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02/04/2004: "2 Sauna Stories (to be continued)"

Two Sauna stories.

He was not my type at all. Looking at him I thought, all those steroids can not be good for you in the long run. His upper body was too well developed. Muscles were large. Veins bulged. His nipples were very defined, and stood up. He walked into the sauna and sat next to me. His thighs were too massive to see even his pubic hair as he sat next to me. It was too crowded for the usual male behavior of spreading our knees far apart to hang comfortably and publicly. There wasn’t that much knee room for those of us on the upper bench.
The usual rule is silence. Germans as a group tend to prefer silence and solitude. Lärm ist zu vermeiden. He spoke to me, quietly.
Did I have kids?
No.
I don’t either, but I would like to. At my age, I’m 45, you’re about that, too?
Yeah, 50.
Yeah, well at this age, I start to think, I don’t need to go anywhere else, when you are young you think you should travel all over the world.And I have traveled. But now, I don’t know if it is mid-life crisis but I start to think that where you live is very important. Who wants to go start all over again? Meet all new people. Travel is ok but…Where are you from?
The United States.
Yeah, I spent a month in Hawaii, but you know, I am a Berliner, born here, and I wonder, am I afraid of commitment, or … this is pretty philosophical, isn’t it? But why am I still alone, and why don’t I have any kids? Anyhow, I’m normal, hetero. And you?
I’m gay. But I have thought about having kids. Maybe adopting.
I have heard of lesbians who go out, get laid by a guy just to get the sperm, and then never see him again, just to have a kid.
That works better for lesbians than for gay men.
The heat is getting to me. I’ll see you next time.
My name’s Patrick.
Norbert. Until next time, Patrick.



A different night.
I went into the steamroom. The same mixed gender and naked steamrooms at Elixia that I earlier judged as surprisingly asexual. Well, maybe the one at Hermannplatz, but even there I think my judgement was premature. Subsequent visits proved I was wrong to have judged so hastily. Here at Pragerplatz, things are more upscale, more gay men, and fewer immigrants. There is an occasional woman in the steamroom, but the club must be half gay men. In this steamroom, the gay mating dance is not unlike that which I have observed, and joined in, back home. You scratch your pubic hair, lift your balls, and/or stretch your dick. Notice if anyone else does the same. If no one moves a hands toward his crotch, it means there are probably no players in the room. At least not any starters.
Well, this night, a man, not German, sat down across the way, and laid his penis up along the crease of his thigh toward his hip. This unusual positioning caught my attention. He noticed me noticing him. As he looked at me, naked across from him, his head started to emerge from its foreskin. Of its own volition. That was a good sign. His eyes led him into the dance. He didn’t need his hands, his body already betrayed high interest. There were others in the room, but no other players. He smiled to me. I positioned myself so that of all the men in the room, only he could see my nascent erection. The others would have to shift to see. Smiles continued to pass between us, as did time. We danced a “no hands” dance. Eye contact provided all the stimulation we needed. My eyes and body followed him to the dry sauna. Our flirtation continued there, sublty, full of playfulness and attention, among guests coming and going.
“Universe to Patrick, Universe to Patrick! Pay attention!” I paused suspended in time. I realized how much I had missed this sexual energy in recent times. I missed sex with Mauricio, wondered how that, along with his affection, had faded. Wisely, I think, I had given up on trying. I could not continue one-sidedly to try to revive passion and affection. “Steamroom to Patrick, come in please!” Remembering an adage from years ago with Contactworks: “The monkey who has missed his branch, and the man who has missed his chance, can not be helped.” I left those doubts and returned to the moment; to enjoy the sauna and the flirtation.
The heat built up, and after a while, he left to cool off. There is a row of four showers near the sauna. The one at the far end is actually a high bucket full of cold water. You pull the cord, and it douses you. At the near end it is a flat spout with only cold water. In between are two broad showerheads directly overhead with hot and cold controls. The entrances to these four stalls are visible from the sauna. He disappeared into a shower. I saw water splashing out of his stall, and also from the shower stall beyond. I went to cool off, too. Not willing to brave either cold only option, I waited for my playmate to step out from his shower. Standing not five feet from him, enjoying the proximity, enjoying the definition of his small, lean body, the water pushing black hair from his brow, enjoying the fullness of his pendulum, not lifting, but full. He stepped from his shower to let me enter. As I stepped under the water his left hand slyly and gently grabbed me and squeezed firmly, twice. The blood resisted being squeezed out, and I started to get fuller. Seeing that no one was looking, he dropped to his knees to touch his lips and tongue to my rising erection. Praise Jesus! I exclaimed to myself.
He rose up again, almost as suddenly. He stepped back, grinned, and left me under the water. After a moment I stepped out, to let him re-enter the falling water. A man emerged from behind the divide of the adjacent shower. There was no more privacy to steal. I went back to the steamroom to cool off. Ten minutes later we stood side by side under the lockerroom showers, and shared grins like two mischevious 14 year olds. After dressing I went to give him my telephone number, but he was gone.
The next night, after my swim, I saw him again. I sat next to him at one of the foot baths, and filled the sink with very warm water for my feet. We talked. I told him I had hoped to give him my phone number, but he had disappeared too soon. He smiled, and said he would like to have it. As our conversation progressed I thought, is the universe playing with me? A dancer from Rio de Janirero. What are the odds? What am I supposed to notice here?
I am reminded of another message from the universe, a few months back. When I was first aware of feeling the absence of tenderness from Mauricio, an e-mail came to me out of the blue. A distant admirer, a Minneapolitan now in California, telling me that he had always admired me, but had kept his distance because the timing had never been right, I had always seemed to be in a relationship when he wasn’t. Now he was telling me that he hoped the timing would one day be right. He had gone through the trouble of tracking me down when he was back in Minneapolis, and wanted to be in e-mail and phone contact with me. I realized; this is the kind of attention that I am missing. I should be getting this at home. The universe was holding a mirror up so that I could see that something was wrong in my life.
Like Bullwinkle, I keep finding messages in a bottle.