The locker room (gay)

You lean your whole body into the receptionists desk, drawing out your exchange with the poor woman who is maintaining a straight face despite your lewdness. Without so much as a bother to your dick and balls grinding against the glass, you drag your hand off, giving a fleeting wave that returns to a ****-grip around your junk.

"Thanks, babe. I'll be jacking off to some muscled hunks."

She waves, "Take care. Have a good one!"

Sure enough, like a moth to a sweaty flame, you're there. Theatrically pretending to strip each article of clothing off your body as you enter the floor-to-ceiling tiled locker room, it bodes well for you that it's a day-off for many, owing no scarcity of well-toned and shiny men named Chad. Hubba hubba.

Newly nick-named Chad in the changing corner wasn't putting out much, draped in what looks like a whole beach towel. His abs were practically cut like gemstones. The closest your perversions would take you were to his trimmed crotch, the rest of the way down blocked by the towel; must be trying to impress his lady friends - or, hell, you don't know his preferences, maybe he'd have your babies.

The heat from the showers hits your brow, a steamy deluge spilling out from around the corner. Hidden behind the curtains, regardless of others' burden of societal acceptance, you're sure you could catch some raunchy stuff by the other men showering.

Or, you could simply watch random men in different stages of undress. The skinny red-head's kinda cute. Nervous, too. Looks like he could use some confidence...