A FINE LIQUEUR
I like watching men doing their exercises. Their supple bodies, their muscles articulating in rhythm, the repeated motions getting more fluid even as the exertion is more difficult.
And it's not just their bodies I like to watch. It's their faces, and through it their minds. Some guys are blissed out on the exercise. Eyes glazed, bodies pumping, they seem to be overwhelmed by the endorphins. Others are impressed with themselves, eyes riveted on the mirror. After the set, they flex without weights, to see how pumped they are. Still others seem happy to be struggling, grunting aloud and exaggerating the strain, as if to show others how much effort they are putting into their routine. Then there are the performers, making each set perfect, as if the entire room will then put down its weights and applaud.
Oddly, I don't know what type I am. I never think about it while I'm working out: any hint of self-consciousness would put the brakes on my own efforts. But I love to watch the others.
One evening I picked out a beautiful young man to watch. He was lightly muscled, and I timed my sets so that I was resting while he was pumping. Mirrors everywhere, so I could watch conveniently, and undetected.
Or so I thought.
He moved beautifully, taut dark skin and dark curly hair, well-proportioned but slightly lanky body, and nice symmetric features. A beautiful young man.
I timed my trips to the water fountain so that he would be coming back as I went. He had to notice me. At about the third trip, I looked at him in recognition. Beautiful grey eyes. Soft grey, not steel grey. And something attractively shy about his look.
On the next trip I could not help looking at his eyes, and could not help smiling. He returned the smile, again shyly. The eyes are a window to the soul, they say. This guy had a beautiful soul. Something warm about him. He wasn't judging me, wasn't deciding if I were older or in better shape or better proportioned. None of that gym rat stuff. And he wasn't even exactly cruising me. He was being friendly, as if to say, "Here I am. Here you are. What can we do to get closer?" All in a passing glance.
I finished my workout and hit the showers. Then I caught some steam. After about five minutes the door opens, and Grey Eyes comes in. The gym is not crowded. It was just me in the showers, and just me and him in the steam room. I can't help looking at him--he's so beautiful--and he can't help looking back. I smile briefly, and he smiles back. That's all it takes, really. I grope myself, he does the same, and we whip off our towels. We fondle each other and hug. He's a sweet guy, wants closeness and communication, not adulation or domination. Just my type.
We break apart as we hear a shower come on. But it's nothing. The guy showers and leaves. We're sitting down on the steam bench, legs crossed, facing each other. I feel his chest, he feels mine. I fondle his cock and he fondles mine. We're not hard. I look in his beautiful face and smile. He smiles back. Our souls touch, for an instant.
Sometimes life offers these intensely beautiful moments.
We enjoy feeling each others' bodies, relaxed now, not hard, not straining for release. That will change soon, as both of us get aroused. Grey Eyes lies back on the lower bench, and I reach down from the upper bench to fondle him. And then we're interrupted.
A guy comes into the steam room from the shower. We break apart, but he knows what's been happening. He's younger than I, full head of dark hair, nice body, and he's immediately after my friend. I'm not in the mood for competition, so I step back. He gropes himself, then starts groping Grey Eyes. Grey Eyes likes this, and lies back. His cock gets full and hard.
Did I mention that he has a beautiful penis? Like a ripe fruit, full and thick, with beautiful balls hanging below. New Guy swoops down on it, sucks it greedily. It's like I did the foreplay, and now he's taking over. Grey Eyes is enjoying this, and I'm enjoying watching it. I don't want to fight--Grey Eyes is too sweet to get into a fight over. And besides, that wonderful moment when we smiled at each other is lingering in my mind.
But--and I didn't notice this at first--Grey Eyes keeps looking at me, even as he's getting sucked off. An invitation? A plea to come help him? I'm not at all sure. I just know that I'm not harboring any feelings of competition, or of loss, of or disappointment. I'm just happy to be here with this sweet and beautiful young man, sharing the sexual feelings in the room. But for some reason, I haven't yet gotten the message that Grey Eyes' grey eyes is sending me.
Another noise, and another guy comes in. This is an older guy, oblivious to what he's interrupted. He minds his business, and clearly doesn't want to fool around. So I lead the way out of the steam room into the sauna.
In the sauna, I sit on the upper bench, towel spread loosely across my crotch, and wait for the others to come on in. They don't disappoint. First Grey Eyes enters, then New Guy. And the order makes a big difference.
For Grey Eyes comes straight over to me, lifts my towel, and swallows my cock down. This is what he's been wanting, what he's been telegraphing to me in vain through his beautiful eyes. I was too dense to see the need in those eyes--the need for him to please me. I had been too focused on pleasing him. The sin of altruism.
So now the roles are reversed. Grey Eyes is sucking my cock, and New Guy is left to watch. I stand up, so that Grey Eyes doesn't have to bend. He takes my cock deep into his mouth. He can't get enough. I'm feeling like my whole body, my whole spirit, is being pulled into his mouth, into his own spirit. The blow job is almost spiritual. His eyes are closed, his tongue is playing tunes on my cock, his hands are on my body. He loves doing this for me. He's taking me deep. He's licking the head, he's pulling on my shaft with his cheeks. He's totally involved.
Again, I'm rendered dense. What can I do for this beautiful man? I pull myself off of him and offer him my mouth. I press my mouth against his. I look into those profound and pleading eyes. I feel his stubble, smell his sweet breath. We kiss deeply and passionately. And quickly, because he wants to get back to my cock. OK, OK. I want to please you. If my cock pleases you more than my mouth, take my cock. I have fallen in love for the past 20 minutes, and want to serve you by giving you my cock.
New Guy is on a different plane. He wants Grey Eyes' body. He wants it quick and he wants it all. But he can't get it all--Grey Eyes' mouth is cemented to my cock, his face and body absorbed in my cock. I'm fondling his hair, his chin, his neck--anything I can reach to make him feel that he's so deeply appreciated, that I want to give him what he wants, that I love that he's enjoying this. Twenty minutes of sex and romance.
New Guy wants in. He dives down on Grey Eye's cock while Grey Eyes sucks on me. There's no communication between these two--just sex. The deeper, sexual communication is all between myself and Grey Eyes. New Guy is fulfilling his own lusts, but not participating in ours. I'm getting off on this. My cock is driving two men--two beautiful younger men--wild with lust. And one of them is in touch with me in a much deeper way.
This can't last. I'm tensing up, I'm going to spill my soul into Grey Eye's mouth. I know that he will take it, but it's not safe. I've got to pull out. It's an effort, but certain rules I will not bend--especially with a man so hauntingly beautiful, in body and soul, as Grey Eyes.
So I pull out, his mouth reluctantly letting go, but his hands continuing to fondle my body. I shoot, my usual distance shot, which he loves to watch. New Guy has pulled off his cock--the position forces it, and watches as well. Then Grey Eyes cums, then New Guy pulls himself off.
New Guy leaves first. His lusts slaked, he's ready to go home. But Grey Eyes and I linger in the sauna. No words--I have no idea what his voice sounds like. We just sit there looking at each other, our penises flaccid, our lusts spent. But we like each other's silent company.
Finally, someone comes in, and I leave for the shower. Can't be staring at Grey Eyes with a third person cluelessly gawking. I take my shower, noticing Grey Eyes in the shower opposite. Our eyes meet for one more time, and he goes and gets dressed while I finish showering.
When I get to the locker room, he's gone. And he has never come back. Sometimes I wonder if he really was an angel, an angel of lust, sent to make me feel good for years after. This was about four years ago and I remember every golden moment. Like the memory of a fine liqueur, sampled but once, lingering forever.
So maybe I did something good in the past, and this is my reward. Well, the system works. I want to do as much good as I possibly can, if another such angel, or the same angel, is going to come my way as a result.