It was the early 1970's, and I had just turned 20. To celebrate, I decided to take a trip to New York City. Not having a whole lot of money, I had asked around before the trip to see if anybody knew of a cheap place to stay.
"Sloane House Y," one of my fellow students informed me. "Just don't drop the soap, if you know what I mean."
The guy didn't know me very well, obviously, because that sounded like an unexpected bonus to me.
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Chapter One: Checking in.
The place was as cheap as could be, given the proximity of the Sloane House to Times Square. Something like 5 bucks a night, which was a lot less than I had even dreamed.
The room wasn't much; with a single bed, a table with a couple of drawers in it, and a TV crammed into a 6' by 10' space, but the price was right. After tossing my things in their places, I locked the door behind me and walked around entire floor where my room was located.
Located halfway down the hallway was a communal bathroom, with a long row of urinals and stalls accessible from both sides of the hallway that went around the entire perimeter of the floor.
Down at the end of the bathroom, I could hear the sound of water running, so I walked in that direction and came across a large tiled room. There were hooks on the wall in the outer portion of the room, and there was a large portal that separated the changing area from the showers.
Not hearing any noise except the splattering of water dripping, I ventured inside and peeked into the shower area, which was empty. There were about a dozen shower heads along the three walls, and there were even plungers under each one which dispensed soap.
Conspicuous in their absence were any dividers or partitions of any kind between the showers. which meant that when you took a shower in here, you could see and be seen. The thought excited me, because there was nothing I wanted to do more than to look at other guys, and picturing being in there and watching some big, hairy guy lathering up next to me was as good as it could get for me.
If this place was as it had been derisively described to me, I was right where I wanted to be. Heading back to my room, I tried to figure out what would be the best time to take the first of what I had imagined as a frequent series of showers.
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Chapter Two: Checking out.
After walking around the immediate area of the city, around Madison Square Garden and up to Times Square before coming back to the Y, I figured that I had worked up enough of a sweat to need a shower.
Getting off the elevator, I casually walked down to the bathroom to take a leak. The shower room was empty, and after I got done I headed back to my room and waited for a time while watching some television.
I grabbed the white towel that had been left on the bed and took my walk around the floor, pausing near the entrance of the bathroom again but hearing nothing. Just my luck to be on the wrong floor, I thought to myself while walking back to my room, but when I turned the corner I heard a door click behind me. When I peeked back I saw a man walking toward the bathroom clad only in a towel.
Excitedly I ran back to my room and stripped down, grabbing my shampoo and room key before wrapping the towel around me and heading back to the bathroom at a brisk pace.
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Chapter Three: In the shower.
The steam billowed from the shower room as I put my towel and room key on a hook opposite the one already hung there. Giving my dick a couple of quick pulls to make it a little more respectable, I took a deep breath and walked inside.
The man who was already in the room was facing me, and smiled when he saw me enter the room. I nodded and headed toward a shower head kitty-corner to him.
He was not the type of man I was attracted to, but I was happy to at least be in the company of a naked man. He was about my height and weight, but was probably in his sixties. The age and the build were fine with me, but his body was almost as hairless as mine, and his cock was pretty nondescript as well.
Not as small as mine, of course. The grey haired senior seemed to be normally endowed, and I had yet to find the man who was as pathetically endowed as I was. I was sexually attracted to bigger men - much like many of them were drawn toward me. This fellow was pretty much what I would look like in 40 years or so if my dick managed to grow a few inches longer, and I wasn't really interested in that right now.
The older gentlemen certainly was interested in me however, and he made little effort to hide the fact that he was brazenly staring right at me. For my part, I pretended not to notice and just went about my business, washing my hair while positioning myself so that he could see all of me he wanted.
It was then that I realized that what I had been told about the place was true. The man made no move toward me, as he may have sensed my lack of interest in him, but that didn't faze him in the least, because as I squinted through the suds of the shampoo, I could see him and what he was doing.
The man had his cock in his hand. He was hard, and he was stroking himself while staring over at me, glancing toward the door every few seconds to make sure no one was coming in. This excited me, and it took all of my willpower not to get hard myself.
I heard a couple of grunts, which I assumed was the signal that he was cumming. I pretended not to notice, and rinsed the shampoo out of my hair while he turned off the shower and walked toward the door. He gave me one last, long look before walking out into the drying room, leaving me alone.
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Chapter Four: Done? No.
I stayed under the spray for a couple more minutes, wondering whether I should have given the guy some signal that I was willing. I could be taking showers for the next couple of days and not get another opportunity like that, and I was so horny that he was looking better in retrospect every second.
Finally, I turned off the shower and headed toward the drying room. The elderly gent had left, leaving only my towel and me. I was reaching for the towel when I heard somebody whistling in the distance.
Momentarily uncertain, I moved back into the shower and turned it back on, jumping back under the warm spray and waited. The whistling grew louder, and I heard some movement in the drying room. I got the sense that someone had just peeked into the room while I faced the spray, and then the whistling was replaced with some soft singing which got louder as the man padded into the room.
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Chapter Five: Scared.
This was a different feeling that I had, being the one who was already showering as someone else came into the room, so I kept facing the wall and squirted shampoo into my palm. The man who had just entered did not go to the other side of the room, but chose a shower on the same side that I was on, and only one space away.
When I heard him turn his spray on, I glanced quickly over in his direction before turning away. The man was black.
I had rarely come into contact with any black men, as my school was almost entirely white, and the social interaction was virtually non-existent. I was scared, but not for any particular reason other than a fear of the unknown and unfamiliar. The man was singing while taking a shower and certainly wasn't bothering me.
Hazarding a look over his way, he seemed obvious to my presence. He was tall and very slender, and seemed to be in his 40's or 50's. He had a sprinkling of salt and pepper hair on his chest, and while I was curious as to what was between his legs, he was busy scrubbing down there, and that obstructed my view. But not for long.
Almost as if on cue, the man had turned in my direction, and while I jerked my head away, I had seen more than enough in that brief moment, and now the man was moving toward me.
"Say brother, could you spare a little shampoo?" he asked in a deep bass voice, standing only a foot away from me. "I left mine in my room."
"Uh - sure," I stuttered reaching for the bottle that I had put on the little shelf, and my trembling hands couldn't hold onto it, causing it to fall to the tiles.
This left me to fumble around and try to pick it up, while attempting to keep myself shielded from his view. It rolled toward his gigantic bony feet, and this led me to a very close encounter with what had caused my panic attack to begin with. The man didn't budge, and after much more scrambling with the slippery shampoo, I was finally able to pick it up and hand it to him.
"Thanks, my brother," he said, squeezing out some in his palm while he stood there beside me, finally clicking it closed and handing it back.
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Chapter Six: What I saw.
I had been looking at the man's private parts, despite my best efforts not to. He knew I was looking at him too, and not only made no effort to hide himself as I had, but seemed to be reveling in my intimidated and nervous reaction to seeing him. Then again, why should he hide himself?
I had always been attracted to generously endowed men, and had been fortunate enough to make the acquaintance of a number of men who were well hung, a couple of whom were spectacularly blessed. Now, having seen what I had just seen, I was stunned and light headed.
It was a Marvin Gaye song he was singing, and as he scrubbed his close cropped hair, I looked back over again, just to make sure my eyes had not been playing tricks on me. Now, as I watched the absurdly long and flaccid ebony hose roll lazily from side to side, I was hypnotized.
The thick, uncircumcised cock seemed to hang almost to his knees, defying anything I had ever witnessed or even imagined, and made me wonder how a man could possibly be that huge.
I snapped out of my daze when I realized that the man had been watching me stare at him, and was grinning a grin that announced, "Gotcha!", but he said nothing, just looking over at me to see what I was trying to hide.
Funny how I had gotten over my original shame at being so small down there, and had even enjoyed exposing myself to men much more well endowed than myself, but this was something altogether different, and I felt utterly pathetic as I rinsed off, turned off the spray and hustled out of the room.
I thought I heard the man chuckle as I quickly grabbed my towel and my room key and dried myself as fast as I could when I heard the other spray also turn off. Tying the towel around me, I got out of the room just as the man emerged, still singing that Marvin Gaye song he had sung when he first joined me. Sexual Healing.
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Chapter Seven: Back to my room.
I got out of the bathroom as fast as I could, scurrying down the hall and around the corner to my room. Once there, I closed the door behind me and attached the chain that secured it, leaning back against the door while I caught my breath.
What the hell was wrong with me? There I was in the showers with a guy who had the most incredible cock I had ever seen, and instead of enjoying the view and seeing what happened, I ran like a scared rabbit.
Who's to say that the guy was even the slightest bit interested in me? Just because somebody comes over to you and borrows some shampoo doesn't make him gay. Chances are he's a straight guy who would kick my ass if he knew what I was thinking.
