I turned around and saw that Stripes had stepped back into the shower and was facing the wall, continuing to soap himself. Well, at least I got to watch his ass for a while, even if I didn’t get to react to it. Stripes looked over his shoulder; first at me, then at the New Guy in the next stall. Slowly, he turned around.
His erection hadn’t gone away. He was still rock hard. I looked through the frosted glass to see the New Guy’s reaction and saw that he was facing Stripes and pulling at his semi-erect cock. I relaxed; my own prick beginning to harden again.
Stripes stroked his pole, looking back and forth between the New Guy and me. The New Guy noticed him looking my way and turned to check me out through the frosted glass. He pushed his dick up against the glass so that it was almost fully visible. My heart skipping a beat, I stepped forward and did the same thing.
Moments later, I stepped back and began to seriously pound my meat. The New Guy did the same. So was Stripes. I could tell by the tension in his face that Stripes was close to coming. I pumped myself even harder. At the last moment, Stripes reached his free hand down and came in his palm.
I turned and focused on the New Guy through the frosted glass. He was standing on his toes. Even through the glass, his whole body looked tense. Then, his come splattered against the glass. Seconds later I squirted out my own contribution.
Looking up, I caught Stripe’s eye. He gave me a big smile as he toweled himself off. I soaped up my hair and then rinsed. When I opened my eyes again, the New Guy was gone.
Walking to my car in the garage next to the gym, I couldn’t help but think two things: first, I was really glad Peter had flaked, I never would have done that if he was anywhere in the building; and second, I was becoming completely un-vanilla. In less than two weeks, I’d paid for sex, had free sex with a sex-worker, and jacked off in public. Part of me wanted to call up Jeremy and throw the information in his face.
Before we got together, Jeremy had a host of experiences. He talked as though it was the normal experience of every gay man to spend his early twenties testing sexual boundaries. And maybe it was for some. I, however, had skipped that phase. Jeremy had done all sorts of things I hadn’t. He’d been to bathhouses and sex clubs; he’d had three-ways, four-ways, and I-sort-of-lost-count-ways; he could explain every sex toy on the market and had tested half of them. Before I’d have un-safe sex with him, I made him take a full STD panel and show me the results. Remarkably, he was fine.
During the courtship phase, he claimed he wanted to settle down, that he’d sewn his wild oats and was ready for a relationship. For most of the time we were together, it seemed that he’d gotten exactly what he wanted. That it was all working out for him. But then, at the very end, he zapped me with his “too vanilla” comment.
I knew better than to tell Jeremy what I’d been up to, though. He’d likely enjoy hearing about my exploits, and that soured any possible revenge. Still, I was pleased with my newfound adventurous side. Except, of course, for the fact that I had to go home and face my unwanted guest.
It was nearly eight when I pulled my nearly paid for, navy blue Honda Civic into the driveway. On the drive home, I’d distracted myself from the problem of Eddie by wondering if I should buy a new car when I got my new job. The dependable economy of my Civic might not fit my personality anymore. It seemed I was changing, and maybe I needed a car that reflected the new me. Perhaps something racier.
My house was dark. A good sign. I looked up and down the street, but didn’t see Eddie’s car. I breathed a sigh of relief. I could scarcely believe my passive aggressive approach to the situation had worked. But it seemed that it had.
I hit the garage opener I kept attached to the visor on the driver’s side. The garage door opened slowly, seeming to struggle. When it was about four feet off the ground, the door stopped moving all together. Great, I thought, one more thing in my life that wasn’t working. I tried to remember how much garage openers cost. Would I have to replace the whole thing, or could I get away with replacing just the motor? Getting out of my car, I headed over and bent down to get into the garage and see if I could fix whatever was wrong with the opener, at least temporarily.
At first, I didn’t connect with what I was seeing. The light was on for some reason. As usual, there were a dozen cardboard boxes filled with the contents of my kitchen and another dozen filled with some of Jeremy’s things he’d never bothered to collect. The boxes were stacked neatly against the back wall. In front of them was a weight bench and some weights I didn’t use on the theory that I could use the ones at the gym, though I only used those on occasion. In one corner sat an artificial Christmas tree -- a bad idea when I bought it and still bad idea.
What hadn’t been there before, the thing I was having trouble understanding, was Eddie. He hung from the track to the garage door opener, a leather belt with one end tied to the track and the other buckled around his neck, one of
