Jack of all traits

Corey and I slept together only once, but we got to know each other well that night. I still think of him as a friend, though I haven't seen him in decades.

Jack, on the other hand, is someone I know practically nothing about, not even his last name, even though we fooled around numerous times while I was attending graduate school. He wanted it that way and I went along, because he was so hot.

Most people probably wouldn't have thought so. A couple of times I saw Jack fully clothed in the parking lot of the University gymnasium and almost didn't recognize him. He was in his forties, I think, balding, conservatively dressed and unassuming in appearance. He might have been abusinessman, University official or other bureaucrat of some kind. One thing was certain--Jack was not interested in standing out, at least on thestreet.

At the pool, where I first noticed him, or in the steam room was another matter. Jack worked out seriously with weights. For a man his age his musculature was remarkable, and in his quiet way he liked to show it off. He wore Speedos for his swimming workouts that displayed his small, perfect ass. He spent most of his time breaststroking, which was no doubt why he had such a nice butt. Sometimes after I had finished my own, comparatively feeble laps, I would sit on a small observation deck above the lap pool and watch him as he knifed smoothly through the water, the muscles working in his broad shoulders, the legs whipping together in perfect frog kicks.

There was a very cruisy men's steam room in the gym, on the floor above the pool. It was set up perfectly for this purpose. Off a long hallway, entered through double doors, one area contained both a steam room and sauna with a tiled room equipped with cold water faucets in between. Both sauna and steam room had glass doors, so that anyone in one or the other, if they positioned themselves right, could see who entered the central "cooling off" area from the hall.

Opposite the steam room/sauna complex was a men's room and shower area. Then, at the end of the long hallway was a small locker room, entered by another set of doors with glass windows, usually propped open. It was a common sight to see men in this locker room strolling by the doors with pretended casualness, watching the traffic in and out of the steam room and shower area. With so many locations to shuttle between, and nooks and crannies to hide away in, the cruising was heavy and continuous. Most of the men wore, or at least carried, towels, but some walked their beat more boldly.

Jack was one of the latter. He would come up from the pool, walking the halls in his Speedo. Once he got inside the first set of doors, he always peeled off his suit and goggles and put them in his bathing cap. He would then stroll the corridor naked, carrying this little bundle around, doing what most of the cruisers did: taking the sauna for a while, then the steam, rinsing himself off either at a faucet or in the showers, repeating the cycle over and over.

I was there, watching, of course. I was too shy actually to make it with anyone, and anyway there was less action in that place than most people thought, but Jack, whose name of course I didn't know at the time, fascinated me, particularly one of his physical features. His cock, at least when soft, was the smallest I'd ever seen on a man, particularly someone so attractively masculine. It was so short it didn't hang downward as most men's did, but simply stuck out horizontally from between his legs. It was cut, and the head was a good third of its total length. As if to compensate, the pubic hair around his genitals was striking--plentiful, thick and colored a bright reddish gold, really beautiful.

Though trim and in shape, I wasn't a raving beauty, so I knew I would never get the hottest, best-hung guys who cruised the steam room. This guy was plenty hot enough for me, though, and I thought I had a chance with him. I began to try and be there at the same time he was. If I saw him at the pool, I would finish my workout and hit the sauna, waiting for him to arrive, which he usually did. When we were both there, I began to cruise him--at first discreetly, just casually following him about from place to place, then more boldly, catching his eye as we passed each other and smiling, then looking back over my shoulder at him, hoping he would turn.

He eventually responded, to my delight. One day, after eyeing each other in our usual fashion, I saw him head toward the back locker room, still carrying his swimming gear. It was a slow day at the gym, mid-afternoon, and we were entirely alone in the place. Excited and nervous, I followed him in, letting the swinging door shut behind me.

I found him in the back row of lockers, standing with one foot up on the narrow wooden bench, smiling slightly. His cock was larger than I had seen it--just a bit. I went up to him and nodded. He inclined his head slightly in response, but made no other move. Finally, I reached out and touched his broad, slightly hairy chest. When I tried fondling one of his nipples, he stiffened noticeably and drew in his breath sharply.

"Like that?" I asked.

He laughed softly, charmingly. "Oh, very much."

That seemed to break the ice. We moved closer together and began to stroke and caress each other's bodies. I grasped his cock, which just about filled my hand, and began to jack him off. He responded in kind. When I started to kneel to take him in my mouth, though, he drew back, shaking his head. I understood, though I was disappointed. Everyone was being very careful in those days. Still, I thought refusing to get sucked was a bit of overkill. Nevertheless, I was very turned on at actually getting to touch this hot body that I had been pursuing for quite some time. I could feel his breath on my moist skin and the heat rising from him. The strong scent of chlorine from the pool surrounded us. Since I never saw Jack anywhere else, I came to associate it with our messing around. Even now I get turned on by that smell.

After a few more moments of cautious play, he gently pushed me away. "Got to go," he whispered. "See you again." "I hope so," I said sincerely. I was determined that we would go further the next time. As he left, I sat down to wait until my erection shrank enough that I could be seen without being too obvious. It occurred to me that my companion didn't have that problem.

We did go a little further on subsequent meetings, but not much. Jack, who finally told me his name after a couple more encounters, turned out to be super-cautious about everything. You might say he was closemouthed in more ways than one. Looking back, I think perhaps he was a prominent man in the community, and probably married, though he wore no wedding ring. He would never tell me his last name and I'm not even sure Jack was his real first one. It's difficult to explain exactly why I lusted so much after him. Somehow, his refusal to engage in most activity was a turn-on in itself, a kind of cock-teasing both delightful and frustrating. And he did have a great body. I also admired the fact that he never seemed bothered in the least by his lack of endowment. I got used to it myself and thought no more about it.

Neither of us had even come when we messed around until one day when, both of us in our Speedos and me carrying a towel, I led him up to a small men's room on one of the upper floors. Though the door didn't lock, there was usually no one around during the summer months, and little real danger of discovery. For added protection we went into one of the chromium toilet stalls and shut the door.

We quickly peeled off our suits. I sat on the toilet and he sat on my lap facing me, and we did what we usually did--fondled, kissed (though not full on the mouth) and caressed each other's bodies and cocks, getting more and more turned on. Gay heavy petting, you might have called it.

"You look damn terrific," he said, glancing down at my chest. I was surprised and pleased--he never said much during our encounters, and had never complimented my body. I decided to reward him with what I knew he liked best.

Jack had finally consented some time before to let me tongue his nipples, and I found out why--this drove him quietly crazy. His eyes would close and he would moan softly--a cataclysmic response by his standards. clearly, tit play was his favored form of safe sex, and I was quite willing to go along.

"Some people don't like this," I observed once in the locker room as I manipulated the nubs of flesh tipping his pectorals. "They don't know what they're missing," he replied, which was about as much as he ever said.

I bent and started licking one nipple now, and heard his quickened breathing in response. I kept my mouth where it was while I grasped his stiff, small cock in my hand and started to stroke it. He soon began to
gasp and my hand filled with his hot, sticky cum. I looked up at him. Jack smiled and said, "Phew. Nice."

He then returned the favor by jacking me off. I had been turned on enough by finally getting an orgasm out of him that it took me only a few seconds. We carefully wiped up the mess we had made with toilet paper, flushed it, pulled on our damp trunks and rode the elevator back down to the locker room.

I've lost count of the number of times we met this way, sometimes cumming, sometimes not. Jack would never prearrange an encounter nor say exactly when he would be at the gym. I think he was as puzzled as I was sometimes about the chemistry between us. There would even be occasions when we were both at the pool or steam room that he would ignore me, or refuse to pick up on my signals. I was hurt when that happened, but tried to understand.

As time went on and we learned about what kind of activity was safe and what wasn't, Jack relaxed just a little. He even took my cock in his mouth once or twice, just for a moment. I got him to admit that he had been fucked in the past and had liked it. I resolved then and there to get him to let me do it to him, since his ass was one of his best features. It never happened, worse luck.

What I think of as our climactic encounter took place one afternoon up in that fifth-floor men's room. As he stood naked by one of the urinals, I knelt on the floor and engulfed him before he could protest, burying my nose in that wonderful, irresistible red bush. Almost before I could get any sort of rhythm going my mouth was filled with his warm seed. Jack never made any sound when he came, but his breathing was so loud and rapid that time I thought he was going to hyperventilate. I was still too nervous myself at that point to swallow his load--I wish I had. Instead, I spit it out into the urinal and looked up at him. Jack was still panting, his chest heaving, but he smiled at me.

"Zowie," he said. As I said, he was a man of few words. He rinsed himself off carefully at the sink that day before we left.

All in all, Jack made graduate school quite a bit more entertaining. Our relationship, if you could call it that, ended when I got my degree and moved out of state. I never got to say goodbye to him, or to tell him I was leaving, and I still regret that. I fantasize that I might go back someday, get an alumni pass and revisit the gym where I whiled away so many horny hours. Perhaps he's there, a bit grayer, a bit balder but still in good shape, still cruising the steam room holding his balled-up Speedos. I'd take a rubber with me, and get him in a quiet corner of a deserted locker room. There, I'd find a way to get my cock at long last into the hole between his compact, white butt cheeks, and fuck him slow and long while keeping a tight grip on that small, stiff meat.