Gym Boys (23 page)

“Cool,” I managed to say. “Thanks.”

My head was already speeding like a freight train as I changed from jeans and boots to sweats and sneaks. Fuck, this guy's biceps were bigger than my head. How the hell did he get arms like that? I'd bet his cock was just as thick. Damn. He hadn't even said his name.
Fuck me hard, please, Sir. And by the way what's your name, Sir?
ran through my brain and down to my dick.

My nerves were live wires as I looked around for the hunk with no name. He was in the ring, working mitts with a young kid, couldn't have been more than ten years old. The round had just started, so I stood near the ropes and watched. I didn't really know what was going on, and I didn't really care. I just wanted to watch this hot guy move around the ring.

He was easy on the kid but worked him hard enough to sweat some. The buzzer warned thirty seconds to go, and the kid barely made it to the one-minute rest. They touched mitt to glove, stepped between the ropes and out of the ring.

“Hey, Phil, got your wraps?”

I nodded and followed him over to a corner that was quiet, compared to the rest of the place.

“Okay. First thing is to unroll and find the thumb hook.”

“Why is it so long?” I asked, surprised by how much it unwound.

“Because you're going to need all the knuckle protection you can get. Now grab it and wrap it around and over the back of your hand like this.”

Already I was confused and frustrated. Wrap this here, and then around there, and through that and back around here again. And do the same thing only opposite for your other hand. Dude, you gotta be kiddin' me.

“Can you slow down there ah…what's your name again?”

“Jackson. Jackson's my name.”

“Glad to meet you, Jackson. So how'd you get biceps like that?” I asked as I unwrapped and rewrapped my right hand three times.

“Fried chicken.”

“What? No, seriously. How'd you get your arms so big? I've always wanted huge biceps, but I can't ever make it happen.”

“Fried chicken,” he said again, and laughed.

Yeah, that's Jackson for you, always joking. But only half joking, 'cause when he's not training for a fight, he's sitting on the edge of the ring knocking back Mickey Dee's burgers and fries for lunch. Every day.

I'm happy for the invite, especially since I don't know the guys as much as I'd like to. It's only been six months since I joined. Six months, and I still don't have a clue how to throw a half-ass jab, much less a decent one.

I am getting better on the speed bag though. My first time on it I hit it so hard I popped the thing. That's how I got the name Freak tagged on me. They took a liking to me right then and there. They rank on you all the time, if they like you. I kinda figured that I'd be one of the boys eventually, especially with Jackson yelling out “Freak” whenever I walk in the place, and the whole time I'm there too. He's yelling out “Freak” and then laughing, making sure everybody hears him above the noise and hip-hop tunes.

I haven't even mentioned TJ yet. He's the other trainer that gets me hard. Totally the opposite of Jackson. More on the quiet side, he doesn't like loads of attention. For some reason, just about everything anybody says to him makes him blush. I'm always real careful about not getting caught looking at his package. Not sure if he'd just blush or punch me out. Probably both. Hard as I try not to, I end up staring right at it, looking and drooling and hoping that someday soon he'll take me up the ass.

He's always asking me what I'm doing over the weekend. He's single and a little lonely, like me. His fiancée broke up with him after he had another run in with the law.

Both he and Jackson have that in common—spending more than a night or two in the jailhouse. Jackson did a couple of years for a drug deal. TJ doesn't ever say what he was in for, and I figure it makes sense not to be asking him about it.

“What are you up to, Phil?” TJ comes walking over to me during a minute rest. “Anything good going on?”

“Yeah, I'm going to a party tomorrow night,” I say.

“A birthday party?”

“Nope, this is no birthday party. It's a different kind of party. Maybe you'd be interested in going…ah, well…maybe…not.” Holy fuck, what the hell am I doing inviting him to Leather Night? Am I crazy?

“Knowing you, Phil, it's got to be something freaky,” TJ says.

The buzzer goes off, and I laugh as the place explodes with noise again. I get into stance for my next punch, then cock my head toward him.

“It takes one to know one TJ.” I smirk, then throw three right hooks in a row. His face turns red and he walks off toward the ring. I know he's gonna be after me to do mitts with him now.

He finishes three rounds with a middle-aged guy, who's probably just a couple years younger than me and in better shape. Then he comes looking for me, and I'm doing my best to hide behind one of the heavy bags.

“Phil!” TJ yells in my direction. “Let's go, you're up next.”

Damn it, why didn't I leave before now? I already did three rounds on the speed bag, five rounds on the heavy bag, plus abs, leg work and some shadowboxing. I'm beat and ready to head home.

“Nah, thanks but no thanks, TJ. I'm done for the day.”

I prefer doing mitts with him, instead of Jackson. TJ will work with you. He knows just how far he can push you, and takes you just past that. Jackson flat-out pushes you over a cliff and laughs the whole time he's doing it.

“Phil! Let's go!”

Fuck. Ring time for me is like being worked over with a cat-o'-nine-tails. I fucking hate it while it's happening, but damn, it sure feels good when it's over.

“All right, all right already, give me a second here.” I walk over to the ring, hop up and awkwardly slide through the ropes. I run my gloved hand across my forehead and wipe away sweat that's headed straight for my eyes.

“Ready? Remember, put your whole body into it. Don't just punch out from your waist, follow it through with your shoulder, back and legs. Okay?”

I shake my head yes, and place my hands and feet. TJ always starts out with a straight jab, which is the hardest throw for me. Then he calls out punch combos: one-two-five, two-four-two, three-four-one. And just like always, I get pissed off 'cause I don't know which hand to throw and when. Why can't I remember that one is a straight left, two is a right hook and three is a left hook? TJ tells me to calm down, then slows the pace enough so I can think about what I'm doing. I'm finally getting my combos worked out when the warning buzzer goes off. Fuck. I know for sure what combo TJ wants next. Really fast four-fives. Do you have an idea how long thirty seconds is, throwing nothing but four-fives?

“Go another round?” TJ asks as the one-minute rest starts.

“Yeah, sure,” I say, breathing heavy.

Little over two minutes into the next round, I'm toast. Got rubber for arms, and I can't catch my breath. I stop, then double over, trying to force air down my lungs.

“You're not breathing right,” TJ says. “Throw your punch breathing out, then right away breathe
in
, not out again. You're holding your breath. Come on, let's go. You got thirty seconds left on the clock.”

I'm not moving. I'm just sucking down air.

“Phil, don't make me do mouth to mouth on you.”

Still bent over, I turn my head and look up at him.

“Yeah, you wish,” I say, raising my eyebrows and laughing between gulps of air. There's just no way I can do another round, and TJ doesn't even ask. He does throw some encouraging words my way, which I thank him for, and we touch mitt to glove. I push on the rope and bend down. I swing my leg over the rope, trying to climb out of the ring. TJ opens the ropes wider for me, and I'm moving through when I plant face-first into TJ's crotch. It happens so fast, and is over so fast, I think maybe I just imagined it. It did happen though, 'cause just then he'd moved in close enough for me get a good eyeful, and a good whiff too. I sucked in his sweaty balls smell; it was just one gulp of air, but it was enough to get to me.

He doesn't say anything, and I don't either. I head off to change, wondering what's going on with TJ. Maybe I really will get pounded by him. I'm getting hard, and taking off my sweats doesn't help any. I can't stop from giving my cock a couple of good spanks, then hurry up getting dressed. I already know I'm jerking off as soon as I get home.

I usually say goodbye before I leave, so I walk out of the changing room to find TJ and Jackson. They're hanging out right around the corner, and I just about crash into them.

“We're thinking of closing early tonight. John's not here, so he won't know anything different anyway,” TJ says. “Give us half an hour tops and we'll head over to the Happy Swallow for a couple of beers.”

“Ah…sure, why not, I guess can hang out for a couple of hours tonight. I'll wait for you guys up front.”

Holy fuck. First a face full of TJ, then a beer invite. Today sure went from shitty to awesome real fast. I've been here before when they closed early because the owner had gone home. But I've never been asked to stick around afterward.

I'm ducking and punching my reflection in the front-desk window, trying to steady my nerves. TJ is laughing in the back while Jackson is yelling about something, then TJ stops laughing and yells back at Jackson. I can't hear what all the hollering is about, but it sounds bad. I'm thinking what the fuck, I'm sitting here waiting for these two and they start a fight. Should I just leave or go back there? And do what? Break up a fight between a pro and semipro boxer? Yeah, right.

The shouting is still going on, so I decide to head home. I shove the crash bar and bang my head on the damn door. It's not opening. I shove it harder thinking it's just stuck, and still nothing. Are you shittin' me, man? I'm locked inside the gym. Great. I rattle the door some, expecting nothing and getting it. Now what? Only thing I can do is find TJ and Jackson.

I walk back to the ring room. Most of the lights are off, and everything's kind of spooky. The yelling isn't as loud now; I'm hoping they've calmed down enough that we can finally go for that beer.

“Hey guys, what's up? Can we go get a beer now? Or at least unlock the door so I can get out of here?”

“You ain't going nowhere, Freak.” I'm hearing Jackson, but I'm not seeing him in the low light.

“Hey, Jackson! What the fuck is going on, man? Why you two yelling?”

“We're not yelling, we're just having loud conversation…about you, Freakazoid.”

“What about me?”

“Well see, Jackson wants to do you first,” TJ says. “And I think I should do you first.”

“Do…do…what…first?” I'm trying not to stammer while I damn near shit my pants and get a hard-on all at the same time.

“Oh yeah, like you don't know what TJ means,” Jackson says. “TJ, let's show the Freak here what you yelling about.”

The lights come on; a hand grabs me by the back of my neck, and shoves me to the floor. “So Freak, how many push-ups can you really do?” TJ asks.

I scramble into position and start pumping them out fast. Jackson's got his foot hovering above my ass and pushes me down whenever I break form. I don't know how many I'm doing, but my arms are shaking real bad and I'm thinking they're going to give out soon.

“Working hard are ya, Phil? It's about time you did,” Jackson says, pushing me to the floor and keeping me there with his foot. I'm crumpled up in a heap, my arms still quivering. I tell myself to just go with this; don't think about it, just go along for the ride.

“Don't you think so, Freak?” Jackson says, real loud this time.

“You think we don't see you hiding in the bag corner, but we do,” Jackson says.

“I see you all the time hiding back there.”

“Now get up!” Jackson grabs the back of my belt and pulls me up to my feet. He's still got a good hold on me when he reaches around the front and unbuckles my belt. TJ steps in and pulls my jeans and boxers down to my knees. Then they both have a good laugh 'cause it's as plain as day that I'm enjoying all this.

“Will ya look at that…what you got going on here, Mr. Freaky Deaky?” Jackson says, laughing.

I feel heat in my face, and I know I'm blushing. TJ laughs and his face turns beet red too. Maybe it's my imagination, but his sweats seem to be bulging out more than usual.

“It's time we see just how much you got, Freak.” Jackson tugs at my T-shirt. I lift my arms up and he pulls my shirt off. “TJ, help him out of his pants there.” I'm pushed down to the floor, and TJ pulls off my boots and my jeans. Now I got a boner, and I'm naked too. All I can think is that I hope they plow my ass good. I want it so bad it hurts.

TJ picks up a pair of wraps, and roughly tapes up my hands. Keeping his eyes locked on mine, he pulls me up into the ring, where Jackson is waiting.

“You're bragging about fighting at Golden Gloves next year. By then you might get lucky and not get killed in the first round,” Jackson says. “You're lazy. You're out of shape. You have no discipline. You can work a lot harder than you do, and starting right now that's what you're gonna do.”

I'm in the center of the ring, following orders; round after round of jumping jacks, crunches, running in place, side-step running, medicine ball work. Over to the speed bag, back into the ring. Two rounds of foot work, then over to the double-end bag for three rounds. I'm worn out, I'm crashing and my dick is going soft.

“Please guys. Can we stop now? Please?”

“You stop when we say you stop,” Jackson says. “Next three rounds you're doing inchworm.”

I fucking hate doing the inchworm. But sticking my ass in the air in front of TJ and Jackson is hot as hell. When I bend over, Jackson takes a swipe at my ass with a doubled-up jump rope. The sting brings up more heat, and beads of sweat drop to the floor. My dick gets hard again.