Sauna

I am in the sauna at the gym, relaxing after a workout. A man sits across from me. He stares at my crotch for as long as appropriate, given the protocols of sauna life, then looks away. A few beats later, his gaze returns, sweeping across my body, circling around my midsection, resting upon on the bulge cast by my penis. I am not erect, yet I feel the stimulation of his gaze. I do not return his look, and so he must operate surreptitiously. Yet I am aware of his gaze; I do not block it. He senses this, and it affords him a certain level of permission. The dance continues. The atmosphere heats up. He subtly lifts his towel to show his hardness. He expects me to reciprocate, but I do not. Failing to rouse me, he offers a question: Can I touch you? I am momentarily stunned by his eruption into speech, and by his directness. Cruising is generally a nonverbal endeavor; when it does involve dialogue it is indirect, at least at first. I respond in the negative. At this point there are few avenues left to him. Quietly, he studies his options. He looks at me, looks down at my groin, looks at me again, then quietly asks: Can you show me? At the onset of this question, I feel a jolt of sexual excitement. So direct, so genuine. So powerful in its simplicity. The basic question that every child wants asked, summoned by every plea of Look at me! I briefly consider lifting my towel and offering myself to his gaze. Yet had I succumbed, the question would have lost all its power and resonance. I preferred to hold onto it. I held onto the query of Show Me, keeping it under wraps, heated, sweating, in an ambiguous state of arousal, like the concealed region of my body to which it referred.