From: librpj@emory.edu (Richard Jasper)
Subject: Gym fantasy 1
Date: 6 Dec 93 21:57:21 GMT
Organization: Emory University, Atlanta, GA

I saw him eyeing me from across the gym, looking in the mirrow as I
walked from the locker room over to the leg press machine.

"Nice," I thought, admiring the his height, a little more than mine
I guessed, and leanness. He was doing triceps pushdowns. "Yes, very
nice." They weren't as large as mine, not surprisingly, but they
were lean and well-defined. 

I had just finished doing shoulders and lats and I looked
*w*i*d*e*. At 5'10 1/2 and 190 lbs., there is still a lot of work I
need to do but that day I was well aware that there were few people
in the gym my height who were as wide as I was. He noticed.

"And he's Asian, too," I thought. "Yummy! Don't see too many here
in Midtown Atlanta."

I started piling the plates on the leg press machine, six 45 lb.
weights on each end. Total: 540 lbs. In the mirror, I saw his eyes
widen, so his grip on the triceps bar slip slightly. He was
impressed, I could tell.

I cranked out ten solid reps, sweating and grunting by the time
they were done. I looked up and saw that he had moved to the leg
curl machine--directly behind my station.

"Not exactly a logical transition," I thought, "unless there is a
different motivating factor at play..."

I smiled as I walked past on my way to the water fountain, then
stopped to say "hi" on the way back.

"My productivity just ain't what it ought to be on Monday morning,"
I offered by way of introduction.

He gave me a startled glance. "Jesus, I'd hate to see you on
Friday," he said, nodding toward the leg press machine. "That much
weight would get *my* attention on a Monday morning."

I laughed.

"Well, yes," I agreed. "It is a bit much. I neglected my legs for
years and now I'm really into it. Working legs really turns me on
these days."

He gurgled slightly, not quite sure whether to respond...

I finished the leg presses and he finished his leg curls.

"Want to do some trap work?" I asked.

He looked at me skeptically.

"Well, I doubt I could handle the same poundages you use," he
began, tentatively.

"No, that's where you're wrong. I don't go really heavy like I do
on legs and, besides, I've already done shoulders. I'm going to do
curls and upright rows."

We did three sets of each, he doing about 20 lbs. less than I on
each exercise.

"See what I mean?" I asked after the first set. I could tell he was
pleased.

When we finished we headed toward the locker room, I shrugging my
massive shoulders.

"Dammit all," I said, "these traps are sore as hell. I guess I
really bombed them."

He grinned. "Then you've picked the perfect workout partner," he
said. "I am *very* good at massage."

"Great!" I replied. "Then maybe you can massage them before we hit
the showers?"

We stood in front of the mirror. I crossed my arms across my waist
and removed the t-shirt in one fluid motion. I heard his slight
intake of breath.

Slowly, firmly he massaged my traps. I leaned my head back so that
my neck became even more bull-like, my well-defined traps nearly
mountainous.

"Shit, man, these are hard as rocks," he said.

I murmured. "You're doing fine. It feels wonderful."

He was standing so close that when his member began to engorge I
could feel it through his sweatpants and my shorts. As he continued
to work it grew harder and harder, having a similar effect on my
own brawny organ.

Finally, I turned to face him. He dropped his hands to his hips. I
dropped my shorts on the floor, then reached my calloused hands
(can't find lifting gloves I like) to his face, which I pulled down
to mine, giving his soft, moist mouth my best thermonuclear kiss...

-- 
Richard P. Jasper, Head
Acquisitions Department
Emory University General Libraries 
librpj@emoryu1.cc.emory.edu (or) LIBRPJ@emuvm1.BITNET