits nor on his abdomen, which was the first part of my upper body to sprout body hair five years ago.

Finally, the urine flowed.

The man lifted his eyes then, and we made eye contact. It lasted less than a second, because I tore away my gaze and focused my eyes on the current of piss and on the penis from which it babbled. My breaths were short, and my hands -- which held down the waistband of my swimsuit -- trembled. After a moment, I couldn't bear it anymore, and I cast a glance at the bastard again. I saw that he had undone his belt along with the button and zipper of his pants, and he was about to pull them down when he looked at me again. Suddenly, his eyes dropped to my exposed cock, and it was evident that he wanted me to notice the bald-faced way in which he gawked at me.

I felt the heat of embarrassment in my cheeks, but this time, I didn't turn away. Instead, I watched him as he shoved down his pants together with his underwear to reveal, for the first time, the penis he'd been hiding. He made a show of it, understanding implicitly that I wanted to see.

I'd love to tell you that he had a long, thick dick, still with a foreskin so that it was exotic (at least in the United States), but in reality, it was just a normal cock. Just like all the others I'd seen in real life (which wasn't a long list), it was circumcised. The head was reddish pink, and had the rounded shape of a helmet. It was average in length, and its circumference was positively ordinary. His scrotum hung loosely, dangling below the glans of his penis, and there was blond hair around his package, though I could tell by its neatness that he'd cut it recently.

The man wasn't exactly like those I'd seen in photos and videos on the internet, but the most important difference was that he was in the bathroom with me. He was flesh and bone, and he was totally naked and goggling me with lust in his eyes.

I felt my penis swell with the blood of desire, but I didn't hide it from his lascivious glower, not even when I stopped pissing and achieved a full erection. I couldn't do anything other than stay there, frozen like a statue.

A statue with a manifest erection, that is.

Clearly pleased by this turn of events, the man grabbed his cock with his hand and wiggled it around until it, too, was hard. He kept staring at my dick, which stood out from my body like a tree branch and throbbed with the need to be touched by a hand other than my own. I realized that very few people had ever seen my flaccid penis, and no one except my doctor had seen me like that, sporting a fully unveiled erection as I was.

It was excessively titillating.

But I was perplexed about what to do next. Naturally, I knew that the right thing to do was to put away my cock and get out of there as soon as possible. I believed then that God was watching me at all times and in all places, and that it would be a very grave sin if I did ... well, something with this guy. And also, there was the risk -- a very plausible one -- that someone could come into the bathroom and see us up to some prurient mischief. I was pretty sure it was a crime to do the things I wanted to do in a public bathroom.

However, you already know that wisdom typically eludes you in situations when you're so blinded by your temptations, when seemingly unreal situations directly from your fantasies present themselves corporeally.

At that moment, neither the risk of hell nor of being caught in a homosexual encounter mattered much to me.

The man began to masturbate his stiff penis -- so delicious and so arrestingly conspicuous -- with one hand, and with the other he gave me a gesture that said, "Come here."

And in fact, I wanted to join him. I wanted to put my hand on his cock and feel the softness of the skin and the rigidity beneath. I wanted to fall on my knees at his feet (his beautiful feet) and plunge his erection in my mouth, licking and sucking it like the men I'd seen in porn videos. And I wanted him to do the same thing to me.

But I still couldn't move. I was still frozen there, patently aroused, with my feet anchored to the floor.

Abruptly, the blond man took a few steps toward me, his dick and balls oscillating from side to side as he moved. He didn't say anything, but he smiled when we were within inches of one another.

His stark proximity was palpable.

He looked down and wantonly admired my penis from above. I loved the sensation of his eyes on my unmitigated nudity, on my vulnerability, on my erotic exhilaration, on my unveiled homosexuality. No one in my life knew I was attracted to other men, and therefore, I'd never felt truly known. But as I allowed him to trace every detail of my pulsating cock, it was as if for the first time I had a witness to who I truly was.

I'd always yearned to be seen naked by another man, had always desired for him to intently investigate all my forbidden regions. My mother had told me when I was a child that I shouldn't show my private parts to anyone besides my doctor and my future spouse, and I feared that meant my dream would never be fulfilled. I already knew I would never marry a woman, and as it relates to my doctor, well, ... I would get an erection every time he asked me to remove my underwear so he could examine my genitals.

"Don't worry," he always said after my little friend stood up with pride right in front of his face. "It's normal to become erect in situations like this, especially when you're an adolescent. That just means you have a penis that works very well. Do you masturbate?"

"No," I lied. By fifteen, I'd begun masturbating at least once every day, though I was always filled with immense shame whenever I finished.

"Mhmm," he said as if he didn't believe me. "And do you have nocturnal emissions?"

"Okay," he said as he used his fingers to inspect my testicles for lumps. My penis continued to point toward the ceiling, apparently unconcerned with propriety. "Well, I know that there are different ideas between families and religious traditions, but from my perspective as a doctor, I think you should know that it's natural and even healthy to masturbate. You just need to be sure that you do it with privacy and care. And if you choose to do it with someone else, make sure they're the same age as you and that they clearly consent to do it with you. Okay?"

But though I'd said, "okay," I'd never once masturbated with anyone else and had only ever seen other bare penises at urinals or in changing rooms.

However, now, I was there with that blond man, and both of us had taken out our rigid cocks to show off for the other. With his tool so close to mine, I noticed that they were very similar in size and color, though his balls hung more lazily between his legs than mine, and my pubic hair was darker, longer, and more abundant. The glans of his penis looked somewhat like a mushroom whereas mine stretched further back, kind of like a mullet.

After a protracted period of solely visual appraisal, the blond man lifted his hand and enveloped my dick in his fingers. The touch was hot, and it made me jump a little; but he didn't seem to notice. He was focused on my little friend, and now he was getting to know him in such a delightful way.

Meanwhile, with his free hand, he ripped my swimsuit down to the floor so that I was all but entirely naked. Then he grabbed me by my newly unmasked ass cheeks and continued tugging on my penis slowly without looking away from my firmness

I moaned.

Having his hand on my dick was even better than I'd dared to imagine. It was an entirely distinct sensation from that of my own hand. His deliberate caresses were superior to every act of masturbation I'd ever perpetrated on my self -- including the times I'd stuffed my penis between a couple of pillows, fucking them as if they were the asshole of Cole Warner, the only guy in my grade who was openly gay. I used to fantasize about being totally naked in bed with him, licking every inch of his body. I didn't ever do anything with him, but now, with this naked man diddling my cock, I regretted that I never experienced this with Cole.

Maybe there was still a chance. Surely he was back in town for the summer.

I extended my arm and grazed my fingers along the length of the blond man's shaft, gliding from the tip down to the base until those golden pubes tickled my skin. That was the first time I'd ever made physical contact with a penis besides my own, and I immediately fell in love with the sensation. Reversing direction, my touch moved along the underside of him, my middle and index fingers splitting along either side of his swollen urethra.

Once I reached the tip of him again, I grabbed his cock and began to give him light, back-and-forth strokes.

The blond man closed his eyes and let loose a groan of pleasure. "That's it, baby," he whispered. "It feels so good when you touch me like that."

His words made my dick bounce, but I found myself disappointed that, with his eyelids now shut, he was no longer looking at it. I wanted so badly to feel his lust-filled gaze intrude all over my privacy.

In fact, I needed it.

"Look at me," I commanded in a susurration.

He opened his eyes and looked directly into mine.

"No, look down at me," I said.

With a concupiscent grin, he showered his intense, lecherous scrutiny down my bare chest until his eyes once more fixed on my penis, which he continued to masturbate.

During all that time, I'd been so consumed by what was happening to the front of my body that I hardly noticed what was transpiring behind. The fingers of his other hand, which had initially clasped my bare ass cheek, had gingerly progressed inward until they were now in my crack, strumming the fine hairs there.

And then I felt a fingertip alight on my tight hole.

I let out a delicate wail in spite of myself. But he didn't retract his finger, nor did I want him to.

Never before had I involved my ass in my sexual play, but right then, I realized that had been a grave mistake. I'd always assumed that, if someday I did ever have sex with a man, it would have been me putting my dick in his hole. However, his finger triggered an epiphany, and I suddenly wanted to spin around, bent over to touch my toes, and spread my cheeks to let him have his way with my hole.

However, I stayed upright. One new experience at a time, I told myself, and I wasn't done letting him jerk me off. That didn't stop me from trying to slacken my sphincter to let his finger explore further within; the only problem was, every time he initiated another downward swipe of his hand over my cock, my hole immediately tightened. Nevertheless, he continued to dance his fingertips atop my entrance, which caused my dick to bubble up with precum.

The blond man, attentively taking note of this, brushed his finger over my piss slit, wiping up all the fluid before sticking his finger in his mouth to taste it.

"It tastes incredible," he said, his eyes glazing over with delectation. And then he snatched my cock again and kept on masturbating me.

It was that statement which pushed me over the edge.

A feeling of electricity issued from my penis and propagated itself throughout my entire body. That wave shook me, and little howls escaped my throat. At that, the blond man accelerated his strokes and gave a start when my cock spat its semen with a series of little explosions, splashing onto the man's belly and the concrete bathroom floor.

I hadn't even caught my breath before the other man also ejaculated, his cum spraying over my hip and pubic hair. The liquid was hot and viscous against my skin..

When the naked man in front of me withdrew his hands from my ass and softening penis, he commenced rubbing my cum into his skin like lotion, offering me a wink and a smirk.

That seemed to rouse me out of a stupor, and I suddenly felt sick.

What the hell had I just done?

Just then, I understood completely how Adam must have felt when he realized he was naked. Now, the blond man's persistent gaping at me made me ashamed of my nudity rather than aroused by it. I covered my genitals from his eyes with one hand, bent over to grab my swimsuit, and pulled it up with my other hand.

"Are you okay?" asked the other man, sounding confused and concerned.

Unable to respond to his sincere attentiveness, I pushed him away from me, though the touch of my hand on his bare breast sizzled, and raced to the bathroom exit, my bare feet slapping against the floor. Just before leaving, I stopped and looked down at my chest for any trace of his semen. Seeing none, I ran out of there and ignored the lifeguard's admonishment that I walk on the pool deck.

I went straight to the chair where I'd left my belongings, and with quavering hands, I pulled on my shirt before slipping the thongs of my flip-flops between my toes and grabbing my car keys.

Without even stopping to alert my friends, I fled. It felt as if God's condemnatory gaze followed me as I went.

But as I drove home, I thought back on what had happened, almost unable to believe it. The remembrance made me hard again, and, despite my religiously-inspired guilt, I helplessly slipped my fingers inside my swimsuit to find my reborn erection. With one hand on the steering wheel, I jerked off until I ejaculated inside my shorts.

I went back to the pool the next day, at the exact same time. Just as I'd hoped, I found the blond man in the bathroom.