Monday, January 12, 2015

Steamrooms of New York

Barry White is playing. He is moaning loudly through my speakers. I am drinking red wine. I am a little stoned. My radiator is pumping out way more heat than anyone could ever need, more than even Barry White would be able to do through his voice.

Basically, what I am trying to say, is that, right now, in this moment, here sitting in my apartment in Brooklyn in the year 2015 (really, two thousand fucking fifteen already? okay.), and listening to good soul music, I am feeling what it is to be a human being, what it is to inhabit a body and to be aware of that, aware of the pleasures that such a thing can entail, all the pleasures that being effortlessly provides when you just sit back and be.

Earlier this evening, I saw the dude I sometimes see uptown, the piss fan. After, because I was in the neighborhood, I went to the gym location nearby. Crowded, it still early January, people still sticking to New Year's resolutions, no open treadmills, I putzed around for a bit before just deciding to sit in the steamroom.

Human bodies, holy fuck! They are such perfect things. I can stare at a foot, a perfectly formed and proportioned foot, of some older man sitting across from me in a towel in this steamroom and believe, know in fact, that there is nothing else, that this is church, what it is supposed to do, a recognition, a momentary and fleeting thing aided by being in a particular physical location - church, steamroom, whathaveyou - in which you get it, in which you know there it is no it to explain, that this, right here, is it. 

The man with the sexy feet left and the guy next to me started rubbing his crotch in a vague enough way so that he could just be a straight dude scratching his balls, a code, a language that only fellow speakers of the language can even hear. And so we started jerking off. His body was gorgeous. To lose oneself in the admiration of the human form is what it is to truly feel alive, to really get what any of this might be about, this time on earth, that it is about pleasures like these. Which is why I was so happy this evening, because I had experienced this particular pleasure that I haven't in so long, the erotic throes of the steamroom, your mind and body slightly exhausted, slightly foggy feeling, from the heat, and so to see, in glimpses of light broken up by tiny particles of moisture, by steam, bodies, defined things, abs, pecs, hairy thighs, stubble, that it's such a treat - such a beautiful thing to lose yourself too.

At some point, some other man, somehow even sexier, joined us. It was a daisy chain of blowjobs, of jerking off. This one guy's cock, this beautiful preppy looking dude, was gorgeous. His cock tasted just as good as I thought it would as I stared at it while he jerked off next to me. He had trimmed body hair and an insanely tight body. I imagined him to be some junior broker or some other type of ambitious and hungry finance dude. Steamrooms are amazing in this regard - your erotic fantasy is allowed to take limitless flight, to follow whatever imaginary fantasies it wants to project on to these people, these anonymous bodies, that it is pure physical attraction, never tempered by something so pedestrian as voice, what one does for a job, how one drinks their coffee, or one's bootcut jeans. It is pure physical attraction.

On the verge of passing out, I left, showered under cold water.

Changing, still sweating, I watched as next to me a gorgeous, wispy, tall guy with a beautiful mop of brown hair took off his towel, and stood naked momentarily before going commando and throwing on a pair of really sexy drop-crotch sweatpants. I watched his ass until the last bit of it was covered and then my eyes traced the outline of his muscled, curved back as he corrected his posture, pulled the pants up, and stood, tall, beautiful man, sexy human form, divine thing.

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