vaneramos | The tenderness of strangers

He had seen me sitting in the hot tub, must have noticed the weary mist around my eyes. He was a muscle man with shaved head and moustache. Later in the dark, dry sauna he said, "This is the only warm spot in the place tonight." He lay his towel aside. I strained my eyes but could only see knitted shadows in the space between his thighs.

Too exhausted from sex to drive home, I had tried to sleep on the bare plastic mattress but cold penetrated the rooms, even the showers after I turned off warm mist and tried to dry trembling skin with a damp towel. It penetrated the dim corridors where silent, staring men passed with wrapped loins. So I had descended into the hot tub, wincing at the sudden heat. I could only bear to sit there for a few minutes, but that was where he had noticed me.

Later he followed me into the sauna, the only place I could sit comfortably. Too tired for sex but craving touch, I moved beside him. When he turned to face me and slid one powerful leg onto the bench, I bent, sinking my mouth into the knitted shadows. There I found more of his strength.

But when he brushed his hand down my side and found the softness in my lap, he must have remembered my eyes. He removed his hand and drew away, standing. I sat for a moment, confused and dejected, but when he rested his hand on my shoulder, I rose awkwardly.

Then he bent his face gently to mine, drawing me toward him, folding his biceps around my aching shoulders.