Date: Wed, 23 Mar 2016 11:10:07 +0000 (UTC)
From: a4f101@yahoo.com
Subject: My Training Reward

Here's a story taken from my Tumblr, at a4f101.tumblr.com/storytime. You
can find this one, and the pic that inspired it, here:
http://a4f101.tumblr.com/post/114249073319/

This story is purely a work of adult erotic fantasy, copyright me 2016. I
own it and all legal rights to it. If you're under the age of majority in
your jursdiction, please come back when you're of legal age.

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I love hearing from you guys. a4f101@yahoo.com. Enjoy...

*****

I'll be honest, my motivations weren't entirely pure. I couldn't tell you
what they were, precisely - yeah, sure, I needed to get back in shape,
because as my 30s kept slipping by, so did the tight waist and defined
muscles I'd always been so proud of through my teens and 20s, that had
gotten me laid so much, had always drawn admiring eyes. But I lived in Desk
Job City now, and with the way Dee and I had been fighting,
cold-shouldering each other, that looming sense that this whole marriage
thing between us wasn't what we'd hoped or even wanted anymore, I'd never
been less fit or less motivated to change it.

But yeah, there was another level to it. A secret reason, one I didn't want
to admit to myself. Couldn't admit to myself. Something I thought I'd
successfully stuffed away in the back of a closet in the dark, unexplored
part of my brain, to grow dusty and unremembered. A part of my life that
confused, shamed and excited me equally. And the more dissatisfied I got
with the way my life had turned out, the more room I made for those
memories, those feelings to come back. To tempt me, and torment me. To
excite me.

So I reached out to Patrick to help me whip my ass back in shape. It was
one more thing to get me out of the house and away from the suffocating
chill between me and Dee, and with Pat, the price was always right. Plus, I
couldn't bullshit him, couldn't half-ass my way through this. We'd spent
our teens and 20s pushing each other, making each other be the best we
could be, and it had sure worked for Pat. He ran his own gym and training
business, was in incredible shape, and I knew he had the dudes practically
lined up for a chance to get naked with him and explore his big, muscled
body. Honestly, I was pretty jealous of how well things had worked out for
him, especially since it was me that everybody had expected big things
from. I'd had a few minutes in the sun, until my run in the Major League
got cut short by a blown-out knee, and after I fumbled my way through a
succession of smaller and smaller teams across the South, finally gave up
the dream and settled into this life I had now. Overweight, out of shape,
living in a townhouse I hated, working a job I loathed, married to a woman
I pretty much couldn't stand anymore, and the feeling was mutual. If I'd
had any money, she would have divorced my ass years ago.

"Finally," he'd said with a grin when I sucked it up and asked him to help
me get back in shape. "I didn't want to push you, bud, but seriously, the
fuck happened to you, Rich?"

"Life," I grimaced over my beer.

"Bullshit, man," he said, and I guess that was where his role as my trainer
really started. "You were ready to rule the world, dude. You had the looks,
the charm, the body, the attitude. And then you let yourself get tripped
up, and instead of picking your ass up, you just lay there and let life
roll over you. But we're gonna fix that, Rich. Trust me."

I did, I always had, since we were kids, really. Trusted each other. And
yeah, he worked my ass hard, pushed me to the limit, and then past
it. Spent more time with me than he would with any of his regular
clients. And it paid off, in spades. I was eating better, feeling better,
20 useless pounds of fat gone, my energy back along with the shape and
definition of my muscles. Bigger muscles, even, bigger and thicker and more
powerful than my mid-20s, when team workouts and conditioning had me
looking probably my all-time best, before I fucked up my knee, and
gradually my life. I could look at myself in the mirror naked now, and not
feel disgusted and depressed. Felt proud. Dee wasn't paying any more
attention to me than before, really, but forget her - I was getting checked
out by random strangers again, girls and even some dudes, and I loved
it. Owed it all to Pat and the work he'd put into me, the work he'd gotten
out of me.

His gym had a pool - it had been a Gold's before it went tits-up in the
recession, and he'd swooped in and snapped it up for a song, made it into
his own busy, money-minting outfit. A lot of the work we did was in the
pool, since my knee still gave me fits if I tried to run on it too much,
and I'd rediscovered how much I loved swimming, even with Pat in full
trainer-coach mode, barking orders at me as I silently fumed, but kept
plugging away. He'd stride up and down the pool deck in his T-shirt and
those loose, brief shorts that showed off the muscular power of his hairy
thighs, giving me no quarter, making me sweat even in the cool water. More
and more, we'd work late in the evenings, after the pool was closed, so he
could really cut loose and yell at me and curse me out, because nobody
understood better than Pat how to get under my skin and really ride my ass,
and that meant dropping the niceties of the usual trainer-client
relationship and talking like men do. Acting like a drill instructor,
taking command and whipping my ass verbally when I slacked off or tried to
puss out.

Tonight, we'd just finished another epic session, and my ass was parked on
the edge of the pool. my chest heaving, wiping the sweat and chlorinated
water off my forehead. I looked down at my thighs, thick and powerful like
they'd been in my playing days, no longer flabby and embarrassing. I even
looked good in a Speedo again. Almost as good as Pat did, as he always had,
and when he patted me on the shoulder, telling me how good a job I'd done
tonight, then stripped his T-shirt off, I got a little lost in admiring the
thick contours of muscle on his chest, beneath the fine coating of dark
fur. So lost in admiring him that I didn't question why he was stripping
down, slipping those shorts of his down, baring his long, muscular, hairy
legs, his tight, round ass, the big curve of his thick dick - fuck, why was
he naked? I watched, shocked, as he dove into the water, churned out a
quick lap, then resurfaced with a grin in front of me.

"You remember how we used to swim naked at the Y, back in the day?" he
asked with a smile, and yeah, I did. One of those memories I'd put into
that box in the back of my brain, except I really hadn't, because more and
more lately, I thought about those times. Weird at first, being naked with
all those dudes in the pool, but then kind of freeing, and fun. And that
meant I started to remember the feel of Pat's teen body, all firm and
defined and wet and slippery, pressed to mine in one of the shower stalls
after, how hot his tongue had felt in my mouth, how good it felt to kiss
him deep as our hands clutched and pawed and our cocks thrust and shot as
we moaned into each other. The crazy evenings we'd spent with our coach, a
hot dude in his 20s who, on reflection, really shouldn't have been messing
around with two teenagers, even as big as we were. But fuck, I'd loved
that, getting into my first three-way at 17, wrapped up in a writhing,
sweating, grunting, laughing pile of muscle with Pat and Jerry, shooting my
cum with them, exploring and experimenting and experiencing. Watching Pat
slide his hot, tight, muscled teen ass down Jerry's big horny young cock,
and wanting that for myself. Wanting Pat. Getting him soon after, slipping
up inside his hot, tight, clenching hole for the first time, changing
everything. A new aspect to the bond we had, one that had persisted until
I'd left for Arizona and the majors.

"So... you wanna, bro?" Pat asked now, with that sly, winning grin of his,
the smile that could get me into trouble, and frequently had. Good trouble,
close trouble, naked, sweaty, spit-swapping trouble with my charming,
driven, sexy younger brother. I could feel my big cock getting all hard now
as he looked at me with his sexy blue eyes, water beading in his trimmed,
manly beard, starting to gray around the edges as he got deep into his 30s
with me. Looking down under the water, I could see the big, hard arc of his
own cock. And here we were, my other motivation for asking for my little
brother's help to get my ass back in shape. I'd wanted to rediscover
myself, my old body, my old fitness, sure - but there was that unhappy part
of my brain, the dissatisfied, frustrated side, that wanted everything else
I'd had once, too. Including, and especially, the close, taboo, incredibly
hot sexual bond me and Pat once had.

I grinned, and after a moment, stood up. Enjoyed the appreciative, hungry
crawl of Pat's eyes over the big muscles of my body as I peeled my swimsuit
off, the lusty sound he made as my big, cut cock arced upright. And then I
dove in with him, and we raced and played and splashed and laughed and
traveled back in time to when we were big, healthy, happy teenage brothers,
swimming late at the Y, naked and free. And just like we did back then,
when Coach Jerry had locked the doors and cut most of the lights so we
could play, I resurfaced, took my little bro in my big arms, and kissed
him. First time in nearly a decade. Slow, soft at first, getting
reacquainted, and then progressively deeper, as the old, familiar sensation
of his big, warm, dexterous tongue warmed us both. We swapped tongues and
spit, slow and deep, grunting, forgetting everything else for
awhile. Feeling good.

Eventually, Pat had me haul my ass up out of the water and park it on the
pool deck again. He ran his hands up and down my calves, my thighs, kissing
my chlorine-scented skin. Appreciating the work we'd both put into my body,
how well I'd done under his close personal attention. Pushing up to kiss me
again, then up and down my inner thighs, as I moaned with pleasure,
remembering countless afternoons and nights like this, my sexy little
brother confidently showing me how good he could make another man feel. How
good he wanted to make me feel. And then he took the big curve of my
throbbing cock in his hand, smiling up at me. God damn, he was cute as
ever, but manly as hell now too. Still jug-eared and blue-eyed, but all
man. My little bro, all grown up.

"You remember this, big bro?" he said all huskily, as he nuzzled his lips
up and down my shaft, kissing along my hardness. Slipping his tongue out to
lap it slow and tender.

"Fuck, baby bro, I sure do," I moaned. "Missed it. Bad."

He grinned at that, swirling his tongue expertly around the big, tingling
hot helmet of my cock. Making me leak already. he lapped up the bead of
precum and growled deep in his throat.

"So have I, Ricky," he murmured. Nobody else could call me that and get
away with it. Nobody else had ever moaned that name to me as I thrust my
cock up inside them. Just him. Just my bro.

"You've done so good, big guy," he went on between kisses along my big,
throbbing cock. "Looking better than ever. My best effort yet. Proud as
hell of you, brother. So... let me show you. Give you your reward."

And slowly, wetly, expertly, sweetly, he did, taking me back to our
carefree, horny, lusty, taboo days exploring together as he worked me over
with his talented mouth, my moans echoing off the tiled walls of the pool
as my little brother sucked an epic cumload out of me. My first cum with
anything but my right hand in... shit. Maybe a year. Fucking Dee. My bitch
of a wife had never done this for me, had barely touched me in six months,
and she for damn sure had never loved on me like Patrick had. Never made me
feel so good. Never excited me this much. I showed him how much he excited
me by slipping into the water, folding him into my big arms and kissing
him, sharing the hot, salty cream of my load with him, just like we used to
back in the day.

"Let me thank you now, baby brother," I murmured against his lips, kissing
him again. "For everything you've done. Lately, and well... always."

And I did, back at his place, naked, his muscled thighs wrapped around me
as I sank my big hard brother cock inside him, to the root, deep and thick
and hot, plowing another huge load up into his guts as he spewed his own
all over the beautiful muscles of his stomach and chest, into the manly
beard on his strong jaw. Fucked a deep, honest expression of love out of
him, his love for me, and I returned it to him as we embraced and kissed,
reunited and loving it. Loving each other. Nothing had felt this right
since we were playing as young men.

I didn't go home that night, not that Dee probably gave a shit either
way. Not that night, or the next, or the one after that, and the next time
I did go back to that fucking townhouse, it was to empty my closets and
pick up my stuff. Loading what little I valued into the back of Pat's
Silverado, while Dee gave us both the silent, hostile treatment. I left her
in the now half-empty townhouse, and returned to Pat's house, and we've
been there ever since. I run the facility, he trains the clients, and
together we work out and make love and make each other happy. Finally, fuck
yeah, I'm a happy man. Making life happen, not letting it happen to me
anymore. Making an awesome life with my brother, together.