Page 2 of The Minotaur's Maze
I pulled up the staffing reports again, running through scenarios that all led to the same conclusion. I was screwed. Cut fifteen percent and we'd collapse under the call volume. Keep everyone and face the CEO's wrath come quarterly review. Either way, good people would suffer.
My reflection stared back at me from the dark window. I was hollow-eyed, stubble-faced, and looking older than my thirty-two years. When did I become this person? When had I stopped fighting and started just surviving?
Maybe it was time for a break, something to take my mind off of work completely for a few hours. And there was only one place where I could do that, where I could let go and just be myself for a little while without a care in the world.
The bathhouse.
The thought hit me like a lifeline thrown to a drowning man. I hadn't been to the bathhouse in weeks, hell, maybe a couple of months. Work had consumed everything, but tonight I needed something more than the numbing routine of spreadsheets and impossible quotas.
I shut down my laptop with more force than necessary and grabbed my keys. The parking garage was nearly empty, just a few cars belonging to the overnight IT crew. My Honda looked as tired as I felt under the harsh fluorescent lighting.
The drive through downtown took twenty minutes, giving me time to decompress from the corporate hellscape I'd just escaped. The bathhouse sat tucked between office buildings, its entrance marked only by a discrete brass nameplate. To most people walking by, it looked like any other renovated warehouse. They had no idea what lay beyond those heavy metal doors.
I parked in the small lot behind the building and sat for a moment, letting the engine tick as it cooled. Through the windshield, I could see warm light spilling from the frosted windows on the second floor. My pulse quickened slightly, not from anxiety, but from anticipation. Here, I could shed the weight of being Julian the department manager, Julian the problem-solver, Julian the guy slowly drowning in corporate bullshit.
The cool night air felt good against my skin as I walked to the front entrance. Taking a deep breath, I pushed the door open and stepped into the softly lit reception area.
"Membership card." The voice belonged to a silver-haired man who'd been running the front desk for as long as I’d beencoming around. He was usually too busy reading to pay much attention to the clients coming through, but that was just fine. It kept things anonymous, which was just the way I liked it.
I fumbled with my wallet, pulling out the membership card I'd tucked behind my credit cards. It was slightly bent at the corners, a testament to how long it had been since I'd last visited.
"Been a while," the attendant commented, not looking up from his book as he scanned my card and checked me in. He handed it back with a locker key on a wristband. "Number sixty-seven. Everything must be left in the locker room including all electronic devices."
"Thanks," I muttered, pocketing both items and heading through the inner door.
The familiar scent hit me immediately, chlorine, eucalyptus, and an undercurrent of sex. My shoulders relaxed for what felt like the first time in months. The locker room was nearly empty tonight, just a few guys changing, their eyes flicking over me with casual interest before returning to their own business. It was a Tuesday, so I wasn’t expecting the place to be filled to the brim like it was on the weekends. But I’d at least be able to relax and get off. That’s what was important.
I undressed methodically, folding my button-down shirt that still reeked of office stress and tucking it into locker sixty-seven along with my slacks, shoes, and the rest of my corporate persona. The thin white towel they provided barely covered my cock, but that was the point. Nudity leveled the playing field. And this was a place of pleasure, not a place for shame or shyness.
I glanced at the open-plan showers as I walked by. It was usually filled with guys fucking and sucking while others watched and slowly stroked themselves. But today it was fairly empty. There was a pair in the back corner making out, a human and a man with scales and fins peppered across his body. Theirhands roamed over one another’s bodies, but it wasn’t exactly the explicit sex show that usually happened in the showers. I didn’t mind though. I wanted to go to the bath first to relax.
Steam curled around my ankles as I pushed through the door to the main roman-style bath. The lighting was dim, casting everything in a dreamlike glow. A few men lounged in the steaming water to my right, their conversations a low murmur beneath the bubbling water. Others were scattered around the edge of the pool, either watching or just taking in the heat.
I found a secluded spot for myself in a dark corner and tossed my towel down on the ground. It was nice to stand there in the steam, my soft cock free of any fabric prison. I loved being naked like this, exposed and free where anyone could see me. Not that I was built like a god or anything. My dick was a little above average and my physique, while thin, had definitely softened in the past couple of years at the company. I always wanted to go to the gym to trim up again, but I just never had the time. Still, I enjoyed the nudity enough that it was able to quell the self-critical voice in my head. That and I got a thrill when guys looked at me. I loved being watched.
I eased myself into the hot water, feeling the heat penetrate my aching muscles. The tension in my shoulders, knotted from hunching over a keyboard for fourteen hours straight, began to dissolve. I sank deeper until the water lapped at my chin, closing my eyes and letting out a long, slow breath.
This was what I needed. No spreadsheets. No impossible metrics. No CEO sipping cocktails in Hawaii while demanding I perform corporate miracles.
Just heat, steam, and the promise of release.
I must have dozed off for a few minutes because when I opened my eyes again, the dynamics in the bath had shifted. A few more men had entered and at least one Kraken, their gazes more purposeful than casual. One man caught my eye,tall, broad-shouldered, with a tribal tattoo spiraling down his right arm. He gave me a slight nod before turning his attention elsewhere. Not my type, but the acknowledgment sent a small thrill through me nonetheless.
The water rippled as someone slid in beside me. I turned to find a man I hadn't noticed before. He was older than me, maybe mid-forties, with salt-and-pepper hair cropped close to his scalp and eyes so dark they seemed to absorb the dim lighting.
"First time?" he asked, his voice a low rumble that seemed to vibrate through the water between us.
I shook my head. "No, just been away for a while."
"Work?" He didn't wait for my answer. "I can always tell. You've got that look, like you're carrying the weight of an entire company on your back."
I laughed, surprised by his accuracy. "That obvious, huh?"
"I used to have the same look." He shifted, and I caught a glimpse of a muscular chest dusted with gray hair. "Corporate attorney. Seventy-hour weeks until my doctor told me my heart was about to give out."
"What happened?"
"Quit. Opened a bookstore. Make half as much, sleep twice as well." He studied me with those dark eyes. "What's your poison?"
