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He
scooted inside even more, pressing tighter against me, and with a quick
move I felt his leg, then his inner thigh as he stepped up, then he moved
forward. I felt an unfamiliar shape, then I realized that this man’s penis
was nestled between the cheeks of my ass! It only lasted for the merest
instant, and he was, in fact, fully by me in only two or three seconds. I
was frozen there for a moment, looking at this man standing in front of his
locker but stunned that I could still feel a soft, moist cock pressed
against my butt. I found myself with an unconcealable erection, and
suddenly I knew how Art felt. The stranger was turned slightly away from
me, but he’d look over now and then to smile at me. My face was bright red,
and I hurriedly stepped into my briefs in an attempt to get my raging hard-
on under wraps.
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Weeks went by. I stuck with my workout regimen and eventually forgot all
about Art. I studied bodies of all shapes in reflections in the chrome
fixtures, even shared a jacuzzi or two with other regulars. I had become a
fixture myself, and hanging out naked with these guys became second nature
to me. Besides, my body was showing changes of its own, and I liked what I
saw. Brian's direction was doing wonders. My belly was firm, my once
mountainous love handles were reduced to tiny hills, and I was feeling good
about myself for the first time in years.
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Brian left me on my own after that, and I straddled the bike. Headphones
on, I made my way past meadows and pastures, all the while ruminating over
this whole business with Art. I still didn't understand it, although if it
had happened to someone else, I'd know just what to make of it: Art had the
hots for me, I caught him indulging in a fantasy or two, and he blew a
fuse. Of course, seeing that I was involved, I knew there was no way in
hell this built guy would be mooning over the likes of me. There had to be
some other explanation, but how could I explain that I had been counting
the minutes until I could share a bath with this man again? I had to admit
it: I was positively crushed that Art wasn't coming around again.
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Should I be
flattered? I wrote that off--no man of his cut could see anything appealing
in a jellyfish like me--and turned in for the night. I dreamed of my
schoolboy idol, Andy, shut in a closet with me. A flashlight shone between
us from the floor as we breathlessly fondled each other's silky young
pricks. I woke up sweaty and hard, calmed myself by alternately drinking
and passing water, and returned to bed.
I returned to the club two days later. After working out with Brian for a
while, I asked about Art. Brian cocked his head and peered at me with a
strange smile. "Do you know anything about why he left?" When I said I
didn't, Brian explained that Art came in the night before and turned in his
membership. I shrugged, mentioned that I had only met the man once, but he
seemed like a decent chap and it was too bad he wouldn't be around. I was
much more disappointed than I let on, to Brian or to myself.
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The hot water released what was left of my tension, and I was glad to be
rid of the salty coating I had acquired between the gym and the tub. As I
lathered, I thought of asking Art if he could spare time for dinner
sometime after a later workout. "Hey, Art..." I turned around to ask him,
and I found him facing me, several showers away, fully lathered. But now
his dick, which had been only partly erect before, was standing straight
out. Art gasped and turned away from me so fast he almost lost his footing.
"Yeah, um, what is it?", he stammered as he hurriedly rinsed the slippery
lather from his crotch. I inquired about dinner, Art made a nervous
postitive reply, and he ducked back out to the lockers. When he did, I
noticed that he took his clothes from a locker that wasn't in my row.
When I got home from the gym that night, I tried to do some work on the
computer but found myself distracted. Why should Art be so ashamed of a
silly erection? I got boners in the bath and shower all the time; I didn't
think anything of it, but I suppose it would be a little embarrassing in
front of someone else. No, I couldn't say I didn't think anything of it--I
was surprised at being a little titillated by the sight of a handsome,
muscular man with an erection. Pointed right at me, no less.
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I stepped into the tub as Art fiddled with controls. No sooner had I sunk
in than fingers of water started rushing over my body. Art showed me how to
move the jets around to massage sore muscles. I did, I thanked him with a
groan, and we settled in to chat and relax. The combination of the rushing,
hot water and the exercise made me feel drunk, and as we talked, I studied
the contours of Art's body. We talked about the economy, and I traced the
line from his chin to his shoulder, down the center of his chest...Art
squirmed in his seat a little, and I realized I wasn't being very careful
about where I stared. I quickly shifted my gaze to Art's face, and realized
that he was looking in my eyes the whole time. He knew I was studying him.
Ah, well. Looking like he did, he was probably used to it.
We talked a little more, I studied more discreetly, and soon Art
announced that he'd have to get home to his wife soon. I stood up, and felt
compelled to politely wait for Art. He looked up at me and seemed a little
rattled, then stood up very quickly and turned away from me. As he swung
around, I caught a glimpse of Art's semi-erect cock. He headed for the
showers while I stood and puzzled over that for a moment. Then I took off
for a shower of my own.
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Brian showed
me to the bike first, and that's when I realized that this wasn't going to
be like working out on the Sears KoreaCycle. This bike had a television in
front, headphones and a pulse rate monitor. As I pedaled, the forest path
scene on the TV kept pace, and the headphones murmured with rustling leaves
and bird calls. After what seemed like seconds, Brian's hand was on my
shoulder. I peeled off the headphones and followed him to the next station.
All of the equipment was similarly state-of-the-art, and before long, I had
exhausted myself.
Brian commended me on my performance (I'm sure he said that to all the
first-timers), gently reminded me that only regular visits can bring you
real fitness, and sent me off to the showers. My tight muscles ached
deliciously as I padded over the carpeted floor to my locker. When my
shorts came off, the air conditioning whirled around my steaming thighs and
crotch. I closed my eyes for a moment and leaned back, propping myself up
by the elbows on the wooden bench, drooping my legs over either side to let
the cool air circulate.
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I still wasn't tuned in to knowing what sexual pleasure was. I did find
myself dreaming, more than once, that Andy would ask me over to his house
after gym class. We'd go up to his room, close the door, and play strip
poker until we were both in our underwear. We'd make that last deal to show
all, and there he'd be, that pretty boy, showing a stiff dick even bigger
than mine. I attached no emotion to this dream, and didn't even make the
connection that it was a sex fantasy.
I squeezed my eyelids tight to bring myself back from my reverie. The
shimmering shower tiles came back into focus. I sighed, and headed with my
bag to my corner locker.
A few minutes later, I emerged in full battle dress, ready to get with
the program. The membership included a few hours with a trainer, and I had
one to myself. Brian was a nice enough guy, with biceps the diameter of my
skull, and he was patient and understanding. "I know you haven't worked out
before," he intoned, "so we'll start you off easy. You'll build some
endurance on the bike, the rower and the climber--use whatever's free, but
don't push yourself." I snickered to myself as I realized I was now paying
to use the same gear I sold in my driveway over the past year.
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We paid our dues, picked up locks for our lockers, and trundled off to
the locker room. What a layout! Sauna, whirlpool, big tiled showers...
Showers. I used to hate them in school. The rest of me developed late,
but parts of me, embarassing parts, were already full-sized by the time I
was 11 or 12. Other boys would point and laugh, or snap their towels at it.
Still others would timidly approach me after gym class and ask me over to
their houses. They'd cook up some pretense, some game, that would have us
undressing in front of each other. Too young to know better, I had quite
the trade in showing curious youngsters what grown-up privates looked like.
Boys with their little pinkies would stare in wide-eyed amazement at this
seemingly monstrous thing. It was in the same place as theirs, but surely I
must have some disease or error of birth that made it so big. It got bigger
when people looked at it, and I worried that I might injure myself when
blood filled it until it shined (as when other boys would touch it).
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Living in my hometown, you weren't a real man unless you wanted to be like
Andy. Strong, handsome, kind and brilliant, he was as perfect a specimen as
you could hope to find. Even self-avowed feminists, with no use for men of
any kind, swooned in Andy's presence. He was just worth it.
I had known him since high school, when he was the unlikely mix of
scholar and athlete. I was a late bloomer myself, more interested in
computers and the school paper than in doing laps or working out. So other
jocks had their fun at my expense, and I generally took it in stride. I
particularly remembered Andy because he came to my rescue one day. A mean-
spirited oaf decided to pound me because I didn't let him copy my mid-term
test (I only got an 85--he'd have done better to copy from Andy!). I had
already caught one in the face when Andy's voice boomed out from the school
steps. "Hey!" We both turned, and the bully swiftly averted his eyes and
skulked away. Andy looked at me and shook his head, as if to say, "sorry,
kid, some people are just assholes," and he walked back inside. That was as
close as I ever came to knowing Andy. No one bothered me again after that.
It was some years later--11, to be precise--that I finally started taking
better care of myself. Maybe it was hitting that magical three-oh, seeing
the obits of men buying it at 35 or 40 from heart disease. It was, for me,
time to shape up or risk shipping out. I tried the rower, then the climber,
then the skier, then the bike. Each time, I'd wind up holding a fitness
garage sale a few weeks after the purchase. Knowing my plight, a co-worker
offered to go halves with me on a buy one, get one free membership in a
local health club. This normally wouldn't have been my bag, but after
stepping on the scale that morning, I was ready to take another shot at
being in shape.
When I first stepped into the club, I was mightily impressed. Everything
gleamed, including the faces of the patrons, and the solid clinks and
thunks of metal-on-metal sounded like music to me. I was psyched. I had
heard rumors that fitness clubs were meat markets, but that wasn't going to
be the case here--the place was full, but there wasn't a woman in sight.
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