Date: Tue, 25 Aug 2009 23:10:11 -0600
From: C J <passionate4tonight@gmail.com>
Subject: Daily Steam Routine

       NOTE: This is a work of fiction and is not based on anyone, living
or dead nor on real events.  The story is the product of the imagination of
the author.


	It was always hot, wet and ready for me to enter. The steam room
was my sanctuary in the house of pain that most called a gym. The bleached
white towel that lazily draped over my thighs was the only image of purity
that this bath house would conjure up this evening. Being so wasted from my
work out, it hurt to just sit up against the back dark corner of the
steaming box. Somebody had covered the harsh yellow light with a couple wet
towels. I slowly slid down the wall farther into the bench, removing the
towel from my thighs as I eased down to fashion a pillow under my head. The
boilier spat scorching steam under the cedar benches, forcing my hanging
legs back up to the bench.  She knew where to make me lay, to make it more
comfortable for me, easier for him. The scent of musk infused with mildew
from the poorly treated benched and softened tiles tickled my nose and
memories. I had first gone to this gym as a boy with my grandfather, and
his friends. Now that he was gone I had become the new center of attention.
I had just finished up a game with 'the guys' and knew their matured bodies
were in more pain than even my young frame after a few layups and full
court press. Because they took me in as their own I would make sure they
knew I appreciated their... every effort to make me comfortable. In my
twenties now I was able to accommodate to their rigorous workouts a little
more than as a teen.

       I was always the first to start the steam. Soon after Teddy would
arrive, showered up and still wearing his jock. The gym had a rule about
always either wearing clothes or a towel in the men's area, some
mumbo-jumbo about minors being present. A jock always seemed to be Teddy's
preference anyway. Not that the staff were completely happy about it, but
Teddy was a long time-good standing member. Then next would come Paul. Tall
and lean Paul was the oldest and most in shape of all of us.  A marathon
runner for years it was Paul's job to make everybody more competitive.
Mostly we just wanted to see him lose a game for once. Jack would be last.
Short, a little chunky and a pain in the ass complainer, Jack always had a
joke to tell and a reason to bitch... and a cock like a donkey. He was
always last because he had to call and check in with his wife every hour,
and it would be at least that long until the nightly ceremonies would be
finished.

       Teddy peered through the fogged glass pane, taking a body count of
the small five by eight benched room. One. One person lying down. This one
reason was good enough to bring a smile to his face and quickly pop in the
room, being careful not to let too much steam out. I didn't even open my
eyes, but I knew that, as always, the steam would stick to his once white
swimmer jock and make it transparent against his flesh. He would sit across
the small dark room by my head and begin to massage himself. Paul never
took a body count. He always welcomed himself into the room wearing nothing
but a hand towel over him and sits at my feet. His bare cheeks would smack
hard against the moist bench, always scaring the crap out of me. But that
was Paul, always making a scene and being the center of attention. Banter
about the basketball game would start as soon as Jack made his way in, even
before he could sit down. And in he came, and in the banter started. I
didn't bother listening in, just taking mental note as Jack sat his towel
down right next to Teddy and their toes would just barely be touching.
Sometimes you could see them stare in each others eyes just a little too
long.

       The steam stopped.

       As soon as Jack made himself comfortable on his towel, Paul rested
his right hand on my leg.  Once in a while removing it when he got carried
away with his playfull banter with Jack, always to return it just a little
higher each time.  Teddy and I never talked much, just smiled. I opened one
eye to see Teddy playing with his jock, which was stretched out to the max
by now. Two knees to the pouches right was Jacks donkey cock oozing over
the edge of the bench. A single shiny stream of pre- cum connected from the
floor to his piss-slit. He was watching Paul move his hands up my legs with
one hand, while his other cautiously massaged the length of his own middle
leg. It was all almost a dance. One person would coyly signal to other and
then initiate a small subtle step, hoping the other would dance along as
well. They danced to the rhythm of the water beads dropping from the tile
ceiling onto their bodies and the soaked floor. Subtle, quiet, shy and yet
an unstoppable force of physics. In a few minutes, us four men would become
instruments of our own, adding a powerful melody of booming grunts and
whimpers to the five by eight concert hall. Fleshly harmonics that were
fine tuned and perfectly choreographed to dance in erotic rhythm. About two
more minutes of this and the overture was about to start.

From The Author: Let me know what you think! Even the shortest comments are
appriciated!  passionate4tonight@gmail.com