After a Particularly Steamy Sauna Session, My Old Gym Hung a Plaque in My Honor
It reads: “Lewd and lascivious behavior will be prosecuted under the full extent of Massachusetts law.”
Did you know the Boston Sports Club in Central Square had a plaque dedicated to me?
Yep, before the Cambridge location permanently closed, there was a plaque right next to the sauna that read: “Lewd and lascivious behavior will be prosecuted under the full extent of Massachusetts law.”
Not to brag, but I did that! (That’s a lie: I am obviously bragging.)
There was a time before I got hit by a car where I was jacked jacked. Just a hunk of uncooked, raw meat. I recently came out as bisexual and realized that queer life is a lot easier if your body looks a certain way. I think we can all agree it’s a sad but undeniable truth. So I started working out.
However, there were days when I didn’t want to engage in “strength training.” But on those days when I didn’t have motivation, there was always one thing that kept me going. One thing that got me to bundle up in the dead of winter and get my ass to the gym: the promise of getting my dick sucked.
Like most younger straight men, I was oblivious to gay cruising culture. I was twenty-three when I first learned what the Village People song “YMCA” is really about.
But a twinky gay friend who worked on my floor enlightened me. Right after I dedicated myself to a life of pumping iron and bland chicken breasts, he informed me that men were doing certain naughty things in the sauna.
I clutched my pearls! “That absolutely doesn’t happen,” I protested. “I’ve been in the sauna countless times and have never seen anything.”
He insisted that handies and blowies were happening all around me, in plain sight.
“Okay, maybe for you, but you just look so gay.” (It was a rude statement but an accurate one.)
“Zach,” he said slowly and deliberately, “Trust me.”
“Fine,” I said, before reciting the immortal words of Whitney Houston, “How will I know?”
“You’ll know,” he said. “You’ll know.” And with that, he vanished. (Unclear if my friend was real or a gay, ghostly Sherpa.)
I’ve already written about my first steamy sauna encounter for InsideHook. So I’m going to share a section of that story below. (Read the whole story here!)
“Armed with what little knowledge I had, I picked a random Tuesday and like that ever-optimistic starfish from Finding Nemo, declared, ‘Today’s the day!’ After years of working out and sitting in the sauna, oblivious to the orgasms surrounding me, I would finally be a part of the fun.
I worked on my chest, abs and triceps. My arms and torso are by far my best features, and I wanted them to have a nice pump.
Already sweating like a pig from my workout, I grabbed a towel, wrapped it around my waist, and plopped my ass down on the highest bench. The sauna was empty when I arrived, and after a minute, I could feel my body crave water, but I wasn’t going to let mild dehydration get in my way. After all, today was the day. After about two minutes, a beefy man tatted from head to toe sat down a socially acceptable distance from me. He looked like a young — and far more handsome — Danny Trejo.
I wasn’t sure exactly how to proceed, but I needed to get the ball rolling because I knew my body could only handle being in the sauna for a few more minutes before passing out. I looked up at him, and we locked eyes for a solid four Mississippis…
What now? I thought to myself. This guy was seemingly interested, but what’s the step between prolonged eye contact and BJ? It’s too big of a leap. Then I saw him readjusting himself over his towel, and I replied in fashion.
Fuck it. I scootched next to him, and he immediately ripped off my towel and went to work. It was hot — in a literal sense. So hot that I knew it would take me longer than usual [to finish] on account of being overheated. But by god, I was determined.
After what couldn’t have been longer than three minutes but felt like an eternity, I felt that anticipatory, tingly sensation course through my body.”
I share this as a teaser. Clearly, that story didn’t earn a plaque. Countless similar encounters happen every day at that BSC.
Nevertheless, I share this story to say that I was hooked once I got my dick sucked the first time at the gym. Day or shine, I got my booty to the gym and worked out (and got my cock drained). It was positive enforcement exemplified—such a fantastic reward for doing something I often did not want to do.
Besides, after a workout, I was—am—so fucking horny. (There’s actually a reason for this, working out releases hormones and neurotransmitters that get you stupidly aroused!)
After a while of getting my dick sucked by countless men, I got cocky. (Pun absolutely intended.) With every successful orgasm (where I didn’t get caught), I unconsciously learned that I could be more brazen. Eventually, my moans became audible, and I didn’t keep my eye on the door while getting blown.
Like Dickarus, I was flying too high to the sun-tanned bussy. It was only a matter of time until I burnt my cock—but who knew that day would live in infamy.
It was chest and tricep day, my favorite workout day of the week and the one that gets me horniest. There’s something about a man with big ol’ titties that turns me on, even if that man is me.
After I finished stretching, I engaged in my usual locker room routine, looking around for men who lingered naked—seeing who was taking his sweet time applying lotion to every single crevice of his body. I tried to lock eyes with a few of them to see who would hold my gaze. No one did, but I didn’t worry. With my dick out, I had made my presence known, and the interested parties were sure to come.
When I entered the sauna, there was a generic, unassuming man in his thirties: bald, average build, five o'clock shadow, and little chest hair. I couldn’t get an initial read on him, but I did notice his face was deep red, meaning he had been sitting in that sauna for quite some time. Perhaps he was waiting for a horny man to suck dry? There was only one way to find out.
“Hey,” I said upon sitting down.
“Hey,” he replied in an ostensibly gay voice. Well, that answered that question.
I sat directly across from him, and we quickly locked eyes. I held his gaze for three long seconds until I broke eye contact. When I looked back at him, he was playing with his cock over his towel. I repositioned, letting my towel carelessly fall to my side, revealing my erect dick. It was Pavlovian conditioning. I knew nearly every time I went into the sauna, I got my dick sucked, so just walking into the sauna made me hard. (This was a physiological response I needed to curb because it was very awkward when I was in a sauna with an old Jewish man who clearly went in for a shvitz, not dick.)
But in this case, the immediate boner worked to my advantage. Without saying anything, he stood up, took two steps toward me, and sat down by my side.
Then his head went down.
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