Date: Sat, 23 Apr 2005 12:48:52 -0400
From: jason p <jasonohsix@hotmail.com>
Subject: The Spanish Gym

I've been trying to lose weight for as long as I can remember.  I'm spending
my junior year of college in Spain, and I even joined the gym here--during my
supposed time away from responsibility--to try to reach my goal.  There's
nothing I hate more--well, besides Nazis and fish gills--than exercise.  But
losing weight is important to me, so I joined the biggest gym in my Spanish
town.

Little did I know when joining that my gym held the local reputation for
having the most fitness-crazed exercise maniacs of the 200,000-person town.
Right before I paid the first month's membership, I asked to take a tour of
the facility.  The secretary told me to wait a moment and Jorge, the
manager, would show me around.  So I stand around for a few minutes watching
a few girls come out of the weight room, and finally a brown-haired guy
comes up and shakes my hand.  "I'm Jorge," he says, in fast-paced Spanish,
"nice to meet you.  Come.  I'll show you around."

"Gracias," I say, following him down the hallway.  He showed me the upstairs
empty rooms where the pilates and abdominal and cycling classes are, then he
showed me the weight room and the attached aerobic center.  He told me he'd
show me where the locker room was next.  So I followed him into paradise.

Unlike the other gyms I toured before that day, this one had a full locker
room, with benches, lockers, toilets and urinals, showers, and even three
saunas.  But the facilities weren't what made it paradise.  The exercisers
were.  I'm not going to lie and say that there were a ton of hot, naked
twenty to thirty-five-year-olds walking around erect, casting one another
knowing glances.  I'll stick to the truth: there were a ton of hot, naked
twenty to thirty-five-year-olds, plus just a few of the obligatory hairy old
men, walking around, soft Spanish penises swinging between their legs.

I made one of my great observations about differences between Spain and the
U.S. at that point: Spanish men are hairier and have bigger dicks than their
American counterparts.  It began to look to me that going to the gym wasn't
going to be solely a pain after all.  And then I noticed that Jorge was
talking to me.  "What do you think?" he asked.

"They're impressive.  Er, it's impressive, rather.  The gym," I said, trying
to cover up, wondering both if he had asked me anything else while I was
euphorically checking out my new workout buddies' bodies and whether he'd
noticed.

He smiled.  "Want to join us?" he asked, as he crisscrossed his arms over
his stomach, beginning to pull of his shirt.

"Si, without a doubt," I replied.  "Everything looks great here."  Just
after he tossed his shirt onto the closest bench, Jorge reached out his big,
strong, dry hand to shake my own.  Now that Jorge's shirt was off I could
see that being the manager of the gym had its benefits.  Adonis doesn't cut
it.  You'd think he would be one of those huge hulky guys that spend all day
at the gym.  After all, the gym had plenty of those naked colossuses
wandering around.  One of them even had a penis, easily 13cm long, and
thick, too, to match the rest of his bulk.  Jorge, though, wasn't huge like
them.  But he was way beyond muscular.  I gaped at the virile strength that
lay beneath his skin.  I could tell that Jorge could easily have the huge
biceps and lats and thighs of the other guys at the gym, but instead he'd
done years of weight lifting and running and cycling correctly, so he wasn't
bulging but was still incredibly strong and even more toned.  And tan.

I told him I'd go pay and would start tomorrow.  He told me he'd be glad to
make a workout plan for me if I wanted.  I told him I'd think about it.  I
didn't want some Spanish gym master to kill me with exercise.  But then
again, at least it'd give me an excuse to talk to him again.

The next day I returned to the gym and paid my 40^À membership.  Jorge was
there, and I walked over to greet him.  "What do you think of the workout
plan idea?" I thought I heard him ask.

"I guess I'd like you to make it for me," I replied.

"No, no.  Jason (which he pronounced 'Yayson'), I asked you what you think
of the equipment." I'd only been in Spain for about a month then, and he
sure cut me no slack in how fast he talked.

"Ay, sorry--" I began, but he interrupted me.

"But if you still want that workout plan, I'll help you make it at 9
tonight."

"Sounds great," I said.  I was determined to succeed at losing the weight I
wanted to lose and tone up.

It was already 7:30, so I figured if I did half an hour on the treadmill
then lifted for 45 minutes and spent the rest of the time on the elliptical,
I'd be set.  I set out to exercise, and had a rather good time of it.  I
listened to a "Pump-Up Mix" my friend burned for me back when I was in the
U.S. as I sweated on the treadmill.  Then at 8:55 I heard an announcement on
the intercom system, but it was way too fast for me to understand.  Those
announcements are hard enough in English, let alone Spanish.  So I walked up
to Jorge and asked him what was announced.

"We close in 5 minutes," he said, "At 9."

"Oh, so can we reschedule a time for you to help me with the workout
routine?" I asked.

"You can't stay anymore?" he asked.

"I thought the gym was closing.  Didn't you say--"

"You can stay here with me after everyone leaves.  Since I'm the manager,"
he said, with typical Spanish pride, "I lock up at night.  So afterward you
can return home.  Once we're through."

I returned to the locker room to drop off my towel and discman.  The room
was unpleasantly steamy from all the last-minute showers before the gym
closed at 9.  From all the guys in there showering and dressing, it looked
like I was the only one staying late.  I very, very slowly returned my CD
player into my locker, wanting to extend my time in the locker room as long
as possible.  There was a guy a few lockers down from me who looked to be
about thirty.  Aside from his slightly thinning hair, he looked to be in
great shape.  He had a towel wrapped around his waste, but I hardly cared.
He had chiseled pecs and abs that were still glistening with water droplets
from the shower.  His arms were cut and muscular, bigger than those of
almost all the other guys in the locker room.  I realized I was staring and
turned around to toss my towel into my locker.  Once I thought it was safe,
I glanced toward him again, and he was looking down toward his towel, which
he was just removing.

I felt my penis stiffen a bit.  I knew I had to be careful, because all the
guys at this gym were definitely straight.  As he removed his towel, I was
able to get a glimpse of his moderate-sized dick.  He, like almost all other
Spaniards, was uncircumcised.  I could see ridge of his cock-head through
the skin that covered it though.  As he finished removing his towel, he
looked up, directly into my eyes.  He had five o'clock shadow.  My favorite.
  AND HE SAW ME CHECK OUT HIS COCK!

I quickly shoved the rest of my workout gear into my locker, locked it, and
returned to the main workout room.  The guy's glance didn't really convey
anything to me, but I certainly didn't want to cause any fights or get any
labels, especially on my second day at the gym.  But I couldn't help
thinking that it was odd, especially since in Spain guys who are strangers
don't really give one another the time of day, let alone look into each
other's eyes while one is naked.

I got a drink of water from the fountain as I waited in the main locker
room, trying to remain inconspicuous.  I didn't want anyone to give Jorge
trouble about staying late with me.  But then again, he was the manager, so
I guess it didn't really matter.  I thought again about my "buddy" from the
locker room, and just as my dick began to re-stiffen, Jorge walked in.

"So, you're ready for me?" he asked.  "Everyone's gone.  Let's get started."
  I wasn't overly enthused at the prospect of spending even more time at the
gym, but the thought of spending time alone with Jorge was appealing, almost
as much as was his ripped chest, dusted with hair.  He had regular brown
eyes, just like practically every other Spanish guy, but at least with Jorge
when he looked at me I got the feeling I was the only thing on his mind.
That must have been how he came to be manager of the gym.  After all, any
idiot can lift weights all day.

"I saw you exercising and you seem to have the aerobic side understood.  You
run the right way, ride the bike well, and did all that fine.  I'll just
write down how much time you should spend on each aerobic activity," he
said, "unless you have any questions."

"Nope, that's fine," I said, secretly disappointed that by eliminating the
aerobic half the workout routine, my alone time with Jorge had just been
halved.

"Let's focus on the weights," he said.  "Let's see what you can do."  He
guided me over to a pull-down machine.  I sat down facing the weights and
raised my arms to grasp the bar.  I had just begun pulling down when Jorge
told me I wasn't sitting up straight.  He was standing right in back of me
and he stepped forward and put his hands over mine, tugging them a bit
further apart.  "Keep your hands this far apart," he said.  "And you need to
sit up straighter," he said.  I could feel his hot breath on my ear as he
spoke.  I thought I was sitting straight enough.

"Like this?" I asked him.  He grabbed my shoulders on either side of my neck
and pulled me back a bit, to sit even more erect as I pulled down the bar.
He pulled me back a second time; I loved the chills on my skin and
butterflies in my stomach that pulsed through me each time his hands touched
me.  As he pulled me farther back, I started to doubt that I was really
sitting straight up.  He kept pulling me--ever so slightly--back and back.
Until I felt the back of my head rest against his chest.  I felt something
pushing against me in the small of my back.  The mere hope that it could be
his Spaniard dick sent a new set of chills through me.  My nipples hardened
from the excitement of it, even though I'm sure it had to be his wallet or
something poking me.  I knew Jorge couldn't be gay.  He didn't have the
pansy look that almost all the gay guys I know have.  But I decided to test
the waters anyway.  "I think I feel my muscles tightening back here," I
said, as I reached my hand around to rub the small of my back.  And while
with one side of my hand I pretended to rub my lower back muscles (the
weight wasn't really enough to merit any tenseness), I felt the same wallet
or penis or whatever against the other side of my hand.  Only it couldn't be
a wallet.  It was warm.  I really started to think it was his dick.  "How am
I doing?" I asked.
"Continue, keep going," he said.  I wondered whether he was referring to my
hand's ministrations or to the weight lifting.  Then I got my answer.  He
overtly leaned forward into me, his erection crushing into my
trembling-with-excitement hand.  Still not convinced that Jorge could be
gay, I didn't want to wreck the moment by talking.  I'd give a straight guy
a hand-job any day.  I got more daring with my hand, turning it to rub his
package rather than my back.  He responded again, shifting his weight from
one leg to the other, rubbing his cock against my hand and my back.  "That's
enough with these weights," he said, stepping back.

It was the moment of truth.  I stood up, feeling the hot blood rushing to my
cheeks, my stomach muscles tensed.  I turned around and looked at him.  He
was staring right into my eyes.  They had a twinge of nervous excitement in
them.  I glanced down and his cock was at full attention, pitching a giant
tent in his black 'swooshy-pants.'  "Do you want to lift more weights?  Or
another, ehh, machine, or^Å" he said, losing some of his earlier cool.  He'd
done his fair share to show me he was interested.  The ball was now in my
court.  I walked up to him and put my right arm around his right side, and
pulled him in and put my left arm under his and around his back so it rested
on his neck.  I kissed him between his neck and his jaw, then once on the
cheek.  A hot breath escaped his lips.  I could feel him tremble a bit, then
he started to regain his cool.  He leaned forward and kissed me on the lips.
  Electric.  I then placed my index finger on his lips, giving him the
"shhh" motion, and grabbed the bottom of his shirt.  I began to lift it up
and he raised his arms, letting me pull it off.  It held the warmth of his
hot body.

His cock was even harder now, really straining against his soft black pants.
  I pulled his pants a bit up and then down over his huge erection.  He
stepped out of the pants.  He was wearing green and blue cotton boxers that
were tented up as well.  I lifted them up so that his big cock could pop
through the fly hole.  He had a gorgeous dick.

It was thick and long, at least seven inches, if not 7.5 or 8.  The best
part, though, was the big, meaty mushroom head he had.  I grabbed the base
of his cock immediately, and raised my hand along its length until the
turgid crown was between my thumb and index finger.  I jacked it a few times
gently, and it quaked once, responding to every touch.  It got even harder,
and I could se the beginnings of precum accumulating at its tip.  I really
wanted this to count, so I put his huge cock back into his boxers and pulled
them down to, but not before kneeling down, turning my head sideways, and
giving it the a soft bite between my lips, no teeth of course.  Then, once
he had his boxers down, I stepped back for a moment and checked out his
naked glory.

"Are you sure about this?" he asked.  I didn't answer out loud.  I got back
on my knees, my face just inches from his great dick.  His perfect chest
hair diminished as it turned into a happy trail down his stomach, then
spread out again below his perfect cock pointers--you know what I'm taking
about--just above his thick cock.  And his balls weren't hairy but they were
huge.  I took them into my hand for a moment, felt their heavy weight as I
raised them up a bit toward his cock, that now had even more precum on it,
then let them go.  Had I known better, I would have gone more slowly.  But I
was too excited for that.

I placed my hand back on his cock, and began to jack him more vigorously.
At first I was jacking him up, toward the ceiling, but I slowly started to
jack him more toward my face.  Just when his cock-head was directly facing
my mouth, I put my lips halfway around it.  I felt its head, slid my tongue
against its underside twice, and felt it surge again with his horny blood.
I jacked him off more this way, with his cock-head halfway into my mouth.
His breathing quickened.  I could tell he was trying to stay quiet, but his
quickening pulse and breath was giving him away.  I removed his cock from my
lips and started to jack him off more seriously, trying to span the length
of his great cock with each stroke.  I then focused more on the tip of his
cock--using both hands--and then returned to jacking him off full force.  Two
more surges of pleasure pulsed through it.  I could feel the blood pulsing
through his shaft.

Just as I was about to guide his cock back into my mouth, he took the
initiative.  He leaned forward and put his cock much deeper into my mouth.
I almost choked on his Spanish monster.  I used one hand to jack the base of
his shaft and fondle his balls a bit.  My other hand was wrapped around his
legs, shifting between feeling his balls and back and legs and the top of
his slightly fuzzy butt.  I started to go to town going down on him, sucking
him for all it was worth.  He started gasping quick breaths of air and I
could tell he was getting close.  I jacked faster and he started pumping
harder.  His cock gave a few more pulses and I noticed a slightly different
taste in my mouth.  I think it was the precum.  "Dios mío," he said, gasping
quickly.  I started wondering if he was just using me or if he actually
could have liked me, so I glanced up to his eyes--not, I hope, in the stupid
porn star slut way--and he smiled at me and I could tell from his eyes that I
wasn't just a blowjob to him.  He had the look, at least, of having genuine
interest in me.

So I let go of his cock with my hand, and, I don't know how, let his huge,
thick, pulsing cock go even further down my throat, quickly bobbing my head
up and down.  He arched back and forward, pumping his dick into my mouth.  I
thought my tongue was going to have an orgasm, and I was hard as a rock
myself.

"Me corro, me corro!" he gasped, shuddering.  I could feel his cock splash
and spurt tons of hot, Spanish cum into my mouth.  I swallowed some, but
before he was done squirting I pulled his slimy cock out, beating it
furiously, aiming his squirts on my cheeks and face.  He shuddered again as
his last few gobs of thick, white cum shot--not trickled--from his cock onto
my face.  I kept jacking him, much slower, as his erection diminished.  I
was so excited I thought I was going to pass out.  I was lightheaded, and
hardly noticed as he lifted me up toward, him and planted a firm, manly kiss
in my mouth, his tongue, I'm sure, tasting the remnants of his cum in my
mouth.

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-
I guess this experience goes to show that my 'gaydar' isn't really that
good.  Maybe if I came out of the closet I'd learn to detect a little
better.  If you want to hear more about "Jorge" and me or to talk to me or
have any comments, shoot me an E-mail: jasonohsix@hotmail.com.  This is my
only story so far, but if you like it, I'll write more.  Let me know.