The following account is based on an amalgamation of experiences I had during several business trips. Most took place in Chicago, but some come from several other trips to various cities across the country.

Some characters are composites, but I thought it would make a more entertaining narrative rather than just emptying my memory banks. I hope you find it worth your time.

The story depicts sexual situations between men and older teens. Please move on if you are not permitted to access such material or find it distasteful.

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Business Trip Friends

By Quentin Collins (hauptwerk88@gmail.com)

Chapter Two

The following day I talked to a colleague from our Los Angeles office and told him about the disappointing fitness facilities at my hotel. We knew each other from email chains and conference calls but had never met in person.

 

Yoshi was much more handsome than the little thumbnail picture in the company directory, with floppy straight black hair and an easy smile on his round face. He appeared to be lean and nicely muscled. He had a youthful, innocent appearance and manner about him such that one might think he was still in college, but I knew he had been with the company for more than five years, so he had to be at least in his mid-twenties.

 

He said the hotel he was staying in across the street and down the block had excellent facilities, which he had used for the past week. He said it appeared to be newly remodeled, although still evocative of the hotel's 1920's Moorish architecture. 

 

He smiled, fumbled about in his briefing bag, and produced a key card. "You need to use your room key to use our facilities. Here's my spare card. The facilities are open 24/7, so come over any time."

 

I said I would check it out that night. He had a west coast conference call, so he wouldn't be able to join me. He told me to ring his room when I was done, and maybe we could share a beer in his room. I thanked him and said I would. He said he should be free the following night, so we could work out together if I wanted.

 

Yoshi didn't give off any sort of gay vibe, so it was only later in the evening that I considered the possibility that he was inviting me over for more than a beer.

 

After eating a light dinner at my hotel, I went to the other hotel down the block. I had already dressed in my workout gear of mid-thigh loose workout shorts and a ratty old T-shirt, but I had dressier street clothes in a duffle bag for later. 

 

The facilities were more impressive than I imagined, and the equipment was top-notch. The pool was moderate in size, but I wasn't planning to swim anyway. It was built in a fabulously ornate mosaic grotto with fancy columns and small alcoves with chairs and a few chaises. Yoshi was right about the retro 1920s Moorish decorating.

 

I did some warm-up cardio and upper body circuit training, switching between resistance machines and free weights. The gym was comprised of suites of rooms; it wasn't just one cavernous facility. The rooms were connected by highly decorated arches with tilework all around. I had to move from room to room to get to other equipment. It was moderately busy, with maybe 20-30 men and women scattered about, more men than women.

 

The men's locker room and spa area were a suite of rooms also. You entered a foyer from the free-weight room through a pair of large carved wood swinging doors with frosted glass lites in the top half. Once inside, you had to make a u-turn to the right. I guess that ensured privacy by breaking sightlines. The foyer was unfurnished except for an ornate dark wood table against the back wall with all sorts of hotel information, including brochures advertising spa services and class schedules. Framed photos of fit men of every age, race, and ethnicity were hanging on all the foyer walls as inspiration.

 

I swung around to the right and went through a carved stone archway to find myself in a cigar club-style lounge with leather sofas and chairs with brass lamps on end tables and a small beverage/juice bar in the men's dressing area. I thought it odd that they would have separate juice bars for men and women. Near the bar was an identical counter/bar where one could book spa services, but it had just closed for the night.

 

No matter. The walk-up juice bar was open until 10 (I entered sometime after 9:00 p.m.). I was able to get a fizzy fruit-flavored concoction to supplement my water bottle. I became even thirstier after looking at the barista than when I came in. He stood about 5'10" and had short straight blond hair, an aquiline nose, and a most impressive chest with perky nipples poking at his skintight white T-shirt with the hotel's logo. The poor shirt barely stood a chance containing his biceps.  He didn't give me any special notice, though he was friendly and approachable to the several guys waiting for beverages.

 

I paid for my drink rather than charging it to "my" room and followed protocol by sitting on a towel when I relaxed onto a club chair. I was in a seating cluster in front of a large TV with moderately low volume. 

 

The exercise facilities had plenty of towels all over the workout areas. There was also a rack of towels in the lounge area. They weren't fluffy terry towels in the way Americans think of towels. They were more European-style towel sheets. They reminded me of the Egyptian cotton dish towels I had gotten from Williams Sonoma recently.  Several guys were in the room, a couple like me, still sweaty from their workouts, while others had already dressed and were socializing with a drink before going their separate ways. The cleaned-up folk didn't sit on towels, of course.

 

While catching my breath and cooling off, I saw a guy walking past from the corner of my eye. He went to the water bottle filler and drinking fountain by the juice bar. He wasn't wearing a stitch or even carrying a towel. His face wasn't handsome, but his physique and musculature were impressive. He was about 6'4" and had bright blond hair. With the glance I got, it appeared he didn't have any body hair at all, though I didn't get a look at his armpits. His uncut cock looked lovely, but nothing out of proportion to his height when flaccid, about 4.5 inches. I guessed he was in his late 20s, a few years younger than I.

 

I was glad that wandering around the lounge nude wasn't taboo or discouraged. Only a couple of guys seemed even to notice. I tried not to stare but kept looking his way. His comportment made me think he was accustomed to walking around naked. He wasn't strutting or parading, just going about his business without any sartorial encumbrance.

 

After filling his bottle, he went to the juice bar and waited while the guy in front of him was being served. When it was his turn, the barista didn't bat an eye. He smiled his handsome smile and seemed to make the same small talk he did with every other customer: are you enjoying your stay so far; is there anything we can do to make you more comfortable; how long will you be staying with us; is there anything the facilities lack that you would like to see. 

 

I overheard the nude guy saying that he had just checked in for a month-long stay after a long uncomfortable international flight, so he was eager to move his body and relax. He seemed to have a proper English accent. The barista welcomed him and encouraged him to return often, noting the facilities never close.

 

I smiled at the thought of the handsome barista welcoming naked customers. I liked this hotel more and more.

 

The man took his slushy and walked over to two guys sitting on a couch. They were clothed and chatting with each other in a foreign language that I couldn't place, though it sounded Nordic. Naked Muscle Guy also spoke in their language but switched back to English. He told them they shouldn't wait for him any longer because he was planning to spend time in the steam room to see if he could clear his head from the terrible airplane air.

 

The two guys stood to depart. One clapped him on the shoulder and bid him goodnight. I was surprised when the other embraced his nude friend, clapping him on the back, then playfully grabbing the guy's muscled ass and kneading it for a few moments. This was my kind of place! They all laughed as they parted.

 

I found a locker to stuff my duffle bag and sweaty clothes. The locker room was smaller than I thought it would be in proportion to the other facilities. There were only a couple dozen lockers and only two standard bolted-to-the-floor leather-covered benches. I guessed that helped explain why some guys went into the club room. 

 

I stripped, deciding to forgo my usual shower shoes since the place was immaculate.

 

On the opposite wall from the archway connecting the lounge and the locker room was a matching archway connecting to a fifteen-foot square vestibule with similar arches centered on all four walls.

 

Straight ahead was the shower room. To the left was a hallway with a brass plaque indicating "Therapy Rooms." To the right was a column-lined anteroom with sinks, mirrors, and hair dryers, beyond which were the lavatories.

 

Seeing the lavatory sign reminded me I felt an urge coming on, so I headed there before showering. I was surprised to find individual lavatories rather than a communal one. I went to the first door with a green light next to the push plate.

 

Lights came on as I entered, and the green light turned red, indicating the room was in use. It was a brightly lit room, but not harsh. I heard a click behind me as the door automatically locked.

 

The simple room looked as immaculate as an operating room. The floor was covered in large rectangular dark grey porcelain tiles, while the walls were paneled with what appeared to be opaque glass in soft green.

 

A large sink was set in a counter made of the same glass as the walls. The counter looked like it contained everything a man could want, such as soaps, combs, hand creams, towels, antiperspirant wipes, etc.

 

The adjacent wall held a urinal, and a third wall had a toilet and a separate bidet. It seemed the designers were trying to cover all their bases on how men might use a bidet. The toilet had a built-in bidet seat, but a handheld sprayer was also on the wall.

 

The separate bidet fixture had an attached faucet and another handheld sprayer.

 

No toilet paper dispenser was in sight, so I guessed they wanted you to use the bidet to clean yourself. I have used them occasionally but didn't have one at home.

 

I did my business quickly and pushed a button to start the wash function. A gentle spray of warm water washed my ass and tickled my hole. After a few seconds, I turned a dial to increase the flow.

 

It turned off automatically after about 45 seconds. I wondered how different the handheld sprayer would be. I flushed the toilet, reached for the sprayer, and pulled it from its holder with a small "Ready for Use" light.

 

It looked odd. After a few seconds, I realized it was a stainless steel water wand that could be used to stream water at your asshole or be inserted into your rectum to rinse it out.

 

I smiled when I realized the thin wand – probably a half-inch in diameter – had a slightly larger rounded head. It looked a bit like a skinny penis.

 

I inserted the wand with ease and held a button to start the flow of lukewarm water. Once I felt full, I removed the wand and released the button. The wand appeared to have a little evidence of where it had been.

 

As I held in my water to let it do its work, I looked around to see how I could clean it. Then I saw the light had changed from "Ready for Use" to "Ready to Sanitize." Oh.

 

I put back the wand and heard whirring and washing as the "Sanitizing" light flashed. I sat to expel my water and reran the bidet to rinse my outsides.

 

The sanitizing cycle took less than two minutes. I rinsed my insides twice more to perfect my technique and experience the sensation.

 

I didn't need to use the standalone bidet, but I looked it over anyway. Its handheld sprayer was traditional, looking almost like you might find on your kitchen sink.

 

Feeling emptied and clean on the inside, I patted my butt dry with small towels from a pile labeled for bidet use only, washed my hands, and prepared to shower and clean my outsides.

 

If you enjoyed this, you may enjoy my other stories: Rabbit Hole and Life at Warren Hill