Three Strangers in the Sauna Made Me Touch the Sky

The transformation that changed my life began when I was thirty-two. Until then I had been a neglected guy: overweight, my head shaved since my early twenties because baldness had beaten me, and skin so pale that under certain lights it looked translucent. I didn’t like my reflection in the mirror and, worse still, it showed. I didn’t hook up, I had no physical contact with anyone, and my self-esteem was dragging along the floor.

One ordinary Monday I decided enough was enough. I signed up at a gym near home, started a strict diet, and let my beard grow for the first time. In less than a year the results were obvious. I didn’t become a magazine model, I’m still short and slight, but my abs defined themselves, my arms hardened, and the dark beard gave me a look I’d never had before. People started looking at me. Men who used to ignore me now held my gaze a second too long. That second changes everything.

My new confidence took me to new places, and one of them was the sauna. At first I went in with my heart pounding, sat in a corner, and barely dared to look up. But I gradually lost my fear. I became a regular, a habitué of Friday nights and the early hours after going out partying. Over time I learned the codes, the silences, the unwritten rules. And it was in that period, once I had the ease of a veteran, that I lived through the night that still keeps me up.

***

I went in like any other day. Towel, locker key, condom in hand. I headed first to the pool, which in that sauna was a long, narrow space, almost a corridor of warm water, with built-in benches along the sides and the only light coming from the submerged lamps. The bodies were cut out in bluish shadows. The men were spread out along it, seated opposite one another, looking toward the center like spectators in a theater without a stage.

The code is simple if you don’t know it. You sit beside someone you’re attracted to and brush your leg against theirs. If they don’t pull away, you put your hand on their thigh. If they still don’t move it, you go higher. That clean, that direct. No words, no apps, no messages beforehand. Just skin and decision.

That night I sat next to a dark-haired guy, with very short hair, chest hair, and a soft little belly that I find tremendously attractive. I’ve never had a fixed type; if a man treats me well and wants me, I want him back. But there was something about this one, a calmness in the way he sat, as if the outside world didn’t exist.

I brushed my leg against his. I waited. He didn’t move it. I put my hand on his thigh, slowly. He still didn’t pull away. I started to climb, stroking the damp hair on his skin until I found the base of his cock. He was hard. Well-proportioned, thick without being intimidating. I grabbed it and started stroking him gently. He reached for mine and found it ready. Thank God, I thought, because that moment always gives me an absurd spike of anxiety.

We jerked each other off for a while, unhurried, our breathing growing thicker and thicker. Since we couldn’t talk without breaking the spell, we kissed. He had full lips and kissed with restrained hunger, nibbling lightly on my lower lip from time to time. I was almost lost in that kiss and forgot we were in a public place.

Then two more came in.

One was tall and thin, with a shaved head and thin-framed glasses; the other was sturdier, with a thick beard and glasses too. They sat down across from us and started chatting in low voices. They seemed like friends, comfortable with each other. My dark-haired companion and I exchanged a look that didn’t need translating. We stretched our legs out under the water until they brushed theirs. They didn’t hesitate: they got up, crossed the pool, and within seconds the four of us were kissing, two mirrored couples, the water’s light tinting everything blue.

The cleaning attendant appeared in the doorway looking like he’d seen too much in his life. With a kindness that bordered on resignation, he asked us to remember that you weren’t supposed to do that in the pool. The four of us looked at each other. No need to say anything. We got up and walked dripping toward the little cubicles at the back.

***

On the way I learned two things: that the tall one and the bearded one were indeed friends of many years, and that the dark-haired one was Colombian, from Barranquilla. His name was Andrés, or at least that’s what he said.

We went into the cubicle, barely a vinyl-covered mattress, narrow walls, and a door that didn’t quite close all the way. The bearded one took charge naturally, as if organizing this sort of thing were part of his nature.

—Top or bottom? —he asked, nodding at Andrés.

—Top —he replied with a smile.

—And you? —he asked the tall one.

—Top too.

The bearded one laughed.

—Same here, top.

The three of them turned to me. I looked back from below because I was already letting myself fall backward onto the mattress, legs spread and a smile that must have been obscene.

—I’m not —I simply said.

I can’t believe how lucky I am, I thought as I felt the cool vinyl against my back. Three tops and me willing to take them all. My heart was beating so hard I could feel it in my throat.

—Does everyone have a condom? —the tall one asked, always proper. One was missing, so he went to reception to get it. I already had my legs lifted, impatient. The bearded one, with a chivalrous gesture that made me laugh, gave Andrés the first turn.

Andrés knelt between my legs. He spread my thighs wider with his hands, looked at my ass, already ready, and ran the head of his cock over my entrance, wet and sensitive, leaving me trembling before he even pushed. He was big, bigger than I’d estimated in the pool, but I was so turned on and so relaxed that when he pressed in, he went in all at once, all the way, tearing a sharp gasp out of me that broke in my throat. I felt the initial sting, that mix of pain and relief that lasts only a second and then turns into brutal fullness. He held me by the shoulders and started moving, first slowly, then deeper, while kissing me open-mouthed, swallowing my moans. His weight on top of me, the smell of his skin, the wet sound of each thrust. I dug my fingers into his back and begged for more with my hips, arching myself to take him all the way, swallowing every удар of his cock as if he were lighting me up from the inside.

The tall one came back to the cubicle with the condom and stood there watching beside the bearded one. I could feel their eyes on us while Andrés fucked me at a pace that kept building, growing more intense, deeper every time. His balls brushed my ass with each movement, and I lost all sense of time amid the friction, the wetness, and the pressure of his body driven into mine. Nothing existed but his cock inside me and my hands gripping his back and neck, asking him not to stop.

He came with a long growl, pinning me against the mattress, his body tense and his breathing wrecked. When he pulled out of me I felt the emptiness immediately, a hot hollow that left me giving a small spasm of frustration. He took off the condom, sat beside me, and leaned back against the wall, breathing hard and smiling with satisfaction.

The bearded one took his place without giving me time to recover. He was sturdier, with broad, rough hands. His cock was a little shorter but thick, and after Andrés he went in with a ease that tore a moan of relief from me. But his style was different. He grabbed my hips, lifted me a little off the mattress, and fucked me hard, without delicacy, as if he were unloading something he’d held back for a long time. Each thrust ripped a dull удар through my belly and a hot shudder up my spine. I was in ecstasy. His head slammed against my insides with delicious brutality, and my nails sank into his arms while I begged for more, harder, deeper, until I felt my whole body vibrating in time with his thrusts.

I turned my head and saw Andrés’s cock at mouth level, resting half-hard on his thigh. I needed it. I reached out and grabbed it, pulling him toward me. Andrés looked at the bearded one as if asking permission.

—Go ahead —the bearded one said without stopping fucking me—. He needs to suck.

Andrés came closer and put it in my mouth. It had that latex taste from the condom, mixed with the heat of his skin and the salty sweat running down his pubis, but I didn’t care: I sucked him hungrily, running my tongue over the head, taking him as deep as I could, while the bearded one kept destroying me from below. I filled my mouth with one man’s cock and my ass with the other’s, and the combination was so intense it made me see black for a moment. The sensation of being filled on both sides at once was something I’d never experienced. Every nerve ending in my body was lit, every удар drew a different moan out of me, dirtier, more broken.

The bearded one finished with a spasm I felt spreading all the way to my ribs. He stayed buried there for a second, pressing his chest against mine, kissed my neck with wrecked breathing, and gave way to his friend.

The tall one was different from the other two. Delicate, almost tender. His cock was long and thin, and he handled it with surgical precision, going in and out slowly, kissing me as if we were alone in a bed and not in a sauna cubicle with two guys watching. He opened my legs wider, held me by the waist, and fucked me with a patience that drove me crazy in a different way, deeper, more unbearable, because each slow thrust brushed inside me with cruel exactness. I whispered in his ear not to stop, to fuck me, to stay inside me forever. He rested his forehead against mine and kept up that slow, deep rhythm that was driving me crazy in a more intimate, more unbearable way.

He came in the condom with his eyes closed and a sigh that sounded almost like gratitude.

***

I was floating. I could have gone on all night. And the bearded one saw it on my face.

—This one wants more —he said, and before I could answer he was hard again, he was putting on another condom, he was entering me again. This time he lifted me almost completely, holding me by the back, my legs hooked around his waist. I felt his sweat falling onto my chest, his messy kisses on my neck and jaw, his cock going in again and again at an angle that made me see stars. He opened me with every thrust, filled me to the core, and I clung to him as if he were the only solid thing in the world.

I didn’t want it to ever end.

But it ended. He came a second time and let me drop onto the mattress gently. I reached for my cock, and three or four strokes were enough before I came so hard the first spurt hit my chest. I lay there, gasping, eyes closed, with the certainty that I had just lived through something that doesn’t happen twice.

We filed out of the cubicle one after another. I think we shook hands, or maybe gave each other an awkward hug with the towels on. I don’t remember. What I remember with absolute clarity is every second of what happened inside.

I still masturbate thinking about that night. It was perfect.