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Simply Addicted (or, In Prurient Pursuit of the Elusive)

From the Locker Room to a Hotel Sauna to Russian Banyas March, 2013 – Chicago Cold water streaming on my heated skin, my heart throbbed in my throat. It must have been ten half-hard inches I was making out through the muddled partition, bobbing its considerable self up and down. One muscled frame of flesh read more..

 

From the Locker Room to a Hotel Sauna to Russian Banyas

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March, 2013 – Chicago

Cold water streaming on my heated skin, my heart throbbed in my throat. It must have been ten half-hard inches I was making out through the muddled partition, bobbing its considerable self up and down. One muscled frame of flesh wagging a – to me – fuddled mid-section back and forth. For effect, for sure.

Flustered, and in a characteristic rush, I faltered – then fled the scene.

That impossible prick would cause me constant frustration in the days to follow. An hour afterward, a seasoned ass firmly seated on my face, the work day had begun and all I knew was that right back there in the locker room showers – right then, in that frantic instant – I’d wanted that hefty thing shoved in one of my holes. For my warmth and my depth – my feverish tightness – to submit to its pleasure. Why didn’t he let me give him my number? I felt teased. Tormented.

And then, about a week later, the eureka moment came while my rod was carefully initiating an inexperienced backside. Yes! That’s when my naïve little mind wrapped itself around the monstrous reality that the whole point had been to not get! To not even know! A heightened sense of “what if?”! To instigate an intensity that was the culmination in and of itself. “Aha!”

So a sort of make-do addiction was formed. Slight possibility over all this failsafe plausibility. The subtle in exchange for the overt. In a vocation that guarantees action just past “hello,” and in a world increasingly confusing candor for crudeness, I found myself immersed in an indecent conquest of elusiveness.

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June, 2013 – San Francisco

A lover of saunas and temperature extremes, and with a spanking passion for anything that smacks of anonymous sexual ambiguity, I went to an all-male hotel hummum. A steam and dry room, a cold dip and hot tub, and plenty of places to rest. It was packed. In my insatiable prurience, I would go on all afternoon and into the evening working the whole place up. Purposefully positioning myself in select corners of the steam and dry rooms sheltered from attendants’ notice, I’d unreservedly let the mystery of my manhood rise past my towel to issue a resolute nod to the desires of the guys nearby. Hour after hour I would give clandestine go-aheads under that tiny cloth to each man to ensure that everyone was hot for cock.

The pursuit of the obscure peaked, and the frenzy began. Partly emerging from our coverings, a hushed glancing at gratuitously granted glimpses of hair and meat through the mist – we scattered from room to room. The pent-up building closer and closer to a climax just… out… of reach.

I would sit my perspiring cheeks down in one of those safe spaces and just yank that chub out and whack him to a stiff chup, intermittently pulling on my low-hangers, then casually lifting my leg to give a fleeting flash of ass. Every man got hot and bothered, and would fearfully peer out of the foggy glass windows while slowly, scrupulously, slipping their poles out and stroking them. Or simply letting them stand at attention.

Ego inflamed, and veins coursing with broiling blood, I had over 30 men agitatedly, breathlessly playing with their peckers and showing one another like little boys thrilled with the escape in not being told on. It was a rush of schoolyard sweatiness for the fully grown.

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July, 2013 – Chicago

Back in the Windy City, my devotion supposed to be soundly on work, the apex of the obsession had me taking half the days off a solid five-week stint to spend hours – six to nine at a time – exploring the renovated Russian banyas. By and large frequented by both unquestionably heterosexual and seemingly straight men, my fixation came to a head.

The football games blaring from television sets and Russian, Latino, and African-American men howling from the showers, I would get offers of platza slaps and sense the homoeroticism just below the surface as all classes and sorts of men would congregate in the spirit of brotherhood to be themselves as best they could.

In truth, it was a free zone. As I felt the heat increasing, I’d have about twelve minutes before I would pass out. Straight from the ice-cold plunge to the scorching hot Turkish wet room, I’m alone the first four minutes before he inconspicuously ambles in. Seven minutes in, I detect him cruising me from the corner of his eye. Or do I? I scratch my inner thigh. Nine minutes, as I’m rubbing my chest offhandedly, head beginning to rush from stewing wetness, I witness a bulge breaking out from under its sheath. That’s it. I’m about to swoon. I take my tool out. He holds his up to reveal a rock-hard erection pointing to the wooden ceiling. He pulses it for me like, “You know you want to throat this.” He’s provided the highpoint.

I leave.

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October, 2013 – New York City

Still jacking off to quests of flushed flesh and drops of sweat – a quickening of the breath and aching eyes from overuse of their periphery – I would never concentrate on a culmination. Rather, I would climb to orgasm by reliving the anticipation.

I would go on to Kathmandu to stay a chaste month in a monastery with the hopes of locating Nepali bathhouses later on, still coming to terms with my newfound awareness that excess often springs from the simplest of needs. In this case, an insistence on increased excitement. And I would go on to excessively seek erotic ambiguity to prompt just that.

Add a Response 22 thoughts on “Simply Addicted (or, In Prurient Pursuit of the Elusive)

  1. Wow. Those stories definitely helped warm me. And considering how cold it is outside, I should thank you Adam for sharing. Just makes me wonder even more what you’re like in person!

  2. Wow. Your “addictions” are described so real I could almost feel them. Would love to cuddle with you and you read them as I try to reenact.

  3. Wow, Adam. Such a wonderfully hot piece of writing, along with some wonderfully images….especially yours.

    What a great set of vignettes showing some very different, yet all sexy, scenarios.

    Thanks for sharing!

  4. The blog is hot (and so are your pics). I hope sometime soon I get to experience Adam in person. Thanks for sharing so much of yourself on the web.

  5. Your sweet, beautiful smile, the white robe, your thick, delicious cock at half-mast! How hot is that picture you shared to illustrate this blog. I haven’t even commented on how this particularly graphic narrative was such a well-written, erotic and thought-inducing narrative! I too am moved intellectually and sexually by your way with words, you amazing man!!!

    • I’m blushing, “R”! And thank you for the encouraging emails. It’s thrilling to feel this sense of something unfolding. 🙂 Adam

  6. Adam, Another great blog and the additional pics were another beautiful addition. Thank you.
    I am so on the same page when it comes to anonymous and bath house or locker room and spa scenarios. The anticipation is always palpable isn’t it?
    So looking forward to spending time with you and getting closer to you soon. Keep it up ….

    • Absolutely, Todd. Bring on the ambiguous to make anticipation so palpable! I will keep it up. You do the same, sweet man. 🙂 Adam

  7. Your sense of exploration and quest for knowledge about the incredible world of, as you’ve mentioned, “love” in all forms is as much a turn-on as these delicious stories themselves. You are such a beautiful spirit inside and out and it beams through your blog. It’s rewarding to know. Thank you for such an eloquently written blog which is as wonderful to fantasize about as it is educational. Beautiful.

  8. I read this, and my first reaction is “WHY is it not March yet?!”

    But that aside, I do think we (as a society) have lost the ability to enjoy and be aroused by the tease. The promise of what might come. I mean, I’m a consumer of porn, and it can be useful in a number of ways. But there’s something so sexy about the promise, the anticipation, the hope. And I think porn and the prevalence of the hook-up have robbed us of that, at least a little.

    That said, when I finally do see you, don’t tease me for too long…

  9. The images that came up for me as I was reading this were of those exciting and dangerous days of locker room showers in school. The covert cock- teasing that went on. And the dangerous hard-on. How could one act on it? Breaking the ambiguity might bring the reality of rejection in the form of a slap in the face — or not. And what part does risk play in desire?Staying and accepting the elusiveness could create a memory for all time. I have many. And just found another. Standing the other day in line for the fitting room at the Ralph Lauren Shop at Macy’s. Each cubicle has a frosted glass door. Seeing a shadow moving behind the door nearest me.Suddenly a blur coming into focus of a perfectly rounded ass, and then the figure bends over and his ass touches the glass like a kiss.
    A few minutes later, a young, breathtakingly handsome man emerges, now all bundled up for winter. He flashes a knowing smile right at me. This broke the spell. It was that wonderful blur that turned me on, not the direct and knowing gaze.
    Gorgeous writing, Adam. Thanks for bringing up memories, old and new, and reminding me that the not so visible is so much sexier than the Full Monty.

    • Oh, that story was sizzling hot, Chris! Thank you for sharing it. In so many ways, my love of travel was in being forced to exist in the “not knowing” – and not so easily getting what I was accustomed to. The challenge, and the thrill, now is in finding the extraordinary in the ordinary. Lost in details, and going inward. But I just might have to pick up another little “addiction” to spice it all up and put much more in perspective. 🙂 Stay tuned… Adam

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