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.

 

Please support the Nifty Archive with a monetary donation! https://donate.nifty.org/

 

Thank you to Kevin Sting, author of The Roommate Problem, for his encouragement.

 

Business Trip Friends

By Quentin Collins (hauptwerk88@gmail.com)

Chapter Three

I exited the lavatory and strolled to the shower room, which was ornately decorated in a Moorish style like the swimming pool, with a mosaic coffered ceiling. It was kind of dimly lit for a shower area. It appeared to be a perfect square from how all the moldings and ornamentation lined up.

 

I recall looking at colored glass lanterns hanging along the room's walls and trying to figure out how they made them waterproof. Things like that tend to distract me.

 

The room had four four-head gang-style showers in a square about 8 feet from each other. They were also elaborate and looked like brass formed into twisting vines that branched out overhead with the rain shower heads attached. The body wash and shampoo dispensers looked like smaller versions of the glass light fixtures. I was impressed with how they committed to the over-the-top decor even though it wasn't my taste. An ornate bench sat in the middle of the room with a low handheld shower at either end, intended, I presumed, as foot washers.

 

Two lithe men were showering at the same shower tower and speaking French. They were both Black with very dark complexions. I guessed they were Haitian, or maybe Algerian? They didn't seem to notice my presence.  I took a leisurely shower, spending some time running warm water on my shoulders, which were a little sore from my workout. I hoped to see more guys come in. Nobody had entered so far.

 

The French-speaking guys were gone by the time I finished my shower. I grabbed a towel from the rack and was surprised that it was no larger than those supplied in the workout rooms. They weren't long enough to wrap around my 33-inch waist. The towel was comfortable enough but got soaked by the time I was done wiping off. You wouldn't use it more than once. I tossed it in the bin, thinking they must launder hundreds of these towels daily.

 

I grabbed a dry towel, strolled out to the lounge, sat on a leather sofa facing the TV, and watched CNN International. I was alone in the lounge, contemplating what I wanted to do next: the hot tub, the steam room, the dry sauna? I wanted to try all of them.

 

A few guys strolled into the lounge from the workout area but went directly to the locker room. A minute later, another guy came in. I was surprised that he smoothed out his towel on the sofa I was sitting on and sat at the other end. He gave me a once-over but then asked about whatever story was on the news. The area had four empty chairs, but he sat with me on the sofa. 

 

I remember he had a very flat Midwestern accent and that we talked about the state of the world for a few minutes. He was easy to talk to. After a lull in the conversation, he got up to shower. I decided I would start my spa rounds with the dry sauna.

 

* * *

 

The sauna was accessed through a mosaic alcove off the locker room. The domed nook had a single shower on the wall and two chaise lounges at the end, beyond the door to the sauna. Plaques on the wall in several languages advised guests to remain in the sauna no more than 15 minutes and then come out to cool under that cold shower and rest on a chaise for 10 minutes before reentering. I remember noting that three of the languages were Chinese, Korean, and Japanese.

 

I went into the sauna. It was much larger than the one in my hotel up the block but not decorated within an inch of its life, as was the shower room. It was lined with fragrant cedar. Four naked guys were in there. I remember one was quite rotund, while another lying across one of the bottom benches looked as if a stiff breeze could carry him away. The two tiers of benches wrapped around three walls. Two other nondescript men sat together along the third wall. I decided to lie on the lower level adjacent to the skinny guy. We were feet to feet at a 90-degree angle. Our feet touched a few times, once for a few minutes. He didn't seem to mind, so I didn't either.

 

My cock filled out a little.  The big guy left, as did one of the two guys sitting together. The other guy who remained – I don't remember what he looked like except that he had a scruffy dark beard and a round face – sighed and began tugging at his balls. Then he got an erection. He noticed me looking at him, so I smiled and shrugged, permitting him to masturbate in the sauna. I had done it often enough at my gym back home. The skinny guy lay with his eyes closed, oblivious to everything. Our masturbating companion asked if anyone wanted to give him some assistance. 

 

I shot to his side in an instant. He laughed at my eagerness but then smiled and spread his legs. We kept eye contact as I stroked his tapered, cut cock. I must have misread a cue because I leaned in to kiss him, but he turned his head abruptly and declared, "I don't kiss." What a shame. I kept pleasuring him as I enjoyed the feel of his penis. He said he didn't have time to linger because he had to leave for the airport in a little while. He touched me only briefly, remarking how he liked my smooth balls. I had recently started shaving my torso and genitals. I was glad he appreciated the effort I went through.

 

I was hard, but he was ready to blow. He came a lot but didn't shoot too far. There was enough for both of us to eat. The skinny guy I had played footsie with never even bothered to look over.

 

The spent guy left almost immediately. I was approaching my limit for the heat, so I went back to the shower room instead of using the cold shower directly outside the sauna. My beat-off friend was already showering. There were a few other guys who were showering, too. After a quick cool shower, I grabbed a dry towel and returned to the club room lounge for my cool-down. I had lost my erection by the end of my rinse.

 

I was the only naked one among four or five guys in the club room. I plopped down on a sofa away from the TV but easily seen from anywhere in the room by anyone who wanted to look at me. I closed my eyes to relax, feeling my penis plump up a little, then calm down again in a slow cycle. 

 

After a few minutes, I heard the barista announce last call for drinks. I had finished my fruity drink before using the sauna and had grabbed a sip from the drinking fountain, but I decided to order something anyway. I wanted to interact with the barista while I was naked.

 

Two guys had beat me to the juice bar, so I waited. The one guy gave me a bit of a judgy look. I was unsure whether he was judging my state of undress or my physique. The other man just smiled politely and turned away. When it was my turn, the blond barista recognized me but didn't betray any surprise at my nakedness, just smiling pleasantly as he asked if I wanted another round of the fruit drink I had before. I opted for just sparkling lemon water. Then I realized that I didn't have my wallet on me since I had nothing on me. I told him I'd be right back, but he cut me off, saying not to bother. He was just going to toss the remaining lemon slices at the end of the day anyway, and they make their own sparkling water and seltzer, so nobody would notice.

 

I thanked him more than a $3 drink warranted. Since no other customers were at the juice bar, I figured I'd make small talk while he cleaned up. He seemed happy to chat with me. He worked as a juice barista for a few weekly shifts to pick up extra cash to pay his student debts. He is primarily a personal trainer and licensed massage therapist. That helped explain his incredible build. He said he had just graduated with a degree in kinesiology from a college I didn't recognize. 

 

I made some stupid remark about how I'd be afraid to get a deep tissue massage from him with those muscles. I'm sure he heard that a hundred times, but he laughed politely and said he promised he wouldn't hurt me – unless I paid extra. He winked, and I blushed.

 

The barista instructed me to press the concierge button on my room phone to get to the spa services desk. He said to request Dan if I wanted a massage from him, with or without pain. "Either way, I will work out all the kinks and stiffness from sitting in meetings all day. You'll be completely relaxed and ... satisfied."

 

I liked the sound of that pause!

 

I decided to come clean. I told him I wasn't really a hotel guest, but my work friend was and lent me his key card. I was stuck at a crappier hotel across the street. He smiled and said he suspected as much when I insisted on paying cash instead of charging the bill to my room. I bemoaned that my friend was returning to California at the end of this week, but I would be stuck in Chicago for another week without access to these excellent facilities.

 

We talked about some other random things for a while. Since I was upfront about other stuff, I figured I'd ask him if he thought it was odd to have conversations with naked men as part of his job. He laughed and said, "I probably spend half my days with naked men. I don't even think about it anymore."

 

Then he surprised me by asking if I got a thrill being naked while talking to him. 

 

I felt myself blushing. For some reason, I felt as if I could tell him anything. I told him that I'm a home nudist and like to be naked whenever possible, indoors or outside. But, I said, I sometimes like it when I'm naked among clothed people. I think it's something about the naughty aspect that gives me a rush, but it's not sexual. Usually. I even like it when some people seem to disapprove of my nudity. It's an extra rush.  I had never spoken that out loud to anyone.

 

"Hmm," was his only response. He looked at me seriously, understanding that I had made myself vulnerable to him. He asked if I got off on humiliation. I told him I didn't. I got off getting away with something that others might disapprove of. Dan smiled (oh, that smile!) "Would you like me to scold you for being naked now in front of me?" 

 

My face got so hot that I thought it would melt. I think my eyes misted up, too. 

 

Dan pulled a business card from his pants pocket and began to hand it to me. Then he stopped and said in a low voice that others couldn't hear, "I would give you my card, but you don't even have a pocket to put it in, Mr. Naked Guy. Who do you think you are, that you can just take off all your clothes and run around stark naked anywhere you want? Maybe these guys in the lounge don't want to see your flabby nude ass. Maybe I don't want to see your flabby nude ass while I'm trying to work. I'm stuck behind this counter all night, and I have to put up with you strutting around naked?

 

"You're lucky that we all tolerate your naughtiness, Mr. Naked Guy. If some other men were here, they might not look so kindly on your brazen nudity, Mr. I Can Be Naked Wherever I Want Guy."

 

I stood apoplectic for several moments before Dan winked at me and said, "Something like that? Did I do well?" 

 

I just whispered, "Yeah."  He seemed to be rooting around in my psyche. Then Dan grabbed my plastic cup and said, "Here, let me top this off for you before I turn off the machines." He was as casual as possible while I was shaken to my core. He dispensed more sparkling water into my cup and then pulled out his cell phone.

 

"So, Mr. Naked Guy," he said with a smirk, "since you have no pockets to put my business card in, I'll text you my information and hours for the upcoming week. Tell me your mobile number."

 

After I gave him my number and told him my full name, he quickly typed something, then smiled. "Are you coming back tomorrow?"

 

I told him that I intended to. I had to work on my flabby ass. That remark got a belly laugh and curious looks from the others in the room.

 

"Good. I'll have something for you here at the juice bar. I'm working early tomorrow, but you can pick it up anytime before 10 p.m. The hotel allows personal trainers to bring in private clients as long as we charge at least what the hotel would charge and pay them a facilities fee. Once you reply to my text with your full name and contact information, I'm going to enter you as one of my clients and have an access card issued in your name. It will be good for a year so you can use it whenever you're in town. No more slinking around like a naughty boy waiting to be caught!"

 

I smiled shyly and asked why he was being so nice to me. "Because I'm a nice guy, and you seem to be, too. But there is one condition for my generosity."

 

Uh-oh.  I told him to go on.

 

"For the rest of tonight, and every time you return, you will agree to be 100% completely naked every second you are in this spa and lounge area — no strolling in wearing your workout clothing and hanging around drinking and talking to people. You will come in here, go directly to the locker room and remove everything before doing anything else. And you stay that way until the last possible moment before you leave. Is that clear, Mr. Naked Guy? Every man in this area will see you naked. This is not negotiable."

 

I felt a rush of excitement go through me. I smiled and agreed to his terms while wondering if he was playing a game with me. "Thank you, Dan. You're a great guy." I was surprised when he replied, "No problem, Q-ball. Glad to help out a friend." Most people call me "Q" for short. A few close friends call me Q-ball. Is Dan a close friend? I tend to go from zero to deeply, madly in love within seconds. Maybe Dan is my intended husband? I wonder if he likes Tahiti? We could run off there and live naked the rest of our lives.

 

I moved back to the center of the lounge, contemplating my life, the economy, and my toenails.

 

"Hey, Q-ball," Dan called out loud enough to be heard throughout the club room, "Turn around." I followed his instruction.  I heard him say a few seconds later, "It's not flabby at all. You got a nice ass. Keep up the good work. See you around."  With that, he turned off the lights at the juice bar and went into a back room. I stood there like a lovesick puppy for a few seconds until I realized that the other guys in the club room had heard Dan call out to me and his assessment of my ass. 

 

I shrugged and returned for another round in the heat, sipping my lemon water. I decided to go to the steam room instead of the dry sauna.

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