Date: Mon, 4 Jun 2018 08:51:11 -0700 From: Gay Contrarian Subject: American Gigolo in a Moscow Sauna American Gigolo in a Moscow Sauna A short story by Gay Contrarian March 2018 This is a work of fiction, based on the experiences and imaginings of the author. Any similarity between the characters and real individuals living or dead is purely coincidental. Individuals not comfortable reading explicit gay sexual encounters by consensual adults should leave now. This work should only be read by those of legal age to do so according to the laws where you live. Please consider a contribution to Nifty to ensure the availability of stories like this are preserved for future readers. Any comments or feedback are welcome – address them to gaycontrarian@gmail.com Thanks for reading! A friend in the States asked me about my most memorable recollections from my five year assignment in Europe, now that I am back working in America. My answer included the great food and scenery that I encountered, but in reality, it was the few intense sexual encounters that I will remember until the end of my days. I don't want to imply that I have vast experience with men when it comes to sex, but I've had my fair share. And while there wasn't a great deal of interaction with guys while on my European business assignment, there were a few that are worth sharing. Every year, around Easter, there was a construction trade show held in Moscow, which many foreign companies participated in to gain exposure to the Russian commercial construction market in the mid 90s by having trade booths and hosting potential customers. The hotel my company usually booked was adjacent to the convention hall, and just a few minutes walk from one of the main train stations in central Moscow. The hotel itself was located in what we westerners would describe as a big indoor mall. There were shops, restaurants, even a family aquatics center; all designed to keep the foreign tourists and well-off Muscovites entertained, for a price. It wasn't until my third year attending this convention that I managed to book a couple extra nights to be able to explore the city a bit more over the weekend once the trade show had finished. I had prior Russian language training in Monterey, California when I was in the armed forces, and it was coming back slowly after such a long period of disuse. However, it was still unwise to go wondering off on ones own in the evenings, especially as I was obviously a western tourist by my appearance and manner. I had already accepted a dinner invitation to the home of our company's country manager for that evening, so I had the whole of Saturday to do as I pleased. Thinking I should be careful about how much adventure I wanted, I decided to wander around the indoor mall complex of which the hotel was a part. It must have been around 10:30 in the morning; there were people around, but it wasn't terribly busy. A lot of the shops didn't open until after lunchtime on Saturdays, but stayed open quite late – 10 or 11 PM. The only place that seemed to be a bit active was the family aquatics center. As with most things in this city, there's a price for locals, and another (more exorbitant one) for foreigners; the logic being, if you can afford to come and stay here, we can afford to milk as much out of you as possible. This mentality exists across their society. As one business colleague explained, "the Russian's idea of a joint venture is that you supply the watch and he'll tell you the time". In that same manner, the posted pricing for "Adult" entry into the aquatic center was $60 USD for a maximum of 4 hours, or $100 for a day pass. The fee included access to the saunas, steam rooms, and pool facilities (including whirlpool and 3-story slide). The signs also indicated that swimwear was required in the public areas only. Interesting... As it turned out, I didn't pack a swimsuit on this trip, but because the locker and sauna areas are divided by gender in almost all European spas, I paid my $60 and went in to the men's' locker room to scope things out. It was a fairly straightforward set up, with lockers on one wall, showers and toilets behind a partition wall, the a hallway which split in two, one towards the exit for the public areas (swimming pool and whirlpool) and the other towards the sauna rooms. I opened my locker to find two clean towels, one an oversized bath towel and the other a large facecloth. I got undressed and used the locker key to secure my clothes and belongings, slipping the elastic wristband of the keychain onto my ankle rather than my wrist. I had a warm shower, spending time on my ass and cock and balls, because the liquid soap dispenser gave a creamy, milky substance that felt wonderful on the skin! The activity in the locker room was minimal, as it seemed most people were out in the public areas; families with kids, or couples. This meant I didn't have anyone to share my chub with as I showered, but that would soon change. I tend to pace myself in the sauna, not staying too long at one time, and then cooling down before returning back to the warmth once again. There were two dry saunas in the men's locker room; a very large, open style version which accommodated probably 18-20 adults, in the shape of a semicircle with three levels of seating. There was also one handheld shower and floor drain off to one side of the room, but completely open to the rest of the room if you chose to run cool water on yourself while remaining in the sauna. The second dry sauna was much smaller, probably only able to accommodate 6-8 adults comfortably; this one was in an L-shaped configuration with just two levels of seating. I noted that this smaller sauna had no heat, apparently used for resting and cooling down in the privacy of the men's locker area. My first round in the large sauna room was unmemorable, other than it probably included a couple of older Russian gentlemen with paunches and ruddy complexions. Life there is hard, regardless of the social status, for 98% of the people. After about 10 minutes in the sauna, I decided the towel was big enough that I could use it to cover myself and go out to the pool lounge area and sit at small bistro-style table to watch the goings on. I was out there 15 minutes, and was beginning to get a bit of a chill, so I headed back inside, where I placed my towel on a hook to keep clean and somewhat dry. No sooner had I settled my bare ass down in the large sauna on the lowest level bench when a fairly energetic nude Adonis-like creature entered the room, and took a place 5-6 feet away from me. There might have been others in the room, but my attention seemed wholly focused on this latest arrival. Smiles were given and returned, most probably because we were the only two under the age of sixty. Then we determined that we were both American, although his looks immediately established that; the quintessential California Blonde Surfer Boy Type, only age 30-something. He had a full body tan, chemically whitened teeth, and a physique that could only be obtained by a disciplined regimen, and a well-endowed sex package from the looks of things. His firm torso was completely hairless, except a small patch of trimmed golden pubes directly above his circumcised cock, which appeared to be quite flaccid even though his was a good 5 inches in length and of moderate girth. His skin had a semi-gloss sheen to it, as if he used some type of oil or cream to give that effect. He seemed quite relaxed to chatter, telling me with no shame whatsoever that he had been "invited over" by a wealthy Russian woman to be her escort on a Western European junket, and had returned to Moscow with her for a couple of days R&R before heading back to Los Angeles, where he lived. At this point in his story, I vividly remember him getting up and going over to the handheld shower, and spraying the water and rubbing his skin down, while continuing to tell me of his adventures. I could feel my member beginning to stiffen, and it seemed his became slightly longer, but not to the point of arousal. I doubt he paid much attention to my chub as he turned off the shower and hand scraped the residual water from his extremities. He sat down again, but returned slightly closer than before, so as not to speak as loudly as he needed to initially. As we chatted, I noticed a shortish, thin, pale looking man who clearly wasn't Russian come in a couple of times, sit down in such a way as to observe the California stud, but after a minute or so cover himself with his towel and leave the room. Stud said he had to go back out to the public area to check on his patroness, as she was the jealous type if he wasn't attentive. I decided to leave the room right after him, and hit the shower room to let the cooler water help decrease my core temperature, and hopefully my mental stimuli as well. In retrospect, I could see how this guy was simply being his usual flirty self, and maybe he had no problem "escorting" men and women. But he was well outside my realm of experience, and although I found it erotic, I also felt somewhat nervous about overtly giving him any signs of interest, other than to talk. I returned to the main sauna, and the mystery man had once again sat in the second row. As I walked toward him, I glanced quickly to observe his groin, where a neatly trimmed bush lay above an uncut cock and shaved balls. He didn't attempt to cover himself, and I smiled and said hello as I took my same place on the lowest bench once again. He gave a slight smile and nod back, and his "good day" reply gave away his Irish ancestry, if not his place of residence. I was pondering what made the guy tick, when Stud came back in, and sat a couple of feet away from me this time, on the lowest bench. I noticed the Irishman skooch a little to his left; I can only assume was an effort to better view Stud's junk, which had seemed to enlarge while still not showing signs of excitement. "Man, women can be so fucking difficult" he said, shaking his head. "I went out to be with her, and she basically told me to go entertain myself for another hour or so, that she was having a conversation with one of her Russian friends who couldn't speak English, and she didn't want to have to translate for me." I'm sure I gave the appropriate reply – "That's too bad, man", or something equally neutral. He got up and went for the handheld shower again, and spent a couple of minutes putting on what I can only classify as a subdued showing off self-body massage, while continuing to chat about "inconsiderate women, blah, blah". I honestly couldn't tell you what he actually said; I was so entranced in how he was rubbing himself, without arousing himself. His hand would graze either his dick, or his balls, or both frequently, and he washed in such a position that the entire sauna could see what he was doing, rather than washing modestly by facing away from us. The only time he did face away was to turn around and spend time caressing his tight bubble butt globes, which flexed as he ran his hand over them. At this point Irishman literally bolted from the room, but not before my noticing a clear erection he attempted to hide. My only option was to push my stiff rod firmly between my thighs, compressing it down out of prominent view. He finished his show shower, shook himself like a wet dog coming out of the water, and sat back down by me once again. He leaned back against the bench behind him, so that he was slightly reclined and spread apart his legs. "I sure like the European system of spas, where a guy can relax with other guys, and not have to wear clothes. Americans can be such prudes!" Stud pronounced, while looking off in the distance. Fortunately I was not in his directly line of sight or he would have seen my vain attempts to cover my raging boner. I'm sure I mumbled some sort of affirmation to his observation, but further comment on my part was not forthcoming. While he remained in a position that faced somewhat away from me, I announced I would go to cool off a bit, and would likely see him again in a little while. He gave a positive one-word reply, but I don't recall him turning to face me. I managed to get my towel wrapped around myself, and walked into the locker area, which was empty. I didn't feel like sitting there, and I didn't know how long it would take to have my erection deflate, so I thought maybe going to the smaller, unheated sauna room might be the perfect cooling off place. You could walk right by it if you weren't paying attention, as the door had the same wooden lathing on it as the hallway walls; just a small vertical stick of wood signified the door handle. I reached out and pulled the door open, and as I entered the room I saw quite the sight! There lying on the top bench at the far end of the room was Irishman, towel underneath him, naked, eyes closed as if dozing, and completely boned! He either did not hear or chose to ignore my entry, so I quietly climbed up onto the top bench at the opposite end to him, and leaned back against the wall with my legs flat on the bench. Needless to say, this did nothing to reduce my raging hard-on, and enflamed it even more as I watched the slow and steady breathing of the man across from me sporting at least a 10 incher! It was long and not overly thick, resting a good 4 inches above where his bellybutton would be. Not wanting to appear overly predatory, I lifted my right leg up a couple of inches so as to somewhat conceal my nearly 6 inches of thick, steely manmeat. At this point I felt there was nothing else to be done but stroke myself slowly and enjoy the sight for as long as it lasted. I continued to fantasize about Stud, envisioning him walking in and seeing us both like this, and suggesting we "have some fun, just us guys". I used my other hand to tweak at my left nipple, it being the more sensitive of the two and more effective at helping me to get off. Suddenly I found my left leg begin to tremble, as if it were in some sort of uncontrollable spasm. It had only happened once before to my recollection, and that was back in Monterey, California while I was studying Russian at the Defense Language Institute. In short, I had given the "gay stare" to a car driver headed in the opposite direction one evening on my way back to base. Unconsciously, I pulled my hatchback over immediately to the curb and stopped, brake lights glowing. He clearly got the signal because he made a U-turn in the middle of the quiet street, and proceeded to pull up and park behind me. I was so nervous and scared; my right leg was twitching uncontrollably, so that I really needed to use both hands to attempt to stop it. He came up to the passenger side window and asked if he could get in. He got in, and the twitching did stop at some point, but I digress... Back in the Russian sauna with my long-dicked Irishman, who was just coming back to consciousness by his actions. He reached for his cock with one hand, while keeping his eyes closed and ran his other across his chest, tracing and massaging his nipples. After a minute or so, I noticed his head turn slightly in my direction, and the slits of his eyes opened enough so that I was sure he was both aware of my presence and of my stroking. I remember lowering my legs down so that if he chose, he could see my erection. He kept up the slow, deliberate tugging on his pole, pointing it up in the air so that it seemed even longer than I had originally guessed. The light in the room was sufficient that I began to notice a glistening reflection from his glans, as the liquid precum began to escape his piss slit and spread across the crown as he stroked. This was followed by the telltale "smush, smush" rhythm audible when it's a wet stroke instead of a dry one. While continuing to watch one another, we both heard several men pass by in the corridor, either heading to or coming from the public swimming area to the locker room. The speed of his hand strokes increased, and the nipple massage changed to kneading his loose and floppy ballsack, and I sped up my tempo as well in order to achieve what I hoped to be synchronized cum shots. It wasn't much longer that the quietest of moans escaped his lips, and the head turned back toward upright, as in his supine position he started firing off volleys of cum; several ropes one after the other landed across his moderately hairy chest, his bearded face, and beyond. That, in turn, sent me into orbit, as I wound up plastering my smooth chest and abdomen with several gooey shots myself. Appearing to have both exhausted our cum supply, I said "Well, that was fun, wasn't it?" He looked back at me with absolute horror on his face, and replied "What?" as if I'd spoken an unintelligible language. "I said, that was fun", I repeated. He offered no reply, but sat bolt upright, and climbed down from his perch, all the while attempting and failing to remove the congealed cum from his matted carpet-like chest and beard. In a split second he was gone out the door, as if some horrible crime had been committed and he needed to remove himself from the scene. The air remained heavy with the aroma of manly fluids, though, and I thought I'd take a moment to thoroughly clean up using my oversized face cloth to smear around what wouldn't wipe up. I thought about it, and decided that we had both been turned on by our California Gigolo, but were not prepared to make any indiscrete advances – therefore, we found relief in our mutual masturbation. Like the song lyrics say "If you can't be with the one you love, honey, love the one you're with!" I saw a wall clock in the corridor as I headed to the shower, where I quickly soaped up and rinsed, before returning to the locker. Time had marched on, and I needed to leave the aquatic center or get dinged another forty dollars for overstaying my 4 hour time limit. Irishman was frenetically dressing himself, with his towels thrown on the floor at his feet, and beside him at the neighboring locker Stud was "modeling" his red-white-and-blue striped bikini speedo, speaking to no one in particular how the women at the beaches in France seemed to prefer their men in skimpy suits, rather than the board shorts most North American men sported nowadays. My appearance on the scene made Irishman even more nervous; it was now blatantly obvious that his repressed homosexual feelings or attractions had escaped briefly today, and they needed to be promptly shoved back in that closet! My locker was to the left of both of them, so we were lined up in a row with Irishman in the middle. I told Stud I'd had enough for the day, and he kept getting close to Irishman in an attempt to talk with me by talking around him. The poor bugger probably wished he could have shrunk into the ground to escape the unfolding scene – Stud scooped up Irishman's cum laden towels, and attempted to pass them to him for deposit in the used towel hamper as Irishman made to flee. I'm sure that Stud got Irish DNA on his hands, since I saw for myself the amount of spooge that man put forth! Whether it was just my imagination or not I don't know, but the acrid man scent from the sauna room seemed to be in the air here as well, although not as pungent. Stud was left holding the spermy towels which he deposited properly into the bin without comment, but I did notice that hand go rather close to his nose as he walked back to the public pool area to be with his benefactress. The End