🗣️ 📖 So the story takes place on my second night at the sau..

🗣️ 📖 So the story takes place on my second night at the sauna. The biggest in all Paris.Bottles of 🫑s almost as big as wine bottles at the reception. But I didn’t have time for that; there was far more important things to focus on. But to go back to the night before; as yes I went to the sauna twice. This first night was dead and we’d come too late. According to some of the remaining men between, 5-8pm were the best hours to come, when Parisian men were letting off steam after work. I got well acquainted with an empty sex labyrinth and furtive looks from the same luckless men, doing the same pointless ungenerative loops as I was.Me and my mate started with a workout on this first night, as we would to better effect on the second. This Sauna has a half decent gym.Before I tell the story I want to though, I’ll give a survey of the terrain. The ground floor has a steam room, where you can’t see your hand in front of your face or who you’re snogging; touch becomes your main sense. Next to that are the showers, where it’s not hard to see.. well everything… little glass saloon doors the only thing to maintain your privacy ….just beyond these a bar area and some calmer seating space behind cream colonnades… perfect for the demisexual who likes to talk before sex…..And after this a big pool area, with Jacuzzis at adjacent corners. Like some Ancient Greek or Roman porno .All of this, of course, Bien sûr, under blue and purple lighting.The floor above this, connected by a stair ascent into a corner room full of urinals under inferno red lighting, has a smoking area (espace fumeur), an unexpected little cinema corridor, playing space odysseys and films with heroes glistening sweat that only 80s bodies could produce.  There was an old man with a white beard, like merlin he was, whom I saw both nights; I never saw him say a word to anyone, and I hope he is ok and gets the love that everyone in those spaces secretly, or not, is seeking.Then there was the gym. Wow! It had most pushes and pulls you needed. If you’ve ever seen a Chad Douglas adult movie, mirrors everywhere, too warm to wear clothes, every testosterone filled fantasy every testosterone filled man ever had, could be found here; I’m not exaggerating, I think they’ve filmed half the vintage porn I love there. And it was completed by a massive wooden statue of a huge breasted Kalika funnily enough; disco tunes banging out followed by cool synth, appropriate to the time period—Boney M take the lead on my tainted love, as if every movement mandated was a high energy thrust, followed by passively letting your hot legs dangle indefinitely in the chlorinated air. From the gym one could gain access to the sex labyrinth and the sauna on the third floor. As I squatted on the smith machine and have to admit admired in the mirror the gleam on my muscular alabaster body—a canvas deceptively pure, I could see men in towels and out of towels stopping and looking, many enviously dangling in ways I just don’t. Then melting back into whatever debauchery they found for themselves. I got back to my lifting. What a gym. But anyway, later I’d go up to the third floor. As I climbed the winding stairs, two at a time, I noticed on the walls Kama sutra faux tapestries,  every man as erect as a dogs ear at the sight of the window cleaner. Ancient Indians in lush paradisal gardens, perfectly long and wide phalluses. The one I stopped at properly depicted a joyful threesome. The first lover, the more princely looking, inside another, more delicate in body and light skinned, as a third, with demon headdress on, was fellated by the stud pleasuring his rapturous bottom.Images of greater sexual Maharaj gymnasticism populated the walls, every 20 meters or so. And if not these, fairly high end porn production shone out on wide screen tvs. And between these, totally black rooms, with doors lockable by bolts, some raised up from the ground, others much bigger full sized rooms; with black crash mats and different implements as you explored. I would frequent one of these which had a very welcome mirror in it, the night following this first introduction. Otherwise this was a maze of frustrated potential desire, punctuated halfway through by a very adequate sauna, where me and my friend, as usual (wherever we are in the world) found an Irish man to discourse with.  Sinewy and ginger, had my friend not been there, I am fairly sure the Irish already in me might have increased. But this didn’t happen. Though my body was pumped and hot and glistening. Retro, vintage for the win. And I wondered around, half expectant, half nervous, on this first evening.The night to come would help these two halves to combine, to mate if you will. And I’ll narrate that soon. 📕