In the bathhouse, anything is possible, especially at night when all the studs come out to play.
For cheerleader Daniel, his dream-come-true is a football jock named Justin, but no one in the bathhouse measures up, no matter how hard he tries to play pretend.
Justin is straight, of course. Aren't they all? There's no reason for Daniel to expect he'll score with him...until the night he spots him in the hot tub.
Bathhouse Nights is a 9,300-word short story.
“I need you, Daniel. I need you to fuck me. I want you to be my first.”
This must be a trick, or maybe I’m hearing him wrong.
And then he kisses me. He presses his lips to mine and thrusts his tongue in my mouth. He crushes my smooth chest against his hairy pecs and I wilt in his arms.
This isn’t a trick. This is real. We’re in a bathhouse, we’re naked, and he’s groping me.
He lies back on the bed and pulls me with him.
“You want it?” I grate in his ear.
“Uh-huh,” he whispers, as though he’s not the one whose muscled arms are holding me captive.
He makes a husky sound and it drives me wild. I kiss him, I taste him; I run my tongue down his neck. He arches his back and moans, driving his crotch hard against mine.
The change room was an uncomfortable place for most guys on the cheerleading team. Macho football players crammed together in the small space, teasing and taunting us, sometimes stealing our underwear. They called us “queer” and “faggot” as they loitered buck naked, pretending to be “men”. But I loved it. I always crammed in with them as soon as I could, ignoring their insults while I secretly eyed their muscled nudity.
Today, though, was the third game of the season and the third straight loss for the team. Vicky was the leader of the girl cheerleaders, and I was the leader of the guys, so we had a meeting afterward to discuss how we could better motivate the players. When I finally entered the change room it was empty.
I yanked off my clothes and walked naked to the showers. I grabbed a clean towel, but paused by the laundry cart nearby. Though I might have missed the show, that didn’t mean I’d miss some action. Fuck, no. This was my favorite part.
I slung the clean towel over my shoulder and grabbed a dirty one from the cart, pressing it to my face, inhaling the sweaty stink of some random guy. My cock went stiff. I thought of that anonymous guy squeezing his ass cheeks together, the way his buns knotted with muscle each time.
Mmm. I kept sniffing. My hand found my dick and I jerked it, thinking of those cheeks parting for me. I’d lose my load in no time like this. It always worked.
The soft hiss of a shower hit my ears. I paused; someone was still here. I tossed the dirty towel back.
I tiptoed until I stood half behind the edge of the tiled wall, enough to see who was here, but enough to hide my hard-on.
I took in the yummy bulge of a hunk’s ass, soapy water cascading down its curves and along the crack. A guy’s ass mesmerized me, but the sculpted buns of a football jock drove me wild.
It took me a moment to register that this was Justin, captain of the football team—Vicky’s boyfriend. He was one of the players who was actually nice to me.
Justin. Oh, God, how I could go for Justin. I bit my lip, all but grinding my cock against the shower tile as I watched how the water flowed over his piles of muscle, how the soapy streams veined his ass.
He turned slightly, enough for me to view his side profile, but not enough for him to see me. Mmm—he was hot! His front was even more beautiful than his back. His pecs bulged, his torso tapered at the waist, his abs rippled; his dick and balls swung low and heavy between his legs.
I looked up. Justin was staring right at me.
“Uh...hey.” I pretended I hadn’t been standing there spying his glorious package. I yanked the towel off my shoulder and folded it in front of me, hiding the boner I sported.