White noise.

As far as he was concerned, being white was all he had to do. He walked the wet floor area as if it was his own. The whole time his chin at the very least, always parallel to the floor. I caught a glimpse of him working on some weights earlier. His face has this blank quality. It was hard to discern if he was just busy, if he was concentrating or if he was stress training (possibly from working too hard in a foreign land). As far as I was concerned, he didn't utter a word of English. His lips stayed together except for the time he had to push a breath out to get a bar up. And after all that work, he must have felt entitled to own the wet floor area.

Present too were the early vultures, always eager to prey on fresh morning wood. Some of them, I've let perch on mine. Some of them I've come to know. Some of them, I've cum on. When you do this whole locker room route, you learn to be civil, practical, and patient. There area few morals to be learned from these acts of immorality (as some religions would say). The regulars circled the barren washroom. Pretty light for a Monday I should say. Usually Mondays are the most packed of days, lightening up past Wednesday. But today, everyone seemed, absent. So the white man walked around the sauna as if it was his own. As if he was all alone. I watched him from the fogged glass door of the steam room. I was all alone. Then he enters.

Blank face. Not a word of English. Not a word at all. I stepped out for a drink. I walk back in, he had moved to the immediate seat by the door. My groin right in front of his blue eyes. He had blue eyes. The kind of blue that was ghostly, pale and a bit ethereal. If he stared at you long enough, it's quite haunting. In a nice way actually. Come to think of it, it has the capacity to be scary too. Like serial killer scary. But there he was, eyes straight at my groin. Then without moving a muscle, they gaze up meeting mine.

My throbbing was quite evident from the thinning towel that hugged my waist down. He looks back at my groin. He reaches out for it with his gaze. Then with his left hand. I lean closer. Tip of my cock was kissing distance. He paused for a bit as he stroked it under the towel. He takes a quick glance by the door then lunges his head forward attempting to swallow me.

He wasn't that good. But with the circumstances present, he will have to do. Then he stopped, pulled his mouth off my hard-on, and proceeded to stroke his cock. He stood up and got on the first ledge right beside me. Leaning in, his eyes grew wide when I uttered the words, "I don't suck."

Of course I do, but I wasn't feeling it. Anyway...

His face went gaunt and he fixed his towel, wrapped it around his waist in a more secure way and he got down from the ledge, sitting four asses away from me. Five breaths later, he picked up and left.

Let's put things in perspective. He was white, yes. But he was a white, post-middle age man. He was a white post-middle age who gained a lot of weight. His eyes maybe of a magical haunting blue, but his face was one you'd see resembling retired plumbers taking vacations in Hong Kong. Some retired plumbers are even hotter. Yeah... He didn't speak a word. And he was being kinda cocky, but for a white guy, I out-dicked him in length and in girth. Did I complain? Nope. He had to do. I just merely wrote down details to put things in a bit of perspective. Him stepping out wasn't a loss. Not one bit.

I jacked my Monday morning off, stepped out of my steam room and into my showers. Then I walked around my wet floor area, straight to my locker. Dressed up, then out to my Monday. All mine.

And I know it's still gonna be a great week.