Saturday, 16 August 2014


Another story from my past, although this one's from about two weeks ago, so maybe still kind of relevant.

I was in need of relaxation. I'd been working a little too hard, perhaps; I was tired, bored and generally fed up. I was also possibly a little horny, but I was in no position to take matters into my own hands (as I was in the middle of the street and may have caused a little of a stir had I done so... mind you, this is Britain; people would pretend not to notice). What I needed, I reasoned, was a massage, but I had no idea where to get one.

So I went to Bath. It wasn't a long journey from where I was staying and I arrived in good time to explore - although I didn't do much exploration; I went into Primark for the cheapest pair of swimming trunks and towel I could find, and then joined the midweek queue for the thermae.

First things first: it is a relaxing place to be. I'm a sucker for being immersed in warm water, except for warm baths which make me itch for some reason, but this was something else. It's a little expensive, but for £27 you get two hours' worth of main pool, rooftop pool, terrace and steam rooms time - each of which I enjoyed (except the terrace; it looked like a nice place to sit, but I'd forgotten my towel and didn't fancy flashing the whole of Bath my junk if I sat down too fast). But as I sat down in a steam room, a thought occurred to me. Maybe, just maybe...

Okay, so there wasn't going to be much chance of anyone masturbating in the steam rooms. Despite the pleasing scent of jasmine floating through the air and the amount of sweat running down my nearly-naked body - and a handy scented shower to help freshen up afterwards - I clocked it as an impossible place to enjoy yourself thanks to the fact that:

a) other people could enter
b) your silhouette could be seen from outside the steam pod (they all have tinted glass walls)
c) you may have to exit covered in cum and do the very short walk of shame to the shower
d) you may dehydrate; it's hot enough already

Okay, it's not impossible - I used to bullseye womp rats in my T-16 back home, and they're not much bigger than two metres, and I've seen porn set in steam rooms where the participants didn't die. But that's porn. Plus, I wasn't going to be having sex with any nubile Swedish blondes - I was just considering masturbation.

I moved on, interest piqued. There were certainly plenty of delicious opportunities once I set my mind to it. Think of the opportunities in the bubbling hot pool in the Minerva Room, or even under the massage jet (which I found quite painful, but still). Had I visited in winter, the outdoor pool may have been covered with a haze of mist, which may have been a perfect opportunity for some hidden illicit activities. The more I thought about it, the more I hit upon ways to be slightly deviant in Britain's only natural hot spring. Of course, I then considered how difficult it might be for a boy to masturbate underwater, but I brushed that aside. I'd find a way, I reasoned.

But that would be for another day - I'd paid for two hours and, by this point, I still hadn't spent nearly enough time lying in my back floating around the water which makes me feel surprisingly buoyant (I can't float, usually). So I lay back and almost fell asleep.

Almost. Being surrounded by cool, clean water made me feel a little too hot and dirty to sleep properly. What I needed was an orgasm...

No comments: