Sixty Shades of Gay by Rex Denial

Author:Rex Denial
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Filament Publishing Ltd

THE LAW OF THE JUNGLE

Jungle 1: Entry

I walk across the car park towards the glass fronted double doors. The sign above them says ‘Roman Spa’. Well, that’s true, I guess.

My heart rate speeds up: a few minutes ago I was on the London underground, surrounded by tourists and commuters, pushing themselves through the inner city landscape from A to B. And here’s me, knowing that in a few minutes I will be plunging myself, with the blessing of my lady, into the sexual equivalent of Wonderland. Life could not be better.

“Ooh!” exclaimed LadyFace. “I like that I’m in there.”

“Shush!” I snapped. “Don’t interrupt!”

“Sorry.”

I pull the door open and walk in. The room is small, well carpeted, well lit, and clean. The man behind the counter is about 30, and shirtless. Well-formed body, and a little bit of chest and tummy fuzz. Fuzzy. Nice.

“Afternoon,” he says in a cheery voice. “One or two?”

I frown for a second, and then realise that someone has come in behind me, so closely that we could be mistaken for being together.

“One, please,” I respond, and push my debit-card under the glass. Fuzzy takes my card and inserts it into the machine. I’m not worried about my bank statement. Places like this are deliberately discreet – a lot of married men visit the sauna, and the last thing they want is the wife busting their chops for face-fucking a pretty boy – on my bank statement, it will say something like ‘Health Spa - £19.00’. Nice and discreet. That’s the way we like it: LadyFace does all the banking anyway. Knowing her, she’ll probably put a big red circle and a smiley face round it and leave it lying around, just to wind me up. Sometimes I reckon she wishes she had a cock, just so she could come here with me.

LadyFace started to laugh. “That’s exactly what I’ll do,” she said as she played with the bubbles. She was clearly enjoying this:

I can feel the man behind me watching me as my card is being processed. I glance at him. 50. Maybe 55. Not bad looking, but if a guy starts actively cruising me before we’ve even got in the door, he’s probably over-horny, insecure, or lonely. Either way he should have had a wank before he left home. Not my job to tell him, but I don’t want him staring at me like that, so I turn round and give him a look. “All right?” I say. Technically this is a greeting, but my tone is firm, and very slightly aggressive, like the way I might say it to a bloke in the pub if I think he’s been eyeballing me.

“All right,” he stammers back, and then immediately looks at his shoes. Good. That’s Mr Too-Keen dealt with then. For now at least.

Pin number accepted. Transaction complete.

Fuzzy pushes two towels under the window. On top of the towels is my debit-card and a wrist banded key with a locker number engraved into it. 369. Ok.

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