The boy Gets a BONER in Public (a narrative? a cautionary tale? an incentive?)

PART ONE (1)
 
The two week anniversary of “The Event”, as it is now mockingly referred to, will occur this upcoming Friday. The gears of “The Event” had already been well lubricated, and set into motion by the time i met up with my friend and workout buddy, Steven, at a locally/Gay owned and run Fitness/Spa/BathHouse Center that late Friday morning just after 10:45 a.m. 
 
Steven was originally, and will forever remain first and foremost, the good friend of my Partner, and while both Steven and my Partner would undeniably be described as “Bears”, for the purpose of that which is pertinent to this story, i must mention that while my Partner loathes working out, Steven, His bulk notwithstanding, and being reasonably athletic in His younger days, has continued going to the gym regularly, altho admittedly less and less based on His original motivation.
 
For the following two (2) paragraphs, i originally intended the content to be little more than a few points of interest, although at this juncture, i now believe them to be more pertinent as a comparative tool for outlining the paradoxical, visual characteristics, that for Steven and myself, on the surface, illustrate, isolate, and define why W/we, under the “standard rules” governing relationships, would be expected to remain anonymous toward one another O/our entire existence, yet when viewed within the context of the information communicated here, it becomes logical; almost predictable.  
 
Steven is 5’ 6”, 205 lbs, 54 y/o. He has a 40” waist and 44” chest;  a shaved head, a saltNpepper, full beard, hairy chest/belly/legs/back; and while the cheeks of His ass are smooth, a dense line of dark and wiry pubes travel the length of His hairy crack. His crotch sports a bush of moderately dense, tangled mass of coarse, black curls. His Cock is average in length and thickness. He has average sized Balls protected inside of a furry sac. His anus is tight, puckered, and a pinkish-brown color.
 
i am 5’ 3”, 110 lbs, 40 y/o. i have a 27/28” waist and a 34/35” chest; shoulder-length, wavy/curly, med auburn hair, and a closely cropped beard (w/grey). my chest, belly, pits, and bush are trimmed; my scrotum and crack, esp. around my anus, are all shaved. my erect penis is 7” long, the shaft is thick, and i am cut. Hanging freely from underneath the base of my penis, is an elongated scrotal sac containing two, med/lrg testicles. my nads are low hanging inside their pouch. my buttocks are small, but rounded. Concealed in the deep crevice that has been formed where the two halves of my ass meet, is a very stretchable, very elastic asshole.
 
Somewhere along the line, the exact month, day, time and circumstance has long since eluded me, it was decided that i would accompany Steven to the gym a couple of days a week. When i stop to think about it, it has been slightly over three (3) years, and with little or no variance, that i have been meeting up with Steven each Wednesday evening, and Friday morning, for what has always seemed to me to be an intentionally difficult, Sadistically-edged, borderline brutal, workout routine; one flecked with unmistakable aspects that are clearly intended to subject me to ridicule and public humiliation. 
 
The workout was originally designed by Steven, and on each and every Wed/Fri for the past three (3) years, it has been implemented, directed, monitored and documented by Steven -- with strict adherence to detail, marked by the ever-present threat of being subjected to severe Corporal Punishment (CP), administered either privately or publicly; Steven’s choice. 
 
The peril of being subjected to a session of CP is not merely a looming, unsubstantiated threat. It has absolutely been carried out -- in full -- both privately and publicly -- to address, and in response to, previous transgressions on my part. i therefore have little to no doubt that i will again be made to endure both the pain and humiliation of Steven’s CP a good, many more times before all is said and done. For the record, a session of Steven’s CP administered publicly is by far, hands-down, the most disagreeable, unwelcome, and distressing experience i have the ability to imagine; actually suffering through it is horrendous ten-fold.
 
Fast forward to approximately 1:20 p.m. that Friday afternoon. Steven has just turned to me and voiced five (5) words; words strung together in an order to form a sentence that upon hearing them at that particular time and place, i could only process as a bona-fide blessing from above.
 
“Let’s hit the sauna, boy.”
 
It was from the prone position of laying flat out on my belly, that i all but rolled off of the padded surface of the machine used for strengthening one’s calves and buttocks. i staggered forward a couple of steps in a feeble attempt at catching my balance; the state of my wavering equilibrium was only exacerbated by my swiping mindlessly with my sweat-soaked towel at my sweat-soaked face and stinging eyes. my mind felt as if it had been coated with a syrupy glaze, a result of, or so Steven was fond of informing me, the deluge of endorphins my body had been receiving in regular intervals over the past two (2) and a half (1/2) hours, and i therefore felt justified, if only to myself, as to why it was that i was only vaguely aware of the six (6) or seven (7) Men around me still working out; the main workout room having thinned considerably from the 11:30a.m. - 12:30p.m. lunchtime rush.
 
Trying my best to maintain, and not literally run to the locker room (such a complete lack of restraint would NOT have gone over well with Steven), i walked, admittedly in as hurried a fashion as would be deemed acceptable -- needing to stay, more or less, three (3) to five (5) steps behind Steven, who was apparently in no real, particular hurry -- across the full expanse of the main workout room, down the first flight of stairs, down the second half-set, along the several yards of dimly lit hallway, and finally thru the shadowy entrance marked, “MENS LOCKER”. 
 
Once inside the Men’s Locker Room, i found that it was populated with another small grouping of six (6) or seven (7) Men. i rushed to my locker -- located where Steven always insisted that i lay claim to my temporary, personal space and storage (or as close to it as possible) -- dead center of the first U-shaped bank of lockers, located just inside of the Locker Room’s entrance. Scattered around me were Men in the typical, various stages of dress and undress, and who collectively comprised a wide-range sampling of ages, ethnicities, physical attributes, and socio-economic backgrounds. 
 
i use one foot to quickly force the damp tennis shoe off of the other foot, and then repeated the process in reverse. i reached down while lifting each foot separately, and stripped off the seriously damp, white cotton socks. Hooking my fingers from each hand inside the elastic waistbands of both my sweat pants and my jockstrap, it was with a single, downward slide that all clothing covering me below the waist was pushed over my hips, across the round of my ass, down my thighs, along my calves, at which point i stepped up and out of the bunched-up, perspiration-soaked mass of cotton; which i quickly grabbed up and tossed into my open locker. my tennies and socks quickly followed my previous wad of work-out clothes. i slammed the locker door shut, slung my damp, clammy towel around my neck and over my shoulders, and turned on my heel 90 degrees to my right so that i was now facing the very last locker on this first bank -- Steven’s locker.
 
Much to my delight (and surprise, frankly), Steven was making the final adjustments to the tucked knot on the fresh, white, cotton towel that He had wrapped around His waist. i stood in front of my locker -- fully nude -- as i am not allowed to wear a towel around my waist, or cover myself in any manner for modesty’s sake, unless the situation absolutely requires it (and dependent of Steven’s mood, not always then, either) -- and waited silently for Steven to motion me to follow Him into the sauna. An upward, back-over-His-shoulder flick of His chin, unquestionably directed at me, was the signal i longed for; the seconds ticking along in an achingly slow manner.  
 
Eventually Steven raised His head. His eyes darted left, and then right, and then str8 ahead; locking with my own. The anticipated motion from Steven took place rapidly, but undeniably, after which He pivoted on the balls of His feet, and began walking away. i followed Steven -- keeping a distance of at least ten (10) feet behind Him. W/we walked further down the dimly lit hallway, thru a door that had been intentionally secured open, down more dimly lit hallway, thru another door, up two, full flights of stairs, and at length, thru a final door which opened up into the central lobby for gaining access to any of the various, private rooms (used for group instruction, i.e. yoga, spin class, etc., or for personal, one-on-one instruction), the swimming pool, the lounge, snack bar, and ah, yes -- the sauna.
 
Again, a spattering of Men; an entirely different group of Men than i had seen previously, wandered back and forth, and in and out of the different rooms; the majority walking past without pause, with only a handful stopping sporadically at the information desk. All of the Men who could be seen milling about were either attired in their workout clothes, their street clothes, or wrapped in a towel. i was completely nude.
 
== end of Part One (1) == to be continued.