Gym Boys (8 page)

I covered his mouth with mine and shoved my tongue between his lips, tasting orange marmalade and wine when our tongues met. He slipped one hand between us, wrapped his fist around my cock and began tugging at it. I didn't want to come too soon, so I pushed his hand away.

Trevor ended our kiss by pulling away and turning his back. He grabbed the lube, twisted off the top and handed the tube to me. As I slathered a good bit of it up and down the length of my cock, Trevor bent over the bed, braced his knees against the mattress and thrust his ass up at me. I squeezed a good dollop of lube into his asscrack and then used my fingers to massage the tight pucker of his asshole. Soon it opened to one lube-slickened finger and I pistoned my finger in and out. When he seemed relaxed, I pulled my finger free and pressed the head of my cock against Trevor's asshole.

I don't know if he was quite ready, but I pressed forward anyhow, driving my slickened cock deep into him as he cried out. I drew back until only my cockhead remained inside him, and then drove forward again.

As I fucked the physical therapist, I held tight to one of his hips and reached around him with my free hand. After I wrapped my lube-slickened fist around his stiff cock, I began pumping up and down the length of his shaft, my hand not quite in rhythm with my hips.

The closer I came to orgasm, the faster I pumped into Trevor's ass and the faster my hand stroked his cock. He came first, firing a glob of cum onto the sheets and covering my fist with his sexual effluent.

I released my grip on his cock even though he was still coming, and grabbed his other hip. I slammed into him another dozen times, each thrust harder and faster than the one before it.

And then I came.

I came hard, emptying my balls inside his ass as I pressed myself tight against him. My heart beat wildly inside my chest and for a moment I worried that I had overexerted myself. Even as I thought that, I knew that I didn't care.

When I caught my breath and my cock finally stopped spasming in Trevor's ass, I pulled away and flopped onto the bed, barely missing the wet spot he'd created. He climbed into bed beside me.

“Think that would have broken the EKG?” I asked.

“I'm sure of it,” he said, out of breath. “It almost broke me.”

Trevor spent the night, and the next morning we fucked again. I expected him to leave after I prepared breakfast and we cleaned the dishes from the night before, but he had another idea.

“You're not going to find a gym if I leave you to your own devices,” he said, “so get dressed and come with me.”

I did as instructed and soon we were walking into a gym not far from the cardiopulmonary rehabilitation center, one where the men at the workout machines were serious about their workouts. The place smelled of sweat and testosterone and the men were dressed in sweats and sleeveless T-shirts. The only music came from the clanking of weights and the grunting of men lifting.

At Trevor's insistence, I joined the gym that day, and when we aren't working out together in my bedroom, we're working out together at the gym he made me join.

I'm now more buff than I've ever been, I've rebuffed the advances of several of the gym's other members and my cardiologist gets happier each time I have a checkup.

Surgery may have repaired my damaged heart, but my physical therapist repaired my broken heart.

JOCKSTRAPS
Oleander Plume

I
was a freshman in college when my addiction started.

Despite the fact that I loathed the game, I signed up to be equipment manager for the football team just to be near those heavenly boys. Tall and husky, with bulging muscles that stirred a hunger deep inside my balls. I loved watching them interact in the locker room after a game. Hard bodies drenched with sweat, emitting musk like wild beasts about to rut. They never noticed me hulking in the shadows, lost in wild fantasies. Being unseen had its advantages. I could ogle them in plain sight while they stood under the shower spray, naked and glorious, while the steam curled their hair. Each player was enticing in his own way, but one consumed my thoughts more than the others, a brooding hunk named Tyler Monroe.

In my eyes, Tyler was the finest male specimen that ever drew breath. Hairy all over, even his knuckles, like a sexy caveman. His piercing eyes never looked my way, and why would they? I was small framed and androgynous, he was masculine perfection. That sexy boy was the star of my fantasies; they played out like X-rated movies in my head. Tyler sprawled across the bench in the locker room while I worshipped his perfect body with my tongue. Tyler snaking one of those hairy fingers up my ass while I was bent over his lap and squirming against his thighs. I never expected any of my scenarios to come true, until one of them actually did.

It was a Tuesday afternoon. All the players had showered and left for the day, except Tyler. I was folding towels and stealing glances at him while he lathered up his delicious low-hangers. The boy had the most amazing testicles, big and meaty, packed into a baggy sac that almost reached mid-thigh. I wanted to rub my face on that sac, then bury my nose in his dense thatch of pubic hair.

“You like looking at my junk, fag?”

“No, I was checking to see if you were almost finished. I have clean towels.”

He shot a glare my way that made me skulk away in fear. Later, in the deserted locker room, he grabbed me from behind and shoved me into a corner.

“I've got a present for you, gay boy.”

One heavy arm pinned me in place while his free hand pressed a wad of fabric over my nose. The heavy scent of sweat permeated my senses as I breathed through his jockstrap, the same one that had cradled his perfect scrotum only moments before.

“Open your mouth, taste my jock.” I shook my head but he wouldn't let go. His body was pressed so tightly against mine; I could feel his bulge digging into my left buttcheek. “Open up.”

I did. The cotton blend was soft against my tongue and I could almost taste him. My dick twitched inside my shorts, and my mind was full of conflicting emotions. It felt strange to be so terrified, yet so turned on.

“Like that? Bet you wish my dick was in your mouth, instead.”

His hot breath brushed my ear, sending chills of lust all over my body. He grunted, then started dry-humping me. I turned slightly, so that the hard knot in his pants was hitting my asscrack dead center. Fuck, I wanted him inside. My tongue licked faster and I began to whimper.

“Yeah, eat that jock.”

Bump, bump, bump
. My dick crept out of the waistband of my shorts.

“Tastes good, doesn't it?”

Bump, bump, bump
. Two hairy digits shoved the jock deeper into my mouth. I opened wider, sucking fingers and cloth while my cock grew even harder. My balls were vibrating, actually vibrating.

“You fucker, you stupid little fucker.”

Bump, bump, bump
. He took his hand from my mouth, but I kept chewing on his jock. His fingers squeezed my hips while he pounded his dick against me.

“Fucker, little fucker.”

Bump, bump, bump
. To my complete and utter shock, he reached inside my shorts and found my sac. His fingers were gentle as they rolled my balls against each other in time with the motion of his pelvis. My whimpering changed to moaning when that same hand moved higher and those hairy fingers wrapped around my dick. Two strokes and my balls emptied. My body went rigid and my calves tightened as my heels rose off the floor.

“Stupid little fucker.”

Bump, bump, bump
. My legs went weak and I could barely stand, but I managed to keep upright while my semen dripped down his hand. He stopped bumping and ground against me instead, faster and faster, until I felt wetness on the small of my back where my shirt had ridden up.

“You made me come, little fucker.”

He kissed my neck while I cried like a baby.

“Shh, don't cry. I won't tell, I won't tell anyone.”

Tyler thought I was upset, when in actuality, I was the happiest little fucker in the universe and crying out of sheer euphoria. I let him think what he wanted, because I enjoyed the way he was trying to comfort me. He held me close while he tucked my spent dick back inside my shorts, wet tongue on the base of my neck leaving a trail of his guilt on my skin.

“You okay?”

I nodded, his jock still clamped between my teeth. He tried to take it back, but I bit down harder. He smirked and patted my cheek.

“Like that, huh? Want to keep it?”

“Uh-huh.”

Tyler smiled a genuine smile. His face was inches from mine, and I thought he was going to kiss me, but his expression changed, going from blissful to somber in a blink.

“This never happened.”

He shook his head, then gave me one last brooding glare before leaving me alone in the locker room. I wiped the semen off my back with his jock, then wrapped it in a towel and buried it in the bottom of my backpack before heading home. Once I was in the safety of my single dorm, I stripped naked and played with my dick while I replayed the scene over and over. When I inhaled, I could still smell him, as if the scent of his sweat had been tattooed inside my nostrils. The more I drew in his essence, the more I fell in love, not just with Tyler, but with what was to become my greatest addiction.

Jockstraps. I love the way they cradle a man's balls so lovingly while leaving his ass bare and open. I love the way they smell after an arduous workout. I love the way they feel when I wear them under my clothes. Buying them online from specialty catalogs is my favorite hobby, but the ones I find accidentally intrigue me the most. Two years ago, I took a management position at a fitness center. One day while inspecting the men's locker room, I found a jock that had been left behind. There it was, a tangled wad of fabric peeking out from under a bench, like a treasure for me to find. In the following months I found more; it's amazing how many men forget them. I have amassed quite a hoard that I keep stored in plastic bags to preserve the scent. Each man has his own unique odor, meant to be savored. One in particular is my prized possession. Tyler's jock. Even after six years, his redolence lingers.

My collection plays a part in my complex nightly ritual. First, I shower. While still damp, I pick a favorite and remove it from the plastic bag. After inhaling the scent for a while, I rub the pouch all over my skin, targeting my nipples and cock. Once I'm hard, the fabric is balled up and shoved into my greedy mouth. I stand with my face crammed into a corner, then furiously stroke myself to orgasm. Once a week, I change my routine. Saturday nights is reserved for Tyler, and I chew on his jock while I fuck myself with a large dildo, facedown on my bed. The red latex phallus was chosen specifically because the thick crown reminds me of Tyler's cock. I pretend he's the one fucking me, owning me, using me for his pleasure.

Sometimes I cry afterward, I don't know why. Maybe it's out of loneliness, or maybe it's something else, something deeper that I don't want to discover. I long to have a boyfriend, but I'm not out and meeting new people is hard for someone who is socially awkward. Once, I tried visiting a glory hole, but ran away in terror when I caught a glimpse of the rough clientele. So I live alone, and masturbate, that's my life. Until last week, when a new client joined the health club.

Tyler Monroe.

He still looked amazing. Toned body, like a hairy god. I watched him shower, staring in rapture as he turned those low-hangers frothy with soap.

“Billy Lewis. Still like perving on guys in the shower, huh?”

I shrugged, and tried to tear my eyes away from his cock, but I couldn't. “It's really great to see you, Tyler.”

He stroked his cock with a soapy hand. “You work here, huh? Thought you were going to be an engineer or something.”

My tongue poked my bottom lip, and I struggled to look him in the eyes. “I like working here, it's peaceful.”

“Peaceful? Isn't the pay crappy?” He reached between his legs and soaped up his asscrack, all the while staring at me. My balls started vibrating.

“I have a management position, so no, it's really not.”

Tyler grunted. “Good for you.” He smirked. “Little fucker.”

I opened my mouth to utter some random nonsense, but was interrupted when another patron requested clean towels. Later, I ventured back to check the showers, but he was gone. Disappointment jabbed me in the gut until I heard bare feet slapping on the tile behind me.

“Where can we be alone?” Tyler's voice whispered in my ear, deep and throaty, his towel-clad body inches from mine, stirring up memories and longing.

“Follow me,” I whispered back.

No one noticed as we slipped inside the storage room. My hands trembled as I locked the door, anticipating what might happen next. I hoped he wanted to give me the deep, hard fucking I craved. His hairy fingers dug into my shoulders when he shoved me against the wall.

“I think about that afternoon all the time, do you?” His eyes were wild, his voice desperate.

“Yeah, sometimes.”

He yanked my shirt over my head and tossed it aside. “The rest of the guys thought you looked like a girl, but I thought you were beautiful.”

His words rendered me speechless; I could only stand there, useless, while he undressed me. When he got to my jock, he grinned, then slid it slowly over my hips, kneeling down so he could work the straps over my shoes.

“I've never seen a pink jockstrap before.” He raised it to his face and inhaled. “It smells like you.” He pressed it into my hand. “Make me eat it.”

“What?”

“You heard me, rub it on my face, then make me eat it. Do it.” I shyly rubbed my jock over his nose and sexy lips, and he inhaled loudly. “You smell so fucking good.”

“I do?”

“Yeah.”

He closed his eyes and opened his mouth. Something broke loose inside me, and for the first time in years, I didn't feel like a freak.