A guy I’d nicknamed Stripes was on the floor doing some intense exercises that involved squatting over a machine and lifting an enormous weight a few inches up toward his chest. I assumed the machine had something to do with the impressive V-shape of his muscular back.
I called him Stripes because in the locker room he always seemed to be wearing a pair of striped boxer briefs. He was older; a little beyond forty, I’d guess. He had the kind of strong-featured, square face favored by the cartoonists who design superheroes. Most of his body was tight and well-defined by his frequent trips to the gym. He was there almost every time I came, so I figured he had to be more regular about it than I was.
My favorite part of his body was his ass. I’d seen it a few times in the shower, and it was smooth and soft, maybe even a little on the fat side. He probably hated it, but the contrast between the tight, obvious muscles he had everywhere else with the creamy softness of his buttocks got my attention. Sometimes it’s a man’s flaws that get me.
I’d been planning a solid workout for my arms and shoulders, but abandoned the routine in favor of stalking Stripes. Without regard to muscle group, I picked out a machine a few down from the one Stripes was working and began doing reps. He glanced at me a couple of times. It was casual enough that I wasn’t quite sure he’d noticed me gawking at him. Nor was I quite sure he hadn’t.
About the fifth time he glanced over, I was sure he’d noticed me. There was no way he couldn’t have. He was casual about it. Didn’t spend a lot of time looking back at me. But then, he folded up his sweat rag and headed toward the stairs leading to the locker room. Just as he turned into the stairwell, he looked over his shoulder to see if I was following him. And I damn well was.
In the locker room, I walked by Stripes on my way to take off my workout clothes. I put my combination into my lock and opened it. I tried to move as slowly as I could. Since I wanted Stripes to go into the shower first. Where he chose to shower would tell me what I thought I already knew. The showers at my gym were set up in two long rows facing each other. Straight guys normally took the first empty shower they came upon. Gay guys were pickier, choosing on the basis of privacy and the view offered, usually showering all the way at the end.
I slipped out of my gym clothes and dug through my duffel for my towel. I wrapped it around me. Carefully, I put my gym things into my bag and looked up to see that Stripes had already headed off to the showers. Perfect.
Walking into the showers, I headed toward the end. Stripes was in the very last shower on the left. I took the second to last shower on the opposite side and had a perfect view of him. Not the kind of guy to masturbate in the shower at the gym, I wasn’t planning to do anything but get a good look at his assets. Being a voyeur rather than a masturbator was a subtle distinction, I suppose, but one that mattered to me. I also couldn’t afford to lose my membership to the gym. I didn’t have four hundred dollars to join a new one.
Stripes soaped up his well-defined chest. A layer of hair covered his pectorals, some of it gray -- which might be a turn off for some, but I liked it. A tingle began in my prick, and I turned away for a moment. When I thought it was safe, I turned back. He was staring right at me, lathering his cock.
Against my will, my dick sprang to life. I tried to cover it with one hand, but that just encouraged it to grow. I looked over at Stripes. He had a smile on his face. My heart was racing and my breath had slowed down. I gave in and began to stroke myself -- so much for voyeurism.
Completely hard, Stripes pumped his cock half a dozen times. Then he turned and showed me his ass. It was as deliciously fat as I’d remembered. Pumping some soap out of the dispenser, he began to clean his pucker hole. I couldn’t believe he was so aggressively showing it to me. He was practically sticking his ass out of the stall while he fingered it.
I caressed myself slowly, telling myself to take it easy. Knowing that if I went too fast I’d pop, and I was having a good time, I wanted it to go on for at least a little while. Suddenly, a guy I didn’t recognize walked by and got into the stall next to me, the stall directly across from Stripes. I cleared my throat, trying to warn Stripes, and turned so the guy couldn’t see my erection.
Scolding myself for my stupidity, I scrubbed my arms far more than necessary while I waited for my erection to ease down a bit. It was one thing to be semi-hard and pretend your flaccid state was always that big, but a full on stiffy tickling your navel couldn’t be passed off as anything but what it was. I just knew I was going to get kicked out of this gym forever.
Between the next stall and mine was a sheet of frosted glass. I could see the outline of the New Guy, and though fuzzy, it was appealing. The glimpse I’d gotten told me he was in his twenties, a well-built
