The Shower, Part II

The shower facilities at the state park were exposed to the outdoors through open-air ventilation and a simple screen door. Bugs and spiders flocked to the lights and abundant moisture, and I always wondered what other type of ambitious creature might make its way inside. It was a lot like a insect nightclub--a symphony of chirps and buzzes as moths and other light-loving creatures made the florescents shimmer like disco balls.

I would often venture out into the night under the guise of good hygiene habits to marvel at these shower facilities. As a young boy who was not so sure of his sexuality, I couldn't help but be strangely intrigued by the over-abundance of gay-themed graffiti on the dark green wooden walls. It was clear that hundreds of men and teenaged boys had once sought a connection here by writing down dates, times, places and descriptions--a low-tech version of gay.com. On occasion, I would stand in the dressing area and read the walls like novels. Marveling at the graphic descriptions of things I might actually consider fun, and titillated by its candor.

One night I was standing at the sink brushing my teeth in flip flops and a towel when I heard the screen door crack open. As I glanced into the door's direction, I saw his reflection in the mirror. He was tall and thin with emerging muscularity. No more than 16 or 17, just a few years older than I was at the time. He was carrying a towel and a basket of products his family no doubt shared as they took turns in the showers.

There were two shower stalls in this particular building. They were built side-by-side much like long, extra-wide bathroom stalls--one part a dry area for dressing and another part the wet area where the actual shower took place. There was no door on the shower, only on the front of the dressing area.

I "happened" to turn my head in his direction as he was entering the stall and he gave me what I'd know today as a "tad-too-long-for-a-straight-boy" glance. At that time, it didn't register as such, but it still sent enough of a rush of gay chemicals flooding into my brain that I decided to take a shower right next to him. In spite of the fact that I'd already taken one.

Although I couldn't see his body, I could see his feet. And for those of you with foot fetishes, this is just as good. From under the stall, I watched his shirt fall to the ground. Then his shorts. Then his underwear. I had never seen a guy step out of his underwear from underneath a stall before. It felt a little dirty, but was a highly stimulating experience. As he turned the water on and stepped into the shower, I dropped my towel and did the same. I repeated my previous shower routine as if I had somehow gotten dirty from the stall to the sink.

After several minutes into the shower, my imagination was running wild. I knew that another beautiful, naked body was standing not even a foot away from me, albeit through a thick stone wall. But aside from the obvious sexual overtones, something else struck me as I stood there so close to my object of desire.

That day, inside an austere stone shower in the middle of a Texas forest, I realized this would be my destiny. I was a gay man--someone that would never be able to shrug off the excitement brought on by the proximity of the beautiful male form. Especially the young, naked and wet variety. I suspect my shower partner never knew this was happening, but I've never forgotten the moment. Showers for me in a state park have never been the same.