Wednesday, November 28, 2012

the point of fever

"I'm really suprised at you, Alyosha: how can you be a virgin? You're a Karamozov, too! In your family sensuality is carried to the point of fever."
"You mean Grushenka? No, brother, he doesn't despise her. If he's publicly traded his fiancée for her, he doesn't despise her. It''s something, brother, that you won't understand yet. It's that a man falls in love with some beautiful thing, with a woman's body, or even with just one part of a woman's body (a sensualist will understand that), and is ready to give his own children for it, to sell his father and mother, Russia and his native land, and though he's honest, he'll go and steal; though he's meek, he'll kill; though he's faithful, he'll betray. The singer of women's little feet, Pushkin, sang little feet in verse; others don't sing, but they can't look at little feet without knots in the stomach. But it's not just little feet..."
-The Brothers Karamozov (79-80)

I joined a new gym a week or so ago. Part of the appeal to this gym was that it would be a nice change from David Barton, that it wouldn't be so gay, so cruisey, that I might actually focus more on my workout in such a setting, presumably a straight one. The locker room is a sight that I imagine most gym locker rooms to be - brightly lit, a sports station playing sports news, and overweight and out of shape older guys trying in unimpressive ways to hold a line against gaining more weight, against aging more. This was a massive change from the dimly lit locker room at David Barton full of impossibly chiseled bodies on display with a soundtrack of pulsing dance music.

But put me in a room full of half-naked men and my eyes will wander no matter where I am. As I was about to go into the shower, I saw this guy walk up to the towels naked, a little too proudly so, before grabbing one and heading to a shower stall. I, of course, couldn't help myself, fever starting to rise, and chose the shower stall next to him. David Barton Gym would never have such shower stalls as this gym - it would be entirely too much and people wouldn't be able to restrain themselves. It would take the bathhouse atmosphere to another level for them, which would probably attract too much attention from the Health Department. The showers at this gym, my new gym, have slightly fogged glass separating each one.

I showered, soaped up, and watched the guy next to me do the same. He did so facing me, taking extra time when soaping up his genitals. I did the same. This became a dance. Each of us followed the other's lead, testing out boundaries before we saw that the other person was there for the same thing, that we were there to get our kicks off both voyeuristic and exhibitionist. I faced him more. He faced me more. The hands lingering over our cocks as we washed those areas soon transitioned into our hands stroking our cocks. I saw the foggy shape of this guy jerking off. He wiped down the glass between us with his hand, wiping away steam and water, bringing forth clearer outlines of bodies, of frenzied bodies jerking off next to each other at this straight gym, of fever taking hold. He pressed his hard dick against the glass, rubbed it back and forth, and I could see it clearly at this distance, saw its massive size, its proud upward curve. I rubbed mine against the glass as well for him to get a better look. He put his mouth close to the glass, pantomimed sucking me off.

He pressed his ass cheeks against the glass and I could see his bent over muscled back. He rubbed his cheeks up and down the glass. I became worried that someone might see us from outside the shower stalls, but the fever had taken too much hold by this point. It had taken even more of a hold for this man. Soon he was on his knees, so that his cock was under the partition. He was absolutely wild with horniness, not giving a fuck at this point about who might see. I became a bit nervous about the situation and was already at the point of climax, had been for a while, and so I shot my load, came, and turned the water off and dried myself off. He rose from his knees and fled his shower stall before I had even finished drying myself off. I didn't see him when I came out of the stall. I have no idea what he actually looks like. I like it that way. I just have this image of a foggy naked body, of a a dick coming into clear focus, of an ass doing the same. I lost myself for a while in this fog and afterwards, I remembered, remembered what a joy it is to lose myself in these fogs, to give in to these passions, to be ruled by them on occasion, to pursue them in the locker rooms across this city, gay or straight, to really appreciate the male body, its form, to fanatically worship it, to bite my lower lip and stroke my cock and to firmly believe, at least for the duration of that act, that there is nothing more meaningful in all of this world that we live in.

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