Experience in the sauna....4

Friday. Octopus.
I arrive around eight in the evening, when the place has already been open for a few hours and is starting to fill up. Aduana Street is quiet at that hour, dusk beginning to fall. I go down the access stairs and push open the entrance door.

The receptionist looks me up and down. A guy of about forty, dark-haired, full beard, tight black T-shirt. He smiles at me smugly when I pay.

“You’re going to have a busy evening,” he says, without taking his eyes off my body.

I take the towel — small, white, rough — and the locker keyring. Number 47. I enter the changing room. It’s full. There are guys in different stages of undress: some getting undressed, others already in towels, one completely naked strolling between the lockers as if the cold had nothing to do with him.

Locker 47 is in the second row. I undress slowly, feeling the stares. A couple of guys nearby turn to look at me. One, a huge bear with his chest covered in gray hair, smiles at me and touches his cock openly while watching me fold my trousers.

I put on the towel. Short, of course. I adjust it around my waist and begin my route.

Friday is another world compared with weekday mornings. The main corridor is full of bodies coming and going. It smells of sweat mixed with bleach, cheap shower gel, contained sex. The music is louder — background electronic, a bass that thumps in the chest.

I pass by the dry sauna. The door is ajar and you can see the interior lit by a dim red light. There are five or six guys sitting on the wooden benches. Most in towels, one already without it, cock out without shame. A bald guy with a thick mustache stares at me, legs open, and slowly touches himself while maintaining eye contact.

I keep walking.

The steam room is at the back. The fogged glass door lets you see shadows moving inside. I don’t go in yet. I prefer to do the full circuit first, like last time.

I reach the cinema. The room is spacious, with old burgundy velvet seats and a huge screen showing European porn without dialogue — two hairy guys fucking in a kitchen, the ambient sound mixed with the moans in the room. There are about fifteen guys scattered among the seats. Some masturbate in silence, others are in pairs or groups in the seats at the back, where the light barely reaches.

I sit in a seat in the middle row, near the aisle, and spend a while watching the screen. I leave the towel slightly open, enough for it to be seen that I’m half-hard. A couple of glances settle on me, assessing me.

After five minutes, a guy sits to my left. He must be in his fifties, gray at the temples, short beard, strong build, almost military. He wears the towel tied over his thigh and his cock peeks out from the side, half-erect. He doesn’t say anything. He watches the screen. But his right hand rests on my thigh, just where the towel ends.

He looks at me side...