It was a summer of picnics on arid grass, cocktail-soaked outdoor festivals, and migraine-inducing sticky heat. But I barely noticed. Instead, I clocked up never-ending hours at my desk in a fiercely air conditioned office: frazzled and struggling to get through probation at a new job. At the behest of my friends, I turned to a tried-and-tested relaxation method: the steam room.
It was the last slot of the day on a Thursday as I tied up my drawstring bikini on a trendy rooftop, replete with cold plunge baths and my intended destination: a private steam room. At my side was a guy I’d been seeing, Joe*, who I’d met at a party. He had strong, rugby-honed arms and a low, unhurried voice. I’d been feeling bad about neglecting him lately, and thought maybe this would be a good opportunity to catch up.
We made our way into the small space, shrugging off our towels and flinching from the heat of the tiled bench against our skin as we sat down. Soon enough, streams of white, humid steam began to funnel into the space, making the air thick and wet. We sat in silence.
I was already regretting bringing Joe along. We didn’t exactly have a lot in common, so there wasn’t much to talk about. It was hard to relax into the moment with the oppressive quiet lingering between us. Trying to start a conversation, I stood up and walked over to the large window at one corner of the room.
“Look at the views, we’re so high above the city!” I tried. He looked over and shrugged, far from enthused about the rooftop panorama. I rolled my eyes and padded back to the bench, this time moving ever-so-slightly closer to him. After all, there were other things we could do rather than talk.
Brushing my bare thigh against his, he looked up and locked eyes with me. I could feel the beads of sweat weaving between his leg hair. Not breaking eye contact, I reached over and dragged my index finger from his knee, up the inside of his leg, hovering at the bulge of his trunks. I smiled as I felt the fabric shift against his stiffening crotch.
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Teasing him, I flicked my fingers up to his stomach, playing with the snail trail leading down towards the inside of his waistband. His breath was audibly heavy by now, and he let out a small groan. I swung myself onto his lap, rubbing myself against him, rotating my hips achingly slowly as I felt him pressing harder and harder against my tiny thong bikini bottoms.
As I moved once again, my left breast tumbled out of my bikini top: Joe seized upon it, hungrily squeezing the flesh and rubbing his thumb in maddening circles around my areola. I let out a soft whimper: it was his turn to smile. He leaned forward and licked the sweat off my chest in one swift motion, before taking my breast in his mouth and running his tongue over my nipple. At this point, I saw something change his eyes: he wanted me, and he wanted me right now.
With his hands, he hurriedly pushed down the waist of his trunks and quickly undid the ties at the side of my bikini, my bottoms tumbling to the floor. Grabbing my bum with his rough hands, he pulled me onto him, slowly rubbing the head of his dick against my clit (cue another whimper) before entering me. Normally, it would take a minute or two for me to adjust to having him inside me — he was a bit too thick, a bit too big for me to enjoy without any discomfort. But this time, I was too wet for that. All I could feel was a sensation of achingly pleasant fullness.
I moved up and down, faster and faster, as I tried to get him deeper and deeper inside of me. Then, to my surprise, he grabbed onto my waist and slowly stood up, inviting me to wrap my legs and arms around his wide frame while he was still inside me. From there, I leaned in to kiss him, pushing my tongue inside his mouth, shuddering in pleasure as he shifted his hips in and out in long, strong, staccato bursts.
In any normal situation, I’d be worried about the strain on his back, or the probability that, with all the sweat, one of us would slip. I don’t know what it was — maybe the steam, maybe how light-headed I was from the heat — but all I could think about was feeling him throbbing inside of me. Having as much of his skin as possible against mine.
We stayed intertwined like this — me suspended in the air — for what could have been anywhere between five and 30 minutes, I completely lost track of time. However long it was, I was pulled out of the moment when Joe gruffly whispered in my ear that I should be quiet, so no-one would know what we were doing. He slowly pulled out of me, and I followed the movement of his body as he carefully delivered me back onto the ground, before taking me by the hand, towards the window I’d tried to encourage him to admire earlier. Somewhere along the way, we’d pulled off the last of our swim clothes, and were standing completely naked, covered in sweat above the city below.
I took a breath, about ready to sit back down, but Joe wasn’t finished. Pressing my hands against the glass and bending me over, he slid back inside of me, this time taking his pleasure as a priority. He moved in and out, moaning softly as my back arched and I forced myself to bite my lip to keep my moans from becoming too loud. Dripping in sweat, our bodies felt like they were fused together until, suddenly, we tipped over the edge together. We grabbed onto one another as his climax reverberated inside of me and I collapsed, happily sated, onto the window in front of us.
Bringing us back from our trance, we heard a knock on the steam room door; an attendant alerting us that our time would be up in the next 10 minutes. We quickly showered, got dressed, and, sheepishly, headed back out to reception to pay, and buy a litre bottle of water, which we thirstily shared. In the weeks following our steam room adventure, Joe and I continued to meet up for this kind of hot, heavy, no-strings attached sex. While the emotional chemistry wasn’t there, we more than made up for it in physical compatibility. And with my work stresses, I needed it — orgasms are the ultimate stress-reliever, after all.
*Name has been changed
