Break.

There must be something in the water. Could it be the rain? I seem to find myself a little more virile than usual. Been reaching three climaxes a day. One after the other. I am not complaining.

Legs, lust, and lingering.

Alone. I've been known in most of my circles as the perpetual single gay man. Year-in, year-out, my friends encounter seasons or cycles of dating and coupling. And in those cycles and out of them, I find myself, independent to say the least. Nothing wrong with that. I am after all, pretty comfortable with my status - gorgeous, sexy, and always available. Sometimes easy. Most of the time, desired. Lovely isn't it? And no, I am not being cocky. I am being honest.

Come on, you should know that by now.

Before you start to think I am on complain mode, let me just tell you a short story about a boy (me), a gym crush (guy), a blowjob (his mouth on me) and a pick-up line that caught me off-guard and well, a bit bothered.

It was a Sunday afternoon. And by routine, you'd know that I just worked out. By routine, you'd also know I would have made my way to the wet floor area of the lockers. By routine you'd know that I would have probably longed to spend the last ounces of my energy releasing my load on some willing head-giver. Pretty predictable. There was hardly anyone in the gym. THe premise is set.

Gym crush was some guy I've been seeing around in the gym over the past year. We've never had a moment together. We never had eye-contact. And we've never connected even spiritually. I just thought he was this cute snobbish tallish Filipino-Chinese guy. Not my type at all, but I just find myself oddly attracted to him. I guess it's the mild-mannered face. He has this very pleasant smile, the kind Buddha would be proud of. Probably won't even kill a mosquito that would kill him. And when he smiles when he talks to his friends, it makes me smile. Really pleasant. But we don't have a connection.

I found myself stuck with him in the steam room. I never had any impression of his sexual preference. I just thought of him as a straight fancy. I didn't mind, after all I get a certain sense of high when I see him. To a certain extent, that was enough. As I entered, he welcomed me with a clear stare as he stood a towel away from bare by the door. No word. He didn't even swing his gaze or his head when I took my seat. Silence. A few moments later, he steps out. Another guy walks in. A few moments later, I step out. I cool off in the showers then gave the sauna a try.

There he was. All alone.

I sat on the side far form the door. Not a movement from him. Up until the point I opened my legs revealing a hard-on that tried to play coy. He turned his head once. Twice. Three times. Then he whispered a loud "Fuck…" He sighs and moves closer to where I was. Beside me. He leaned forward and gave my little soldier a stare. Then he points at it and says "This belongs in here." pointing to his mouth. To which I replied, "Go for it."

As he worked on my stuffy, his right arm hugs my left leg. He pulls out. "You have powerful legs." And he proceeded with the work. As I was about to come, the door opens. He hurriedly rested his back to the seat. I quickly hid my manhood under my towel. Guy who entered was a buddy. He looked at us and went, "Go ahead." I smiled at him, turned at gym crush and opened my legs. He went down on it and buddy began to jack off by the side of the door.

"I'm coming." He didn't pull out. He went faster. Faster. Faster. He didn't stop. And when I released, I had to tell him to ease up. He didn't swallow. He played with the cum and licked my legs down. "I have to go." I said. He taps my leg. I stand and take my leave.

I didn't see him until a week later. I just started my workout. A warm-up. The stepper. I caught sight of him at the other end of the room. On the treadmill. He was all wet. Cooling down. I proceeded with my workout. A few minutes later, I look over to his direction and he was gone. "Oh well" I thought. Then I get a tap on my right shoulder. He leans in and takes his game to a very different level.

"Your legs are driving me crazy."

My eyes grew wide. I didn't know what to say. I even forgot to smile. He gives me a smile and he went on his way. He left me with my panting and a glance that followed him down the stairs. I proceeded with my workout and minutes later, he was waving at me from the parking lot, as I used the machine by the big glass window view. During the week that followed, I found myself in pockets of wondering about this gym crush. I have no leads. I had no idea who he was. I've never seen him with any common friends. My trainer even thinks he's someone else. No clue. Nothing whatsoever. How dare he.

(To be continued.)

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.

Fuck it.

Okay. I said I'd delay my next penile fulfillment. I lied.

I write this by the nearest coffee shop outside the gym. The time it happened, I had just finished a quick workout. The boy, let's call him Jason, was just about to start. I was bare in my towel and (please forgive me for some minor typos - this girl in front of me is animatedly talking to her phone's hands-free device, it's pretty funny) freshly laden with beads of sweat from that bit of exercises I did. Jason just got in. I think he works nights, since it was too early to go to the gym all dressed up in work clothes. But hey, if that is his way of being efficient with bringing clothes and lugging a lighter bag, I will give him that. Our eyes met. And it was on.

Jason and myself are no strangers to hanky-panky. We took on each other a few weeks back when a locker buddy of mine were going at it. Jason walks in on us at the steam room while we were in a safe distance from each other. He felt a weird silence so he stepped out and used the sauna instead. Locker buddy gave me the look and asked "You like him?" I go, "Do you?". He smiled at me. We followed him to the sauna and sat right in front of him. Then we started to make-out. We heard a faint whisper to the tune of "Oh fuck..."

We had him.

After that, Jason has been pretty much a regular locker-sucker. I've always wondered if he was a bottom. He had a nice penis that's slightly curved upwards to the left. He isn't that tall, so in proportion to his height and build, his penis looked powerful. With that kind of proportion, I'd give him the benefit of the doubt that he may be a top. Vers at most. But I did wonder if he'd bottom. More importantly, I wonder if he'd bottom for me. While he gagged on my erection, I leaned over, pulled him up, turned him around and kissed him from behind.

"I wanna fuck you..." I whispered to his ear.

And that's how I found out that Jason would bottom for me.

Make that a double.

My penis' happiness and well-being was at stake. I was guilt-ridden. My constant meetings, intense workouts and overall busy schedule have been in the way of giving it that much needed lovin' it deserved.

I wanted a blowjob.

But let's be clear about one thing, my schedule's pretty much on the strict side. I've kinda made it as an impenetrable line of defense against self-loathing. You know how it is with idle hands. Mine don't become the devil's playground. They grab food all over and make me gain weight. Clearly a worse hell for any gay man, this possibility of gaining weight. What I want to say is, with my busy schedule, even my fun times are plotted and penciled in. I've even allotted open hours for impromptu details. But these are few and pretty far in between. Going back.

There was only one place where I can get a blowjob without ruining my schedule.

So earlier, after an earnest workout, I walk into two men bouncing back to the backrest of their seats. There was this candid and awkward air. And their erection was evident. I sat by the far end away from the door. Guy with facial hair stands up, fixes his towel and heads out. I loosen my towel, open my legs and saw spiky haired guy giving my lower greatness a look-see. Then eye contact. I gave him a nod. He reached out, unwrapped my towel and suckled on my lollipop. He wasn't so good. But he will do.

My eyes were locked by the warning view by the door. Don't you just love risky business? And just as spiky attempted a deep throat, door opens, we bounce clear of any action. It was guy with facial hair. He closed the door, smiled and said "Go ahead..." I spread my legs and spiky was at it.

Facial haired guy stood erect by the door. He had to adjust his towel three times. And he finally gave in and sat two asses away from me. As spiky head was locked-in on my groin, I gave facial haired guy lustful stares. He moved in quickly. And after giving a clear glance by the door, he began to lick my nipples. Right. Left. Right again. Spiky pulled up and gave him a smile. Before I know it, facial haired guy was going down on me.

Spiky didn't like it. He was pushing facial haired guy's head away. He wanted to get back. But to be honest, facial haired guy was really good at it. So spiky had to settle for the supporting role, in which he really shined. He was great in working on the nips.

"Here I go..." I said.

Both men dove to my throbbing eruption catching its spews on their cheeks, chin, and lips. They stood up and proceeded to climax. I let them land on my legs. I enjoyed the trickling of their warm cum down my skin. At the back of my head, I can hear my next appointment reminder. I smiled, stood up, fixed my towel and made my way to the showers. That was a treat. Best of all, I was right on schedule.

I might have to move my next ejaculation at least seven hours later.

Talk to the hand. Or dick.

There is a certain mindset for sauna/steam room encounters. Basically, it's a finite transaction of exchange favors. Minimal conversation. None is ideal. It's all played by looks, stares, and body language. You target. You interact. You deal. You cum. You go. It's pretty mechanical, but enough to satisfy very casual urges. On the rare occasion that conversation takes place, it's when the participants have crossed the border of anonymity over to familiarity. That space between stranger and acquaintance.

I don't have anything against conversation during these encounters. In fact, on the rare times it can happen, it becomes a treat for me, especially if the guy knows how to converse. I've made a few locker room acquaintances this way. Besides, a good conversationalist who also happens to be hot is never a bad thing. Turns me on really. But none of the parameters I presented above prepared me for what happened to me Thursday night at the gym.

Let's cut to the chase. The scenario, I was alone in the steam room when this hottie steps in. After a few body signals, he sits beside me. We inch closer and closer to each other. My lips was one word away from his shoulders. He turns his head to meet my stare. I give him a smile. He smiles back says, "Are you single? I'm looking for a relationship. I don't like playing hanky-panky. You might be here just for flirting. Are you a relationship kind of guy?"

I'm pretty sure he said a few more sentences, but I tuned out. Now that was shock and awe.

Hot, yes. Cute, yes. Strange, very. He wore black hipster undies topped by a red garter strap. His bulge was unmistakably ready. He was in the sauna. Alone with me. At this point several thoughts flooded my mind. Why ruin a good moment for locker room play? Why look for a relationship in a steam room? Why are you hot but not at the same time? What the fuck? Why me? I tried to fathom them. But in the end, my horny switch was turned off. I showered and sought solace and redemption from porn two hours later.

I love my right hand.

Let's work it out.

While growing-up, on the onset of fever, my mom and my dad would recommend me to sweat it out. I'd wrap layer myself in two shirts, a sweat shirt, jogging pants and socks and wrap myself in a blanket. At first it would all seem and feel comfortable. After all, fever tends to chill me up. Within a hour's time, I'd start to feel the sweat mildly drench my apparel and the discomfort kicks in. In te next succeeding moments, I take off an article of clothing at a time. And no, just to be clear it isn't a strip tease. By the time I reach the last shirt and shorts, my mom would have a cool face towel ready for me to mildly scrub my skin with. Then I change to fresh clothes. Then I sleep it off. It's a few Zs away from relief from thereon.

But that was when I was a kid. Today, on the onset of surviving a fever, provided I have enough energy to drive, I hit the gym, strip down to a towel and let the sauna sweat me off. I found that this particular act, gives me the same results. And then some. With a fever, you'd think my libido would be down, right? Think again.

The very abrupt weather change has triggered some sort of allergic reaction in me. The other day I was in a sneezing spree. Later on I was feverish. I stayed home and rested it out. Yesterday, I found myself in one such condition, tired, but ready to sweat and catch up on a little bit of iron pumping. So as I readied for my workout, I trooped over to the sauna for a little sweat off. Hardly anyone in. In fact, no one else was in but me. The only other person present was rinsing in the showers. After which he was on his way to change. I knew because I could see him from my seat, which had a view of the wet floor area. Then, in walks a familiar face. A familiar gym fellow. A familiar smile. Followed by a familiar blowjob. There was a familiar thank you. And I proceeded with my familiar workout.

Of course I subscribe to the notion of beginning a workout with a good warm-up and ending it with a nice cool-down. So as I hit the showers, before rinsing, I was again in an empty sauna (pretty slow day at the gym I believe) which was just perfect for a nice jack-off. I was sweating out much from my arms and I could see the drops trickle down my chest and abdomen. I was enjoying my time. I was taking my time. I was having a great time. And time came for it to be aided. Another familiar face. Another familiar smile. Another familiar head. Another familiar climax that was worth another familiar thanks.

Who had fever again? I don't think it was me. Either that or I must have ejaculated all the heat out.

Papa doesn't preach.

His pace was very relaxed. Very calm despite the Sunday family traffic in the mall. He held his eight-year old boy who glanced at the circus of lights and sounds from the games at the arcade. Three paces behind him, his wife carried their three-year old daughter along with two small boutique bags. He turns his head to my direction and raises his brows short of a smile for acknowledgement. I smile back. Her eyes looked straight ahead blankly with no clue on how great her husband gives head in the sauna.

I first met him in a gym near where I work back in 2004. Back then we were both newbies, first timers in that specific gym. He was thin, with a frail face and a receding hairline. He was no where near what kind of guy I would consider attractive. But then, I never saw him wear any ring (yes, I pay attention to these things). At the same time, his meek demeanor never struck me as gay. Flirty was on Venus and he was in Neptune. Initial character judgement, extremely boring. I paid him not much attention in the next few months after that until one such time I sort of fell into a quick nap in the steam room. I was alone and the next thing I knew, his head was bobbing on my stiffness. I like waking up to blowjobs. One of the things I miss dearly. At that point, I didn't mind the limitation he had with his physical attractiveness. I considered it as an act of charity.

He knew what he was doing. He knew very well. And as much as I wanted it to last longer, I was gonna be late for work. Besides, the guards also patrol the wet floor area every so often. "Here I go..." I whispered. Out I slid from his mouth, leaving streaks of white on his nose, cheeks and a thin trail by his sealed lips. He wiped his face with his hand. Tapped my my right leg and stepped out. Of all the things I normally feel after a good head, being used was last on my list. It was a surprise. A pleasant surprise, but a surprise no less. For me. To have been used just like that.

In the subsequent months that followed, I would see him bounce over a few stiffies in the sauna. Fun times. Eventually it became clear. He really loves just giving head. As a matter of fact, I have never seen him out of his undies when we'd be in the steam room or sauna at the same time. I moved gyms a couple of times and have lost him in my small world of sexual socials.

Some three weeks ago, I found myself alone in the steam room of my other gym in this other mall. It was lunchtime on a Sunday. Hardly anyone works out then. The door opens and this plump figure of balding guy materialized amidst the thick steam that was slowly escaping out the opening. He walked calmly towards the semblance of my figure. He stood in front of me, bent down, and squinted as he gave me a good look. Coyly. I leaned in. Gave him a familiar smile. He reached out and held my penis at attention. And off we went.

He still has it.

Seeing him today, in the mall; seeing him with a ring, with his wife and children, something about it just made me want to run to the nearest washroom, lock in a cubicle, and touch myself. For the record, he isn't the first married man whom I've had sexual interactions with. They come in droves actually. Secret droves. Secret careful droves of horny restrained testosterone. Sorry. Going back... I wonder if he teaches his kids how to eat a lollipop.

The next time I see him, I'm gonna call him daddy.

V is for...

Sometimes, we all need that someone who will nudge us, push us, and move us to go to places where everything won't hurt until you wake up the next day in someone else's room, in your undies, telling yourself that you shouldn't have gone out, while you try to remember what exactly happened the night before. And everything will be alright.

As the days pass, what little push I can get from Doormat seem to dwindle down to smaller more minuscule servings. And though he often reemphasizes that he is single, the smile that appears when he says that word grows shorter. Maybe this is it - the moment when the Doormat is finally brought in after patiently waiting it out under all the seasons, weather, and dirty steps, to be laundered, cleaned, and ever so lovingly placed deep inside the warmer walls of someone's fancy. The moment where the doormat stops being a doormat and becomes the centerpiece of the living room, full-sized rug, expensive, and rare, a centerpiece of someone's attention and comfort.

The relationship Doormat has with the guy he's been seeing for sometime now will take a turn for the yes. For crying out loud, they're even moving in together soon. And before we know it, they're official. And unless they'll open the guestroom for a hot threesome (I hear that bottom is the type who seems open to such frivolous fanfare), my house will stand cold, under the humid climate, nearly empty, save for the internet connection and the memories I think of when I touch myself.

Do not be fooled by then seemingly bickering that the prior sentences seem to put on, I am in no way lonely, decrepit, and jealous. Well, maybe a little.

What saddens me really is not the loss of a come-on lust pal (surprised?), but the loss of having a sounding-board (attraction short of being a boyfriend) ready to hear me out, ready to listen to my whimpering, and admission of weakness. And most of all, the loss of having that special friend who can give me that nice little innocent push on nights when the rain taps on your roof, incessantly reminding you if how pathetic you are, who will tell you with a whole heart that you're fine. Because now, that answer that will make all of those bad feelings go away, is exclusively reserved for that guy who took the doormat in.

I may be a vixen, but I am vulnerable too.

Very vulnerable.