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 careless guy: overweight, with 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, it showed. I didn’t get laid, had no physical contact with anyone, and my self-esteem dragged along the floor.

One ordinary Monday, I decided that was over. I joined 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 showed, my arms hardened, and the dark beard gave me an air I’d never had before. People started looking at me. Men who had ignored me before now held my gaze for a second too long. That second changes everything.

My newfound confidence took me to new places, and one of them was the sauna. At first I went 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. In time I learned the codes, the silences, the unwritten rules. And it was during that period, once I had the ease of a veteran, that I experienced the night that still keeps me awake.

***

I went in as I did 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 lukewarm water, with built-in seats on either side and the only light coming from the submerged spotlights. The bodies stood out in bluish shadows. The men were spread along its length, sitting opposite one another, looking toward the center like spectators at a theater without a stage.

The code is simple for anyone who doesn’t know it. You sit beside someone you’re attracted to and move your leg closer. If he doesn’t pull away, you put your hand on his thigh. If he doesn’t move that away either, you move upward. That clean, that direct. No words, no apps, no messages beforehand. Just skin and decision.

That night I sat beside 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 that 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. Slowly, I placed my hand on his thigh. He didn’t pull away either. I began to move upward, stroking the damp hair on his skin until I found the base of his cock. It was hard. Well-proportioned, thick without being intimidating. I grabbed it and began moving my hand gently. He sought mine out 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, unhurriedly, our breathing growing heavier and heavier. Since we couldn’t speak without breaking the spell, we kissed. He had full lips and kissed with restrained hunger, occasionally just biting my lower lip. I almost lost myself in that kiss and forgot we were in a public place.

Then two more came in.

One was tall and slender, with a shaved head and thin-framed glasses; the other was sturdier, with a thick beard and glasses too. They sat across from us and began talking quietly. They seemed like friends, comfortable with each other. My dark-haired companion and I exchanged a look that needed no translation. We stretched our legs beneath the water until they brushed against theirs. They didn’t hesitate: they stood up, crossed the pool, and within seconds the four of us were kissing, two mirror-image couples, the light from the water tinting everything blue.

The cleaner appeared in the doorway with the expression of a man who had seen too much in his life. With a kindness bordering on resignation, he asked us to remember that you couldn’t do that in the pool. The four of us looked at one another. Nothing needed to be said. We got up and walked, dripping, toward the cubicles at the back.

***

On the way, I learned two things: that the tall guy and the bearded guy really had been friends for 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 more than a vinyl-covered mattress, narrow walls, and a door that didn’t close all the way. The bearded guy took charge naturally, as if organizing this sort of thing were simply part of his character.

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

—Top —he replied with a smile.

—And you? —he asked the tall guy.

—Top too.

The bearded guy laughed.

—Same here, top.

All three turned toward me. I looked back at them from below, since I was already lowering myself onto my back on the mattress, legs spread and wearing a smile that must have been obscene.

—Not me —I said simply.

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

—Does everyone have a condom? —the tall guy asked, always proper. One was missing, so he went out to get one from reception. I already had my legs raised, impatient. The bearded guy, in a chivalrous gesture that amused me, gave Andrés his turn.

Andrés knelt between my legs. He spread my thighs farther with his hands, looked at my ready asshole, and ran the tip of his cock over my entrance, wet and sensitive, leaving me trembling before he even pushed. He was big, bigger than I had calculated in the pool, but I was so aroused and relaxed that when he pressed, he went straight in, all the way, drawing a sharp moan from me that broke in my throat. I felt the initial sting, that mixture of pain and relief that lasts barely a second before transforming into brutal fullness. He held my shoulders and began to move, slowly at first, then deeper, while he kissed me open-mouthed, swallowing my moans. His weight on me, the smell of his skin, the wet sound of every thrust. I dug my fingers into his back and begged for more with my hips, arching to take all of him, swallowing every stroke of his cock as if he were lighting me up from the inside.

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

He came with a long groan, pinning me against the mattress, his body tense and his breathing ragged. When he pulled out of me, I immediately felt the emptiness, a hot hollow that left me with a small spasm of frustration. He took off the condom, sat beside me, and leaned against the wall, breathing heavily and wearing a satisfied smile.

The bearded guy took his place without giving me time to recover. He was more powerfully built, with broad, rough hands. His cock was a little shorter but thicker, and after Andrés it went in easily, drawing a relieved moan from me. But his style was different. He grabbed my hips, lifted me slightly off the mattress, and fucked me hard, without tenderness, as if he were releasing something he had been holding in for a long time. Every thrust struck my belly and sent a hot shudder up my spine. I was in ecstasy. His head pounded against my insides with delicious brutality, and my nails dug into his arms as 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 level with my mouth, lying half-hard on his thigh. I needed it. I reached out and grabbed it, pulling him toward me. Andrés looked at the bearded guy as if asking permission.

—Go ahead —the bearded guy said without stopping his thrusting—. 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 over his pubic hair, but I didn’t care: I sucked him hungrily, running my tongue over the head and taking as much of him as I could while the bearded guy kept destroying me below. I filled my mouth with one man’s cock and my ass with the other’s, and the combination was so extreme it made me see black for a moment. The feeling of being full on both sides at once was something I had never experienced. Every nerve ending in my body was lit up; every thrust tore a different moan from me, dirtier and more broken.

The bearded guy finished with a spasm I felt spread up to my ribs. He stayed buried for a second, squeezing me with his chest pressed against mine, kissed my neck with his breathing completely wrecked, and gave way to his friend.

The tall guy was different from the other two. Gentle, almost tender. His cock was long and thin, and he handled it with surgical precision, slowly moving in and out, kissing me as if we were alone in a bed rather than in a sauna cubicle with two guys watching. He spread my legs farther, held me by the waist, and fucked me with a patience that drove me crazy in a different way, deeper and more unbearable, because every slow thrust brushed my insides with cruel accuracy. I whispered in his ear not to stop, to fuck me, to stay inside me forever. He rested his forehead against mine and continued with that slow, deep rhythm that was driving me crazy in a more intimate, more unbearable way.

He came inside the condom with his eyes closed and a sigh that sounded almost grateful.

***

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

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

I never wanted it to end.

But it did. He came a second time and carefully let me fall onto the mattress. I put my hand on my cock; three or four strokes were enough, and I came so hard that the first spurt reached my chest. I lay there, panting, eyes closed, certain that I had just experienced something that would never happen again.

We left the cubicle one after another. I think we shook hands, or maybe shared an awkward hug with our 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.