My Sauna Buddy ... Maybe

Thursday evening. The kids are upstairs doing their respective things. Who knows? They might even be doing homework.

We ate out tonight. Chinese - so we'll all be hungry again within an hour or so!

Things have gone well this week. I'm making reasonable progress with most of my cases. It's heartbreaking sometimes to know that a few of these people can never be mended as much as they hope to be. Far more often, however, I'm encouraged by how much people do improve with time, patience and family support.

I've talked to Pam on the phone and she sounds quite upbeat about her sessions with Tony. I've invited her to come over for another kayaking adventure sometime soon. We don't refer to the one-night stand at all. I'm certainly happy to go on as if it never happened, but I feel very strongly that her sexual difficulties are something she does need to process with her psych. Maybe she is. I'm at pains not to be intrusive.

Jane e-mailed me some photos from the Roman toga party. I printed off a few of them to show the kids. Mr Fifteen says it looks like a convention of elderly ghosts! Miss Eleven says I look good in a dress! I did not save the two pictures where Helen and I are dancing together. Maybe it's the benefit of hindsight, but in both photos her face appears to be glazed with lust and in one of them I look distinctly cross-eyed. But maybe that's how I always look with an incipient erection!

I've been visiting the gym daily and am satisfied with my progress. Still resisting the temptation to weigh in but it's now definite that my belt has tightened one whole notch (and that's without breathing in deeply!) Now that I'm in a routine and have struck up acquaintanceships with other regulars, I'm less inclined to rush away once my circuit and laps are done. Even though I don't particularly like the sauna, I'm spending at least ten minutes there before showering. If I have the place to myself, then I just relax and let my mind drift wherever it wants to go. If, as is sometimes the case, one particular guy is also using the sauna, then my eyes and my mind tend to drift in one particular direction, as do his!

A few weeks back, I felt that he was checking me out and that he seemed to be at least semi-erect. On that occasion I fled and I've generally avoided making eye-contact in the showers afterwards. This morning, however, we actually conversed in the sauna. Conversed might be too lofty a description. Very little was actually said.

He was naked and reclining on a towel when I entered. I settled myself down in the same manner and said "G'day", which is the traditional Australian ice-breaker. He said "G'day" too. Scintillating conversation, I know. Then we both sat in silence for a while, taking inventory of each other's expanding assets.

"Nice" he said, with a nod towards my groin.

"Yours too" I said.

Silence settled upon us again as I wracked my brain over what to say or do next. There was a frisson of anticipation down my spine as I contemplated what could eventuate and, even more to the point, whether I really wanted anything to happen at all.

Fortunately, another guy entered to shatter all that silence and inventory-taking. I used the towel to hide my little feller's growth spurt and my new-found buddy did the same with his. After a minute or so, I was able to exit the sauna without an undignified tenting of my towel and I headed for the showers.

I showered and changed quickly, but not so fast that my sauna friend was unable to keep pace with me. As I used the fingerprint scanner in the reception area he was at my shoulder.

"Can I buy you a coffee?" he said.

A hurried glance at my wristwatch and I said: "Thanks but I'm a bit pushed for time. Got to get my kids to school." An absolute lie as my nearest neighbour was doing the school run today.

"Well, maybe some other time" he said; then, holding out his hand: "I'm Steve, by the way".

I shook his hand and introduced myself, apologising for being in such a hurry.

"Which way are you headed?"

I told him. He lives about half-way along the main road to my place. It has been raining intermittently all day so, when he told me he'd ridden his bike to the gym, I suggested he throw the bicycle in the back of my wagon and let me drop him off on my way home. He accepted with thanks and off we went.

Once underway, I put on a Stephane Grappelli CD to help cover my nervousness. Steve gave me directions when we reached the turn-off for his street and, as I pulled up in his driveway, I noticed there was no car in the carport.

"You don't drive?" I asked.

"I do, but it's a heap. It's parked out the back until I can fix an electrical fault."

My competence with cars extends to putting in fuel and changing tyres. That's it. So there was no way I could do a "guy thing" and offer to help. I did, however, start my car up again and moved up the driveway so Steve could alight under the cover of his carport.

I was just beginning my farewell routine when his hand moved to my thigh. I looked at it, resting there. I could sketch it for you right now from memory. A strong, sensitive hand with long, slender fingers and a dusting of fine golden hair. I turned toward him and suddenly we were kissing. His hand left my thigh and moved to the nape of my neck. There was an urgency about the way his tongue met mine and, disconcerted, I pulled away. I raised one hand as if to say "Whoa there!"

Glancing at the all-too-obvious party that was raging in the crotch of my jeans, Steve asked if I was sure about not having time for a coffee. I was about to repeat the lie about having to get the kids to school but decided, instead, to yield to temptation.

"I'll be with you in a moment" I said. "I'll just ring home on my mobile."

Steve retrieved his bicycle and headed indoors while I made a totally unnecessary call that went unanswered as the kids had already been picked up.

From the outside, Steve's place looks a bit ramshackle. It was obviously a holiday shack once upon a time but it has now been absorbed by the coastal sprawl that typifies Australia's south-western and eastern coastlines. The interior is less shabby - one might describe it as bachelor beach-house chic - with a large open-plan living/dining/kitchen area. There are some amazing paintings on the walls - some abstract but mostly nudes.

Steve was at the kitchen sink. "All sorted?" he asked.

"Um ... yes. Did you paint these? They're great."

"Guilty as charged" he responded. "how do you take your coffee?"

"Um. Look Steve, I might pass on the coffee, mate. I'm not sure I should even be here. Sorry to muck you about but I haven't done anything like this for years."

"I can tell that" he said. Then, with a smile: "Besides, we haven't even done anything ... yet."

And that's it, really. Kind of. We still haven't gone beyond that kiss in the car but we did end up having coffee. Steve told me a bit about himself and I gave him a brief outline of my own circumstances and my doubts about doing stuff with guys. He said he'd gathered I was a newbie because he'd not previously encountered me on the scene. My immediate thought was: "The Scene? you mean there's actually a gay scene in this far-flung outpost of the former British Empire?"

Turns out there's a toilet block in a park several miles north of here where gentlemen can meet for mutual (if furtive) enjoyment in the late afternoons and evenings. News to me. Sounds gross. Don't think I'll be visiting any time soon. Oh, and there's a bar up that way too where the occasional pick-up may be had. I'm not adding that to any future itinerary either.

Anyway, Steve respected my hesitancy. And I must say that I respect his understanding of that hesitancy. We exchanged phone numbers; we'll see each other at the gym most days; and, maybe - if Steve doesn't run out of patience! - I'll be prepared to go a step further one day soon. If I do, I know it will feel like some form of infidelity toward my long-ago lover, the Activities Guy.

I've worked out what my problem is. It's puberty all over again. Trouble is the excesses of puberty are easily forgiven in the young. This second puberty - in middle age - makes me sometimes feel like a tart or a trollop. But that's just my conscience speaking. If my conscience had its way I'd have been stoned to death somewhere in Iraq by now. Either that or had my wanking hand lopped off in some crowded courtyard. My conscience does not approve of me. How fortunate it is that I can so easily ignore it!

Anyway, tonight I'm more concerned about this coming Saturday evening. I'm attending a "mature" speed-dating event. I have no great expectations. It sounds a bit lame to me, but I'll give it a try. The advertisement promises everyone "a safe and discreet experience". So what can possibly go wrong?

Comments

I can appreciate your hesitancy, confusion, reluctance, although it seems to me you are being too hard on yourself. You never know, this newfound acquaintance may turn out to be a long-term friendship at least, maybe more! Tart or trollop? I don't think so. A mature man with normal sexual desires in an unexpected turn of events. I think it's kinda hot actually, and obviously there was some mutual attraction or you two wouldn't have boned up in the sauna. I say go with the flow and enjoy whatever comes along -- maybe you've found a fuck buddy in the making.

Your kids' responses to the toga party pix are so typical and so funny. What would they have said if Jane slipped in one of Helen giving you a gummy?!?!? WHOA!!

Damn you have an interesting life -- I envy you! Enjoy every minute of it man.
 
That's what worries me the most. The word "mature" may include centenarians! Besides, I've not yet fully matured myself. In my view, adolescence can last as long as you want it to!
 
Your reported experiences amaze and entertain me, probably as you intend. You are an excellent writer. I also feel confused by what you write. That, too, is likely an extension of what you feel as you are writing. So many threads here: the widower with very fond memories of his wife; the memory of the hot summer with the Activities Guy and the persistent feelings that led to an encounter with him on his wedding eve, and will lead to yet another encounter with him during his upcoming visit that is bringing you to tone up at the gym to maintain appearances. These threads are mixed with other encounters of sexual opportunity: with the village nymph and an available guy in the gym sauna. Both of these episodes made you feel a little unsettled and guilty because they violated your internal standard of fidelity: one as regards the woman's husband, the other as regards the soon to appear Activities Guy to whom you want to be faithful. A lot going on.

What is particularly warm is that your descriptions are of spontaneous and aware sorts of encounters where you are in the moment and free to be so, but also aware of what you're doing and how it fits with your life experience. You take things as they come and examine them generously. You are looking for more, and for better, and you are moving as carefully as you can while being driven by physical and emotional urges. You are indeed like a teenager driven by hormones, but with a mature awareness.

It's terribly honest and terribly universal, to the extent that we readers are able to be honest with ourselves. Bravo for writing this down for yourself and for others to share.
 
Thanks, mate. Enough to make me blush! And I suspect your insights are right on the mark too. Maybe you could be my Psych. God help you if that comes to pass.
 
bud...fine story...just enjoy and relax...u mite have made a friend...confort in being just that for now seems perfect...if u decide to have a wank with him...who is to say or know or judge you...NO ONE...enjoy.
 
I don't know how I missed this the other day, but obviously I did. I hope you are keeping an open mind about your encounter, and bravo to him for not pushing you.
 

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