Gym Boys (4 page)

“Come on in,” Nick said.

Cody hesitated. Then he followed Nick inside, out of the sunshine. Once the door closed, Cody seized hold of Nick's face in both hands. Nick froze. Unable to look away, Nick again greeted Cody's eyes directly.

“The ropes,” Cody said.

And then he pressed his mouth awkwardly against Nick's. Nick's arms shot out, his paralysis broken. The kiss ended.

“Dude, if you're done with me…”

Nick found his voice and said, “I'm not.”

“ I'm so sorry.”

“Fuck, dude, don't be.”

Nick moved forward and reestablished the kiss. This time, their mouths locked. Lips softened. Tongues joined in. The sun-warmed cotton of Cody's shirt brushed Nick's bare chest, unleashing concentric waves that aroused his nipples into hard points. Boldly, he reached lower.

A dream
, thought Nick. He was still in his bedroom, his dick hanging out, lubed with spit. Only the heat radiating up from Cody's cock into his fingertips was real, not fantasy.

“Nick,” growled Cody during a breath for breath, “I haven't stopped thinking about you since we met.”

Nick nodded. “Me, too. If you knew how much, how badly, I've wanted you.”

Cody flashed a smile. “I can guess.”

Nick groped the gym god's bulge. Cody was hard, too, and pressed into his palm.

“Oh, fuck, dude—we gonna do this?” asked Cody.

“We got more than enough time before the concert,” said Nick. “Fuck those ropes.”

He worked a finger into Cody's belt and guided the gym god into the bedroom.

MEANS TO AN END
Rob Rosen

N
ight janitor. It's what my world was reduced to. Times, after all, were hard, but the men at the gym were even harder. So, yeah, my McJob had its perks. Best of all, I got there just before the place closed, so everyone that remained was in the locker room: getting dressed, getting in the shower or out, toweling off, and any other assorted activities that involved them being naked and me ogling while presumably cleaning.

As for me, well now, me they ignored. Fine, I could live with that. It made it easier, after all, to sidle by unnoticed and stare at their broad expanses of chests and backs, at muscle-dense thighs and perfect asses, at dangling balls and swaying pricks. It was a veritable sea of naked flesh, all mine to swim in, even if my backstroke was done by my eyes alone.

Still, to be honest, this was better than Internet porn. This was up close and personal, dozens upon dozens of men for my mind to catalog, images to use at a later time to jack off to. Heck, once everyone was gone, I could do all the jacking I liked. And—guess what?—I liked. Go figure.

Plus, lots of them left their dirty clothes behind, sweat-soaked T-shirts to use the next day, towels too, and socks. Though my favorite, by far, were the jockstraps and boxers and white cotton briefs, all smelling of musk and sweat and sex: a heady aroma to be sure.

And with me naked, my mop off to the side, I could sniff and stroke to my heart's content, remembering the man who'd worn the clothes just a short while earlier, my come building all the while, eyelids fluttering, balls bouncing on the wooden bench before I shot and shot and shot some more. Bitter irony: then I had to clean it all up. No biggie; I could live with that, could spew from night to night, a different pair of shorts wedged beneath my nose each time. Honestly, there were worse things.

Though by far the worst was the fact that, though I knew these men intimately, knew their bodies, their dicks and asses, their scents, I could never have any of them firsthand. Because while they were leaving, to get on with their lives, I was left at the gym, hours later, cleaning and scrubbing and mopping and dusting—that is when I wasn't coming.

There was this one guy who really set my bells and whistles off. He worked out a few nights a week, same schedule, always naked at the exact same time in front of the exact same locker. Now he, he was my sole regret, the one I wish I could've met, could've talked to besides the barely muttered, “Hey,” as me and my mop bucket quickly slid past.

Dude was about the same age as me, late twenties, maybe early thirties at most. He was shorter than me by an inch or two, but broader by far, packed with muscle, all of it covered in a fine, brown down. Oh, but it was those eyes of his, eyes so blue you could just about take a dip in them; now they were hard to ignore, hard to walk by.

They were, in fact, hard not to get hard over.

His locker was the one I usually visited first, once everyone was gone and I was left to my own devices. More often than not, he never locked it. After all, there was nothing in there worth stealing. Not unless you had a hankering for sweaty, used tighty-whities, which, of course, I always did.

Got to be all I had to do was look at that locker and my cock was suddenly hard as granite. Then I'd strip naked, fifth limb of a prick swaying as I drew nearer, heartbeat double-timing as my hand reached for the handle. Up it went, the metal clicking. It was the only other sound in the locker room besides my heavy panting.

Same thing happened on that one fateful night, me naked, the locker opened, my eyes glued, locked and stapled to the contents.
“Fuuuck,”
I rasped, hand on the prize: white briefs, still moist, still smelling of his sweaty cock and balls, a few strands of curly black pubes left as a consolation prize for yours truly.

Down I sat, the wood cold and smooth on my ass. His underwear was gripped tight in my hand, stuffed beneath my nose, cotton brushing my lips. I took a deep whiff, my cock throbbing in my grasp, precome seeping from the tip, balls already tight. Dude didn't smell like all the rest of them. There was something else there, something exotic, like a fruit from a faraway land you've only ever seen in a magazine. And damn if I didn't want to pick that fucking fruit, to take a mighty chomp out of it.

Instead, I settled for its scent, wisps of it falling around my head, making me dizzy as I jacked furiously away at my prick. I took another deep draw from the undies, another, another, the come welling up with each sharp inhale. At last, with a feral haze of his magnificent stink swirling around my head, my cock erupted, a mighty stream of spunk splitting the air before raining down in great, white gobs of pearlescent spooge before landing in muffled splats on the tiled floor below.

I grinned at the mess I'd made as I sat there trying to catch my breath. “Clean up in aisle two,” I rasped. I then watched my cock shrink, a last drop of come dripping to the floor, before I stood up and placed his underwear back in the locker.

It was then that I spotted it. “A ring,” I whispered. “He must've put it in here and forgotten about it.” I carefully removed it. Thing was all gold, expensive looking. I started to put it back, then had second thoughts. Nope, I wasn't stealing it. Times were hard, but not that hard. Instead, I was going to use it: a means to an end.

See, all kinds of things got lost in that gym, all kinds of things misplaced, dropped, left behind. In fact, we had ourselves quite a packed lost and found hamper and a crammed bulletin board with notes from people looking for any number of items they thought they had lost while working out.

I smiled as I pocketed the ring. It was safe, for the time being. Safe, that is, until he went looking for it.

The note appeared two days later. The ring was described to a T. Thing even had a reward, but I had other things besides money on my mind. He left an email address on the poster. I contacted him as soon as the gym closed and told him I thought I might've found his treasured ring and to drop by the gym later that night to pick it up. I even sent him a pic of it. Suffice to say, he was eager to connect with me. Suffice to say, that made two of us.

A couple of hours later, the night sky dark, I heard a knock on the front door. My heart skipped a beat, belly suddenly in knots, a trickle of sweat beelining down my face. I walked to the door and peeked through the slats. I grinned when I recognized him.
Bingo
.

I unlocked the door and let him inside. “Um, hi,” I managed to squeak out.

He smiled and nodded. “Thank god you found it. Where was it?”

I closed the door behind us, my pants tight around the crotch all of a sudden. “Beneath the lockers. Must've rolled there,” I told him. “I was sweeping when it came rolling back out.” I held my hand out. “Ben.”

His nod returned, the smile a tad brighter. “Paul. And thanks,” he said, his hand in mine, flesh on glorious flesh, my cock swelling even more upon impact. “Can I, um, have it back now?”

I coughed. “Oh, uh, sure,” I sputtered. “Follow me.”

Through the gym we strode, quickly arriving in the locker room. Just him and me. Alone. I could actually hear my heart pounding now, my dick ready to explode. Here he finally was. And then we were in the manager's office and I was handing him the ring.

He breathed a sigh of relief. “It was my dad's. I would've killed myself if I lost it.” And, yes, I almost felt guilty. Almost. But there he was, and there were those eyes of his, sparkling like sapphires beneath the fluorescent lights, and guilt was the last thing I was feeling. He then reached inside and removed his wallet. Out came three crisp twenties. “Here. Please, take it. And thanks again.”

I shook my head. “That's not what I want.”

He paused. Perhaps he caught the edge to my voice. Perhaps it was my odd choice of wording, the hidden implication that I did in fact want something from him. Our eyes suddenly locked, all that blue blocking out everything else. For a moment he paused yet again, until the smile returned to his handsome face.

“Weird being here at night,” he said. Ironically, for me, it was only weird not being there at night. “I mean, it's so quiet now. Empty. No lockers slamming, no keys jangling, no, um, naked dudes.”

It was the way he said that last part that made me gulp. “Not right now, no,” I said, my voice thick, raspy.

A flush of red worked its way up his neck. He turned and walked the twenty feet or so to the rear of the locker room. Back there was the sauna, the hot tub, the steam room. “You, uh, you use these once everyone is gone?”

I shrugged. “Sometimes,” I replied, now standing just a couple of inches away from him. “Mostly, I just clean up and try to get the hell out of here.” It was now my turn to pause, a nervousness pushing through me that made my legs shake. “You…you want to go in?”

He turned, his face even closer now, close enough to smell his sweet breath. “In the hot tub?” He looked from me to it and back again. “Has been a long day. Might be nice.”

My smile returned. And, no, I didn't give him a chance to change his mind. Meaning, I kicked my sneakers off and shimmied out of my work duds before he could even untie his shoelaces, leaving me in my socks and boxers, which were now tenting something fierce.

“Long day,” I replied. “Um, yeah.”

He eyed me, taking me in as he removed his shoes. “You work out,” he made note, pointing north to south.

I nodded. “Well, I do have easy access.” I pointed at him, south to north, in return as his northern regions started coming into view, dense pecs revealed, a forest of chest chair. “Obviously, so do you.”

His shirt was laid over a nearby bench, his belt buckle unbuckled, zipper slipped down. My gulp returned. “I try to.” His slacks slid off, leaving him in dress socks and tenting briefs—briefs, in fact, that I knew all too well, said pair registering in my mind's eye almost immediately, the intoxicating scent remembered, my cock pulsing at the mere thought.

“It shows,” I said, voice fairly trembling.

He stared at my crotch, then down at his own. “Seems like lots of things are showing.”

I nodded. “Or are about to.”

I slid out of my socks. He slid out of his. Hands shaking, heart jackrabbit fast, I pushed off my boxers, my cock swaying to and fro as I righted myself. He stared at me and then mimicked the maneuver. I'd only ever seen his cock flaccid before. Erect, it was a thing of beauty, short and thick with a fat mushroom head, balls so low they were practically in their own zip code.

“This the reward you wanted, Ben?” he asked as he slowly stepped into the hot tub, legs submerged, cock horizontal above the swirling, churning water.

I stared down at him and then joined him inside, sloshing about as I sat on one of the benches. “Better than cash, no?”

He sat on a bench across from me, his feet suddenly playing with mine. “No,” he replied. “I mean, um, yes, better.” His big toe pressed against my big toe.
“Much
better.”

I stared across the water at him, his eyes sparkling now, bluer by far than the water we were submerged in. He grinned as he pushed himself off the bench. I grinned in return as I spread my legs wide, his body quickly kneeling in front of my body as he gazed up and I gazed down. At long last our lips met, which is about as close to landing on a cloud as a guy could get.

“Finally,” I groaned.

He pulled his lips an inch away. “Finally?” He chuckled. His hand reached up and grabbed my floating prick. He gave it a squeeze, and yet another groan pushed up from my lungs. “You, uh, you wanted to do this before tonight?”

I nodded. “Every Monday, Wednesday and Friday at a quarter after seven.”

He squinted his eyes shut and was clearly picturing what he was usually doing at those specific times. “That's when I'm done working out, when I'm changing to go back home. You noticed me then?”

And still I nodded. “Hard, no pun intended, not to notice.”

He didn't seem to mind my admission. In fact, he was kissing me again a moment later, his hard body pressed into mine, our cocks grinding together. When he at last pulled slightly away, he asked, “Just out of curiosity, Ben, what else did you fantasize about doing with me?”

“You, um, you really want to know that?” My heart raced yet again, fast enough to post a fairly decent time at the Indy 500.