A Wank in the Locker Room and What Came After

The gym locker room was empty at that hour. Nine-thirty at night, just before closing. Only the fluorescent lights were humming and the distant echo of a dripping shower at the back. I was still sitting on the bench, with the towel covering my waist and my breathing still ragged.

I had just come. A quick, dirty wank, hidden in the farthest corner. The cum was cooling on my stomach and my cock was still throbbing, sensitive to the slightest touch. It hadn’t been enough. The surface fire had gone out, but something deeper was still burning inside me, a need that went far beyond a hasty orgasm.

I closed my eyes and let my mind sink into dark waters.

I imagined someone coming in. Some guy who had been watching me for hours from the weights area. Dark, hairy, with that attitude of someone who knows exactly what he wants. He’d stop in front of me, pull down his shorts, and press his cock against my lips without saying a word. Just the smell of dried sweat, intense, like a man who’s trained for an hour.

—Suck it —he’d say in a husky voice.

And I’d open my mouth as if I’d been waiting my whole life for that order. He’d shove it down my throat without mercy. I could feel the head pounding at the back of my throat, his fingers tangled in my hair, his hairy balls slapping against my chin. Saliva would run down my chin and mix with the tears from the effort.

—Swallow it all, pig —he’d growl, fucking my mouth with brutal thrusts.

My own hand had gone back to my cock without me even noticing. It was hard again, dripping onto the bench. The filthy thrill of imagining myself used as nothing more than a hole had me on the brink of a second orgasm without barely moving it.

I opened my eyes. The locker room was still empty. Just fantasy. But the body didn’t understand fantasy: my cock was throbbing against the towel, my heart was hammering in my temples, and a concrete, animal hunger had settled under my navel.

***

I went out into the street with my gym bag over my shoulder and the cold hit my face. I walked aimlessly for a while, trying to let the air bring my temperature down. It didn’t work. Every dark doorway, every man who passed too close, every glance crossed at a traffic light, my head registered it with new clarity. It was as if my brain had been rewired to process the world only through sex.

I took out my phone. Opened an app I’d installed months earlier and barely used. Three messages waiting. One from a week ago, two from that same afternoon. Tiny cocks, offers, direct questions. My body reacted to each notification with a surge of heat I could no longer control.

I replied to one without thinking too much.

—Still available?

The answer came in seconds.

—In half an hour. Door ajar. Fourth floor.

***

The entrance smelled damp. I took the stairs two at a time. The door was as he’d said: ajar, a thread of yellow light slipping through the crack. I pushed it open and went in.

The apartment smelled shut up, of old tobacco, of the loneliness of a man who’s lived alone for far too long. A dark hallway, and at the end, a door with light behind it.

—Come in —said a voice.

He was older than I’d expected. Sixty-something, belly, yellowed tank top. He wasn’t attractive. In fact, he repulsed me a little. But my cock got harder, my mouth went wet, and my ass clenched in anticipation. The body wanted this; it didn’t matter what the mind thought.

—Forty to suck me off. Sixty if I let you leave with your face covered and you walk home like that —he said without looking me in the eyes.

—Forty —I answered.

I knelt between his legs while he pulled down his tracksuit bottoms. His cock was small, still soft, with an unwashed foreskin. It smelled like a man who hasn’t gone near water in days. And even so, when I closed my lips around that flaccid flesh, a jolt ran from the nape of my neck to my heels. It wasn’t a pretty pleasure. It was something more animal, more desperate.

He hardened in my mouth, slowly. He moaned. He grabbed my hair.

—Fuck, you suck like your life depends on it —he said.

Those words excited me more than any compliment. Because that was what I wanted to be at that moment. Flesh that breathes. A mouth that swallows.

He fucked my throat without restraint, slamming into the back of it with uncoordinated thrusts. I gasped around his cock, my eyes watered, saliva soaked the collar of my sweatshirt. My own cock was so hard inside my pants it hurt with every gagging motion.

He came without warning. Hot spurts flooded my mouth with a taste of salt and bleach. I swallowed by reflex and he groaned in satisfaction. But it didn’t end there. He pulled out and unloaded the rest on my face, staining my forehead, my eyelids, my cheeks.

—Stand up —he ordered.

I obeyed. He stuffed two twenty-euro bills into my pocket and pointed at the door with his chin.

—Get lost. And don’t clean yourself up until you get home. If you do, I won’t call you again.

***

I went out into the street with my face covered in semen. I walked close to the walls, but people still saw me. A woman looked away in disgust. A kid laughed under his breath. A middle-aged man looked at me with a mix of desire and contempt that made my cock throb painfully under the fabric.

Every step was torture. Not shame —well, that too— but uncontrollable arousal. The semen dried on my skin, tight, marking me as what I was. And the worst part was that I didn’t want to get home. I wanted to keep going like that, exposed, used, filthy.

The phone vibrated when I was only halfway home. Another message.

—How much for a quick one now?

And I was already typing the price before I realized it.

***

The second one lived three streets away. A kid in his early twenties. Too handsome to be paying for sex, I thought as soon as he opened the door. The apartment was tidy, clean, with plants in the window and books on the shelf. That threw me off. I’d been expecting another dump. Another human wreck like the first.

—Take your clothes off —he said in a soft voice that contrasted with the order.

I stripped and he watched me without expression. He walked around me slowly, sizing me up as if I were livestock at auction. When he passed behind me, I felt his breath on the nape of my neck.

—Turn around. Bend over.

I obeyed. I gripped the table while he knelt behind me. I expected him to penetrate me, to spit in my ass, to do any of the violent things my body was screaming for. But he did none of that.

He kissed my ass.

Softly. Almost tenderly. His lips traced my cheeks with a delicacy that broke something inside me. Because I didn’t deserve it. Because it wasn’t what I needed. Because tenderness hurt more than any brutality.

I cried. I didn’t know why, but tears fell onto the table while that stranger adored my ass as if I were something precious.

—Why are you crying? —he asked without stopping kissing me.

—I don’t know.

—Yes, you do.

He was right. I was crying because that guy was treating me like a person, and I didn’t want to be a person at that moment. People have to make decisions, have to explain how they got there, have to feel shame. Flesh doesn’t. Flesh just exists, breathes, lets itself be used. It was easier to be flesh.

—Lie down on the bed —he said.

The sheets smelled of fabric softener. I lay on my back and he climbed on top of me without penetrating me. He looked me in the eyes while his hand moved down to my cock and gripped it firmly. He started to masturbate me slowly, unhurriedly, without urgency.

—Look at me —he ordered when I tried to close my eyes.

I opened them, and there he was, watching me with an intensity that stripped me bare more than being literally naked. He saw everything: the desperation, the disgust, the pleasure, the confusion. And he didn’t look away.

—Come —he whispered.

I couldn’t stop myself. My body obeyed as if his words were switches wired directly to my nervous system. I came with such violence it arched my back, shouting, while the spurts shot out between our bodies. He never took his eyes off me.

When I finished, he wiped his hand on a towel he’d left ready on the bedside table. He stood up, opened a drawer, and took out an envelope.

—There’s two hundred in here —he said, placing it on my chest—. But I don’t want you to leave yet.

—What do you want then?

—I want you to tell me why you do it.

I laughed. A horrible, broken laugh, full of badly contained hysteria.

—I don’t know.

—You’re lying again.

He lay down beside me, resting his head on his hand. There was no judgment in his eyes. But no pity either. Just curiosity. As if I were a natural phenomenon he was studying.

—I can’t stop —I admitted at last. The words came out on their own, vomited up after hours of swallowing them—. My body wants this all the time. It’s not that I like it or don’t like it. It’s that I need it, like breathing. And the worst part is that I’m aware of it. I know exactly what I’m doing, how low I’m sinking, and even so I can’t stop.

—And how does it feel?

—Like drowning but never dying. Like being a spectator to your own destruction.

He nodded slowly.

—Do you want me to help you stop?

—No.

—Do you want me to help you fall deeper?

Silence. Because the answer was yes and we both knew it.

He stood up, went to the closet, and came back with a box. He opened it in front of me. Ropes, clamps, a leather collar with a leash, several dildos of different sizes. He didn’t explain anything. He just set the box on the bed beside me and waited.

—Not tonight —I said at last.

—Not tonight —he repeated, nodding—. But you’ll come back.

It wasn’t a question. And we both knew the answer.

I dressed in silence. He walked me to the door. Before opening it, he laid his palm on the nape of my neck and kissed my forehead. Softly. Like someone branding an animal they know will come home.

—When you come back —he said—, bring your mind ready. Your body’s been ready for a long time.

***

I went out into the street. It was after two in the morning. I walked toward my apartment with the envelope in my pocket, the first guy’s semen dried on my skin, and the second man’s voice still echoing in my head.

When I reached my building entrance, I stopped for a moment with my back against the cold wall. The phone vibrated again. I didn’t look at who it was. I could feel it throbbing in my pocket like a second heart, patient, knowing I’d open it sooner or later.

I went upstairs, got into the shower, and let the water run. The semen dissolved. The marks didn’t.

I looked at myself in the steamed-up mirror and saw someone like me, but not exactly me. Someone who knew something new. Someone who could never go back, even if he wanted to.

I closed my eyes. My cock was still hard.