He was naked. He had a towel but it wasn't wrapped around him. He was using it to press against his face and chest, to dry off. He was showing off. I was watching.
This was the same guy I had had some encounter at the gym with a few weeks ago. He, again, seemed a little out of his mind, perhaps high on meth, perhaps just high on a love of his own body. He eventually kind of wrapped the towel around his waist and sat down in the steam room. The towel barely covered his thighs, his dick out on display, a quite impressive dick to go with his impressive body. It was in the steamroom, so edges were smoother. Vaseline had been smeared over the camera lens; everything had the nice benefits of fog and soft lighting.
I had already been in the steamroom for quite a while before he came in and had been about to leave. I decided to stick it out, to enjoy the sight of this man's body despite whatever shortness of breath or risks to my heart I might incur. Eventually the crowd winnowed down to a few - a few who it was clear all wanted to jerk off. I rubbed my hand back and forth over this guy's muscled legs while I stroked my dick with my other hand. I came. He wiped my come on his hand, trying to get it all over him. I left and took a long cold shower, trying to catch my breath.
From there, I went to J. Crew to try to use up this store credit I have there from returning some Christmas gifts. There was nothing I wanted there, this my second trip to the store to try to find something to use this credit toward. I found one dress shirt I liked, but it, of course, was not to be found in my size. I found one sweater that I liked and which I got. I wanted to use the rest of this credit but looked at flannel print after flannel print and did not want any of them, did not want to be a part of this J. Crew machine, did not want to wear the safe clothing on offer here, did not want to be made aware as I was in that store of how I already wear safe clothing, did not want to be made aware of how my style is not to far removed from the casual preppiness and boyishness being sold, did not like how close to home the boat shoes and the flannel prints were, did not want to be in this store any longer.
I took the train home with the one sweater I found. The girl sitting across from me spilled numerous cans of cat food out of her tote bag at some point. All of us on the train watched them scatter all over the floor. Not one person, myself included, made the slightest move to help her gather her cat food. We all watched her as she picked up can after can and put them back in her bag.