Date: Mon, 28 Apr 2003 21:49:33 EDT
From: Manbklyn11218@aol.com
Subject: STEAM BATH DELIGHTS-- ADULT MEN ENCOUNTERS

STEAM BATH DELIGHTS
By: Mischa Kosov

Heavy rain was falling in Manhattan. I was starring at fat, squiggly
raindrops rolling down the sprawling windows on the 39th floor of my
spacious skyscraper office. As I absent-mindedly looked out into space, my
thoughts drifted back to my mother and father and I began to reminisce
about my life.

 I have friends who grew up with me who are now quite successful and they
can't really fathom how they got to where they are. They climbed to the top
of the ladder in fields like publishing, business, fashion and so forth,
and they don't know how they got there.  I even question myself about my
assent to the 39th floor.  What was more important in my rise to the top,
my abilities or just the elevator? Strangers, and even those who believe
they know us, don't know what's buried inside of us.

When I was 30 years old, I was well on my way to becoming a prominent
lawyer in New York City at a large, upscale, corporate firm. I was a good
lawyer because I had a logical mind, the gift of legal gab and was one
mind-bending aggressive SOB.  A Junior Partnership was probably going to be
handed to me in about 6 months.  Capturing that brass ring would bring me
more money--more prestige--more responsibility-- and more power. Not bad
for a kid who was considered to be a momma's boy.

 I believe I was blessed by being born smart and compulsive.  I worked hard
in high school and at graduation I earned a scholarship to Brooklyn
College.

After receiving my B.A with honors, I entered Brooklyn Law to pursue a
degree to become an attorney. I only received a partial scholarship to Law
School because money was tight in the economy. So I asked my father to help
me out with some money to cover my education expenses. He agreed to assist
me and I also continued to live in my parent's house in a quiet Brooklyn
neighborhood even though I didn't want to be there.

 Living at home made it possible for me to cut expenses and also made my
mom happy to have me around a bit longer. Taking care of her fair-haired
boy brought her what she wanted. She was my maid who was a sock
picker-upper, bed-maker, breakfast-fixer, and best cheerleader. She never
complained to anyone except my father. She told everybody how intelligent
and capable her son Barton was--even if they didn't want to hear about
me. You couldn't stop her yakking.

 Lovely gray-haired, plump Gertrude, her friends called her Gertie, was the
old-fashion woman who never went to work. She spent her life catering to my
father, Henry, a moderately successful accountant, and doting on my
brother, Rick, and me. I always felt that mom would still be breast-feeding
me if she could. She would love to have her lovely baby boy Barton sucking
her at her life giving tits. Under those neurotic circumstances she could
continue to create herself as the Mother Eternal. I sometimes wondered if
she ever fantasized about me sucking away on her "D" cups. My philosophy--
if you can think it--it can possibly happen.

Gertie cooked, cleaned sewed, played canasta with neighborhood ladies who
lived a similar lifestyle, walked to the beauty parlor 2 blocks from our
house, never learned to drive and she never took the plastic covers off the
living room furniture, except when she had very special company, and that
company was not the canasta ladies. They weren't served cookies and tea on
the good china either. It was paper plates for that crowd. If she went to
Manhattan once or twice a year, it was a lot.

To keep mom calm and sane, we all took off our shoes when we came into the
house so we wouldn't dirty her prized Chinese beige carpet with muddy
footprints.  I'm sure if she could have found a way to wrap the rug in
plastic, she would have. That rug gave her what she thought was status. And
of course, status is relative--depending if you live in Gravesend,
Brooklyn, or on posh Park Avenue, Manhattan. A Chinese rug was usually a
runner in the hallway on Park Avenue.

 My brother Rick and I were opposites. We lived in a section called Borough
Park, which rival gangs in the area called, "Burro Park because a lot of
little jackasses lived in dat part of Brooklyn!"  Rick was the little
jackass who was taller than me, bulkier, louder in a boisterous, obnoxious
Brooklyn way and was a sex hound with the women and not as smart as me.

I was deliberate, under spoken, lean, and had much lighter facial features
than Rick. I was also very clever and when it came to sexual preference, I
wasn't sure what I was. I liked women, but I wasn't drawn to then with a
horny attraction like my brother. If he had the chance, he would have had a
fucking threesome with his young, big-breasted wife and a virgin female
orangutan on the Coney Island boardwalk.

But in my depths of depths, I was truthfully attracted to men. Those
attractions and fantasies were kept buried. I lived in the closet and used
every clever guise to keep my true feelings hidden. If the wrong people
knew I was homosexual, my law career would be destroyed. Even if people had
suspicions about me, it was still just conjecture--not based on any hard
facts or real evidence. The lawyer in me was always worn on my sleeve.

My mother, being my best cheerleader, was always trying to fix me up with
someone's beautiful daughter. I somehow was able to wiggle my way out of
her fixing me up on a blind date. After all, I was an expert lawyer and had
been trained to confuse, redirected and deflect what was thrown at me in
the courtroom. I also used my sharp skills in day-to-day
interactions. Dodging Gertie's blind date proposals was like performing a
dangerous high wire act, but I was able to stay on the tight rope and not
fall into her net, even though her intention was to do her best for me. She
always wanted to do her best for me.

My father, Henry, was a good man, a good husband and a decent father. When
he was 19 years old World War II started and he enlisted in the Air
Force. After serving for 3 years as an armament technician on a desolate
Island off of Alaska, he came back to Brooklyn, went to college on the G I
Bill, met my mom and got married young. The two of us were born when my
parents were in their mid twenties.

 He was short with thinning brown hair. As a conservative man, he wore a
dark blue or brown suit to work and drove a dark blue Chevy sedan with no
frills or extras. His starched white shirts would be worn with a dull
stripe or solid tie. His shirt pocket was stuffed with a clear plastic pen
protector containing 2 thin lead mechanical pencils and 2 fine Bic pens.
He had the perfect accountant persona and was always ready to do somebody's
books.  Henry's middle initial was "H" and that stood for honesty.  Henry
buried most of feelings. You never really knew who he was.

There was always one strange thing my father did that puzzled me and scared
me at the time. These happenings occurred when I was about 12 years
old. During the cold New York winters, dad would come home tired, chilled
and silent. He would go into the kitchen, take a shot of straight whiskey,
go undress and get ready to take a very hot bath.

 After being in the tub for a few minutes he would call out, "Barton come
into the bathroom, I need you for a moment." I knew what was going to
happen in the bathroom and I would get nervous and excited at the time. I
would enter the old-style, green tiled bathroom with a 1920's cast iron tub
on legs and see my father covered with murky water up to his chest. The
room was hot, steamy, dimly lit and smelled of peeling paint and the
maleness of my father. This atmosphere created two things for me--it turned
me on sexually and also frightened me.

My father called me in to wash his back. I could never understand why he
didn't call in my mother to do this intimate thing for him. I would get
down on my knees next to the tub; soap up the washcloth and then scrub his
broad back. As I did this, I would feel a stirring in my pants, as my cock
would start to get hard. I was also repulsed as well and wanted to get out
of that stifling bathroom and get away from him as soon as possible. I
never understood why my father chose me to do this for him. I just didn't
understand it at all.

Dad didn't talk much to Rick and me when we were young. In fact, he didn't
talk much at all to anybody. He was not a sports guy, so he didn't play
catch with his boys or take us to the baseball games in New York and there
were many games to go to. I was not much of a sports fan either, but Rick
was. I was a crossword puzzle addict and read most of the best sellers
listed in the New York Times.

Dad loved my mom, but he never showed his open affection for her, seldom
brought her flowers and I never heard any animal sounds coming from their
bedroom at night or at any time.  They must have done it at least twice--as
far as I could tell, Rick and I were only proof revealing that they knew
how to screw at all.

Manhattan became my home after I landed my job as a corporate attorney. I
took a small apartment on the West Side. A good part of my nights were
spent working. The firm put a lot of pressure on their young men so they
could show what they were made of. The newcomers did most of the research
and meticulous brief preparation. So with all the work going on, I didn't
have much time to screw around.

Manhattan was a place where one could be anonymous. You could blend into
the massive crowds and be faceless. As long as you paid your rent, showed
up for work and could keep a watchful eye at night and outsmart and out run
the muggers, you could definitely lose yourself in NYC.

 It was not like walking the streets of your local Brooklyn neighborhood
where everyone seemed to know you.  The butcher, baker, bagel--man, fruit
stand merchant and even the local hookers knew you. There was no getting
lost in the crowd in Gravesend.

On the nights that I could find time for myself and I was horny, I would
grab a taxi to the Men's Sauna Club in the east 50's. I had a membership
and would rent a room every so often for my pleasure and privacy. The club
had a Sauna, steam room, Jacuzzi, porn TV room, massage services and a
sitting lounge.  The men who came there, ranged from their early 20's to as
old as there 60's.

When it came to man-to-man sex, I was not the aggressor like I was in the
courtroom. Nature had given me an opposite personality for sex. In this den
of sucking, ass-fucking bottoms and tops, I was the fem who liked to be
wooed and pursued. I would wait in my room for a bold man to come in and
take me. I was an oral bottom so I would also love to suck a plump cock and
would crave for a man to fill my mouth with his cum.

The finale of my sexual act was to have my ass penetrated by a large hot,
dripping cock.  I would scream with delight when the hard cock would slide
into my lubed-up ass. The bigger the cock the better---ripping torridly
into my rear with force and power.

"Oh fuck my ass lover," I'd scream. "Fuck me! Fuck me! FUCK ME! I'm going
to keep you and your cock in me forever. You're my slave!  I've imprisoned
your manhood inside me."

As flashes of lights and thunder blasted in my head, I tightened up my ass
and my fucker furiously pumped harder and faster. I was completely absorbed
in being taken and in return I would take the man with my submissive
aggression. This was a created dichotomy--a mirror of ying and yang--the
fucker and the fuckee.  My ass was a hot den of iniquity. I worked myself
into frenzy-- the big cock would shoot, soften, and then plop out of my
slick ass. I would collapse into a dazed heap of sweaty, delirious
exhaustion, breathing heavy and heart pounding. For me this was my ultimate
sexual climax!

Barton stayed in his room for 15 minutes recouping, got up, put on his robe
and walked down the dark, carpeted hallway to the club's check-in desk.

John, the attendant, was behind the desk and Barton asked if Terry was at
the club and available to give him a massage. John nodded a yes and was
asked to set up a massage booking as soon as possible. The attendant looked
at the massage logbook.

 "Terry will be available in massage room #2 in 20 minutes."  "Thanks."
Barton went back to his room to get his travel bag. It contained some
personal items he wanted to take with him.

Barton went to the 2nd floor and knocked on the door. "Come in
Mr. Kingman. I'm ready for you."  He entered and Terry stood by a leather
massage table wearing a pair of Speedo tight fitting navy trunks with an
erotic bulge in the front. That sight made Barton anxious to see the boy's
7-inch naked cock. The young 6 foot, blond man was exquisite-so muscular
and fit.  "I'm always ready for you and your magic fingers, Terry."

As he passed by Terry to go into the private shower, he pinched the boy's
nipples. "Ouch, Mr. Kingman. That was so nice." "You like that? After my
shower I'll suck them and nibble on those perky erasers till they're pink.
Would you like that?"

"You know I would. Sir, you want the full treatment tonight?"  "Full,
complete, hot and naked."  "Yes sir!"  The boy's response was crisp and
clear.

He took a hot shower, dried off and then took a few things out of his
travel bag to prepare himself for Terry's services.

He walked back into the massage room and Terry let out a long wolf whistle
through his lips. "You look stunning Mr. Kingman!"  "Terry, call me
Barton. We're going to get intimate, so you might as well call me by my
first name. O.K.?"  The young man smiled and answered, " Sure Barton."

The successful lawyer was not dressed for the courtroom in a blue
pin-stripped suit.  Terry's view of Barton prompted him to dim the lights
in the massage room and turn on some sexy mood music as well. In a
coquettish manner, the normally bold, strutting man, sashayed towards the
young man wearing pink lace open-crotch see-thru panties, a fully padded
Victoria's Secrets Sheer Bra and black silk stockings attached to a black
garter belt. Barton looked like one screaming semi-hairy slut.

Where did a man like Barton shop for such unmentionables?  He went to
MASCULINA'S BOTIQUE AND SALON on East 73rd.  In prior years it had been an
abortion clinic, but things got easier and better for women in all of the
USA. Now they didn't have to come to New York for an abortion. So it closed
up. Now Masculina's took care of the "new gals" in a different way.

This unique shopping gallery catered to men who wanted to be feminine and
sexy as possible. No matter if they were 6' 4" and built like football
linebackers or were sculptured like petite ballerinas, Maxie, the owner,
had the merchandise to fit all the guys who frequented her shop. She had
classy black pumps that were large enough to fit Big Foot, so even this
monster could become a prowling drag queen.

 Maxie gave classes "101" in make-up, posture, proper walking, leg
crossing, ass wiggling and boob thrusting. Her annual fashion show was the
drag sensation of the year. Everybody who was anybody was there. It was a
well-guarded and protected event, because some of the most prominent and
powerful men of New York City would attend this gala.  They were all
dressed in their finest dresses and gowns. Bodyguards and even off-duty
policeman were all over the place--keeping out strangers and gossipmongers
from scurrilous tabloids.

Barton moved towards Terry and threw his arms around the Adonis and kissed
him fully on his lips. The now naked young man retuned this wet, hot
kiss. He pulled Barton in close, lifted him like a feather and placed him
face down on the massage table. Barton lay there and then lifted his ass
into the air like a purring pedigree cat in heat. You could hear his
breathing getting faster. "Play with my ass Terry--play with it, my
darling."

"In due time my sweets--in due time." The young stud leaned down and kissed
the back Barton's neck. Then he pulled down the back panel of the panties,
spreads open the cheeks of Barton's ass, and placed the tip of his right
index finger on the man's anus and wiggled it. Barton lifted his ass higher
and moaned, "More my darling, more."  Terry pulled up the panties and
smacked Barton's butt.

Terry backed away from the table and picked up a bottle from a small
table. It contained massage oil that had been immersed in a baby bottle
warmer. He rubbed his hands together for further warmth and them poured
some of the body oil onto his client's back. The room became engulfed with
an aroma of cinnamon tinged with lemon. The scent even became sexier when
it blended with the essence of the man's sweat and natural body odor.

Terry took his fingertips and worked on Barton's neck to sooth out any
kinks and knots of soreness. He moved his fingers to the man's ears and
reached into the openings and toyed with them like a young teenage girl
teasing her excited boyfriend. He leaned down and gently blew into each
ear, sending chills down Barton's spine.

The young man moved his hands from Barton's head and neck to the strap of
the bra. He snapped the elastic strap a few time and each time he did this,
a little red mark would rise to the surface of the
skin--snap...snap...snap. "Ouch!" Take off my bra, honey. Just let my tits
be free."

Terry found the hook and unfastened it. He pulled the straps to each side
of the man's back and massaged that area. He moved his hands to just under
the armpits and tweaked the hair. "Ouch! Baby. Please take off my bra." "I
think you need an underarm shave, Sweetie." "I'm not quite ready for that
one, darling. Maybe soon if smooth armpits will make you happy."

Now the young man pulled the man's arms out of the bra straps, lifted him
up and removed the bra completely. He held the man above the massage table,
put his hands on the man's pectorals and pinched his nipples. Barton
moaned, " Please take off my panties and garter belt." He lowered him, the
garter belt was unsnapped from the stockings and they were removed and
tossed on a chair.

The boy rolled Barton over and leaned down and ran his tongue over each tit
and sucked each nipple like they were tasty peppermint sticks.  Barton's
stiffening cock was straining at the crotch opening in the panties. Terry
moved down and swiped his tongue through the opening--his tongue barely
grazing some of the cock flesh. He kept licking the panty opening and his
saliva was making them wetter. Fingers spread open the slit and he ran his
tongue over the length of the hard cock through the open slit.

Terry lifted Barton's hips and pulled down the panties off of his ass, down
his legs and over his ankles and bare feet. Barton was totally nude and
Terry lifted the man higher off the table and slid his tongue across the
head the man's 6-inch cock.

"Oh my, sweetheart your mouth is an erotic furnace. Take me deep--suck me
all the way to my pubes."  The boy lifted Barton even higher and gulped
down his whole cock--he performed deep throat magic.  Terry kept sucking
and at the time he was working a slick dildo in and out of Barton's ass.
He went faster and faster with his mouth and deeper and deeper with the
probing, vibrating toy. Barton couldn't hold back--he shot a hot load into
the boy's mouth and he swallowed all his cum. He let the slick cock slide
out of his mouth and then leaned down and kissed Barton with his cum-coated
lips.  Barton just swooned and licked his cum from the boy's lips.

The boy walked towards Barton's head and the man grabbed his rock hard
young cock and brought it towards his lips. He opened wide and took in
Terry's cock and sucked him with abandon and brought the boy to a climax
quickly. Barton relished the taste and swallowed every drop.  Terry leaned
down and the two men kissed again.  Not forgetting what he had said
earlier, Barton moved his mouth the each of Terry's nipples and sucked,
nibbled and teased each one until the were hard and pink. He stopped
sucking and said, "There. I didn't forget my promise, baby."

Barton was now bushed--he was really finished for the night. He got up,
gathered his sweat pants, reached into the front pocket, pulled out a $100
Dollar Bill and put in the boy's hand. "Thanks for marvelous time, Terry"
"Your welcome," he took the bill, held it in front of his face with two
hands and kissed it, "Anytime-- anytime, sir."

Barton showered and dressed quickly. He dropped off his room key with John,
tipped him and took the elevator down to the lobby floor.  He walked one
block to 2nd Avenue and hailed a cab to take him downtown to his small
apartment in the village.

His mind was still filled with his intense sexual experiences he had just
completed, but now he had to clear his head and get ready for a very busy
tomorrow at the office. He was a major cog on a legal team working on a
major lawsuit for a very major client.

The case was about a patent infringement on a very profitable drug his
client had developed. Another company was using research developments by
the plaintiff he was representing to market a competing medicine that was
used in treating heart attack patients. The case involved $100,000,000 in
damages for unlawfully using proprietary research information and to have
the violator cease and desist from selling their drug in the world
market. It was a biggie and his vital input in the preparation for this
lawsuit could bring Barton his junior partnership if they won. He was
determined they were going to win.

Over next three months Barton was totally absorbed in his work, even though
he would get horny, he couldn't dissipate his time on sexual pleasure and
adventures. The case was being tried in the district federal court in
Manhattan. The trial was going to start in two weeks and Barton was one of
the main lawyers to present information and cross examine in the
courtroom. This was his first major court case and he wanted everything to
be perfect.  National TV and all major newspapers would cover it.

Opening day in federal court arrived in cold mid-November. His firm's
entire entourage marched into the chambers and took their places at the
plaintiff's large table.

The bailiff came into the courtroom.  "All rise for the honorable James
W. Miller, Judge of the New York Federal District Court." Judge Miller
entered, sat down and then lowered his gavel.

"Everyone be seated," the bailiff called out. There was a clatter of moving
chairs, the nervous clearing of throats and the buzzing of soft talk in the
room.  "Is the plaintiff ready to present their case," cited the judge. "We
are your honor," answered Michael Di Lorenzo, one of the senior partners in
Barton's firm.  Michael walked towards the bench, turned around to face the
jury and the courtroom.  "Ladies and Gentlemen of the jury"

The trial began and Barton was thrilled to be on the front line of this
legal battle. He loved to play this game. His father had once said, "Life
is a game and living is serious." The two main games he played were sex and
law. So far, his living had not been too serious. There were no illnesses,
no financial or psychological stress, his mom and dad were getting older,
but were still OK and his brother was doing all right with his business and
family. So far, nothing was upsetting his nice apple cart of life.

The trial progressed to its 3rd week of deliberations and it seemed as if
they were doing well for their client. Even though there were a number of
alarms being sounded during the trial, Barton and his colleges were able to
put out the fires. They pounded away at the opposition and the majority of
their counter attacks were successful. The firm was hopeful the trial would
end just before Christmas, so everyone could enjoy the holidays with peace
and quiet, plus receive bonuses and promotions that had been earned.

It was cold December morning and the day had arrived for the verdict and
judgment to be announced. All information, evidence, charges, documents,
arguments, papers, videotapes, nuances and sweat and tears had been
meticulously laid before the judge.

The bailiff entered the courtroom.

"All rise for the honorable James W. Miller, judge for the district federal
court of New York." The elderly judge limped into the courtroom, hobbled up
the steps using a cane and slowly sat down in his large padded, leather
chair. He had slipped on some ice on the courthouse steps a few days
earlier and had severally sprained his ankle.  Judge Miller reached for his
gavel and pounded it 3 timed. "Please be seated," announced the bailiff.

There was silence in the courtroom and an air of anticipation. The sound of
breathing and nervous coughs dominated the room. Grown, powerful men were
on the verge of peeing in their pants. As silly as it seems, they all
emptied their bladders before coming into courtroom. It was rule of
courtroom prudence to do so.

 A story was told about a very important lawyer in New York who had an
accident during a trial. He peed in his pants. Even though he wore a dark
blue suit and the wetness could not be seen in the crotch of his trousers,
the stench of hot urine permeated the halls of justice. It was said it
smelled as bad as a dirty, grubby homeless man riding on hot, non-air
conditioned subway car.

The man won the case, but could never live down the jokes that were made
about him peeing in his pants in the courtroom. Before the next big case he
visited an urologist for a consultation, and thereafter, wore adult
diapers. Even the fearless trial lawyers are vulnerable to the ravages of
being human.

 "I see London, I see France. The big time lawyer peed in his navy blue
pants," This was the man's introduction when he was being presented an
honorary award at an annual Trial Lawyers Association Dinner. Lawyers can
be cruel, particularly to the ones they oppose.

Judge Miller talked about the case and all its machinations.  This 40
minute diatribe was lengthy, basically boring and gave the judge the
opportunity to strut his stuff for the media in the courtroom. It would
have been appropriate to play POMP AND CIRCUMSTANCE in the
background. Finally he completed all the crap and gave the verdict in the
case. The court favored the plaintiff with an $80,000,000 judgment not the
$100,000,000, asked for.  Not a problem for Barton's firm, they had set the
figure higher just in case the judgment was reduced.

The judge also announced something that was quite unusual--the $80 Mil had
been frozen in the defendant's bank accounts so the judgment could be paid
promptly and in full. That was done because fraud and deceit had been
committed and it was proven the research information had been stolen from
the plaintiff. They we caught hook, line and sinker with recorded telephone
conversations and wiretaps. The thieves who stole the information were
brought in as witnesses and confessed their wrongdoing to reduce their jail
time.

 Barton did this final piece of outstanding work in conjunction with his
good friend and collaborator, Harvey Pinzel, who ran a top-notch private
investigator office. They kicked the opponents in their legal balls and
left them screaming for they were soon to be broke, busted and out of
business.

All hell broke out in the courtroom--handshaking, backslapping, and even
some tears of joy and celebration. Michael, the senior partner, came over
to Barton and whispered into his ear, "Great job, buddy. Your going to get
what you've been working so hard for. Just give me a couple of weeks to get
all the money in order. You deserve to be our next junior
partner. Congratulations!" He gave him a big hug and then they all started
to file out the courtroom.

The next few weeks before the Christmas holidays were hectic and also nasty
as the New York weather worsened. The judgment money was received promptly
by the firm and at the annual Christmas party, which was celebrated at the
Top of the Towers in the World Trade Center, Barton's promotion to junior
partner was publicly announced and privately he received a very big fat
bonus check for $200,000, plus a large increase in his annual salary. It
was happy, happy time for Barton.

Barton received a lot of acknowledgement from good friends and also jealous
younger colleges who didn't receive a junior partnership who didn't really
wish him well either. A star legal performer had been born at the firm.

He spent time with his mom and dad, and took them and Rick's family out to
dinner. To the surprise of his dad, who never was paid back the money he
gave his son for law school, he received a check for $10,000 from
Barton. This gesture floored his dad. It was almost like getting $10,000
from a stranger because he really didn't know his own son. Henry was
overwhelmed and just didn't know what to say. Of course his mom would have
something to say later. With the newfound money, she could look forward to
buying a new couch and brand new plastic covers, too.

Barton took off a few days for the holidays--shopping, looking for a new
apartment, and buying some new clothes. He just wanted to relax for a while
and it also had been a long time since he had some good man-to-man sex. So
now he ready to get into action again.

So one early evening he headed up to his favorite hang out at the eastside
sauna with his bag of goodies. He wasn't sure if he would use his
Masculina's fashion delights, but he always carried them with him just in
case the opportunity presented itself. Who knows, maybe Terry would be
around the club and another hot massage session could be conjured up.

Barton checked in, got his favorite room and got undressed.  He wrapped
himself in an over-sized towel and headed for the shower room. There didn't
seem to be too many guys around on this night, but he was sure he would get
lucky--he always was lucky when came to finding a stranger for hot sex.

He took a long, leisurely, hot shower, scrubbing every part of his body. He
lavished his balls and ass with ample suds and made sure each intimate part
was squeaky clean. As he was drying himself off, guys were looking him over
with that "I want you look." Barton was in no hurry, so he first went to
the sauna to get some dry heat. While sitting on the top wooden step in the
sauna and older guy came in and sat next to him. They were the only men in
there. The older guy reached for Barton's cock, but he pushed his hand
away. It wasn't that he didn't like older guys; he just wasn't ready to
play. The guy left the room disappointed, but he would find another cock to
squeeze.

Barton left the sauna and headed for the steam room. Before entering he
wanted a blast of cold water from the overhead shower spigot next to the
heavy steam room door. It was one of those showers like you find at the
beach; you pull a chain to turn on the water. He gave a couple of tugs on
the chain and the cascading spray of water was ice cold. Barton felt his
balls shrink and tighten instantly. If he had to sing at that given moment,
he was sure his voice would have been a soprano's--at least an octave
higher.

 The steam room foyer area was very dimly lit, but at least you could see
in the subdued red lighting. He really didn't need to see much in the murky
steam room; his hands would find what he was seeking--a hard cock, a nice
ass and some perky nipples. He opened the heavy door.  A wave of hot, mist
hit his face and body as he entered.

He moved into the room like a blind man, not being able to see his own
hands in front of his face. The valves lining the bottom portion of the
tiled walls were hissing and spitting jets of thick steam. He was glad he
brought his towel into room because he wouldn't have been able to sit
either on the lower or upper bare tile benches. They were so hot they could
have turned his buns into cooked pork butts.

He spread his large towel on the lower bench next to the wall. It was the
coolest place he could find and he carefully sat down. "Phew..." he
expelled from his lungs and he immediately began to feel the sweat roll off
his forehead and from beneath his armpits. Using his hands like squeegee
mops, he sponged the sweat off of his chest and legs. Sweat was dripping
from his balls and cock, too. Right now he was not excited, so his dick was
flaccid.

There seemed to be no movement in the steam room, so Barton assumed no one
else was there. So he sat for next 5 minutes sweating it out. Then a swoosh
of cool air swept in room as the door opened. He could barely make out the
figure of a man who was about 5' 8" and had a small potbelly.

The man let the door close and struggled in the hot haze to find a place to
sit down. He had his hand out in front of him to guide him and it touched
Barton's leg as he edged by.  He was startled and pulled back his hand and
it grazed Barton's cock. He gave it a little squeeze and then pulled back
his hand.  He took a few steps to his right and spread out his towel on the
bench. Carefully he sat down and let out a sigh of relief.

The loud hissing from the steam valves continued for a few minutes and then
it suddenly stopped. It must have been hot enough in the room for the
thermostat to shutdown the flow of steam.  Both men sat with sweat dripping
from their bodies; only their heavy breathing could heard above the
gurgling of the water running down the floor drain.  No one else had come
into the steam room. Barton wondered if either one of them was going to
make a move.

Barton usually waited for the other man to move first, but this guy was not
going to do it. It was unusual, but he initiated the first move. He shifted
to his left and his thigh touched the man's thigh. The man didn't move away
or reject him, so Barton put his hand on the man's thigh and began to
massage it. The man's breathing got heavier and Barton slid his hand up the
man's stomach towards his chest and he stopped there. His finger tips found
the man's nipples and he pinched them--the men's let out an "oh" and Barton
leaned in closer bringing his face next to the man's chest. He started
licking each nipple.

 An "uummm" came from the man this time and Barton began to suck on both
nipples. The man was getting excited. He continued his nipple play and the
man placed his hand on Barton head and pressed it closes to his
tits. Barton bit each nipple.  With all of this happening, not a word had
been spoken. Barton thought so what--good sex didn't need words.

Little moans were coming from the man's throat. Barton moved from the man's
nipples and placed his tongue on the man's lips and parted them. The man
sucked in his tongue and they french kissed. With this passionate embrace,
Barton reached down and placed his hand on the man's hard 6-inch, cut cock.
He rolled the head in his fingers and played with his balls. Then Barton
started to pump the man's cock up and down--he squirmed with pleasure with
each stroke. Precum oozed from the man's cock and Barton spread the slick
juice on the head with his fingertips.

Expertly jacking his cock and squeezing his balls, he continued to torture
the man. The moaning increased and he kissed the younger man
hungrily. Barton broke away from the kiss, leaned down and started to drag
his tongue down the man's chest and then across his stomach. He lingered a
moment sucking at the man's navel. Then his tongue swiped across the man's
patch of pubic hair. The cock was now close to his mouth, so he sucked in
the head.

Barton was a great cocksucker and was really working over the man's
dick. He kept taking in more inches and finally swallowed all of it. He
tightened his mouth and sucked harder, faster and as deep as he could. With
the whole cock in his mouth, he hummed and vibrated his throat; sending
erotic sensations throughout the man's entire body.

 Up--down--up--down--his pussy-mouth was making love to the cock it had
captured. He sucked furiously and lashed the swollen head with his
tongue. All the juices were flowing and the man was writhing with pleasure
as he exploded.  "Uh...uh...uh". The squirting cum filled Barton's mouth
and he kept sucking and swallowing. The man just couldn't stand it any more
and had to pull his cock out of Barton's mouth.

 The blowjob was over. They sat next to each other exhausted and breathing
heavily. After a few moments, the stranger got up and started to
leave. Barton grabbed his arm and pulled him back. He tried to make the man
put his hand on his cock, but the man pulled his hand away. He walked to
the door and went out. The sexual encounter had cooled and that was
punctuated when the steam valves started to hiss and spit again to reheat
the steam room.

Very seldom was Barton refused reciprocation--his cock was hungry for
satisfaction and this guy flat out would not suck him. He at least wanted
to see the face of the man who refused to service him. He exited the steam
room as quickly as he could.

When Barton came out he saw the man's back. He had picked up a fresh towel
from the rack and was drying himself. Barton moved under the showerhead and
took a couple shots of ice-cold water.  He shuddered. "Burr, that's cold."
As Barton finished wiping the water from his eyes so he could better, the
stranger turned around and faced him.

When he saw the man, Barton gasped, "OH NO!"  He was shocked.  He was
standing face to face with his senior partner boss, Michael Di Lorenzo. "OH
NO." He had just sucked his boss's cock.

Michael was also startled, but he was not the kind of man who d
panicked. He walked over to the tile bench and sat down and said, "Come
over here Barton, we have something to discuss.  Barton sat next to his
boss. "Yes Mr. Di Lorenzo." "Cut the crap Barton, you just sucked my cock,
and I must say you're good at it. Rivals your work in the courtroom."

"Thank You, Sir. Now that we know each other in the biblical sense, we must
take a vow that this is our secret--nobody must ever know about this sexual
encounter. "Yes. Sir." " Do you understand, Barton?"  He nodded a big
yes. "In fact Barton I want you to suck my cock when I want you to.  "I
would love to do that sir. If I'm not being to bold sir, would you also
fuck my ass."? "Barton, I'll fuck your brains out."

Just remember where your bread is buttered and that's on the head of my
cock--understand." "Yes sir." "I'm the senior partner and you're the junior
partner cocksucker--Agreed.  Another yes nod from Barton.

I think this a very good situation for both of us. He leaned over and
kissed Barton fully on the lips.  "Good boy." Michael got and walked
away. Barton could not have been happier. He had two jobs now--junior
partner and official cocksucker. He was in heaven. He had the perfect
submissive positions.