II
We returned to the men’s room and walked over to our lockers, opening them and hanging our damp towels inside to dry. The room had emptied out compared to earlier, and I was grateful for the feeling of privacy we now had.
“So do I need to take anything with me?” I asked, standing awkwardly in the narrow aisle.
“You should probably keep your locker key on you, but other than that…,” he smiled.
I nodded and faced the locker, taking a slow breath as I pulled the cotton shirt off over my head. It was still a little damp with sweat, as were my shorts, but I was at least glad the shrinkage from the cold room seemed to have dissipated. I could see Parker undressing out of the corner of my eye, moving easily, comfortably, like this was the most normal thing in the world. Maybe for him it was.
I knew Parker had a fairly active sex life – he'd at least indicated as much – and I wondered how it felt for him to strip down, to bare himself like that before so many people. Did it still scare him or excite him or arouse him like it did the first time? Or did the effects wear off after so many years? Did it ever affect him like I imagine it would affect me? Or was I just being weird about it? One of the side effects of oppressive modesty was that all nudity took on an erotic component, even in totally normal settings like a locker room. I tried to shrug this off, to tell myself that this was just something people did, that I could do it too.
I dropped my shorts and threw them into the locker, reaching down to adjust myself before closing the door and stepping back. Slowly, I turned to face Parker. He was standing in the aisle facing me, his eyes not showing the faintest trace of embarrassment or self-consciousness. It was oddly comforting, his confidence, and I found myself holding on to it as a sort of catalyst for my own. I also found myself, surprisingly, fighting the urge to look down. I realized in that moment that, besides being chronically uncomfortable with my own skin, I'd never seen a peer or a friend naked before either, never experienced the locker room camaraderie, never had the opportunity to compare my body against another - not that I wanted to, necessarily, but something about seeing Parker's groundedness, his comfort in his own skin (especially as that skin was exposed to everyone around him) made me realize the extent to which I'd been denied this opportunity, the sense of isolation it had reinforced over the years.
“Ready?” Parker asked, breaking my train of thought.
“Yeah”, I nodded, halfway meaning it.
We entered the bathhouse area through a large glass door, and I was surprised by its size. It was nearly twice as big as the locker room, with four large spa tubs in the center. To our left sat a block of traditional Korean bucket baths, where an elderly man sat on a stool, diligently scrubbing his back; to our right a block of standard, Western showers where a couple of younger, athletic-looking guys rinsed themselves. Along the back wall were doors to the steam room and the sauna, in front of those were a cold plunge pool and a large mineral bath. It was an impressive offering, and the room hummed with the sound of showers and spa jets.
Parker led us to the showers (the Western ones, thankfully; we'd leave the bucket baths for another time) and turned on two taps, explaining that it was customary to rinse oneself of sweat and dirt before entering a communal space. I felt anxious and on edge, painfully conscious of my nakedness, wary of eyes on me – whose eyes, though, I couldn't say. My hands fell naturally to my crotch, trying to cover myself with whatever means I had available while we waited for the showers to warm. Parker continued to chat, babbling away about something I didn't pay attention to.
Soon enough the water was hot, and I stepped beneath its stream. The pressure felt good on my head and my shoulders, and I tried to let myself relax. I closed my eyes and told myself I was at home, in my own bathroom, in my own shower, free to occupy space as I wished. It helped a little, as long as I was willing to play along, though I could still feel my heart pounding. With a slow breath, I turned to face into the room and opened my eyes.
There were about a dozen other men in the room scattered amongst the various stations, not enough to make it feel crowded, but certainly enough to test my comfort levels. I again fought off the urge to stare, not necessarily out of any desire or interest, but mostly because acknowledging their nakedness made me considerably less uncomfortable about my own. There were a variety of bodies, I noticed, of all shapes and ages and sizes – an older, white man with sagging skin and thinning hair; a skinny Latino guy with a hairy chest and an unruly bush; a heavyset white guy covered in tattoos; a jacked, black man with zero body hair and a massive penis; and everything in-between. All levels of age, fitness, body hair, penis size, you name it, everything was reflected in the room. It was bizarre, but oddly refreshing, to be just one more in a sea of bodies.
Everyone seemed perfectly comfortable, focused on their own relaxation, hardly aware of anyone else's presence, immune to the idea of self-consciousness or shame. This made me feel relieved and admittedly a bit silly, aware of the irrationality of my fear that my body, amidst all the bodies here, would draw attention. Holding on to this moment of clarity, I slowly moved my hands away from my crotch. Unsurprisingly, nothing happened. No one looked. No one pointed and gawked. No one acknowledged me at all. I let the water cascade down my back and ease my tense shoulders, slowly acclimating to the room. I could feel my heartbeat slow in my chest and my breathing leveled off.
As I turned to face the shower head, I caught Parker's eyes. He was looking at me, his eyes casually scanning down my body, his face neutral, curious. For a moment, I resented the feeling of his eyes on me and wanted to turn, or at least cover myself again, but I realized he was simply observing me as I had just observed the other bodies around in the room. If we were going to spend our afternoon here, it would be much more awkward trying not to look. And so I stood still, facing Parker, letting myself be seen, letting myself notice his body for the first time.
He was lean, but surprisingly muscular. His usual wardrobe of hoodies and oversized T-shirts disguised the athleticism of his body, the graceful curve of his pecs, the fine ridges of his abs, the way his shoulders tapered to a narrow waist. His skin was smooth and caramel-brown, hairless apart from a light dusting on his calves and a patch of neatly groomed pubes. His penis was a few shades darker than the rest of his body, uncircumcised, which caught me by surprise. It hung only a couple of inches soft (not terribly impressive, if I were being brutally honest, making his confidence all the more inspiring), and his balls clung close to his abdomen, much different than mine, which often hung low and got in my way at the most inconvenient times. It was strange, seeing him in this vulnerable state after our other time together.
I was used to seeing naked bodies in pornography, with cameras zoomed in on specific body parts – perky breasts, monstrous erections, faces of ecstasy. Onscreen, these bodies always felt “other”, unreal, manufactured products of their industry. Many of these guys had been older, in their 30s, with impossibly muscular bodies and statistically massive dicks, things I'd never expect to see in the real world. But now, seeing the body of a peer, of a friend; seeing this nakedness attached to a face I knew, a face looking back at me with amused recognition, it was almost surreal.
His eyes continued their scan up my body until they met my gaze. He flashed a half-smile, one that showed no signs of embarrassment that I'd seen him looking, no indication of self-consciousness that I'd been looking at him, too. It was a moment of recognition that we were two friends, similar in some ways and different in many others, who trusted each other enough to share this vulnerable space. He didn't avoid me, nor was he checking me out. Instead, he turned towards the showerhead, cocked an eyebrow, and quickly flashed his eyes downward. “Good for you, man,” he flashed a teasing grin.
My cheeks went warm and I uttered an embarrassed half-laugh, turning to dunk my head in the stream of warm water. I knew what he meant. I knew I was what you'd consider “above average” down there. My dick hung about six inches soft and was fairly thick. It didn't grow a ton when I got hard - I was a true shower in that regard - but from what I'd glimpsed in locker rooms before, I knew that this was not the case for many other guys. It certainly wasn't the case for Parker. A part of me recognized that I should feel a confidence boost from my endowment (I know most guys would), but for some reason I’d always been a bit self-conscious about it. But standing here, next to Parker, seeing the difference in our bodies, I was thankfully less concerned about my own. In fact, I found myself unexpectedly intrigued by his.
I was brought back to the room as Parker turned off his shower. “Ready?” He asked.
“Yeah,” I responded.
He led us to one of the spa tubs where we sat on the step, the water coming up to our chest, the current from the jets obscuring any glimpse of what lay beneath. I was grateful for the sense of privacy this afforded and felt myself relax into my seat a bit more easily. We chatted for a bit about nothing of importance. Other men entered and exited the tub in regular intervals, always claiming their own space, though the relatively close quarters made any private conversation impossible.
The spa tubs increased in temperature, much like the rooms we'd attended earlier. We spent about fifteen minutes or so in each, which did wonders for my aching muscles (I’d hit the gym pretty hard all week), working our way up to the hottest, which maxed out at just over 110 degrees. It was too intense for me. I’d gasped as soon as my balls hit the hot water, eliciting a laugh from Parker, who somehow didn’t seem to mind the intense heat. I sat on the edge of the tub, allowing the hot water to sooth my calves and feet.
After the tubs, Parker suggested we hit the sauna. There were four or five other men already there, spaced out evenly throughout the room, so we claimed a spot on the cedar bench along the back wall. I sat nearest to the corner, and Parker sat down next to me, close enough that I was worried our shoulders might brush against each other. The bench wasn’t overly comfortable, but we were able to lean back and find a decent posture to relax. At this angle, I noticed I had an unobstructed view of Parker’s torso and between his legs, like a makeshift POV, and I assumed he must have the same for me. I tried not to stare, but unfortunately, anywhere I tried to look in the small room included someone else's body, so I picked a spot on the floor and tried to concentrate.
Most of the other guys didn't seem to care, though; they largely had their eyes closed, their shoulders leaned back against the bench, legs falling open naturally with their posture, their chests rising and falling gently with their breath. It was easy to understand why. The warm, quiet room had a calming effect, the kind of intensified gravity that seemed to pull your eyelids closed and drag your body further into your seat. It felt safe, secure and comforting, like warm blankets on a cold, wintry night. After a few minutes, several of the other men got up to leave, until eventually we were the only two left in the room. Seizing the opportunity, Parker scooted away from me, turning with the bench so that he faced perpendicular to me. He leaned into his seat, resting his elbows on the second level of the bench behind him.
His legs fell open, and I noticed his dick had grown slightly in size, likely plump from all the heat, his size accentuated from his neatly groomed groin. My pubes were a little wild as they dried, and I regretted not taking time to clean them up before today. I rarely did much grooming, seeing little need as I never expected anyone to see them, but it certainly looked nicer; it showed a certain pride in one’s appearance that I wanted to emulate. Parker reached down and absentmindedly scratched his inner thigh, breaking my concentration.
“Man, I could hang in here all day,” he sighed contentedly.
“Yeah, this is nice,” I agreed. At first I'd been relieved when the other men began to leave the sauna, but now, just the two of us left, sitting here with nothing to cover ourselves, it felt surprisingly intimate. It wasn't lost on me that Parker was the first person who'd ever seen me naked, and it wasn't lost on me that he was attracted to men, but in the heat and stillness of the sauna my brain didn't know what to do with this information. “So you used to really come here with your dad?” I blurted out.
“Yeah, my dad and my brother,” he answered. “Pretty often, actually.”
“Did you guys do…all this?” I gestured vaguely to the room.
“We did,” he nodded casually. “Yeah, the hot tubs were always my favorite part.”
“Hmm,” was my only reply. “I can't imagine that,” I said a few minutes later. No one had entered the sauna, and the damp heat seemed to absorb the sound around us, creating what felt like a protective bubble, buffering against the outside world.
“Which part?” He asked, brow furrowed.
“All of it,” I laughed. “The locker room, the uniforms, the tubs. This.”
He smiled. “Why? Scared to be naked around your old man?”
“I mean, yeah, basically.” I snorted a sarcastic laugh.
He chuckled. “Really? Would it be that weird for you? Didn’t you ever see your dad naked growing up?”
“No,” I answered flatly. “Never.”
“Oh. Damn.” He paused. “Must be a white people thing,” he flashed a facetious grin.
“Maybe so,” I rolled my eyes. “It’s a religious white people thing, anyways. My parents were always pretty uptight. I don’t even think I saw my dad shirtless apart from, like, two times we went to a family friend’s pool.”
“Dang, I saw my dad naked all the time. He used to garden a lot and so he’d always be just covered in dirt, so my mom would make him take his clothes off in the garage; or sometimes he’d just strip down and hose himself off on the back porch and go to his bathroom to dry off.”
I laughed. “I can’t imagine my dad stripping down on the back porch.”
“My dad did not care,” he chuckled. “And like, when I was little, I’d shower with him, and he’d teach me how to wash. So I don’t know, that was just never a big deal in our house.”
“It was in mine,” I said, reflecting back on a few childhood memories. “I think my mom would've lost her mind if my dad so much as walked around in a towel.”
“Why?” Parker asked, laughing.
“No idea.” I thought for a second. “For some reason, they acted like any nudity was inherently sexual and, because of their same logic, inappropriate. I don't know, I had a little sister, so maybe that was part of it? Like, it wasn’t just the boys running around, we had her to think about? But even when I was young, I was always supposed to be modest and covered up if my sister was around. Like, I couldn't even have my shirt off at home.”
“Hmm,” Parker mulled this over. “That sounds kinda rough, man. It wasn’t like that for us, my brother and I were naked all the time at home.” He laughed fondly.
“Really?” I asked, finding the idea bizarre.
“Oh yeah,” he nodded. “I mean, we aren’t that far apart in age, so we used to take baths together when we were little. We shared a room for a while, so we were always changing in front of each other. He was always chaotic and he'd literally just run around the house naked; like, clothes were for special occasions in his mind. I remember when he turned thirteen and started getting pubes…he was so proud of them, he kept showing them off and pointing at me and asking where mine were. Made me so mad that I didn’t have any yet.” He laughed at the memory. “God, when I finally got some, I was so stoked.”
I laughed, surprised at how casually he talked about his body, envious of the openness they’d possessed, the connection they’d had growing up. “That’s funny,” I commented. “I remember when I got pubes, I didn’t really know what the hell was going on.”
“Seriously?” he asked.
“Not really. My dad had given me some half-assed version of the talk but he didn't really go into detail. Didn't really tell me what would happen. And since I'd never seen him, I didn't really know what to expect.” I recalled a memory of sitting in the bathroom, trying to pull pesky hairs that had appeared on my groin overnight, frustrated that they kept springing up despite my faithful efforts, ashamed my body was doing something so unexpected.
“Dang,” he said sympathetically. “So you must have been pretty surprised when you grew that monster, huh?” He threw a mischievous grin in my direction.
I laughed and blushed and looked away. “Yeah, you could say that. I certainly didn’t know what to do with it at first. I was pretty embarrassed about it for a while, honestly.”
“Embarrassed? For real?”
“Yeah,” I confessed. “I don’t know, I was pretty scrawny and then had this hanging between my legs. It always felt in the way and, I swear to god, I thought something was wrong with it that made it that big.”
Parker rolled his head back and laughed. “Man, I can’t imagine. What a problem to have…” he looked down at himself and sighed. “I accepted my lot in life,” he said, partially to himself. “Not much of a looker, but it gets the job done.” Suddenly his head snapped up. “Wait,” he said, eyes narrowing. “So if nobody’s seen you naked…does that mean you’ve never…you know…” His voice trailed off.
I looked away, feeling my cheeks grow warm. “Yeah.”
He raised his eyebrows but otherwise kept a calm expression. “Oh,” he said. “That surprises me.”
“Yeah, well,” I shrugged, “just haven't got around to it.” Parker looked at me with a curious expression but, thankfully, didn't press the topic any further. I’d come a long way already by simply being in the sauna; I didn't want to have an in-depth discussion about my sex life – or lack thereof – at the same time.
“Eh,” Parker shrugged. “It'll happen when it's meant to happen. You're a good-looking guy, I'm sure you'll find you've got plenty of options.”
“Thanks, I appreciate it.” I looked back at him and forced a laugh, but couldn't help but notice his eyes had dropped down towards my stomach and my groin. I'd dreaded the thought of someone staring at me all afternoon, but, for some reason, with Parker, I didn't really mind. I imagined he'd seen plenty of guys, plenty of dicks, and I was a little curious to know how I stacked up. I wondered if any part of him had planned this, had been excited about the prospect of this very moment, with me, in the spa. Somewhere a voice told me I should be grossed out by this idea, offended even, but I wasn't. He was my friend, and in a weird way this had brought a whole new level of trust and vulnerability to our relationship. So I looked back at him, taking in his lean frame and perfect skin, and thought how strange it was to be here.
His dick had grown a little more, and I started to think he was getting hard. I reached down and wiped a droplet of sweat that was trickling down my knee, which seemed to break Parker out of his daze. He looked up at me, flashing an uncharacteristically sheepish grin, and crossed his legs.
