When I was in my early thirties, I decided to join a gym. I had recently broken up with my longtime girlfriend and thought that I needed to trim up a little bit. Aware that I most likely was going to be targeting women younger than myself, I felt like I needed to look my best.
I took a tour of a local gym one afternoon. It was in a very large, two-story building with ample parking out front. If I recall correctly, it used to be a furniture store. The bottom floor of the building was now three separate lots. The largest of the three was unoccupied, while the smaller two had a tax business and a print shop. The entire second floor was the gym.
The entrance to the gym was well-marked. Inside, there was a wide hallway that led to an escalator. Once I arrived at the top of the escalator, I was deposited in the middle of a moderately busy gym. As I looked around to figure out where to go, one of the salespeople/trainers could smell “fresh blood” and hurried to my aid.
He gave me a quick tour of the facilities. The equipment looked like it was all fairly new and there was a lot of it. I managed to talk the salesman down to a six-month contract, even though he claimed that he was going to get in trouble with his manager. I was given a key card so that I could enter the front door during hours when there wasn’t staff working. Apparently, they just asked for you to display the card at the desk during normal business hours.
I returned the following day after work with my gym bag in hand. Unfortunately, it was really busy and despite the abundance of equipment, I still had to wait for machines to be freed up. Over the next couple of days, that seemed to be a common occurrence.
After deciding that I didn’t want to fight the crowd, I adjusted my schedule and went a few hours later. It was a slight inconvenience since I passed the gym on my way home from work, but it was a better option than waiting in line.
There were far fewer people in the gym at that time, and the staff had all gone home for the day. About ten guys in their twenties were working out on the weight machines, and another six were scattered around the rest of the gym. That left the vast majority of equipment unoccupied, which was what I was hoping for.
It also wasn’t nearly as loud inside. There was generic music being played that was just loud enough to “soften” some of the clanging and banging going on. Other than when the “meatheads” got revved up, it was reasonably quiet for a gym. I imagine that all of the noise being produced when the gym was busy, was the reason that the space underneath it was vacant.
It was nice that the gym was located on the second floor because there was a nice open view of the busy street out front. That gave me something to look at as I jogged.
I locked into roughly the same time frame for my workouts, at that point. I was a few days into my routine, although I had skipped one day, when something unusual happened.
An extremely effeminate guy approached the machine in front of me. I had him pegged as being in his mid-twenties. He had pale skin and messy-looking hair that was long on top. To be quite honest, he didn’t really seem like the “workout type.” He loaded himself into a treadmill and started it up at a slow jogging speed. His arms were extended to each side as he ran and his hands flapped up and down as if he was speeding down a runway and nearing takeoff.
It was quite a sight to watch, and he quickly caught everybody’s attention. He wore a tight, white tank top as well as a pair of short, snug, bright pink shorts that revealed the outline of a black jockstrap underneath. With a modest, but soft, physique and a rather plump backside, he didn’t seem to be exceptionally fit.
He may have lasted for five minutes before he turned the machine off and walked away. Curious about whether he was already done with his workout, I turned around in time to watch him head back to the locker room. I finished my workout and by that time, most of the gym had cleared out.
As I entered the locker room, there was a lot of commotion. I had learned a long time ago to mind my own business not only in the gym but especially in the locker room. Still, I was quite curious about what was going on over on the other side of the room. I casually glanced over several times, but all that I could see was the aforementioned “meatheads” gathered together while shouting and carrying on.
After several sneaky peeks, I realized what was actually going on, particularly after I heard an effeminate voice call out, “Give it to me harder!”
It became obvious that the gentleman on the treadmill was merely advertising his presence, before making himself available in the locker room.
Suddenly, all of the previous sounds made complete sense. The boys were cheering one another on as they each took a turn with their very willing and vocal "bottom." I heard one man growl animalistically and then bark, “Huh, huh, huh!” in descending pace and volume. Then, seconds later, there was a fast, hard, slapping sound as the next participant took over.
I continued to look back periodically, not sure if they had even realized, or cared, that I was there. As I sat on the bench, I found myself getting increasingly aroused. Although I had some curiosity about other men in my late teens, it was something that I didn’t really think about often, anymore. I mostly just chalked it up to teenage hormones and the desire to explore sex in whatever way I could.
The crowd was huddled around the farthest shower stall from me. If I were to shower, I would have to approach them in my aroused state. I briefly considered joining in, as well, but I wasn’t sure if I would be welcome. Besides, I was pretty confident that there wasn’t much condom use in that cluster and didn’t feel brave enough to trade fluids with everybody.
So, I just put on my street clothes and headed out. I took one last peek as I left. The thought of spying through the cracked door even popped into my head, but I feared being caught and getting the crap beat out of me.
The next few days, I couldn’t get that scene out of my head. I was convinced that most, if not all, of the “tops” were not gay, they were just opportunistic. I regretted not joining in, or at least getting a closer look. It was obvious that everybody was enjoying themselves.
I hit the gym every single day after that night, hoping to find something crazy going on. The weightlifting jocks would show up a couple of times a week, but I didn’t see the lad with the muscle fetish or anyone else matching his description. I even stretched my workouts out longer, thinking that I may have just been mistiming my arrival.
One particularly quiet day after I finished my workout, I returned to the locker room to discover lots of moaning. I looked around to find the same horny, young man standing just inside of the last shower stall. Although he was facing me, it was obvious that he had stuck a suction-cupped dildo against the wall and was backing into it rhythmically. He was wearing the same black jockstrap that I saw the last time he was at the gym and nothing else. I could feel his eyes boring into me as he called out, “Come fuck me, Daddy!”
Somehow, I was even more nervous and surprised than I was the first time. I had never expected him to be waiting there for someone to arrive and have their way with him. In my state of shock, I didn’t respond to him and just walked to my locker.