This is a true story by Michael Stewart, written for NYC's Pier BBS in 1987.
Copyright (c) 1987, all rights reserved; permission granted to the "Nifty
Andrew" archive for online "publication" and distribution.

Comments and lewd propositions may be sent to Michael at
brooklyn@yorick.ny.cybernex.net

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                           "At The Y.M.C.A."

     Sloane House (or "Slum House," as it was not-too-affectionately known
to those of us who found ourselves having to live there), must have been
atypical of YMCA's nationwide.  I mean, I've been reading for years about
the various sordid soirees and horny happenings at these kind of places,
making them sound like a kind of amateur bathhouse, and it was kind of
let-down not to see people fucking and sucking in the hallways.  Of course,
that doesn't mean it didn't go on everywhere else...
     The reason I ended up there isn't very important to the story, but
suffice it to say that I selected the place because of its location - on
34th Street near Ninth Avenue - and the fact that this particular Y served
as sort of a college dorm for a lot of the college kids from NYU.  I had
hoped that as soon as I walked in the door I would find dozens of hot young
jocks running around in towels - or less - and have to admit it was
depressing to discover this particular YMCA was co-ed.  *Sigh*
     Once safely in my room (more of a closet, with a bed that had to be
seen to be imagined), I started to lay out a strategy.  I knew the 12th
floor, where I had been assigned was co-ed, so if anything was going to
happen, it would be late at night.  Then I realized the place had some
public areas - a gym, a rec room, those types of things - and reasoned that
where there are public areas, there must be public toilets...so I changed
clothes into something relatively skimpy (not skimpy enough to make me too
obvious), and headed downstairs.
     I located the john without any trouble, and then spent a few minutes
checking out the stalls.  As any experienced pervert knows, the first thing
to do when you're looking for action in a place like this is to check out
the walls in the johns.  I checked the first one...nothing.  Same for the
second and third.  In the fourth - paydirt.  "Hot Action - 3rd Floor Mens
Room.  Show Hard For Blow Job."  Well, well, well...  I didn't feel like
waiting for the elevator - the stairs were right there, so up I went.
     Fortunately all the floors were laid out the same, so it wasn't
difficult (I was going to say "it wasn't hard," but it was, believe me!),
and sat myself in a stall.  From the quantity of the graffiti, I could tell
that at I was at least in the right place...but was I at the right time?
I decided to wait a little while, and fantasize about the cum stains on the
walls - and how they might have gotten there...and what kind of man put
them there.
     I was really enjoying myself, pounding away at my fantasy, when I
heard the door slam, and almost jumped through the stall door.  Someone
else was walking around the outer area...and then came into the inner area. 
If you're a tearoom freak, you'll know that a lot of the older johns were
built in two sections, one for the washbasins and such, the other for the
toilets and urinals.  I could hear him go up to a urinal and start to piss,
but he was at the wrong angle for me to see through the crack between the
stall door and the wall.  Needless to say, not knowing what was on the
other side, I kept my motions to a minimum.
     Eventually I heard the stream of piss die down, and the flush of the
toilet.  I heard the footsteps, and thought he had gone back out.  Fuck
this, I thought, deciding to just jerk myself off and head back to my room. 
I stood up, my pants around my ankles, my shirt pulled up under my armpits,
and started beating my meat....and that's when I noticed the pair of eyes
looking over the top of the stall wall.
     Well, when you're standing in mens room flogging your log and you get
caught at it, there isn't much you can do to disguise what you're doing.
I figured I would either have some hot fun, or get thrown out...and since
the guy had already seen enough to get me thrown out, I figured I had
nothing to lose by going a little further.  I moved a little closer to the
wall, cock still in hand, and peered over myself.
     Holy Shit!  He was hispanic, definitely.  About my height...slimmer,
more muscular...moustache, gorgeous black hair flipped over in a wave of
curls...deep brown eyes...and clutching a handful of meat...his!  Bingo!  I
stood up on my toes to get a better look, and at that, he pulled back,
leaning his ass up against the wall, to give me a better view.  Whew!  A
pair of blue running shorts around his ankles, complete with jock strap.  A
mesh tank top, slightly lighter in color, showing off his hairy chest.  He
didn't look like the type of man you'd find doing this kind of thing - if
you looked up "macho" in the dictionary, you'd find his picture under it. 
That made it all the more exciting.
     Since it was difficult to stand there on my toes pressed up against
the wall, I motioned with head for him to "come on out," and opened my
stall door....slightly.  He got the idea, and, peering under the wall, I
could see him grab up his shorts and jock...he came out and I opened the
door...he looked around, quickly, then pushed me back inside...came in with
me...and closed and locked the stall door.
     Now that he was up close, the first thing I noticed (besides all the
body hair), was his smell.  Sweaty, but pleasant...like he had been
exercising in the gym and wanted some relief, or maybe had been out
running.  I looked at his face...five o'clock shadow...highlighted against
the tanned skin...eyes looking both desperate and turned-on.  I let my eyes
travel down his body...seeing the chest hair, the dark swirls against the
bronzed skin, showing between the mesh of his shirt...his cock, nestled in
a patch of thick hair...sticking out, his hand around the base of the
shaft...uncut...thick - thicker than mine, in fact...a little longer too,
maybe 8"...his legs, hairy, all the way down to the tops of white gym
socks.  He grabbed ahold of my rod, and I stopped looking...grabbed for his
big dick.
     As I stroked him, slowly, I rolled the foreskin back and forth over
the head of his meat, stopping every now and then to squeeze the head
between my thumb and forefinger...squeezing and pulling at the same time. 
This technique doesn't always work with the cut guys, but it drives uncut
men crazy, and he was no exception...I felt him tremble each time I did it,
felt his stomach tense up...
     He finally pressed his mouth against mine, and shoved his tongue in,
wetly sucking my mouth....to this day, I'll never forget the taste of this
man...I don't know what it was - still don't - but whenever I catch a smell
of something similar, I get hard thinking about this guy.  It was a nice
taste...like his smell...with his tongue in my mouth, my hand stroking his
cock, his hand working on mine...it was great!  We pressed against each
other, our free arms going around each other at the waist.  I guess he
needed it as much as I did...the desperation, the hunger, the need, came
through loud and clear as he pulled me to him, the tips of our cocks
bumping against each other.
     Finally we dropped the embrace, and I reached with my free hand to
grab ahold of his balls...good-sized, hairy, heavy...I massaged them with
one hand while I rubbed his cock...taking long strokes up and down his
dick...while he jacked my rod and ran his free hand through my hair.  He
had his eyes closed...me, I wanted to see all I could of this hot
fucker...smell him, taste him, look at his hairy chest, his big dick...I
started stroking a little faster...I wanted to see him cum.
     I rolled his foreskin all the way back, and planted my hand near the
top of his hard-on.  Using the thumb and foreskin on his hand, the rest of
my went to work on his shaft...the other hand still working on his big
nuts, which were starting to get tighter...it was real hot, watching his
hairy gut tense each time I rubbed the head of his dick...he was dripping a
lot of pre-cum, and that sure helped lube him up...his breathing started to
get a little more erratic, and his knees started to tremble...he was
flexing his ass, thrusting his cock into my hand...the handjob he was doing
on my cock started to get a little more ragged, rough...he opened his eyes,
looked at me, and gave thrust...he shot, on me...a couple of good spurts,
his hairy gut tensing each time...his breath coming in gasps...he shot all
over my hard cock...and that sent me over the edge...I returned the favor,
coating his hairy balls and his hairy legs with my cream...he didn't seem
to mind...he smiled.
     When we'd both finished shooting, we stood and hugged, tightly,
sharing one more deep kiss.  I could feel his softening dick against mine,
the dampness reminding me of what I'd just done.  He still tasted great. 
He pulled away first, and bent over to retrieve his shorts, pulling them up
and on with one move...I did the same, hoping nothing showed.  He went out
first, and when I left the inner room, he was washing his hands.  God, he
looked great...I stood and stared at him, wanting to remember everything I
possibly could about this hot son-of-a-bitch.  He looked up into the mirror
and caught me staring...smiled.  I smiled back.  He dried his hands.  I
kept staring.  He started to leave...and then stopped, turned around,
looked me over again...from head to toe.  I felt like we were doing it all
over again, with just our eyes.
     "Come on," he said, with a slight accent.  He meant to his room.  
     I did.