"I have not read much about bathhouse sex on BastardLife. I live in Ft. Lauderdale and recently visited The Club here, a members only place with a perfect gym, Olympic size pool, and for those of you who may not know what a bathhouse is, rows of private rooms that you can cruise until you find Mr. Right (Now). But it isn't what happens in those rooms, or in the showers filled with clusters of hard naked men drenched with water—it's the steam room I live for. On Saturday I was there. I emerged from around a dark corner and into a sea of men walking slowing and cruising hard, each of them aching for the slightest gesture of invitation. It was almost tense, though we were all there for the same reason. Most of the faces were only barely clear through a thin mist of swirling fog that smelled of sex. The bodies were glistening from the intense heat of the room. I stopped in awe of the beautiful hard men before me. But instead of engaging in the slow dance of conquest, I slowly removed my towel and joined them in nakedness, then carefully placed myself in the center of the crowd, lowered myself to my knees, began masturbating slowly—and welcomed what became a long awaited eternity of men who pushed themselves into my mouth, massaged my shoulders, felt my buttocks, and ultimately came all over me as I gushed in climaxed."—William, Ft. Lauderdale, FL.
