Date: Fri, 2 Jul 2004 16:18:36 -0700 (PDT)
From: "( )" <siktici@sbcglobal.net>
Subject: Bath, Bed, and Beyond - Bath Part I

Bath, Bed, and Beyond

(No Relation to The Famous Chain of Stores)

			  Siktici Copyright 2004


Bath, Part I

Walking through the purple labyrinth, Bernie heard groans behind Door
#25, heard leather burning into quivering flesh behind Door #12, and
heard some lucky bastard getting the fucking of his life. And, Bernie,
addicted to the purple coolness of anonymity, he craved every action that
he heard.

But this wasn't another night in the baths. From an un-strobed corner,
a paired of flickering eyes followed Bernie. A tongue moved over curled
dry lips that disappeared as quickly as they appeared. The figure
shifted his stance and pulled at the only non-piece of leather on his
body.

Gary always had trouble finding a jock that didn't bind when he got
hard, and looking at Bernie made it impossible to keep his dirty,
grease-stained jock in place. It was his lucky jock when he hunted,
because stain marked a memorable encounter. When he caught sight of
Gary, he drew switchblade hard. So, with a slight squat to free the
jock, Gary followed Bernie into the purple bowels of the bath.

Murmurs, groans, and cries of ecstasy filled Bernie's ears and further
hardened his cock. The combination always gave him a chill, despite the
tropical air. Going to the baths was more than a challenge for Bernie;
it was a quest. From hundreds of porn movies, Bernie had gotten into his
head that men with porn-size cocks waited in the baths to make his dreams
come true.

Because Bernie had been in a relationship before the word was italicized,
he hadn't realized that trying to find Mr. Right in the baths was like
trying to find diamonds in a septic tank. As he moved along the twists
and turns of the BLOWJOB room, he felt someone watching him, but in the
baths someone was always watching. The shadows held eyes with cocks
attached to them. The thought pushed his ass out into an itchy "O".

The itchy "O" moved Bernie to the glory holes. What about the glory
holes appealed to him? Was it the anonymity, the freedom, and the dark
silence? Or was it a certain amount of control? Actually once he got
into the cubicles and hinged the door it didn't fucking matter.
Silence, saved for guttural expressions of pleasure, ruled this area, and
those unfamiliar with the rules, needn't worry. Someone would teach
them.

The Maze, crazily designed rows of cubicles, had large holes at dick
height, convenient for the sucked, but the suckers had to crouch for
their pleasure. As soon as Bernie entered one of the cubicles, three
holes etched into view. Men spoke in faint whispers behind one wall,
while a tongue flicked from another.

Noticing Bernie's hard cock had moved aside his towel, the owner
desperately flicked his intentions. Bernie backed to a corner near the
door and waited in silence.

Lusty breathing expanded Bernie's chest, furry with waves of silky black
curls that washed down into his tightly wrapped towel and that crowded
his cock and balls. His abs--the gay business card--tapered neatly to a
thin waist, where two meaty globes of ass rounded over muscular legs.
Frequently Bernie gave thirty-two as his age, and most suitors bought it,
but in another two months Bernie would be sitting on the shadowy side of
forty.

The watcher, a man approaching the sunny side of forty-five, showed his
approval of Bernie with an aching hard-on and audible sighs. Gary
didn't get into young guys. He didn't want to pretend to be interested
in the culture of a generation (or two) that he simply wasn't a part
of.

Give me a guy who dug Zeppelin and The Stones, who didn't mind an
occasional joint, and who didn't take the world too seriously. And
I'll show you a man fit for marryin'. The thought came in the voice of
Walter Brenan. Gary smiled.

Whether the guy he followed held such an outlook didn't really concern
Gary. The way he saw it: if a man comes to the baths looking for an
enduring relationship, he's a fool. Gary watched the handsome guy go
into a cubicle, and hoping the guy wasn't a fool, he stepped into the
next one.

Bernie continued to ignore the darting tongue of the silent owner and
turned just as a cock, more resembling the horn of a bull, gored its way
into the darkness. Its size and hardness mesmerized Bernie, and in a
trance he lowered to it.

With cold trembling hands, he grabbed the horn and moved the generous
foreskin up and down the shaft, slowly, adoringly in a state of
adulation. His mind told him that the horn was just too big; he would
never take it down his throat. But his cock, and the intermittent pucker
of his ass, insisted he try.As he lowered to his knees, his eyes still
on the pulsing horn, Bernie heard "Suck my COCK. Suck IT" come from the
horn's owner.

The words, insistent, almost hissed, swooned Bernie into lust--smoky,
heady lust. He closed his eyes, himself and closed his mouth over the
bullish head.

The connection--mouth to cock--ignited in Bernie a need to express his
desire, a need to please, and a need to satisfy. He never quite
understood the process, and as much as he thought it over after such
encounters, he could never arrive at a conclusion.

For Bernie, everything had to make sense. He had ideals untested and had
principles unchallenged. Unfortunately at an early gay age, Bernie had
been reject by a man he saw as his alpha and omega, and for Bernie such a
rejection of first love caused an unscheduled exit from life that last
almost two years.

Although he sought counseling, he never really regained the naïve view of
the world he once had. Yet, it was that naiveté combined with hazel
eyes, thick black hair, and the deep dimples around deliciously pink lips
that made him attractive.

But in the baths, no analysis was necessary, and making sense of lust was
as productive as making shoes for cows. Bernie worked earnestly over the
pulsing horn and listened while its owner urged him to go farther down.
"Take it all, man," the owner said. "Take my big fuckin' cock down
to the balls. Yeah, suck that mothafuckin' pole. Hmmm, yeah, man..."

Bernie listened and pulled on his own cock, while winking and pulsing his
ass through the excitement. The itch became demanding and shivers from
his cock and balls helped further expand his hole. He had to do
something.

The owner of the horn quickened his pace, causing his horn to spear
farther and farther into Bernie's mouth. A few times Bernie was forced
off the horn to catch is breath.

The next time Bernie stopped for a breath, he took out a brown bottle and
snorted instant relaxation. He managed to time his gasps for air with
the stranger's retreats, but as impossible as it seemed, the horn grew
bigger and harder. And the more Bernie relaxed his jaw and throat, the
more the stranger fed him. Finally, Bernie began moving to that place
reachable only with amyl. Sound moved behind him, breathing seemed to
take care of itself, and the horn dissolved to nudging. There remained
only movement, pressure, and of course, desire.

Then everything stopped. The horn retreated through its hole and Bernie
breathed back to reality. With the intrusion of sounds and his desire
rudely halted, Bernie fell back on his haunches and stared at the empty
hole. What happened? And as he rose to standing, the question still in
his mind, a solid wrap at the cubicle's door startled him. His mind
cautioned against opening the door but his lust unhinged it.


Interested in reading Bath Part II? Let me know at siktici@sbcglobal.net