Tag Archives: showerhouse

First-Time Jocks in the Campground

Here’s the beginning of First-Time Jocks in the Campground, a new story by Happiest Ending!

Wayne stomped away from the campsite feeling like a spoiled child. He was twenty-one, but he was acting like a brat. He knew that. He just couldn’t stop himself.

Sheila had gone, and everyone else was fucking. Balls slapped against pussies and asses, and men grunted while women moaned. Almost the entire GHU football team was here, and they had all brought a girl. Now Wayne was the only single one in the whole site. He couldn’t bear to stick around, that was why he left.

It would be too humiliating to simply walk around the campground alone. He couldn’t do that. He had hated going anywhere alone ever since coming to college — back in high school, he was the most popular kid around, the star football jock and all-American handsome stud, and he always teased the kids who ate lunch alone.

But nearly everyone on his college football team had been the most popular kid in their high school. Wayne wasn’t special anymore. He wasn’t even the star quarterback, just a backup. Everyone thought the kicker Ronaldo Tironi was the sexiest player on the team, and he wasn’t even American — he looked more like an underwear model than an athlete anyway, Wayne thought.

Ah, yeah, suck it, bitch…

Sheila had gone because Wayne called her a bitch. He didn’t say it in an insulting way. A lot of other guys said that when they fucked. It was just dirty-talk, he thought. Wayne had, admittedly, said it a bit early — she was just starting to suck his dick when he said it — and he hadn’t said it in a sufficiently light-hearted manner like the others.

So now his entire team was off fucking their girls, probably trading females without him. His dick could do nothing more than painfully wither to full limpitude. It was so unfair.

He had grabbed his shower stuff simply because he wanted his teammates to think he was walking away for a purpose, not because he was a loser whose girl had dumped him. Maybe, he thought, they’d think she was going to fuck around with him in the shower. He headed towards the showerhouse simply because he had nowhere else to go.

Since no one was in there, and Wayne had everything he needed, he thought he might as well take a shower. He was going to do it eventually, and he’d rather do it now, when no one was around, instead of later, when all the drunk rednecks and fat-ass bikers who camped here would be showering. Wayne showered with his teammates a lot, but he didn’t cotton to the idea of showering with a bunch of fat old strangers.

The showerhouse was empty, which was nice. Wayne was glad to see that there was even hot water. The showering area was open to the stars, like an inner courtyard surrounded on all four sides by a square shelter with toilets, sinks and a baby-changing station.

The shower didn’t relax him. Even with no one around, the bikers whooping drunkenly and the prospect of strangers coming in any time were nerve-wracking for Wayne. He showered quickly.

Then someone did enter. Wayne’s heart skipped a beat, picturing some massive biker with a big swinging dick advancing towards him like the climax of a prison movie.

But it was a small man, skinny, weak, not a biker at all. He had an idle grin on his face as he entered. He glanced at Wayne but didn’t say anything to him.

Wayne didn’t want to look weird, so he turned around. It looked like the small man was going to brush his teeth, and Wayne intended to look the other way until he was gone.

“Hi,” said the man, startling Wayne. He turned around to face him. The other man looked up at him. “I’m Holly.”

“Oh. I’m Wayne,” Wayne said. He had never met someone new when they were both naked. It was awkward. He couldn’t look down without seeing Holly’s cock and balls. He couldn’t bring himself to look in any direction — what was the etiquette in a campground showerhouse anyway? — so his head rigidly stared forward, above Holly’s head, at the wall behind him.

“You look horny, Wayne,” Holly said with a giggle. Wayne realized only then that he was gay — he had a lilting flamboyance that strongly suggested it — and became nervous. He thought he should cover his crotch but that seemed silly, since Holly had been looking at it for some time now.

“Oh.” Wayne bit his lip.

“I can help,” Holly said softly. He really did sound like a woman, Wayne thought. He had a light voice with a singsong note to it, and he carried himself like a girl. Holly reached for Wayne’s dick. Wayne watched his hand move as though in slow motion. He told himself to leave, or just to tell Holly to fuck off.

Shower Tales: The Hammam

This is a sample chapter from Shower Tales: The Hammam, a story in the No Homo: Soldiers series.

Bayram Macar was unsure what to do after he moved into his new home. He decided to train in the workout area behind his tiny cottage. It was public enough he knew his employer would find out he had done so, which would surely raise his esteem in Mr. Burakgazi’s eyes.

There were weights and medicine balls and ropes there, in a small cement patio. It was plainly visible from the main house, and looked like it had once been the servant’s quarters, or possibly even a slavehouse at one point in Turkish history.

Nobody from Bayram’s village had ever become a sponsored wrestler, but he had been undefeated for the last two years and fought in the heaviest weight class. So he felt certain he would bring glory to the Burakgazi Corporation, which was paying his salary.

A man in traditional Turkish robes appeared, with dark sunglasses. Bayram moved to stand up, suspecting he was Mr. Burakgazi, the man who lived in the main house and ran Burakgazi Corporation. He stood there like a man who expected everyone to respect his authority.

“Mr. Macar,” he said, “Come with me.”

Bayram followed, but was surprised to find Mr. Burakgazi wanted to walk next to him, rather than in front of him. Mr. Burakgazi wrapped one arm around Bayram’s sweaty back.

“It is good you are exercising. If I have not assigned you other duties, you should be training from sunup to sundown. That includes meals and rest periods, of course. If you are not in your cottage, I expect to find you here at the bathhouse.” He pointed to a small structure near the edge of the Burakgazi estate, beyond which were the factories. “All of my local workers are allowed to come here when they are taking breaks. Come now, let us bathe together.”

Bayram agreed. That was a good sign, he thought. Turkish men went to the bathhouse together as a sign of friendship and trust.

He walked towards the bathing area, where a pool of water looked warm and inviting. But Mr. Burakgazi stopped him.

“Wait,” he said, holding up an oil pourer. “Let me see my new acquisition.”

Bayram bristled at the word acquisition, but he stood still. He was a professional oil wrestler now, after all, and would soon be able to compete for a world champion. He knew he could expect to be ogled at quite a bit, though he came from a very modest village, where not even old women were allowed to watch wrestling matches.

“I may require you to perform for business associates,” he said. “That is why I need you to be available. You may have time off with permission beforehand. You may also request visitors at your cottage, but only sparingly, and no women. I do not want you distracted. If you feel you must fornicate with a woman, I will provide you with a prostitute at my discretion. But I will not do so lightly. It is a grave sin, after all.”

“I do not use prostitutes.”

“You will if I tell you to,” Mr. Burakgazi snapped. “Some men require it to fight at their fullest potential.” He kneaded his fingers into Bayram’s muscular chest. “But as I said, I prefer to use other means to keep men satisfied.”

“Okay…” Bayram said. He was feeling nervous about this arrangement. When he was offered a job doing what he loved, he never second-guessed himself, he just accepted it. He thought being a professional athlete was the ultimate goal. What else could he want?

But now he felt obliged to Mr. Burakgazi, who had made sure his contract included a pullout penalty. If he quit not, he’d owe a lot of money. He’d done the math though, and if he wanted to leave right away, he could save all of his pay for three months and that’d be enough.

Mr. Burakgazi casually massaged Bayram’s arms and chest as he repeated the manor rules. He tweaked Bayram’s nipples and made him flex each muscle in turn. He kissed Bayram’s biceps and pecs.

Bayram felt an uncomfortable stirring in his crotch. He felt an urge to touch himself, and wished he could leave to take care of his problem in private. Mr. Burakgazi undid Bayram’s suspenders and let his pants fall to the ground.

“You are a healthy young man,” he said approvingly. He stuck his hand in Bayram’s briefs and cradled his cock. “Virile and strong. That is good.”

Bayram was so nervous he couldn’t think of anything to say. All he could focus on was the man’s hand caressing his deck and holding onto his balls. Mr. Burakgazi gave them a light squeeze.

“When a superior compliments you, Bayram, it is polite to say thank you.”

“Thank you.”

“Call me sir,” he said.

“Thank you, sir.”

“Good. I am a big believer in politeness and behaving properly, according to your station,” he said.

Bayram felt his dick growing hard and pulsating in Mr. Burakgazi’s hand. He gasped, winced and looked away in embarrassment. “Mr. Burakgazi, I don’t like you touching my penis-“

“Sssh,” he said. He put one finger on Bayram’s lips. “You work for me now, Bayram. Every inch of you works for me. You can trust me. I don’t want to hurt you.” His left hand caressed Bayram’s plump young ass and ran softly up his rippling back muscles. “You trust me, right?”

Bayram thought about it and said, “Yes, sir.” He was beginning to have doubts, but he did still ultimately trust Mr. Burakgazi. He had been given a job, an advance on his salary, a place to live that was nicer than he had ever hoped, a doctor whom Bayram could see as often as he wanted.

“I’m giving you a lot, Bayram,” he said. “Because I care about you. I want you to succeed. And I know big strong men like you can’t succeed with bulging nuts like these.” He gave Bayram’s balls a little squeeze and chuckled at Bayram’s wince of pain. “I could hire you a female, but that would be degrading for both you and her.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Close your eyes, Bayram.” Mr. Burakgazi waited until Bayram had complied, then continued speaking softly. “Pretend it is a beautiful girl touching your penis, a beautiful virginal girl.”

Bayram tried to, but all he could picture was Mr. Burakgazi’s soft, middle-aged face. He didn’t say anything though, because he could feel his dick leaking precum. It was working despite himself, it seemed.

He moaned and grunted as an orgasm shot through him. Passion and lust coursed through his veins, and for a moment, he could really forget it wasn’t a woman’s gentle hands on his cock. His genitals were perfectly cradled by soft hands, which he covered in thick sperm.

Mr. Burakgazi held up his hand, a puddle of cum in his cupped palm. More semen was smeared across his finger and wrist.

Bayram took a deep breath and sighed, glad to have that over with. It was just a handjob, he thought, glorified masturbation really. And was it more sinful than masturbating oneself? He had to ask the imam, he thought, though the local imam worked for Mr. Burakgazi as well.

“You made a mess on me, Bayram,” Mr. Burakgazi said. He sounded displeased.

“I… uh, I’m sorry, let me get you a towel,” Bayram said. He thought about defending himself, pointing out that Mr. Burakgazi had been in charge of where his dick was aimed, and had ordered Bayram to close his eyes, so how could he have cum anywhere else? But he didn’t think that would go over very well.

“No, not a towel. I want you to clean this up,” Mr. Burakgazi said. He moved his hand closer to Bayram’s mouth.

Bayram’s nose quivered at the cloying, cotton-lemon scent of cum assaulting his nostrils. It sat there, snot-like in Mr. Burakgazi’s hand. What was he expecting Bayram to do?

“Open your mouth, Bayram.”

Bayram did, telling himself that it must be a prank, that Mr. Burakgazi was a good man. Surely he wouldn’t make him eat cum.

But moments later the salty flavor of semen did overwhelm him. Bayram bucked and gagged but swallowed it down, then kept gagging as Mr. Burakgazi made him suck each finger clean.

“Good,” Mr. Burakgazi said. “You should exercise for the rest of today.”