[Billy Twee] Weeknight Bath House Sex

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It's been over a month since I last posted, and I apologize to all you readers, but there hasn't been that much bareback-wise to write about. Mostly, it's been a month of sheathed, rubbered, sealed and protected, and ah...rather ordinary sex. OK, it's better than watching television or staring into a computer screen...at least I got to feel the pulsating heat of human contact, but last month every cut of manmeat, that probed its way into my deep, well-dredged, willing and accommodating fuck canal, was wrapped in casing better reserved for Oscar Mayer or Jimmy Dean. I have a couple of buddies who turn down any top in a bath house who wants to wear a condom. I haven't gone that rigid, and I have spent more time looking for sex in bath houses this past month than I have in a long while. I've been trying to tie in my sexual adventures with my work schedule and it hasn't been working out all that great because it means hitting the tubs on a weeknight. I've been hitting the Steamworks in Berkeley (one of two bath houses in the greater SF Bay Region), and I love the Steamworks...I love the staff, the customer service (more about that further on), the douching stations, the environment...clean but just dark enough to suggest a dirty scene, and the wide variety of men...and oh yeah, the music, with the DJs (in jockstraps) who play at the CumUnion parties...now on Wednesdays...those guys are great. But the bath house crowd these days is mostly oral, I think, and my being an analist rather than an oralist means any bath house on a Wednesday doesn't work for me. And I'm thinking that weeknights really are slow, maybe no matter where you are. There was a time, in Old San Francisco, when there was no such thing as a slow night at the baths. In SF in the bad old days, there were the Post St. Baths, the 21st St. Baths, the Bulldog (incredible!), Manimals, the Barracks, the Embassy, Jack's on Post St. (I think it was Jacks, it was pretty small but had its audience), and the grand-daddy, the Club Baths or as we called it...Eighth & Howard...it's now...a ministry for homeless men run by the Episcopal church...god bless them. 8th & Howard made it easy: if you were hot (maybe even only semi-hot), you got a discount coupon put into your security drawer at check-out...$2 fuckin' dollars for a locker on a Tuesday(!). Two fuckin' dollars! I've forgotten but a regular locker must have been $7-8 bucks, such were the times. Of course, we went on Tuesdays. We loved 8th & Howard because there were so many bars within staggering distance, and there was always a louche environment, and a louche staff who thought it was sexy to be rude and insulting, making a chub remove his coat so they could see how fat he was, and to humiliate him, and then just to be super-snarky, they'd let him in but they'd give him a shitty room on the first floor. But as I recall it was never slow on Tuesdays...or Wednesdays, and by Thursday it was really rockin'. Granted, Monday nights had to be slow...I'm guessing as, like thousands of others, I never went to the baths on a Monday. Two fuckin' dollars! Steamworks actually does offer a discount for Tues. or Wed., it's a couple of dollars off the locker rate, and the discount is on your receipt. Sometimes, when the staff is really busy they might not point that out, but most of the time, they do. Then I went to the Steamworks on a Sunday, and it was the last day of the Olympics, so I guess everybody stayed home to watch George Michael close the festivities, and the sex wasn't as good as it had been on a Wed. We got only one fuck and it was, of course, sheathed, but the dick was rock hard throughout, and fortunately, the top wasn't all that well-hung, as that dick stayed inside the whole time he was switching positions on me and trying out all kinds of gymnastics moves...and I kept up right with him and I was sure he'd slip out but he did'nt...a broomstick fuck...and no nut. When weeknights at the baths return to the way they used to be, then we will have truly conquered the dark aura of AIDS.

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