This story has been edited by 'RedGirl'.
It had been several weeks since I had tasted the taut flesh of an erect penis and I could think of nothing else but satisfying my sexual hunger. When I get in these cock-obsessed moods (which is quite often), there are generally two ways I search for potential partners. The internet is perhaps the most convenient way of finding other men who share my interests. Gay and bisexual chat rooms are plentiful and a potential mate can be found, literally, in minutes. But people’s descriptions and pictures lie, and I’ve met my share of misrepresented, crazy and bizarre men. I much prefer to cruise a bathhouse.
For the uninitiated, men’s bathhouses are a sexual haven for men who enjoy the company of other men. They exist all over the country and most major cities have at least two or three of them. They are a kind of mini sex motel with private cubicle-type rooms for rent. Generally, there are also showers, saunas, steam rooms, and a gym. While there are times I have simply gone to relax in a sauna, my primary motivation is sex, as it is for most men. It’s an efficient sexual playground as men cruise the halls with towels wrapped around their waists, or often nude, their assets honestly on display.
I decided to begin my search for oral pleasure at the well-established East Side Club. It is perhaps the best known men’s bathhouse in New York and I’d always found it cleaner than the other baths in town, and the clientele is generally a bit older, which I preferred. For some reason, men my own age have never appealed to me--give me masculine, mature men with thick cocks to feed me and I’m in heaven.
Usually, I have no trouble attracting such men. I’m twenty eight years old, but could easily pass for twenty. I have a boyish clean shaven face and keep my dark, 5’7" body slim and toned with swimming and yoga. My eyes, also dark, are large and deep with long feminine eyelashes. My lips are full and very soft – ideally suited to perform expert fellatio. My cock, while only average in size, is smooth, shaved, and uncut.
This evening, however, the East Side Club wasn’t the plentiful source of sexual adventure it usually is. There was only a handful of men walking around and there was no mutual attraction to be found. I spent the next couple of hours in a typical bathhouse funk – walking around aimlessly, watching television, hoping someone new and exciting would save me from the boredom. It wasn’t meant to be, and later that evening I found myself standing on the subway platform waiting to go home – disappointed, bored, and still abundantly horny.
As the subway approached my stop, I decided to salvage something for the evening’s efforts and treated myself to dessert (not the kind of ‘dessert’ I was hoping for, but dessert nonetheless). I stopped at a nearby coffee shop and splurged on a simple, but decadent vanilla ice cream shake.
This was really more of a café – too elegant to simply be a coffee shop. It was small, but stylish with its natural wood accents and soft color schemes. There were a few tables and booths and a raised, bar-like counter.
