Date: Sat, 27 Mar 2004 17:26:24 -0500 (EST)
From: every_horizon <every_horizon@yahoo.ca>
Subject: Workout Heat, Ch. 1

Workout Heat, Ch. 1
By Northern Light

(Any and all comments welcome to
every_horizon@yahoo.ca)

I see Sean four mornings a week at the gym. He runs
the treadmill and I swim, but our schedules are close
enough that we arrive at nearly the same time and
finish our workouts a few minutes apart.

I thought this a coincidence, at first. But I knew
better when I got to know him, and learned to
appreciate him in unimaginable ways.

Our lockers are in the same area; you know how it is
with routine. From the beginning, I enjoyed the ritual
of preparing for our workouts, and if I close my eyes
now I can see every detail of the first time I took
serious notice of Sean getting ready for his run.

As usual, he arrived in jeans, battered sneakers, a
T-shirt and he carried his gear in a knapsack that had
seen better days. From two lockers down a little
before 5 a.m., he smelled both of sleep and strong
musk.

I was ready before he was, wearing a pair of baggy
swim trunks. But my goggles needed adjustment, or so I
convinced myself, so I sat on the bench tugging at the
strap. Of course, this was little more than a cheap
excuse to watch him, although with a careful
discretion.

Sean was slow and deliberate in getting ready, as
though he wasn't going to waste an ounce of the energy
he planned to burn on the treadmill. I thought of
myself as a card-carrying straight male, and since
adolescence I'd not experienced anything even remotely
sexual with another guy.

Still, I didn't avert my eyes in the common showers,
amid the sight of many other men soaping up, and
what's more, I couldn't help but feel a burning
curiosity on this morning as I observed Sean.

This was not discouraged by the fact he wore neither
boxers nor briefs. I assumed he had rolled out of bed
and stepped naked into his jeans, combing his hair
with his fingers before stumbling out the door in the
dark. With his back to me, he kicked off his shoes,
shook out of his shirt then peeled down his jeans,
bending at the waist as he stepped out of the faded
denim.

Sean was a vision from behind: he had a sharply
defined fan of muscle at the upper back, tapering to a
trim waist and a round, firm ass, and his powerful
hamstrings and calves were sinewy from his running.
When he bent naked at this athletic waist, his legs
shoulder-width apart, it was me who grew weak at the
knees.

His magnificent balls hung fully and tantalizingly
between his thighs. They looked heavy, swaying loosely
as he moved. I suddenly imagined myself reaching
through his legs and taking them in my palm, kneading
them, feeling their heat and texture and glorious
weight, and when that outrageous idea swept through
me, I felt a flood of arousal course through my veins
and rush to my groin. Damn good thing I was wearing
baggy trunks and not a Speedo.

Sean lingered, and I heard him yawn as he stretched
languidly, his back still to me. Slowly he placed his
left foot - it is always his left foot first -
into the thin strap of his athletic support. Then the
right, and almost in slow motion he pulled the nylon
and elastic harness up his legs, bending slightly at
the knees as his left hand reached in front of him.

It took him a moment to arrange his beefy package in
the pouch, and then he smoothed the waistband and
hooked his thumbs under the thin straps that cupped
his cheeks, pulling them back and snapping them in
place. The contrast of the plain white support on his
tanned skin was remarkable.

With similar economy of motion, he pulled up a pair of
blue Lycra shorts, again digging his hand down the
front to adjust himself, then dropped a loose singlet
over his head and turned slowly, almost as if to give
me the time to adjust my gaze.

"Another day," he said, putting a foot on the bench to
lace up a running shoe. I mumbled something equally
profound, and then we headed out the locker-room door
together before turning in our opposite directions.

"Enjoy your run," I said.

"Yeah, and have a good swim," he replied. "See you in
a bit."

Forty-five minutes later, we both saw considerably
more than a bit.

It was 5:45 a.m. when I was back at my locker,
gathering up my soap and towel. I didn't hear Sean,
but I felt the sting of his towel on my bare ass.

I wheeled around and there he was, grinning, twirling
his towel again, twisting it into a cloth whip. His
eyes weren't exactly staring into mine, and then he
looked up and winked. Through my entire swim, and even
at this instant, I had been thinking of his body and
what he had tucked into his athletic support, and my
arousal was  plain to see. Now I was facing Sean, and
we both realized I was semi-erect.

"Couldn't resist," he said, grinning. I laughed
despite myself.

"Nice aim, fella," I replied, turning half away. "Glad
I wasn't facing you."

He looked down again, his attention to my embarrassing
growth doing nothing to lessen my arousal. And then he
undressed. Sean stripped down more quickly than he had
gotten ready, peeling off his shorts and jockstrap in
one fluid motion. His musky smell was stronger than
before, and stronger than the chlorine that still was
in my pores.

He turned half toward me and, in profile, I saw I was
not alone in my predicament. Sean had swollen to a
moderate fullness, his thick, circumsized cock
thrusting out, bobbing just a little.

"Testosterone," he said in casual explanation.
"Happens after a good workout."

"I hear you," I said, setting off for the showers,
holding my towel in front of me, praying that no one
else would wander in. I was safe in that regard; the
gym was practically empty, and it wouldn't be busy for
another hour.

We exchanged a little small talk, cranking open the
taps at adjacent shower heads, and stood beneath the
flow. I was not facing Sean and thought, mistakenly,
that some idle chatter would cure my problem. But then
I looked to him as I turned in the spray and saw him
at full staff. He was an astonishing sight.

We continued to chat, and in a few minutes his body
was bubbling in a soapy foam, suds dripping from his
shoulders and over his broad chest to his groin. His
loose fist was beginning to pay special attention to
this area, and his moderate fullness had given way to
a raging
hard-on.

"Don't just stand there," he said brightly. "Join me."

I thought my heart was in my mouth, and with no sign
of anyone else in the locker room, my hand dropped to
my cock, which by now was also fully engorged.
Wordlessly, and dare I say eagerly, I joined him.

I looked down at my erection, which was slipping
fluidly through my hand, then to Sean. He was staring
unabashedly at this, clearly turned on by what he was
seeing. I felt like I was an adolescent again, behind
the shed of my best friend's house, unzipping with a
buddy and jerking off in great lustful need.

I returned Sean's look. He had reached behind himself
with his bar of soap and had smeared it over his ass,
and now he was reaching between his legs. This
afforded me a complete, unobstructed view of his cock,
and it was a specimen the likes of which I had not
seen.

He was finely cut, and as dollops of foam dripped off
his thick shaft, I saw his thick mushroom head, almost
purple in color, bloated. I guessed him at 7, maybe 8
inches, and absolutely a mouthful. His balls were
enormous, and in this wet heat, they hung lower and
more loosely than they had when I'd ogled them as he
had undressed.

There was a primal need we now shared, and this act
seemed the most natural thing in the world. There is a
unique sound made by a hard cock in a wet, soapy fist.
You know it: it's an arousing, sloppy sound of swollen
flesh in a tunnel of fingers, of heavy, full balls
slapping against thighs as the motion becomes quicker.

All inhibition now gone, Sean and I stared at each
other below the waist, mumbling to ourselves and to
each other. By now I was leaning against the wall,
using one arm for support. He was busy with both
hands, pawing at his balls, pulling them, dipping
lower, his middle finger burying itself knuckle-deep
in his ass, pistoning in and out.

It occurred to me that we were almost facing each
other, less than three feet feet apart. The heat was
incredible, and almost without warning, Sean was
there. He grunted  deeply, and it was then I saw an
opaque stream arc from his cockhead, projected with
violent force. It struck me directly in the navel, in
a viscous glob.

I didn't recoil. Instead, I turned to face him
squarely, offering him a broader target as I stroked,
inviting his aim. He shot again and again and again,
each of his spurts splashing my hand, my cock and my
left thigh, his cream dripping off me to the tiled
floor.

Almost immediately he set me off, as though he had
squeezed my trigger. I came in a torrent as well, and
as Sean was milking the last from his balls, I
throbbed a copious load onto his body, from his
stomach down to his loins. He scooped my cum into his
palm and stroked himself some more, using me as a
lubricant, and I thought I was going to pass out.

The shower spray soon pounded us into submission, and
that's just as well. There was a little noise at the
far end of the room, others arriving for their
workout. I was never more grateful for being flaccid
than I was now, and yet never more eager to be hard
again.

Sean and I dressed in near silence, and headed out
into the parking lot together. A very small part of my
curiosity had been satisfied, but now I also knew
this: I needed this man's cock between my lips. Soon.

"How about 4:30 tomorrow morning?" I said to him.

Subtlety wasn't my strong suit.

"I'll be here," he said, and when I arrived at that
ungodly hour the next day, hungry for him, half
expecting to never see him again, Sean was already at
his locker.

"Thought I'd skip my run today and head straight for
the sauna," he said.

Then he stepped out of his jeans, his thickly veined
cock massively hard, a bead of moisture at its tip. He
dipped his finger into it and smeared it around the
fat head. It glistened invitingly.

I decided I didn't need a swim after all, and as I
dropped my jeans to my ankles, wearing neither boxers
nor briefs, I realized I was very, very hungry.

(to be continued)