From Pumped Up:

Leaving his towel on its hook, he walked past the whirlpool, still and lifeless in a mosaic-tiled alcove. The sauna too seemed uninviting with its dry air that sucked at his lungs. The moisture-laden door of the steam room wheezed as he opened it and wheezed again behind him as he stepped inside. Lazy clouds of steam wafted about him in thick profusion, concealing the room’s dimensions. Billy thought it was pretty large since the hiss of the steam seemed to echo in the dimly lit space.

He sat down on the tiled bench, leaning back against the warm tile wall, and relaxed, listening to the hypnotic hiss of the steam. In his mind he played back moments of his win and revisited the hugs he’d received from the other finalists. Although the hugs had been brief, he could recall each in great detail: the rock-hard muscles pressing against his own, the smooth, satiny skin, slick with oil and hot with pumped up muscle beneath…

With those images swimming in Billy’s mind, his cock began to lengthen and stretch, measuring itself along the inside of his thigh. Droplets of sweat and condensing moisture slicked his skin; his cock slid up to rest heavily on his muscled thigh.

He recalled how his biceps rubbed inside the other man’s armpit, the feel of his nipple pressing against the massive pecs as he flexed his chest, the surge of desire as the nylon-draped balls grazed his thigh.

Holding the images in his imagination, he fantasized: straining to make contact with every inch of pumped-up flesh, his hands roamed over the oiled skin, his groin mashed against the other cock. His cock flopped onto his belly, fully engorged and pulsing with his heartbeat.

“Congratulations.”

Billy’s eyes flew open at the sound of the voice, and he sat bolt upright.

“On your win tonight, that is.” A few feet away shrouded in steam, stood Mr. Third Place. Steam curled around his naked form, first obscuring and then revealing the sculpted physique. “You have a really great posing routine.” He sat down next to Billy. Suddenly the steam room didn’t seem quite so spacious.

Billy leaned forward, trying to hide his erection. “Uh, thanks.”

“I’m Paul.” Mr. Third Place extended a hand, seemingly unfazed by Billy’s predicament. They shook. “The crowd really liked you. I really liked you.”

“How long have you been here?”

“Don’t know—I heard you come in. I was sitting around the corner.” Paul nodded in the general direction away from the door. “The room is L-shaped, so that end is real private.” The emphasis on the steam room’s privacy was not lost on Billy, as he tried to peer through the clouds of vapor.

“It’s okay,” Paul assured him. “We really are alone.” Billy leaned back again and relaxed as his dick began to soften. They talked shop: workouts, best poses, competition prep. When the talk turned to specific muscles and oil and sweat, Billy’s cock started to stretch again, telescoping over his meaty leg. This time, he allowed it its freedom.

“You’ve got great definition.” Paul raised a hand and traced the hard curve of a pec and then moved downward, trailing his fingers across Billy’s washboard stomach. Paul’s touch sent little drops of sweat rolling down Billy’s body and small shocks to his dick. It seemed really hot in the steam room.

Billy’s eyes followed the trail of Paul’s hand. He watched as the finger circled his navel and moved lower to touch the underside of his cock. His rod jerked at the touch, and the finger caressed the shaft.

“I knew you were gonna beat me out there. You’re bigger, more cut than I am.”

Billy saw that Paul cradled his own cock in a beefy hand. It was uncircumcised and looked heavy. Billy wanted to touch it; he had to feel its weight.

– © C.C. Williams 2012