Achilles in the steam room



Achilles in the steam room


I never really could figure out where I fit in the hetero/homo range. Mostly I'd stay home and pleasure myself in the company of my reflected image in a mirror. So often I wanted that image to step out of the mirror and take his place in the flesh. Ocassisonally I'd go to the baths, I'd give myself over to another guy blowing me or jerking me off, and there was plenty of pleasure to that, but usually followed by a let down feeling of having never really met them, of having, literally, put my manhood in their hands. I rarely acted on my instinct that what I really wanted to do was rub my body and cock up against another, in a dance of mutual plelasure, a back and forth of now I lead, now you lead, now we're jus letting thee cocks take charge in the way they know so well to do.

On one occasion I did meet up with another guy, I'll call him Achilles (favorite of Zeus), who was up for what I'd only fantasized about, That is a memory that haunts me. Let me take you there.

We met in the steam room of a men's baths in Portland, a place I'd drop in on when I was going through town. Away from home and the usual constraints of girl friends and general habits, I'd find myself in the mood for something behond the habitual. On this particular ocassion I started a conversation with a guy - I'll call him Achilles, favorite of Zeus - in the steam room, and from the way the conversation went there seemed to be a match of like natures. When we found ourselves a few minutes later in a room, with the door shut, we knew immediately what to do with each other. I can't even quite get back what went on for the next few hours, it's a blur of plelasure, of what seemed like endless rubbing against each other, cock over body, cock to cock, and a bliss that shut eveything out. When the juice would spilled, and I'd think we were through, he'd say, there's more, there's more. And then when it was in fact over, and we put on our clothes and went by unspoken consent out of the baths together, there was a great calm. I can remember standing on the city street with him, and feeling I had the buddy I'd always wanted, and was always afraid to ask for. We talked about meeting up later, but he was busy, I was traveling through, and we never saw each other again.

That was ten years ago, but I still think about Achilles. I think about the possibilities of going further with that experience, of going into another room with another man of like nature, shutting the door, dropping the towels, assessing what's behind that thin layer of terrycloth, open now to my admiring eyes, this most beautiful, magic organ (the same as what's behind the zippers of all those pants as I pass all these other buddies' cocks on the street, never guessing how much they want to mix it up with each other); of pushing in against this man before me, stepped out of the mirror to meet me in the flesh, chest to chest, pelvis to pelvis, the two cocks meeting each other like two dogs at play, the heads nuzzling up against each other, the electricity running up and down the shafts, length stretching to length - and then the slow start up of movement, sliding up against each other, findidng each other's private sites of joy, finding out places in ourselves we hadn't even guessed, that our own hands had not yet discovered, sharing the knowledge only men know of their own anatomy, aching for that release, prolonging it, letting the tension build, backing off, massage to the stomach, the buns, the chest, the nipples, a circling around with hands, undulating crotches against each other, a change of positions - so many positions possible, back to back, front to front, side to side - and then returning to the front-on assault, cock wrestling cock for who can have who come first - and then the first sweet flow, the jetting jism, lubricating the two of us, a libation, unctuous, sticky,zeus-sent, stimulating the other to releasing its own sweet, so-long-held-back gift.

There, There. Lying next to each other, the breath coming down from a fast pant to deep relaxation, the tingling subsiding to an overall warmth, the words of gratitude, the affirmation of a bond, and always, the promise of more where that came from. Let's meet in the woods, let's do this standing up against trees; let's lie down by the sea, letting our bodies be cupped in hot sand, hearing the waves crash in as we foam over each other; let's do it in a full length mirror, two meeting two; let's take each other down to the mat, stripped to tank tops and jock straps, wrestling to see who can get whose off, who can get whose cock on top of whose; let's meet in a dark park in a small valley town on a hot summer night, the good folk gone to sleep, to beds of wives and husbands, while we, remembering the buddiess of our youth with whom we so much wanted to play around with our pants down and our shirts pushed up, all our hearts in our emerging, merging young manhoods, rub up against each other while the mocking bird sings, the smell of crushed grass mingling with maleness.

I'm posting all this with you hoping it gets you hot, to bring you along on the ride of cock-fueled imagination with me. It's not just to call up the scenes of the past, your past or mine: it's to affirm that what happened then can happen again. It's to recognize, that in this cum-munication with other men, that Achilles and I, or your buddy and you, weren't an aberration of two guys with crossed and kinked wires. (They were crossed, but not kinked, rather blended, like to like.) It's apparent from this website that lots of us are out there, wanting the same thing. I look forward to meeting them, to begin with in this virtual space.

Come on into the room. Come out to the woods. Let's meet in the park, or anywhere else your cock loves to play. There's always more there, wherever it is, of what we always wanted.

Warmly, Achilles

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