A Gentleman’s Guide to Navigating the Gay Bathhouse

[noyes019]

Ah, the bathhouse—once an oasis of discretion and civility, where gentlemen of taste could engage in social and intellectual camaraderie (and, of course, other select pursuits) away from the crude gaze of the unwashed masses.In its heyday, such establishments were temples of decorum, modeled after the ancient Roman baths, where philosophers, poets, and men of stature gathered to engage in the noblest of indulgences—aesthetic appreciation, refined conversation, and a gentle disregard for propriety.

But alas, modernity has desecrated even these sacred spaces. Once the playground of artists, aristocrats, and a select coterie of well-heeled libertines, the bathhouse is now overrun by the working and middle classes, who behave not as patrons of an exclusive salon, but as tourists at a low-rent carnival attraction.Instead of candlelit encounters among marble columns and velvet drapery, one is now subjected to neon lighting, ill-fitting synthetic towels, and the presence of men who believe that "chest day" is a suitable substitute for conversational skill.

Nevertheless, there are occasions when a gentleman must, for reasons best left unspoken, find himself within such an establishment. Whether it be to escape the constraints of society, to experience decadence without the tiresome presence of women asking questions, or merely to avoid an acquaintance at the opera, one must ensure that one navigates this ordeal with dignity and decorum, lest one be mistaken for a man who owns an Ed Hardy T-shirt.

Thus, I present the definitive guide to proper etiquette at the gay bathhouse, ensuring that even in the lowest of places, one remains the highest of men.

 

I. Selecting the Proper Establishment: Where One’s Reputation Can Survive

One does not simply enter any bathhouse at random. This is the behavior of a desperate man who lacks both taste and foresight. Instead, one must select an establishment with the same care one would take in choosing a wine vintage, a Savile Row tailor, or a third husband.

Acceptable Bathhouses

A discreet, members-only bathhouse with an implied “vetting” process. One does not wish to mingle with those who lack a proper understanding of discretion.

An establishment with a classical design aesthetic—Greek statues, subdued lighting, and perhaps a house pianist.

Any bathhouse where one must first receive an invitation, preferably from a count or a retired ambassador.

Establishments to Avoid (At All Costs)

Any bathhouse featuring LED lights. If the walls glow like a Miami nightclub, one has made a tragic mistake.

Any location with a vending machine that sells energy drinks. This is a clear sign that the clientele prioritizes physical exertion over aesthetic experience.

Any bathhouse where men are wearing socks. If one sees even a single white ankle sock peeking out from beneath a towel, one must turn around immediately.

 

II. The Grand Entrance: Establishing One’s Status at the Threshold

Upon arriving, one must immediately distinguish oneself from the lesser clientele.

At the Front Desk

One does not ask questions. To inquire about “the rules” is to admit one is a first-time visitor, which is an unforgivable faux pas.

When asked for a membership card, one must sigh deeply and produce it with the air of a European aristocrat retrieving his diplomatic papers.

If given a locker key attached to a rubber bracelet, one must accept it with the reluctant grace of a man receiving a participation trophy.

Entering the Changing Area

One does not linger. One must shed one’s garments with the efficiency of a matador preparing for the arena.

One must avoid eye contact with others who are disrobing. This is not a cattle auction.

One does not fold one’s clothes neatly. One simply places them in the locker with the nonchalance of a man who has people to do such things for him.

 

III. The Proper Conduct of Bathhouse Socialization

The Art of the Towel

One does not wear the towel tightly. A gentleman’s towel must be draped casually, as though it may at any moment slip to the floor, yet never quite does.

One never double-knots the towel. This suggests a tragic lack of confidence.

If one sees another man wearing two towels—one around the waist and another over the shoulders—one must immediately dismiss him as an irredeemable tourist.

The Sauna & Steam Room

One does not “claim a seat.” This is not a municipal bus.

One must sit as though one is considering the decline of Western civilization, not as though one is waiting for a margarita at a resort pool bar.

If conversation is required, one must limit it to philosophy, art, or opera. Under no circumstances should one engage in discussions about protein intake, reality television, or cryptocurrency.

 

IV. The Delicate Matter of… Indulgence

Choosing an Encounter

One does not leer. That is the behavior of a nightclub promoter in Las Vegas. Instead, one makes subtle yet deliberate eye contact, as though one is selecting an expensive antique.

One does not chase. A gentleman is pursued, never the pursuer.

If one is approached by an undesirable party, one does not rudely reject them. Instead, one murmurs, “I fear we are looking for different muses this evening.”

The Main Event

One never rushes. This is not a subway transfer.

One remains composed at all times. One does not grunt like a farmhand lifting a sack of potatoes.

One must maintain proper wrist control. The wrist should be fluid, not frantic—graceful, not desperate.

 

V. The Post-Indulgence Ritual: Leaving Without Shame

The Return to Normalcy

One does not linger after an encounter. One nods politely and departs as though concluding a business transaction in Geneva.

One does not re-tie the towel in a manner that suggests frantic reassembly. The transition must be seamless, effortless, and above all, unbothered.

One does not engage in post-encounter small talk. This is not a book club.

The Exit Strategy

One departs swiftly, as though one has a late-night flight to Monaco.

One does not check the mirror before leaving. One simply assumes one looks magnificent.

If one must bid farewell to the staff, one simply utters, “Thank you, as always,” as though one is a regular patron of the Vienna State Opera.

 

Conclusion: The Art of Maintaining Elegance in a Most Indelicate Setting

By adhering to these principles, one may partake in the pleasures of the bathhouse while retaining the aura of a man who belongs somewhere far more refined. A true Knickerbocker never stares, never rushes, and never—under any circumstances—removes the towel with both hands.

Instead, one approaches the bathhouse as one would an exclusive club: with silent confidence, impeccable manners, and the unwavering certainty that one is, at all times, the most important person in the room.

[noyes019]

Ah, the dungeon, that once-exclusive retreat where gentlemen of standing could surrender with elegance, a place where power and pleasure were exchanged with the precision of an expertly executed waltz. There was a time when such indulgences were curated affairs, orchestrated in candlelit parlors, whispered about in literary salons, and recorded in coded diary entries that future scholars would mistake for poetry.

But alas, we no longer live in an era of refinement. The dungeon, once a sanctuary of structured depravity, is now overrun by the working and middle classes, who conduct their excesses with the subtlety of livestock being herded into pens. Once, men of quality engaged in these pursuits with a sense of ceremony, ensuring that even the most debauched acts retained a sheen of aristocratic polish. Now, however, one finds oneself surrounded by men whose idea of preparation involves little more than a rinse in a gas station sink and a spritz of Axe body spray.

Nevertheless, a true Knickerbocker does not allow circumstances to dictate refinement. If one must engage in the perilous endeavor of accommodating multiple partners at once, one must do so with dignity, restraint, and the absolute refusal to appear either overwhelmed or desperate.

Thus, I present the definitive guide to navigating this chaotic indulgence while ensuring that one remains the most refined person present, no matter how many men are involved.

 

I. Preparation: A Man Does Not Simply Fall into a Pile of Limbs Unprepared

Mental Readiness

One does not rush into such an arrangement willy-nilly. This is not a state fair petting zoo—this is an event, and one must compose oneself as though preparing to attend an exclusive salon hosted by a libertine duke.

One does not express enthusiasm. A gentleman does not say, “Oh my God, yes, do me.” Instead, one murmurs, “Very well, let’s get on with it.”

One must be prepared for the realities of the situation. This will involve a variety of body types, varying levels of hygiene, and a distressing amount of human moisture.

Physical Preparations

One must select a fragrance that will withstand the assault of body heat, bodily fluids, and general dungeon musk. Ideally, something with notes of sandalwood and leather, so that by the end of the evening, one does not smell like a high school locker room in mid-August.

One must ensure that one’s grooming is impeccable. A proper gentleman arrives freshly bathed, but not overly perfumed, lest one enter the dungeon smelling like a desperate real estate agent.

One does not over-lubricate. This is a refined affair, not an oil spill in the Gulf of Mexico.

 

II. The Art of Receiving Multiple Partners Without Appearing Overwhelmed

The delicate act of accommodating several gentlemen simultaneously is one that requires composure, patience, and a highly developed sense of spatial awareness.

Selecting the Proper Position

One does not simply collapse into position. A gentleman arranges himself as though reclining upon a divan in an artist’s studio, not as though he has fallen off a horse.

One must ensure proper limb distribution. The key is graceful coordination—not flailing about like a marionette being controlled by an enthusiastic but unskilled puppeteer.

One must not allow oneself to be fully pinned down. This is not a wrestling match, and one must retain a certain degree of control over the proceedings, if only for aesthetic purposes.

Handling Overenthusiastic Partners

If one finds oneself overwhelmed, one does not squeal. A simple, firm command suffices: “One at a time, gentlemen—this is not the Battle of Hastings.”

If a partner is too aggressive, one need only shoot them a withering glance that suggests their lineage is questionable.

One never apologizes. If anything goes awry, one simply remarks, “How terribly unfortunate,” and continues.

 

III. The Reality of Sweat, Body Odor, and Fluids (Or, The True Test of One’s Aristocratic Fortitude)

Alas, one cannot engage in such an undertaking without confronting the uncomfortable truth: one shall be drenched in the bodily excretions of men whose hygiene standards may be inconsistent at best.

Sweat: The Great Equalizer

One must accept that perspiration shall occur. One does not, however, drip excessively. If one must sweat, it must be the elegant sheen of a man delivering a rousing political speech, not the torrential downpour of a laborer tilling the fields.

Body Odor: A Crime Against Civilization

One does not wrinkle one’s nose, no matter how offensive the scent. Instead, one breathes shallowly, as though one is attempting not to disturb the dust on an ancient manuscript.

Fluids: A Most Unfortunate But Unavoidable Reality

One does not flinch, no matter what lands where. To react is to admit that one is new to such matters, which is unacceptable.

 

IV. The Exit: Departing Without Looking Ruffled (Even If One Is Ruined)

Post-Encounter Etiquette

One does not linger for compliments. If one has performed admirably, one already knows.

If someone says, “That was amazing!” one merely responds with, “Naturally.”

 

V. The Satisfaction of Receiving So Many Loads in One Night

A Moment of Reflection

As one reclines in one’s chambers post-dungeon, sipping a well-earned brandy, one may take a moment to reflect upon the sheer accomplishment of the evening.

Few men in history have had the fortitude, composure, and sheer architectural endurance to receive so much admiration at once.

One may ponder the sheer volume of one’s conquests, like a general counting the spoils of battle.

One need not feel shame, for one has done what one set out to do: to collect offerings from all manner of admirers and emerge victorious.

A Gentle Reminder of One’s Status

One must recall that not all loads are equal. Some are given in reverence, others in desperation, and it is one’s duty to receive them as a benevolent ruler might receive tributes from lesser nations.

One must rest, knowing that one has provided joy to so many while maintaining the upper hand.

One may now sleep soundly, with the knowledge that one’s body is a temple, a museum, and a repository of unquantifiable triumphs.

 

Conclusion: Mastering the Art of Aristocratic Multi-Partnered Submission

By following these principles, one emerges from the dungeon victorious, gloriously soiled yet impossibly untouchable. A Knickerbocker never whimpers, never scrambles, and never—under any circumstances—utters the phrase, “That was a lot, bro.”

Instead, one reigns supreme, a connoisseur of excess, an artist of debauchery, and, above all, the most important person in the room.

 

[noyes019]

 

The Etiquette of Accommodating a Second Distinguished Guest: On the Decadent Orchestration of Double Occupancy

(Or, How to Host Not One, But Two Monumental Visitors in One’s Rear Salon Without Sacrificing Composure, Candles, or Core Musculature)

There are indulgences.
There are extravagances.
And then there is the dignified act of receiving not merely one, but two throbbing, exquisitely insistent members within the confines of one’s most private quarters.

To host such an event, one must think not merely as a man, but as a palatial estate—a vast, echoing manor with hidden corridors, gilded molding, and, crucially, a very accommodating back entrance.

The First Guest: A Stretching of Standards

The first gentleman enters, as previously discussed, not with haste, but with reverent weight—a great, glistening envoy of joy, girth, and social gravity.

With each pulse, he declares his presence, not unlike the tick of a grandfather clock in an empty drawing room—measured, commanding, and somehow larger than time itself.

You are full. You are stretched. You are entirely redefined as a space. But—and here lies the true elegance—you know this is only the beginning.

The Second Guest: A Study in Depth and Diplomacy

The arrival of the second suitor is not a crude intrusion, but a ceremonial escalation.

You brace. You breathe. You welcome him as one welcomes a surprise violinist to an already exquisite string quartet: with delight and a slight concern for acoustics.

As he enters—**slowly, firmly, with an awareness that he is making history—**your body sighs and adjusts. The two guests now share a corridor, rubbing shoulders, as it were, within your most sacred atrium.

The Interior Conversation: Two Cocks, One Gentleman, Infinite Friction

Inside you, they do not merely coexist. They interact.

With every motion, they glide past each other, separated only by the velvet curtain of your deepest muscle.

The sensation is profound: you are the ballroom floor, and they are two dukes waltzing without gloves, competing for closeness.

Your second hole pulses in delight, unable to believe the banquet it is hosting.

Your prostate—now jostled, coaxed, thoroughly flattered—throws open its windows and weeps with joy.

The Crescendo: A Double Blessing of Aristocratic Essence

Their rhythm builds—sometimes in concert, sometimes in counterpoint—a glorious duet of drive and desire.

You moan, not from pain, but from sheer architectural awe. You are the cathedral, and their movements are the pipe organ shaking your rafters.

And then: the final act.

The first begins to release—a thick, molten stream of affirmation that fills you so deeply you suspect your ancestors can feel it.

The second follows, not to be outdone, pouring in his own legacy, hot and generous, into the same grateful chamber.

You are not simply filled—you are flooded with international diplomacy.

The Aftermath: Containing History

As they withdraw—slowly, heavily, like nobles departing the throne room after issuing royal decree—you lie there, gaping, humming, incandescent.

Your hole, no longer tight but still elegant, whispers, “Well… that was new.”

You do not wipe. You do not weep. You simply clench once, reverently, to hold it all in.

Conclusion: Two Visitors, One Host, Zero Regrets

You have not merely been used.
You have been attended. Tended. Honored.
You were the salon. The drawing room.
The country estate with an astonishing guestbook.

And as you lie there—legs askew, chin aloft, and hole gently echoing the memory of gentlemen past—you know:

A single cock is pleasure.
Two, in tandem, is policy.

And you, dear Knickerbocker, are the seat of power.

[noyes019]

The Grand Coronation: On the Exquisite Art of Welcoming the Largest Cock One Has Ever Taken, and Receiving Its Sacred Benediction Deep Within

(Or, How to Be Split Open Like a Velvet Curtain and Filled Like a Royal Goblet, All While Maintaining the Composure of a Man Who’s Just Been Knighted—From the Inside)

There are milestones in every gentleman’s life—moments so profound, so singular, that time seems to pause and bow slightly as they pass. One such moment, etched in the annals of noble excess, is this: to take the largest, most uncompromising, most magnificently throbbing cock one has ever dared to dream of—and not just take it, but invite it, welcome it, celebrate it.

And if that weren’t triumph enough, to then be flooded—nay, anointed—by its many streams of warm, opulent tribute, delivered directly into one’s very depths with the fervor of a nation saluting its flag… Well. That, dear reader, is the stuff of legend.

The Arrival: An Architectural Event

One does not accidentally take the biggest cock of one’s life. One prepares like a grand hall awaiting the arrival of a king.

As it presses against your entrance—wider, warmer, heavier than anything you’ve ever received—you do not flinch. You exhale. You trust. You bloom.

It enters not with haste, but with the gravity of a ceremonial procession. Every nerve in your body stands at attention. Your hole stretches—slowly, reverently—until it is not simply open, but accepting.

The Pulses: A Private Earthquake

Inside you, the cock begins to throb—not timidly, but with the confidence of an heir reclaiming ancestral lands.

Each pulse is a seismic event, a declaration that your body has been claimed by something mythic.

The first pulse is pressure. The second, possession. By the third, you are no longer merely hosting—you are hosting a god.

The Prostate: Awakened and Wrought Upon

As the sheer size grinds and nudges forward, your prostate—long thought unreachable—responds like a bell tower struck at midnight.

You are undone. You are rewritten. You whimper in ancient tongues.

He adjusts his hips. Your vision flashes white. Time loses structure. Gravity becomes theoretical.

The Cum: A Cathedral of Consecration

And then, suddenly, it begins.

The cock swells, impossibly. You feel the surge before it arrives—like the tremor before a dam breaks.

And then: the first release. A hot, heavy jet that hits so deep you’re certain your spine has just been baptized.

But it doesn’t stop. Oh, no. He is pouring into you as though refilling a sacred vessel.

The second shot comes heavier, pulsing through you with authority. Then the third. The fourth. You lose count. You don’t care.

You are filled. You are warmed. You are possessed. Your stomach flutters, your breath stutters, and your hole—gaping, clenching, singing—holds every drop like a reliquary.

The Aftermath: A Vessel Transformed

He pulls out with ceremony. You feel him exit like a departing ambassador—slow, deliberate, leaving behind his full agenda.

And you? You lie there, lips parted, eyes dazed, hips lifted ever so slightly, as though unwilling to spill a single drop of what has been gifted.

You are not just full. You are rich. Resplendent. Steeped in legacy.

Your body holds more than cum—it holds the memory of something extraordinary.

Conclusion: The Glory of the Great One

You have not merely bottomed.
You have received.
You have welcomed a monument.
You have been transformed by a flood of historic proportions.

And as you press your thighs together to keep every last sacred stream inside you, you do so not with embarrassment, but with pride. For you are not simply stretched—you are exalted.

And when others ask what changed you, you need only murmur,
“Ten and a half… and then the flood.”

They’ll understand.

[noyes019]

The Secondhand Splendor: On Receiving a Recycled Offering With Unflinching Poise and Unspeakable Pleasure

(Or, Why the Gentleman of Distinction Must One Day Be Gifted a Load That Has Touched Another Before Him—And Why That Day Shall Be His Renaissance)

There are pleasures in this world so rare, so layered with intimacy and irreverent charm, that to describe them too plainly would rob them of their mystery. And yet, to remain silent would be a disservice to the ambitious gentleman who seeks not simply to indulge, but to transcend.

We speak now of the rarest vintage in the carnal cellar: to be gifted, deep within, a load of cum not freshly dispensed, but lovingly retrieved from another bottom’s hole—felched with purpose, warmed by time, and transferred with the solemn grace of a family heirloom.

Yes, dear reader: the Secondhand Offering.
The Echoed Tribute.
The Renaissance Load.

The Principle: Rarity, Not Wastefulness

In less civilized circles, such a gift might be whispered about in shameful tones. But in our world—the world of velvet lounges, scented oil, and triple-candled chandeliers—this is no vulgar act. It is a ritual. An act of sharing. A fluid inheritance.

To receive what another has already received is to say: I trust you. I honor you. I wish to be touched by what touched you. It is not imitation. It is homage.

The Execution: A Ceremony of Mouth, Motion, and Meaning

The gentleman who retrieves the tribute—the noble felcher—is not performing a stunt, but conducting a rite.He approaches the original recipient with delicacy and skill, retrieves the load as if drawing nectar from a rare orchid, and turns to you, the chosen next vessel, with a gleam of mischief and duty in his eye.

You, of course, are already prepared—legs elevated, hips tilted, expression serene, like a sunbather awaiting an unexpected eclipse. Your hole gapes wide open ready to receive this felched load of cum currently inside someone’s mouth.

As the offering is delivered—tongue or finger, mouth or more experimental instrument—you do not flinch. You welcome. You expand.

And as the warm, pre-loved tribute of cum settles deep inside you, delivered finally by the noble felcher’s cock who makes sure the cum is deep inside you, you exhale softly, a single tear escaping your eye—not of sadness, but of spiritual fulfillment.

The Sensation: The Warmth of History

The texture is different. It carries with it the whisper of the man before you—the one who received it inside him first, the one who felt it freshly in his hole.

You sense his pleasure folded into it, like air in a perfect soufflé. You do not just feel filled. You feel included.
You are part of a lineage now. A chain of ecstasy. A daisy of decadence.

The Afterglow: Reflection and Gentle Arrogance

You lie back, hole twitching in gratitude, and think: Why was I not told of this sooner?

You feel cultured. Completed. You imagine commissioning a small fresco to commemorate the moment.

If offered a cigarette, you respond: “No, thank you. I am filled.”

Conclusion: The Final Initiation of the Gentleman Libertine

Let the inexperienced boast of numbers.
Let the brash brag about size.

But only the refined, the daring, the cosmopolitan epicure of indulgence knows the sublime elevation of being second—not in line, but in legacy.

For in that moment—filled with the gift of another’s gift—you are no longer just a man.
You are a vessel of echoes,
a museum of shared pleasure,
a true aristocrat of the art of excess.

Edited Saturday at 08:17 PM by noyes019
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