Sunday, May 12, 2013

Bath House Blues

I haven't been to a bath house in quite a while. I felt not only a little ashamed but also self conscious of my white, pale body. As I walked through the dingy corridors searching for a cubicle to get undressed and set my stuff, the few patrons in the building were so brown and fit. Or at least, that was how I saw them.
I located a small room near the back. It had a cot which was falling apart. The yellowish foam was bursting out of the ripped seams. Several hooks on a white-tiled wall which was covered in lewd graffiti in a language I didn't really understand. The light was not from the sole fixture up near the mildew encased ceiling, but from the row of glass bricks which ran above the cot. The entire room smelled of damp clothes, bleach, and sweat.
I undressed, folded my clothes, placed them on my shoes, and slid them under the cot. Wrapping a towel around my waist, I wandered out into the dark halls. Several of the doors to other cubicles were open revealing empty, sad darkness. No one was hardly there at this time of the day. Just us creepy creeps, I reckon.
As I turned a corner in the dank maze, I caught glimpse of a naked man lounging on his bed. He didn't seem old - maybe in his mid-thirties - languidly stroking his flaccid penis. His skin was smooth and copper colored - the way I prefer. Our eyes met and he smiled. More like grinned. The face lined up into a ghastly mask of twisted evil. Like the face of a tortured man. I continued walking, ignoring what I saw.
Casually strolling through the dingy, moist halls - above me mighty pipes hissed and gurgled - I made my way to the steam room. Dark and lurid. Barely discernible through the mist, I noticed two phantoms sitting on the tiled bench, gazing vapidly into space. Not moving, afraid to call attention to one another. It made me depressed. I sat alone on the other side off the room, removed my towel and relaxed. The door flung open and a young man in his early twenties walked in. Tall, handsome and with a scrawny physique. He plops down near me on my side and casually begins to fondle his drooping testicles. Then a flood of pudgy, grey haired vampires entered, flocking around him to devour their prey. I sighed, wrapped myself in my wet towel and strolled over towards the secondary sauna. That one didn't use steam so as you could at least see from one side to the next.
I sat alone for a bit. An obese man wandered in, lay on the bench opposite me and fell asleep. I sat thinking why I was here. It has passed the point where I do not even enjoy the contact of other people. For me it is bliss simply to be alone. Why? I kept asking myself why. How did I become this way in such a short time? I thought about how I wanted to just go away, far away from people and never to be bothered again.
At that moment, a short guy came in and sat a few feet away. He must've worked out, because his squat frame was in shape and he sported several tribal tattoos. I liked his hair. Shaved on the side and back, faded into short spikes on the top and black as the blackest night. We sat a few moments, I could hear him breath it was so quiet.
"Tan caliente?" He mumbled.
His timid voice shocked me out of my pensive revelry. Was I horny? Not as such. I just wanted to relax and think.
"Poco." I grinned. "Y tu?"
His thick hand reached over and landed on my right thigh, slowly slithering up until it wrapped around my penis. He casually stroked it. I couldn't get hard, but he slid over, bent down and placed my dick in his mouth. My hand caressed his broad, muscular back. I began to get paranoid at not being able to get an erection. He began to suck with gusto. That did it. My cock shot straight up. I reached down under his towel and messaged his foreskin over his engorged head. My fingers sticky from his precum. This guy was sucking and sucking good. I began to get so hot, sweat was beading down my face. Shit! It was good! Never had I'd been blown like that. After a few minutes, I stood up and splattered semen onto the wet tiled floor. I looked down at him, smiled. He sighed happily then got up and walked out.
I returned to my cubicle and lay down. Wow. I really wasn't feeling it. I wanted to go but I actually enjoyed lying there. Alone. With the door closed. An hour must've passed as I lay there swimming in depressed thoughts of loneliness battling with the want of solitude. I felt truly ugly. And not just in the physical sense, but emotional. Silently I screamed at how much I wanted to simply die. To end this mortal coil...all this angst, and paranoia, and doubt, and tension. I wondered if anyone had died in a bath house by suicide? How could I do it? Being the only white ass in the joint, death by gang rape, I mused.
Fuck! I shot up, wrapped the towel around me and headed back to the steam room. I sat in the murk and as I glanced to my left, I noticed some old, fat guy fucking that young man, his long feet rhythmically bouncing above the fat guy's shoulders, toes curled. Several ancient queens formed a semi-circle around them, tugging at their withering genitals as they watched the show. I sighed and stared down at the semen splotched floor. This shit is sad. There was a time when I sought out the bad in life, the over the top, the unseen, the outcast. Now I am becoming prudent. Detesting it. Or maybe not.
I felt a hand slither down my spine. Looking up, a skinny guy in his mid-twenties with classical good looks was smiling down on me in the mist. Wordlessly, he sat next to me, leaned in and began kissing me. As his tongue brushed my teeth, I thought how many cocks have been inside that mouth today. Millions? I reached down and fondled his short penis under his towel. He began to breath harder. He gently grabbed the back of my head and guided it towards his waiting crotch. Why not? I thought. I gave him the best I could which I guess worked because within minutes he was squirting semen across my tongue. I spat the matter onto the floor and as I was getting up to leave, he pulled me down next to him and said in broken English, "Hold me for a while...please."
We sat there not uttering a word embraced in a bath house surrounded by perverts and sex fiends and cockjunkies of all shapes and sizes and my eyes began swelling in tears and my heart sank as I came to the unmentionable conclusion that the way I was feeling - all that self loathing and doubt - I wasn't the only one. I wasn't the sole specter walking this world who was too afraid to reach out and touch someone in the paranoia of being rejected and hurt. To be simply held by another from someone who actually wanted to reciprocate.
We both remained entwined with one another, our breathing calming us, each others heart beats ticking away, counting down when this moment of wondrous, beautiful togetherness would end. He eventually stood and walk away. Not saying a word.
I remained silently on the bench surrounded by the gulps and slurps of random, broken lust.
I don't want to be alone...


Mind Of Mine said...

Woah, beacoup the melancholy. I have been there before, at a bath house, holding a person I didn't know and probably would not have liked because he would be feeling the same as I would.

You walk out into the sunshine and you leave it in there.

LMB said...

It's hard to walk out and leave it in there when you carry it with you in your mind 24/7.

Mind Of Mine said...

I am good, with leaving my worries in certain places, other than my mind.

If not, I would drown.

Anonymous said...

Beautifuly written